by Luanne Rice
She’d grown up with myths and magic, after all. And if you couldn’t use those two things to protect your own child, then what good were they? Still, the time came when it was necessary to look at certain truths, at what Charlie said was truer than true. Sitting in her living room, a summer breeze coming through the open window, she played “Myth” on Merle’s old guitar and gazed across the water.
LEAVING SHERIDAN’S HOUSE last night had been the second-hardest thing Gavin had ever done. The first hardest had been leaving her house that night all those years ago. But at least last night had left him with some hope—she’d kissed him. Their first kiss in over eighteen years.
That long-ago kiss had been “goodbye.” Last night had felt like something else. It had felt like “hello.” Gavin still sat in a deck chair on the Squire Toby, face turned toward her house. He’d slept there, just wanting her to know he was there, that he wasn’t leaving.
Small boats passed, making his sway in their wakes. He was deep in a dream about Sheridan when the low throb of Italian engines caught his attention.
Vincent, driving a big white Donzi with a red stripe down the middle of the bow, came around the breakwater. Gavin stared; more to the point, he listened. It was as if a Ferrari had just come to town. Vincent circled the Squire Toby, making sure everyone on the beach was catching sight of him.
Gavin knew Vincent had long since left Hubbard’s Point for the fancier pastures of a summer house in Watch Hill—but he didn’t really fit in there. The houses were big and gracious, the blood was blue, the circles were tightly closed. Vincent had more money than most of the Old Money, he’d done many of their divorces and was therefore loathed by fifty percent of the people at any given cocktail party, and he raised conspicuous consumption to the level of a travesty or an art form, depending on whom you asked.
“You can stop now,” Gavin called. “I’m pretty sure everyone at the beach knows Vincent de Havilland is back in town.”
“Just think, when my family used to come here, we had the smallest cottage—out by the railroad tracks. Well, it’s all waterfront now, baby!”
“You want to anchor that thing and come talk to me?”
“Sure, but you come to me,” Vincent said, making Gavin laugh at his huge ego. Gavin shook his head in amusement and climbed down into the dinghy, sculling the short distance.
“Okay, I’m here,” Gavin said, climbing aboard.
“Check this baby out,” Vincent said, gesturing all around. “She’s a twenty-two-foot classic, with a 454 Mag MPI. She’s procharged with intercooler and five pounds of boost.”
“Nice for the environment,” Gavin said. “We both ought to get sailboats.”
“Stop being a buzz kill.”
Gavin shook his head. “You’re so full of shit and such a winner in the courtroom, you think you won’t get called out here in the real world. I’m serious. Don’t you feel guilty? You should.”
“Shut up. We got thru-hull exhaust, we got trim tabs, we got a four-blade Propco Slingshot, we got GPS…”
“What did you bring me?”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Vincent asked. “I take the day off to come over here to give you a ride in my sweet new Donzi, and all you can think about is work. Sheridan giving you the business about having a powerboat?”
“Nah,” Gavin said. “I give myself enough of that.”
“How was your dinner last night?”
“Great.”
“Nice of her to invite me,” Vincent said. He glanced up at Sheridan’s cottage, and for a moment Gavin was thrown back in time. Vincent hadn’t always had this swagger.
Summers at Hubbard’s Point, growing up, he’d always been a little bit on the outside. His family had rented at first, just the month of July. Then they’d bought a cottage, but by then all the solid, lifetime, since-birth friendships had been forged. Vincent had always had to work extra hard to fit in.
Gavin had liked him from the start. Vincent hadn’t been athletic or cool—couldn’t swim very well, never went drinking with the other kids when someone was able to swipe beer from their parents; he’d had a curfew and pretty much kept to it. He’d worn white socks.
His mother had made him wear a real bathing suit instead of going swimming in cutoffs. Rumor had drifted down from West Hartford that he was on the honor roll at Conard High School. He had sometimes disappeared for a few days, and when it was revealed that he went to debating camp, the other kids had teased him without mercy.
