Mating for Life

by Marissa Stapley

  “Don’t you mean my personal listening device? Sure, fine,” Isabel said, handing it forward and staring out the window at the familiar scenery that made her sad.

  • • •

  When they got to the marina, the woman, Helen, was waiting with the boat she had apparently rented from the owner of the marina, and a tanned blond man named Johnny was attempting to give her driving instructions and laughing at her.

  “You, lady, are a prime example of why they really shouldn’t give boating licenses out online,” Isabel heard him saying to her as they approached. The woman looked like an old hippie, with long blond hair streaked with gray, a makeup-­free face, and a long peasant skirt with a tan tank top that made her look topless from a distance. It was weird, the whole thing, Isabel decided. Beatrice was holding Isabel’s hand and walking beside her.

  “Aha! They’ve arrived. Laurence, darling, tell me you know how to drive a boat.” Isabel was pretty sure this woman had maybe met her dad once before, but she was acting like they were old friends.

  “I can probably drive it better than you can,” her dad said, allowing the woman to embrace him and kiss him on both cheeks and say, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too,” Laurence said, then turned to Isabel. “And these are my daughters. Isabel and Beatrice.”

  “Gorgeous! Adorable! So wonderful to make your acquaintance. You’re going to have loads of fun. The boys have already arrived. Cole and Beckett—who by the way are strapping and handsome youngsters who will doubtless be thrilled to meet you, Isabel—and their brother Eliot.”

  “Helen,” Liane murmured. “She’s only fourteen . . .”

  “And so are they,” Helen said, smiling. “Now come, let’s get your stuff loaded, let’s get some firewood and eggs, and let’s go.”

  Isabel realized she was blushing. She took out her phone and sent a final text to Mykayla while she still could. About to head into the land of no cell phone reception, wish me luck. Some crazy old hippie lady just said the twins are “strapping and handsome youngsters.” Feel like this is definite confirmation that they are losers. Help!

  Then she put her phone in her shoulder bag and went to get her overnight case.

  Helen talked loudly over the motor as Isabel’s father steered the boat toward the island. Beatrice sat in Liane’s lap, sucking her thumb. Once the initial “you’re not my mommy” shock had worn off, Bea, little traitor that she was, had warmed right up to Liane. Isabel’s mom had even expressed concern about it. “What do you want me to do?” Isabel had overheard her dad ask, exasperated, one night when he was picking the girls up for his week with them. “Do you want me to encourage her not to like Liane?” “Well, I am her mother, not Liane,” Gillian had said. “Liane’s not trying to be her mother. She’s just trying to be nice,” Laurence had said, and Isabel had been tempted to poke her head in the kitchen door and say snidely, Yeah, and she’s trying pretty damn hard. Daniel could take some notes from her, in fact. But she stayed silent. Daniel: there was a whole other story. He didn’t try at all, either because he didn’t want to, or because he was too boring to do anything but talk about the research he did with her mom or how smart he thought she was. It was beyond Isabel what her mom saw in him. “It’s because he’s the opposite of your father,” Mykayla, who seemed to know everything about everything, had once explained. “Also, your mom is clearly impervious to the ‘ick’ factor.”

  “Ilsa’s not coming,” Helen said. “I told her she should, I told her she needs this, but she said she’s trying to get settled. Maybe one year, eventually, we’ll get us all back together here again.”

  “Yes, we talked the other day. She seems good, though. She seems . . . well, let’s talk about it later.” Liane glanced at Isabel, and Isabel realized that was because she considered what they were talking about too grown-up for Isabel to hear. Isabel remembered meeting Ilsa, months before, when she had come to visit in the winter, and being mildly fascinated by her. She was nothing like Liane. She was interesting. She was worldly. “And she’s so sexy,” Mykayla had said later, when they were in her room. “My lord. I didn’t think it was possible for a woman over thirty to be that sexy.” From what Isabel had already overheard her dad and Liane discussing, Ilsa had recently left her husband and was living in her art studio. And meanwhile, Liane’s other sister, who also wasn’t coming for the weekend, was apparently in the middle of some sort of desperate marriage situation, too. “These women don’t have a very good track record,” she had said to Mykayla, who had waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Who does, these days?”

