by Lisa Duffy
He’s promised to take Sky and Frankie to the beach to watch the fireworks show in the harbor after they’ve made their appearance.
But they’re only at the party for fifteen minutes when Leo looks across the yard and regrets coming. Under the tent, sitting at a table, is Lillian.
He remembers then that she’d called earlier in the week and left a voice mail, asking him to return her call.
He hadn’t because he knew she was going to ask to see Sky, and he didn’t know how to answer her, how to admit that Sky had asked “Do I have to?”
Now, she’s not only on the island, she’s in Agnes’s backyard, less than twenty feet from him and Sky, who is across the yard with Frankie, playing badminton with Joe and Maggie.
Lillian must feel him staring at her because she turns and walks over.
“Well, hello again,” she says. Just like that.
As if they’re old friends running into each other on the street.
He feels his stomach bottom out. And his temper flare.
Both at the same moment.
Having Sky and Lillian reunite wasn’t exactly on his agenda tonight. And after the week he’s had—a shitty week, really—he can feel his heart racing, his mouth suddenly dry.
Maybe he’s having a heart attack.
There’s a hammock strung between two trees off in the distance, and he has an overwhelming urge to walk over and lie down, curl up on his side, and simply fall asleep. Slip into a dream world where his life doesn’t involve an estranged grandmother and a resentful husband and a job he’s about to lose.
He hears his name and blinks Lillian’s face into focus. She’s saying something, raising her glass to him.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “What?”
“Oh, I was just toasting the Fourth. It’s always been one of my favorite holidays—”
“Lillian—can I have a moment with you? In private?” He tilts his head to Agnes’s house. He’s not going to stand here and make small talk when, at any moment, Sky could walk over.
Lillian follows him. When they’re inside, tucked in a corner of the living room, Leo faces her.
“What’s going on here?” he asks urgently. “I know you said you wanted to see Sky, but I assumed you’d wait to hear from me. Now you just show up. Without any warning?”
“Warning?” she asks, her eyes wide. “What does that mean?”
She looks so shocked that he feels silly, as though he’s overreacting. “Poor choice of words,” he says, softening his tone. “I just thought you would have called to say you would be here.”
“I did call you. And I didn’t hear back.”
“I’m sorry for not getting back to you. It’s been a hell of a week. Why didn’t you just tell me you were coming to the party in the voice mail?”
“I didn’t know anything about the party when I called you. I just wanted to make plans to see Sky. Then Agnes got in touch. Said she’s been throwing this party for years and would love for me to come. I didn’t have any plans. So, I thought, why not?”
“Why not?” he repeats, his voice louder than intended. But he can’t believe his ears. “I can give you one very important reason. She’s about this tall.” He holds his hand up to where Sky’s head rests against him when she hugs him good night. “And she has no idea you’re here and she’s outside right now.” He glances out the window.
“She is? I can’t wait to see her!” She peers out the window, scanning the crowded lawn.
Leo steps in front of her view. “And I understand that, but surprising her is not ideal.”
“I don’t see the problem. I had no idea Sky would be here tonight. But I’m thrilled. I was going to walk down to your house tomorrow morning anyway.”
“Walk down from where?” he asks just as Agnes joins them, a set of keys in her hand.
“Hello, Leo.” Agnes smiles, but it’s a tight line. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect you to come. I always invite the neighborhood. I wish more people would make an effort.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing personal,” Leo offers, even though he knows it is.
The party is exactly what Leo thought it would be.
Ichabod’s wealthiest elite. White-haired men in seersucker jackets. Wives in colorful sleeveless, shapeless shifts. Pearls around their necks. Get close enough and you’ll get a lesson in history. One of them happy to remind you how their great-great-grandfather built this island. Made Ichabod what it is today.
Leo came to the party because he somehow ended up on the wrong side of Agnes. And that was never his intention.
He came to make amends. Agnes is his neighbor, after all.
But now, with Lillian standing in front of them, invited here specifically by Agnes, he feels blindsided. He’s had the sense that Agnes doesn’t approve of him. That she would prefer Lillian as Sky’s guardian. And forget about Xavier.
She hasn’t remotely tried to hide her feelings about his marriage.
“I didn’t know you and Lillian knew each other,” Leo says, turning to Agnes. “Ann never mentioned it. Interesting that you’ve been in touch with her now.”