Like a whole lot of other men who’d felt unpopular as kids, Vincent was working overtime to make up for it now. He had to have the fastest car, the fastest boat, the biggest house, the richest clients. Gavin overlooked most of it, because he knew where Vincent was coming from. But every so often, he just wanted to tell him not to worry so much.
“She kept the dinner pretty small,” Gavin said. “Just family and a couple of friends.”
“Her weird sisters?”
“Bunny’s not weird.”
“But Agatha…”
“The word’s ‘eccentric.’”
“No kidding. Who else was there?”
“Jack and Stevie. And Nell.”
“Huh. Your client. Well, interesting that Sheridan invited Jack and Stevie and not me. I mean, I did her divorce.”
“You ever stop to think that’s maybe why she didn’t invite you?” Gavin asked, getting impatient. “Look, quit being so sensitive. What brings you over here, other than to show off your boat?”
“Oh,” Vincent said. “Judy did a little research for you. You must have mentioned this when you called in for messages the other day. She wanted to bring it herself, but I dissuaded her. I know you have eyes only for Sheridan, and I don’t want Judy getting her hopes dashed.”
Gavin thanked him, taking the folder from his hand. It contained printouts from various Internet sites, all mentioning the bands Cumberland and the Box Turtles. He paged through them, stopping at one highlighted section.
The bass player—and lead singer—of Cumberland, Lisa Marie Langton, was twenty-three, originally from Memphis. She was one of the best female bass players in the business, and also one of the fastest-rising singer-songwriters. When asked her greatest inspiration, she replied, “Sheridan Rosslare.”
“Did you highlight this?” Gavin asked Vincent.
“Yep.”
“Uh, I hate to tell you, but Sheridan’s probably inspired every goddamn singer-songwriter in the country.”
“I would think. But read on…”
Gavin narrowed his eyes, focusing on the next paragraph. The name stood out as if in bold, black print.
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Nope.”
“Charlie had to know this, right? It couldn’t have been a coincidence. He had to have known about this connection.”
“I would think.”
“How could the cops have missed this?”
“You’d better take that up with Donovan.”
“Is it possible they really didn’t catch this?”
“The connection’s not obvious, unless you’ve got the inside track on Sheridan—which, thanks to the fact I did her divorce agreement, I have.”
“Huh,” Gavin said, impressed. “Good job.”
Vinnie shrugged, looking pleased with himself.
“So Charlie went there to meet…”
“From where I sit—yeah. You know I don’t believe in coincidence. People never meet by accident.”
“Why didn’t Charlie tell Nell about his plans?”
“Who knows?” Vincent said. “He was a kid, on his own in New York. Maybe he wanted to stir up some trouble he didn’t want his girlfriend knowing about. What do you think the meeting was about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did the girl have anything to do with it? She’s really pretty.”
Gavin’s stomach fell. He stared at Vincent, knowing his friend was probably right. Nell, and even Sheridan, had been so adamant
about Charlie loving only Nell, being faithful to her.
“Sheridan’s divorce papers,” Gavin said, taking another tack. “I’m thinking about that trust we set up.”
“Ironclad,” Vincent said.
“Really? But who did the money go to? Since Charlie didn’t get it?”
“It reverts to Randy,” Vincent said. “I see where you’re heading, but come on. Not even he’s that low.”
“I don’t know,” Gavin said, staring at the page. “Why didn’t the police look at him closer?”
“For one thing, because he kept his name off the company,” Vincent said.
“Right. But you know and I know what ‘Randecker’ means,” Gavin said, looking at the name of both bands’ record label.
“Look,” Vincent said. “Give Joe a call and see what he says. Keep me in the loop.”
“I will,” Gavin said.
“Tell Sheridan I say hi.” He checked his watch. “I’d better get going. I’m meeting a client for drinks in Watch Hill in an hour.”