  They were approaching the island and Isabel reached into her bag for some lip gloss, put some on, saw Liane watching her, and felt embarrassed. She took out her phone to check if there was still service. There was: a text from Mykayla had come in. OMG. MATT ASKED ME OUT. Isabel felt her eyes blur with sudden tears. She turned the phone off and put it in her bag.

  “This is a first: Isabel has turned off her phone,” her dad, who had been slowing the boat down and glancing backward, announced. Isabel was grateful she was wearing sunglasses. She could see a person on the dock. A boy. But as they came closer she realized it had to be the younger one, Eliot. He was scrawny and definitely geeky, which did not bode well for his brothers.

  The boat bumped into the dock and Isabel sat still.

  Liane stood and passed Beatrice to Helen, who was already on the dock. Laurence got out and started tying the boat up.

  “Coming, Iz?” Liane asked.

  Ick, Isabel thought. Please don’t call me Iz. Only my dad calls me Iz.

  Helen introduced her to the boy, who was indeed Eliot, the youngest. “Where are your brothers?” Helen asked him.

  “Inside, playing video games.”

  “Which is all they ever seem to do,” she said. The group followed her up the stone steps.

  “You and Beatrice are in Ilsa’s room,” Helen was saying as they walked toward the cottage. Isabel wrinkled her nose and glanced at her father, trying to indicate that she didn’t want to bunk with Bea, but he was walking ahead, hand in hand with Liane.

  The cottage was dark, dingy, and outdated. What the big deal about it had been, Isabel had no idea. Liane had talked about it like it was a palace. So what if it was the oldest cottage on the island? That was the operative word: old.

  “Follow me,” Helen said. “Let’s put our bags upstairs. Then we’ll all go sit outside.” She said this loudly, presumably for the benefit of the unseen twins, playing video games in another room Isabel hadn’t seen yet.

  Upstairs, Isabel said, “I’m pretty tired from the ride up here. I might just take a nap.”

  “Oh,” said Helen. “Okay, that’s fine. You come down when you’re ready.” After Helen was gone, Isabel lay down on the bed, which was a nook in the wall (and, admittedly, slightly charming), closed her eyes, and tried not to think about Mykayla and Matt, the geeky twins, or the cottage next door she didn’t even want to look at.

  • • •

  Later, Liane tapped on the door and Isabel wished it was her dad. She realized she missed him, that it had been better when he had been with her mom mostly because, since he had not been close to her mom at all, he had been closer to her. There had been a time during that awful summer when her parents had thought she was clueless (she wasn’t) that she had felt closer to him than she had to anyone, ever. Like when he had given her that poem to read, or when they went for their morning canoe rides and he let her steer. But now, with Liane around, even if Liane was trying, even if she was nice, she was there, which meant Isabel had to share her dad, and that just wasn’t an easy thing to do.

  Isabel lay on the bed, thinking these things and looking at Liane. She wished she had pretended to be asleep.

  “Dinner is ready,” Liane said. “And Helen made your favorite. Fondue.”

  “How does Helen know what my favorite is?”


  “I told her.”

  “It’s too embarrassing to eat in front of a whole bunch of people I’ve just met. It’s more like a private family favorite.”

  Liane smiled. “A private family favorite. I’m sorry, I didn’t know. If you want, I can make you something else.”

  “Why do you have to be so nice?” Isabel snapped, swinging her legs from the bed to the floor. Liane stood, blinking at her, looking hurt.

  “Well, because. Because I—”

  “Because you love my dad, that’s why. Because you love my dad, so you have to be nice to me.”

  “No. That’s not true. I’m not just being nice to you because I have to be.”

  Isabel squeezed past Liane and went into the bathroom across the hall, where she wiped the tears that had formed beneath her eyes and put her hair into a messy topknot. It would have to do. What did she care anyway?