He doesn’t mention that Ann didn’t like to talk about her mother. He’s picking a fight. But it’s one worth picking.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say interesting,” Agnes replies. “Expected, I would think. I’m aware that Ann and Lillian had difficulties. Ann also knew my feelings on the matter. A grandparent should never be denied access to a grandchild. Plus, Lillian is a native of this island, and I’m going to do all I can to make her feel welcome here.”
“How nice of you,” Leo says. He looks at Lillian, who has been quietly watching them, as though she doesn’t have a part in this.
“Speaking of houses, Leo,” Agnes says. “Mrs. Pearse passed earlier today.” She turns to Lillian. “Mrs. Pearse was Leo’s tenant next door. Such a loss for the island—her ancestors were the original settlers on Ichabod.”
“I didn’t know that. But it explains the cars in the driveway. I’m sorry to hear it. She was a nice woman,” he says, even though he didn’t know her at all, and his property manager had complained about having to chase her down for the rent every month.
“And perfect for this street,” Agnes replies. “She always spoke about how she felt lucky to end up in the part of town that’s still historic. The tourists basically ran her out of her old neighborhood.” She leans toward Lillian. “She had a quaint house on the water, and some developer hounded her for years to sell it to them. Now it’s a hideous time-share. I can’t even stand to drive by it.”
“Didn’t she sell her house for a fortune? Five million dollars or something like that? I remember her house. It was falling down around her,” Leo says.
Agnes ignores him.
“I just wanted to give you this.” Agnes hands Lillian a key ring. “The gold one is for the front door. The silver is the back. I’d say don’t worry about locking it, but with all the tourists here, you never know.” Agnes looks at Leo. “I’ve invited Lillian to stay in my house across the street. As my guest. I’m only telling you this because I’ve repeatedly asked everyone in the neighborhood to keep an eye on one another’s houses, and mine will no longer be vacant. If you see lights on, then you’ll know why. Lillian—I’ll find you in a bit and give you a tour. Help you get settled.”
Agnes turns and walks away.
Leo stares blankly after her, trying to comprehend what just happened.
“You’re moving here?” he asks Lillian, finally. Dumbly.
“It just sort of happened,” Lillian offers. “Agnes invited me to stay the night. And then earlier we were talking in the kitchen, and I mentioned that I have to find a new place to live—it’s a long story—so she graciously offered her house in the interim. I’ll have to go home and pack, but I’m hoping to be back in a couple of weeks to stay—”
“But we agreed to take it slow. You stood on that dock and said you had Sky’s best interest at heart. Didn’t you?”
Lillian has her mouth open to answer when she stops, her eyes on something over Leo’s shoulder. He turns to see Sky and Frankie walking toward them.
“Can we go soon?” Sky asks.
Before he can answer, Lillian steps out from behind him.
“Skylar—look at you! My gosh, you’re so tall!” Lillian exclaims, engulfing the girl in a hug.
Lillian steps back and holds out a hand to Frankie.
“I’m Lillian, Skylar’s grandmother,” she announces.
Frankie smiles and shakes her hand. “Frankie,” she says. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, it’s nice to meet you!” Lillian says enthusiastically. “I’m sorry it’s been so long, Skylar. I don’t want to get into that now though. I’m just so happy to see you. So where are you off to? The fireworks, I hope?”
Sky nods, and Leo holds his breath, wondering if Lillian is going to ask to come. But she reaches out and puts a hand on Sky’s and Frankie’s shoulders and gives them a quick squeeze.
“Well, you have a blast. I’m staying overnight at Agnes’s other house, across the street. My ferry isn’t until noon. Can I see you in the morning?”
“We’re going surfing tomorrow,” Sky says.
“Yes,” Leo lies. “We are.”
Frankie looks from Sky to Leo, her eyebrow up.
“That’s okay,” Lillian says cheerily. “I’ll be back in a couple of weeks. We’ll be neighbors. We can see each other all the time. Anyway, have fun! See you soon!” She gives Sky a quick hug and disappears through the door onto the lawn.
Sky has a blank look on her face. As though she has no idea what’s just happened. She peers through the window after Lillian.
“That was weird,” she mutters.
“I’m sorry,” Leo says. “I had no idea she was going to be here.”
