by Diane Hoh
What did he see in Liza?
Oh, come on, Margaret. Beauty, brains, popularity, for starters. And Liza wasn’t mean, like Stephanie. All of the Pops couldn’t be mean, or they wouldn’t be popular, would they?
Mitch moved up to stand beside Margaret. “Sort of gives you a chill, doesn’t it?” he asked loudly over the pounding of the surf. “And I’m not talking about the weather.”
Margaret’s tongue had had a stroke. It was completely paralyzed. She was so conscious of how close he was, she could only nod silently. But she did turn her head to glance over at him. A great face. All strong bones and angles, and his eyes were a warm, spaniel-brown. He wasn’t smiling, but he looked as if he might have just finished smiling or was about to do so again. She’d seen that face smiling, at school, when he didn’t know she was watching. It was awesome.
Then he shocked her out of her sudden muteness by turning toward her to give her a long look before asking, “Aren’t you Margaret Dunne? Is everything okay now at Quartet? I heard you had some trouble over there.”
Margaret’s jaw fell open. But she couldn’t be sure if she was surprised because he knew about the vandalism at the store or because he knew who she was. “No one is supposed to know about that,” she said, tasting salt spray as she spoke. “My mother was hoping no one would hear about it.”
“Oh, sorry. My brother Eddie was one of the cops that night. He felt really bad, said your mom seemed scared.”
“She wasn’t scared,” Margaret responded a bit sharply. “My mother’s not afraid of anything. She was upset, that’s all. Who wouldn’t have been?”
He held up a defensive hand. “Hey, take it easy. I wasn’t insulting her. Eddie just felt bad for her, that’s all.”
Had she heard the officer say his name was McGill? Margaret didn’t think so. If she had, she might have paid more attention to him. “It made all of us sick that the dresses were ruined. My mother worked really hard on them. And the prom isn’t that far away now. Doesn’t give her a whole lot of time to replace them.” She couldn’t believe she’d mentioned the prom. If he asked her who her date was, she’d have to utter the dreaded words, “I don’t have a date.”
Well, so what? It was the truth, after all.
So if he asked her, she would tell he truth. And she wouldn’t lower her eyes or turn her face away, she’d just say it, straight out.
But he didn’t ask. Instead, he leaned his elbows on the railing and to Margaret’s surprise said, “Me, I’m skipping the prom this go-round.” The railing’s flaking white paint clung to the sleeves of his red sweatshirt. “The old wallet’s anorexic. Flat as a pancake.”
Or flat as a dress run over by the tires of a car, Margaret thought darkly. Why had he reminded her of what had happened at Quartet? She’d been trying not to think about it, or about what it might mean.
She said nothing aloud. He wasn’t going? One of the most popular guys in school wasn’t going to his senior prom? He wasn’t taking Liza? But she’d bought a dress. Never mind that the dress was, literally, roadkill now. There would be a replacement in time. Adrienne would see to that. Had Liza snubbed Mitch for a college guy?
Or … delicious thought … maybe he hadn’t asked Liza. After all, she could afford to foot the bill, if he really wanted to go with her. Was he one of those stiffnecked guys who insisted on paying his own way? Whatever the reason, Mitch McGill wasn’t going to be escorting Liza and her sexy black dress to Toomey’s prom.
The sun suddenly seemed to be shining although, when Margaret glanced up, the sky was that same solid slate-gray. It hadn’t changed. So why did she suddenly feel much warmer?
Might as well spit it right out, Margaret told herself and said, “You’re not taking Liza?”
“Liza? Nope. Went with Liza last year.” His voice was noncommittal. “I heard she’s going with some college friend of her brother Brandon.” Still no inflection, in his voice. He’d heard? He hadn’t talked to Liza lately? More good news. She couldn’t help wishing that something in his voice would tell her if he cared that Liza was going with someone else. But it didn’t.
“You shouldn’t lean on that railing,” she warned. “It’s too shaky. I don’t want to have to climb around on those rocks down there picking up the pieces if that railing crumbles and takes you down with it.”