  But when she walked into the kitchen, she wished she’d taken more care with her appearance. The twins were sitting at the table, looking dubiously at the two fondue pots and the dishes full of vegetables and chopped bread in the middle of the table. They both had yellow-blond hair and tanned skin, even though it was only late June. One of them had longer hair than the other. It was shaggy and fell in front of his face. He was wearing a Milk Music shirt and jeans. The other one had on a plain navy T-shirt and cargo shorts. “Boys, this is Isabel,” said Helen. “Her dad calls her Iz.” Isabel wanted to die, right then and there. Die.

  “I’m Beck,” said the one with the longer hair.

  “I’m Cole,” said the other one, and they resumed staring at the fondue pots.

  “Got any burgers, Grandma?” the one in the Milk Music shirt asked.

  “Give it a chance, Beck. Give it a chance.”

  Isabel sat in the empty seat beside her father before she realized it was probably Liane’s seat. Thankfully, he didn’t say anything. In fact, he smiled at her and said, “Did you have a good rest?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking down at her plate.

  Liane arrived, her face blotchy, the way it got when she was upset.

  “Wine?” Helen asked, standing behind Isabel with the bottle.

  “Um.”

  “Helen,” said Liane. “Laurence doesn’t . . . we don’t . . . she’s just turned fourteen.”

  “Oh, please. You kids had wine with dinner when you were babies.”

  “Come on, no, we didn’t really.”

  “Well, no, but almost.”

  “It’s okay,” said Laurence, and Isabel was surprised. Wow, he must really be trying to impress Liane’s mom. “Let her have a little bit.”

  Helen poured a half glass of wine for Isabel, and Isabel looked down at it. “Thanks,” she said. “And . . . thanks for making dinner.”

  Laurence smiled at her. She took some salad. She looked around the silent table. She thought, This is the most awkward moment of my life. But she forced herself to be the first one to spear a piece of bread and put it in the fondue pot. She dropped the bread.

  “You know what that means?” Helen said, and Liane rolled her eyes. One of the twins caught her eye, the one with the shorter hair, and he smiled. She would have smiled back, but at this point she’d retrieved the cheese-soaked bread and shoved it in her mouth. “Mmm, delicious,” she said with her mouth full.

  “She’s absolutely delightful,” Helen said to Laurence.

  • • •

  I’m actually not having an awful time, Isabel realized the next afternoon. She was lying on the dock in her new bikini, reading a book, applying suntan lotion, and pretending not to be watching the twins, who were taking turns driving the boat and wakeboarding. They’d both asked her if she wanted to try, but she’d declined. “I’m pretty tired,” she’d said, not wanting to admit that she didn’t even know how to wakeboard, not really.

  Isabel put down her book and closed her eyes. Helen and Liane were sitting in deck chairs a few feet away, and Laurence was in the water with Beatrice, who was wearing a life jacket and blowing happy bubbles.

  “They look like they’re having fun,” Liane observed.

  “They’ve barely gotten out of the boat all week. Well, except to play video games. And to ogle this one.”

  Isabel realized Helen was talking about her, and that she thought she was asleep. Or maybe she didn’t. Helen didn’t seem to be one of those adults who avoided saying things to protect young ears. She pretty much seemed to say whatever came to mind.

  “Have you heard from Fiona?” Liane asked.

  “No, which I take to mean things are going well. According to the boys, she texts every day to make sure they’re all right.”

  Isabel made the mistake of shifting—a fly had landed on her knee—and the women stopped talking. Too bad. This is actually quite an interesting family. She reflexively thought about texting this to one of her friends, as she had about a hundred times since she’d arrived, but she couldn’t, so she picked up her book.

  “Sweetheart, those boys are going to exhaust themselves out there unless you sit up and at least pretend to be noticing them,” Helen said to Isabel. Isabel obeyed, pulling herself into an upright position and putting her sunglasses on top of her head. She couldn’t tell which twin was on the wakeboard and which one was driving the boat, but whoever it was did a complicated jump and then fell headfirst into the water.