“Well, you’ll have forty-five minutes to spare, heading there in this thing,” Gavin said, giving his friend a pat on the back, climbing into his dinghy.
“You take it easy,” Vincent said. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I’ve been through anger management, remember?”
“Whatever.”
Vincent took off slow—not wanting to capsize Gavin. But the moment he got past the breakwater, he opened up the engine and took off for Rhode Island in a rooster tail of macho white water. Gavin couldn’t help glancing up the hill at Sheridan’s house, wondering if she was watching.
And wondering what she’d think when she realized who owned Cumberland’s record label.
CHAPTER 13
THE DAY AFTER SHERIDAN’S DINNER, NELL SLEPT TILL noon. She’d dreamed all night, and they’d been dreams of fighting. Wrestling with demons, sparring with black-masked ninjas, kickboxing everything that moved. She woke up exhausted. Lying in her bed, she checked herself for bruises. The dreams had been so real, she was sure she was black-and-blue.
She walked into the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth. Her head felt thick, as if she had a bad cold. That wine last night had done something strange to her, even though it had hardly been more than a sip.
Thinking of Agatha’s toast, about dreams coming true, she figured last night’s selection wasn’t exactly what Agatha had had in mind. Nell wanted to go back to bed, but her dad was leaving for a business trip to London, and she wanted to say goodbye to him. Then she had to go to work.
She liked her summer job at Foley’s, working behind the soda fountain. Nell and Peggy usually managed to get the same shift, which made it pretty fun. They’d gone shopping at the Nearly New Shop, found some vintage dresses that they used as their waitress uniforms.
Today Nell wore a pretty yellow-striped sleeveless dress, and Peggy wore a pink-and-white flowered one. The lunch hour was busy, but since there were so few items on the menu it wasn’t too hard: hot dogs, hamburgers, grilled cheese, sandwiches, lemonade, sodas, and milk shakes. Tyler and Brandon had come in for lunch—they were both painting houses for the summer, all tan and covered with paint streaks. Nell purposely gave Peggy their table; she couldn’t take Tyler smiling at her today, and she was glad when they left.
She ran back and forth between the counter and the tables, the old wood floors creaking under her feet. She had the tables all the way in back on the left, near the old-fashioned wooden phone booth. Two people—obviously a couple, from the way they were holding hands—walked in and sat down.
It should have been simple: just another table, just another order. But it wasn’t. Because the couple was sitting at the table that had been Nell and Charlie’s. He had carved their initials there three summers ago: NK + CR. It was such a long-standing Hubbard’s Point tradition, young couples proclaiming love for each other right here on the tables of Foley’s Store. Nell didn’t begrudge these two their seats; other customers had sat there during the summer, and she hadn’t had any problem.
But this couple was young. They were teenagers—twenty at the most. They must have been in love, the way they leaned into each other, talking and laughing in low voices. The girl wore a sundress over her bathing suit; the boy had on shorts and a Boston College T-shirt. They were college kids, and it made Nell’s heart hurt to see them together, to think of what she and Charlie were missing.
“Hi,” Nell said, walking over with her pad. “What’ll you have?”
“Um,” the girl said, grabbing the menu, laughing and a little embarrassed because she’d been too wrapped up in her boyfriend to even look.
“I’ll have a lemonade,” the boy said.
“It’s good,” Nell said, nodding, unable to keep herself from glancing down at the initials Charlie had carved. “We make it fresh.”
“I remember,” he said. “My family used to come to Hubbard’s Point when I was a kid. We’re just passing through. I wanted to show my girlfriend Foley’s…”
“The famous Foley’s Store!” the girl said.
“Glad you came,” Nell said.
“I’ll have a lemonade, too,” the girl said.
“And a grilled cheese,” the boy said.
“Tuna salad for me,” the girl said.
“Okay,” Nell said, writing it all down, heading to the counter. She handed in the order just as Peggy came back from refilling coffees.