Nodding agreement, he took a step backwards. “So, is the store okay now? Haven’t had any more break-ins, have you?”
“No.” She wouldn’t have minded talking about the incident with him. It would have been nice to bounce all of her questions off someone who could be objective. Adrienne refused to discuss it, insisting that it had just been a prank’ and the police would handle it. Caroline had been so frightened by the whole thing that her face went gray if Margaret even mentioned it, and the only thing Scott had on his mind these days was how to persuade Caroline to invite him to the prom.
Even if the juvenile-prank theory had made sense to Margaret, which it didn’t, it wouldn’t explain the deep, dark chill she felt when she remembered kneeling on that cold, damp cement holding the remains of those dresses in her hands.
She had many, many questions about the ugly incident, and needed to talk them over with someone. But she couldn’t talk to Mitch about it. Adrienne would be very upset if she knew Margaret was discussing the incident with anyone other than Caroline or Scott, who already knew.
The wind attacked them with a gust so fierce, it took Margaret’s breath away. “Everything’s fine at Quartet,” she said. “I need to go back now. I’ve been gone a long time. And I’m getting cold.”
“Right. Me too.”
She hadn’t expected him to come with her. But she couldn’t help thinking how neat it would be if he walked all the way back to the picnic with her and they showed up at the park together. Caroline would freak. Unfortunately, the Pops would probably freak, too. The Pops freaking would not be a good thing.
Making up her mind to stay slightly ahead of Mitch when they arrived at the park, Margaret started down the circular metal staircase, stepping carefully and avoiding the rotting railing.
They descended then, their sneakers making gentle slapping sounds on the steps. They passed no one. Margaret wondered how Mitch had known who she was. She wasn’t wearing her Quartet pin, a small, silver piece made by joining together four tiny musical instruments: a violin, a clarinet, a viola, and an oboe. A friend of Adrienne’s had designed them. She’d ordered hundreds of them to give away as souvenirs to customers. They sat in a wicker basket near the register. Anyone could take one.
But Margaret wasn’t wearing hers. Not that it would have told him much. It wasn’t as if the pin spelled out her name. Tons of teenagers in Toomey owned one of those pins. But he’d said, “Aren’t you Margaret Dunne?” How had he known that? Maybe Liza had pointed her out, mentioned that her mother ran Quartet.
Any other time, Margaret would simply have asked. That was the way she was. If a question was on her mind, she would blurt it out, fully expecting an answer. Sometimes that tactic got her into trouble, but so far, that hadn’t stopped her.
But this felt different. Although her tongue had fully recovered, she couldn’t quite make it ask, “How did you know who I was?” She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because she was afraid he would say, “Liza told me.” She’d hate that. Yuck!
They were outside and on their way up the dirt road toward the park when he answered the question for her. “Eddie was right,” he said casually.
“Eddie? Your brother the cop? Right about what?”
“He said the woman who owns Quartet is gorgeous.”
Margaret nodded. It no longer pained her that she looked more like the pictures of her father than she did Adrienne. For years, she had just assumed that when she was old enough, she would look exactly like her mother. They had the same coloring. But the summer she was thirteen, she had suddenly spurted up to her full growth and grown into her adult face. Then the truth was inescapable. She had inherited her mother�
�s eyes. But that was all. She’d been furious, that whole summer and for most of the following school year. She couldn’t remember now exactly when it had stopped making her mad. One day she had told herself that if she looked exactly like her mother, she might meet someone like her father. Then he might want to marry her and she might say okay. Then, one day when she thought everything was great, he’d get drunk because although he was cute and charming and tons of fun, he had never really grown up. He would try to race a train at a crossing, a really juvenile thing to do, and he’d lose. Then, like her mother, she’d be left alone, without any money, to raise any children they’d had.
The dismal, imagined scenario had gone a long way toward helping her be grateful for who she really was. Not to mention appreciating who her mother was and what she’d been through.