  “Oh, hey,” Liane said to Helen. “I keep meaning to ask you, is that man around this summer, the one with the greens? What was his name?”

  “Iain,” Helen said, and there was something strange in her voice that made Isabel look at her, but Helen was wearing sunglasses so it was hard to read her expression.

  “Is he here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’d like to stop by and visit him. Thank him for the greens last year. And for, well, a few other things.”

  “Hmm. Okay. You do that.”

  “I might walk over later today. Should I invite him to dinner?”

  “I don’t know about that, Liane. I only bought a very specific amount of food.” Isabel didn’t know Helen that well, but had observed her for long enough to know that this statement was fairly out of character and that normally she was probably more likely to be the type of woman to invite the entire island over for dinner, regardless of how much food she had. Everyone around here seems to have a drama, she thought.

  No, she wasn’t having a terrible time at all.

  • • •

  Later, Isabel swam out to the floating dock and back. She tried not to look over at the other cottage as she swam. She was starting to feel better, sort of. She was trying to hold on to the I-am-not-having-a-terrible-time feeling she’d been having before, while lying on the dock, reading her book in the sunshine. She heard the roar of the boat’s motor as the boys came flying around the corner. This time, she could see Beck was driving and Cole was on the wakeboard. Eliot was in the back. He had tried wakeboarding a few times, with fairly disastrous results.

  They parked the boat and tied it up. Beck took off his shirt and dove in the water and started swimming lengths back and forth. Meanwhile, Cole was swimming toward the floating dock. Isabel sat, dipping in her toe and looking into the depths, pretending that she wasn’t nervous that he was coming over. He climbed up on the dock and sat beside her.

  “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” she said, feeling herself start to blush. Why couldn’t she be more like Mykayla always was around boys? She wasn’t even sure she liked Cole, she hardly even knew him, but his very presence beside her was making her nervous.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Oh. Um. The Hobbit. I . . .” She trailed off. “My dad wants us to watch it together, but I really hate to watch a movie until I’ve read the book, so, uh.” She felt embarrassed. But Cole said, “Me, too, totally. Meanwhile, Bec
k usually watches movies and then tries to write book reports on them.”

  “Hey, I heard that,” came Beck’s voice, and they realized he was swimming toward the floating dock. He reached it quickly and climbed up, dripping water on Isabel’s book. “And I think you’re the loser, not me, Cole. Why would I waste my time reading a book for days when I can watch a movie in a few hours and find out everything that happened?”

  “Because most of the time the movie is way different than the book, so your teacher will know you took a shortcut.”

  “Whatever,” Beck said.

  “Also, um, the Hobbit movie is kind of in three parts, and . . . well, as you can see, the book is super-skinny, so in this case, you’d probably actually save time by reading the book,” Isabel said.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not really into hobbits,” said Beck. And then he pushed his brother into the water and jumped in after him and Isabel sat watching them roughhouse and thought, What strange creatures boys are. Her friend Elise had once said to her, “Boys aren’t mysterious at all, you know. They’re dirty and disgusting and weird. I know this because I have two brothers.” But Isabel didn’t have any brothers, so she didn’t understand boys at all. She continued to watch them until Beck dunked Cole under too many times and he sputtered out a mouthful of water and crawled back onto the dock.

  “Seriously, man, leave me alone. Are you trying to kill me?”

  Isabel realized they might really be showing off for her and she wasn’t sure how this made her feel. Good. Special. But also kind of weird. She stood and dove off the dock, leaving her book and towel, and the boys, behind.

  • • •

  Later, Beck came up to the cottage scratching his leg. His skin was covered in an angry-looking rash.

  “Gross!” said Cole, who had been upstairs changing. “It looks like leg acne.”

  “Shut up! It’s not leg acne.”

  “Well, what is it, then?”

  “I don’t know. Some kind of weird rash.”

  Helen approached. “Hmm, looks like swimmer’s itch.”

  Isabel heard Cole mutter under his breath, “Looks more like scabies.”