“Who are they?” Peggy asked, placing the coffeepot back on the burner.
“Just some kid who used to come here. He wanted to bring his girlfriend to Foley’s.”
“You should ask him about BC.”
“BC?” Nell asked.
“His T-shirt—Boston College. You’ll be at Regis soon, right down the road…” Peggy smiled, encouraging her to make a new friend. Nell knew she was right—summer was speeding by, and soon they’d be at college. The boy seemed nice, and if Nell were on top of things, she’d ask him about college life in Boston.
But she couldn’t. Turning to glance at the table, she saw the boy reach into his pocket. He pulled something out, small and compact enough to hold in the palm of his hand. Without even looking, Nell knew what it was. He caught her watching, smiled sheepishly, waved her over.
“Hey,” he said, blushing when she approached, showing her the pocketknife he held in his hand. “I remembered this thing here, where people…My parents grew up at Hubbard’s Point, and they put their initials right here, at this table—”
He pointed to time-darkened letters: AL + DR; they were above and to the left of Nell and Charlie’s; she remembered, sitting there with him while he’d worked at the wood, how they’d read all the other couples’ initials, wondering who they all were, feeling a bond with all the people who’d ever marked their love at this same table.
“And you wanted to carve yours?” she asked.
He nodded. “I just wasn’t sure it was cool,” he said. “Considering that Jen and I really aren’t from Hubbard’s Point.”
Nell was shaking, but she couldn’t help smiling. He and Jen were holding hands, looking up at her so hopefully, as if she held the fate of their wildest dreams in her hand. “Love is love,” she said. “Doesn’t matter where you’re from. Besides, if your parents fell in love here, there’s some kind of grandfather clause.”
“Really?” he asked.
She smiled wider, letting him know she was kidding. Then, leaving him to start carving, she went to the counter to get their order. She felt light-headed, as if instead of standing in the old beach store, she had suddenly climbed a mountain a mile above the earth. Her mouth was dry, and every breath made her wonder where the oxygen had gone.
Filling tall glasses with ice and lemonade, placing a circle of lemon on the lip of the glass, arranging napkins on the tray, waiting for the cook to slide the sandwiches across the counter, she couldn’t help looking over her shoulder. The boy was deep into his task, concentrating as he formed each letter. Th
e girl had her hand on his shoulder, delight in her eyes as she watched him immortalizing their love.
“They seem nice,” Peggy said, coming over to wait for her order.
“Yeah,” Nell said.
“Are you upset about what he’s doing at ‘your’ table?”
“No,” Nell said. “It’s fine.”
“I wonder where she goes to college,” Peggy said. “Maybe you could…”
“Ask,” Nell said. “I know. I was thinking of that.” She smiled at her best friend, touched by her concern. This fall they’d all be heading off in different directions, and Nell knew Peggy would feel better if she was sure Nell was going to be okay.
And Nell was going to be okay. She told herself that as she loaded the sandwiches onto the tray, as she hoisted it up and started over. She had the questions all formed, things about college in Boston; she even planned to tell them she was getting ready to start Regis, in Weston, just a few miles from the Boston College campus.
She crossed the room, saying hi to Tyler and Brandon before stopping at her table. And when she got there, she was fine, she really was. She started placing the napkins down, making sure not to let her eyes fall on the new initials—somehow she knew that would be a little too much. Just take it one little step at a time, she told herself. Just let it all unfold, it’s fine…
She had the words all ready.
“Boston College?” she asked, setting the plates down—the girl’s right in front of her, but his off to the side, out of his way. “Do you both go there?”
“Yes,” the girl said, because he was so lost in what he was doing. “Where do you go?”
“I’m about to start,” Nell began. She was about to say “Regis,” but just then she couldn’t help herself: she looked straight at where the boy was carving, and she saw that the tail of the “J” from “Jen” had cut just slightly but directly into the very outer edge of the “C” for “Charlie.”