“She is gorgeous. You’ve seen her?”
“Nope. Never.”
Puzzled, she glanced up at him. “Then how do you know your brother was right about what she looks like?”
Without returning her glance, he said very casually, “The second thing my brother said was that her daughter had the prettiest eyes he’d ever seen, including his wife Becky’s. So, I figure, since I can see for myself that he was right about that, I know he had to be right about your mom being gorgeous, too. I’d like to meet her some time.”
Caught off-guard by the roundabout way in which he’d told her she had nice eyes, Margaret could only ask lightly, “Because she’s gorgeous?”
He laughed. “No. Because Eddie said she was really nice.”
Although the prom was still more than two weeks away, Margaret felt like dancing right there on the dusty, rutted road. He wasn’t going to the prom. Not with Liza, not with anyone. And he had said she had nice eyes. And he was keeping up with her, stride for stride, so that Pops or no Pops, they were definitely going to be walking onto the picnic grounds together.
He’s just being nice, she thought to herself. His brother told him about the demise of the dresses and he thought it was rotten, that’s all. Don’t go making this into something it isn’t, Margaret Dunne. That’s just not like you.
She tried. She really did. But he was so nice, bending his head against the wind to ask her about the shop and her family and what she liked to do when she wasn’t working at the store and had she played softball all of her life because he’d been watching her play and was impressed with the way she hit the ball every single time, whacked it right out of the park almost and had she ever thought of playing in a summer league because he was going to and they could always use new players.
It almost undid her when he talked about summer, as if there were no reason on earth why, come summer, they wouldn’t still be walking like this and talking like this and even playing on the same softball team.
She was about to respond with something truly inane like, “I just adore softball,” something Margaret Dunne would never, ever have said if she’d been in her right mind, when they heard the scream.
Chapter 4
THE GIRL IN YELLOW, a matching print headband on her head, had no intention, on such a nasty day, of making the trek from the park to the lighthouse. For one thing, she knew the wind at the Point would absolutely destroy her hair, and she and her boyfriend were going to McDougal’s at seven that night for ribs and dancing. She preferred Impeccable Tastes herself, like her parents, but he said it was too expensive, and he was nuts about ribs. Besides, she’d picked the restaurant the last three times and he was getting a little testy about that. Of course, he was getting testy about practically everything these days. If it weren’t for the prom being so close, she’d have it out with him. He had no business treating her like yesterday’s news.
She was not walking into McDougal’s with her hair looking like she’d stuck her finger in an electrical outlet. Her headband would be useless in keeping her hair in place against the ferocious wind up at the Point.
But when someone came up to her just as she was leaving the rest room and whispered in her ear that her boyfriend had gone to the lighthouse with a cute, red-haired girl, what was she supposed to do? Pretend she didn’t believe it? Of course she believed it. Wasn’t the first time, was it? Not everyone knew she sometimes had trouble keeping him on a leash, especially lately. Truth was, she had actual nightmares that he dumped her two days before the prom, with her dress hanging right there in her closet and her appointment at Alphonse’s Salon all set for Saturday morning at eleven. Even she wouldn’t be able to dredge up a decent date in two days.
Everyone at school would laugh at her when she walked through the halls.
Any other time, she’d have dumped him so fast for the way he was treating her, he’d feel like he’d been tossed out of an airplane without a parachute. But she couldn’t, not now. Not this close to the prom.
Everyone said she was a cinch to be queen. And even if she wasn’t, which wasn’t at all likely, she still didn’t want to miss the prom.
She was convinced he already had a replacement in mind. She had no idea who it was, but envisioned some stupid little underclassman holding her breath, waiting to see if the breakup would come in time for her to be taken to the prom by a gorgeous, popular senior.
Never happen. Never! Not while she had a breath left in her own beautiful body.
“The lighthouse?” she asked, her head jerking up as if someone had punched her in the chest. “He took someone to the lighthouse?”
“Yes. You’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”
The girl in yellow hesitated. If she went after him, if she made a fuss, wouldn’t she have to break their date for the prom? Was that what he was aiming for? Trying to make a fool of her here at the picnic so she’d lose her temper and give him an easy out? Or … was it simple arrogance? Figuring he could get away with anything he wanted to because he was so sure she wouldn’t want to break their prom date?
Well, he was right about that. He knew her so well.
Nevertheless. One person had already seen him take that bimbo, whoever she was, up to the lighthouse. Others could see him, too. Humiliating. She wasn’t going to stand for that. Fortunately, the someone who had already spotted him had been kind enough to alert her.
“No,” she said, deciding. “I’m not going to let him get away with it. I hate that place, but I’m going up there.”
“I’ll come, too. Let’s take the back way, through the woods to the beach. So he won’t see us coming.”
Because the rest room was hidden behind a grove of ash trees, no one saw the two leave the park.
Nor was there anyone at the lighthouse when, breathless because they had hurried, anxious to catch the faithless rat, they arrived at the lighthouse and went inside.
“They’re probably already up on the observation deck,” the girl in yellow was told.
“Right. Let’s go. If he’s stabbed me in the back again, I just might forget myself and give both of them one good, solid push against that disintegrating old railing. It would serve them right.”
But it wasn’t the faithless boyfriend who went over the edge of the observation deck, nor was it a conniving underclassman with red hair.
Because there was no boyfriend in sight when the door was pushed open and the pair burst out onto the circular decking. There was no red-headed flirt. There was no one up there but the two girls who had hurried through the woods.
The girl in yellow turned to her companion. “Are you sure you saw him coming this way? He’s not here.” She sagged against the railing. It jiggled slightly in protest. “We shouldn’t have come the back way. If we’d taken the road, we’d have caught them on their way back.”
No reply. Just a cool, even stare.
The chill wind tugged at their clothing, at their hair, made their eyes water as they looked at each other. Then the girl’s beautiful face fell. Her eyes narrowed as the truth dawned. “Oh, man, I don’t believe this! I am such a fool. You never saw him coming up here with a girl! You never saw him coming up
here at all. You made the whole thing up!” Perfectly arched brows drew together. “What for? Why would you say something like that when it wasn’t true? It’s so mean! I hate this place, I told you that. It’s dangerous. What are we doing up here?”
The companion explained, slowly, measuring the words carefully, finishing with, “It’s not so much to ask, is it? Such a little thing, really. How about it?”
The girl in yellow laughed. There was scorn in the sound. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Why would I do that?”
A head tilted, eyes went cold. “Because I asked you to. Because I need you to say yes.”
“Not in this lifetime. That’s crazy!”
The cold eyes narrowed. “Crazy? Crazy?”
“Well, it is. I would never agree to that.”
“He wants to go with me. I wasn’t going to tell you that. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.
But he does. We’ve been … well, I’ve seen him a couple of times. When you were busy.” A cool smile. “You are awfully busy, you know. He complains about that a lot. Anyway, he didn’t have the guts to tell you what was going on with us. He knew you’d go ballistic. He’s such a coward. Look, I don’t want him forever. Just for that one night. How can you be so selfish?”
A jaw dropped. “You? You’ve been seeing him? No, that’s impossible. That’s just as crazy as everything else you’ve said.”
The voice dropped, became soft as a butterfly’s wings. “It was me. Just say yes, okay? Just say you’ll do this one tiny little thing for me. You can’t care that much about him, or you wouldn’t have ignored him the way you did. All of your activities wouldn’t have been more important than he was. So let him go, just for this one night. He won’t break your date. No guts. You have to do it.”
“Never. I’m not missing the prom. Everyone thinks I’ll be queen this year. How can you even ask that?”
In that same butterfly-wing voice, “Oh, but you are missing the prom. One way or the other, you are.” A foot stamped petulantly on the rotted wooden floor. “Why are you making this so hard? It was supposed to be easy.”