“Wait, who is she?” Frankie asks. “I thought your grandmother was dead.”
“That’s my nana. Dad’s mom. She’s my mom’s mom.”
Frankie gives Sky a quizzical look. “Never heard you talk about her.”
Sky shifts uncomfortably. “Because I haven’t seen her in forever. She and my mom didn’t get along.”
“She seems nice,” Frankie offers.
Sky shrugs. “I don’t really remember her. Wait—she’s moving here?” She turns to Leo.
“I don’t know,” he says honestly.
He looks at Sky, tries to figure out what to say to her about all of it.
“Can we go?” she asks. “We need to get there early to get a good spot.”
“Read my mind,” he answers, ushering them out the back door. Away from the house. Away from Lillian.
Who said she’d move slow and is, instead, moving four doors down the street.
17
The last weeks of July pass in a blur of beach days. She and Frankie go surfing whenever they want, since Leo hardly works anymore.
Xavier hasn’t been to the island since he hurt his ankle, which Sky isn’t sorry about at all.
It’s not as though she misses him.
But she does feel bad that Leo seems upset about it. Then she feels guilty for being happy that it’s just her and Leo. She doesn’t think about her parents as much. Of course, she misses them. Always will. But she doesn’t expect them to come walking through the door anymore.
And being with Leo is different. Her skin has always been darker than just about everyone in her school. On the island, too.
With Leo, when they’re out at a restaurant or in a store, she’s not the only dark-skinned person in the room.
It’s a first for her. Blending in with the person next to her. She kind of likes it.
And now it’s going to be just the two of them on the beach, with Frankie leaving for camp for the next few weeks. She tried to talk Frankie out of going, but that was useless because it’s art camp and nothing would keep Frankie from her art.
Not even Sky.
This morning, Leo asked her if she wanted to go to the beach. She told him she needed a day out of the sun, but really, surfing by herself all day didn’t seem that fun. Leo would come out on his surfboard with her, but he wasn’t very good.
Leo had gone downstairs to fix the washing machine. It was hot outside. And humid. According to Leo, as good a day as any to spend in the cool, dark basement and figure out why the floor flooded every time they ran a load of clothes through the washing machine.
Sky had taken a book Frankie had lent her about how to paint animals outside to the patio, but now she’s just sitting at the table, staring at nothing after reading the same page four times.
For her, there is only one way to learn. And that’s by doing it.
She hears a noise and looks over to see Joe in his yard. She puts the book on the table and walks over to him.
“Hey there, Sport,” he says when she reaches him. “Where’s your sidekick?”
“Camp. For like, weeks.”
“Ah. Hence the glum face.”
“The what?”
“Glum. You know—sad.”
She nods. “Not really sad. I’m happy for Frankie. She loves it. It’s just boring without her.”
“Boring?” He leans on his rake, studies her. “You know, when I was a kid and I used that word around my house, two things happened. My mother would tell me to go outside and find my father. And when I did, my father would give me a job. Painting the fence. Washing the mold off the house. Picking weeds from the cracks in the sidewalk out front.”
“That sounds awful,” Sky says.
“Yup. I wasn’t the brightest kid, so it took some time before I dropped bored from my vocabulary. Saved me a lot of grunt work.” He smiled. “My roundabout way of saying if you’re looking for something to do, I’ve got a list a mile long.”
“I want to paint a picture in the woods, but the tree house is too hot. And last time I brought my paints and my sketchbook and got all set up by the cliff, the wind kept knocking everything over. Frankie can paint from her imagination, but I need to see it. I’m not as good as her.”
Joe is quiet, studying her. “You need an easel,” he says finally. “Then you can paint wherever you want. The kind with clips so the paper stays put.”
“Frankie has one. She would have lent it to me, but I forgot to ask.”
“Look here—a carpenter has his own tools. A musician plays his own instrument. And an artist like you, my dear, has her own easel.” He squints at her. “Know how to swing a hammer?” he asks.
* * *
They work through lunch, straight into the middle of the afternoon.
First, Joe brings her into his garage. A large room full of benches and tools and saws. So clean and organized that she takes her time walking around and looking in all the small drawers. Whole rows of them labeled Nails. Screws. Bolts.
There’s a wall full of clamps. Another with every type of wrench or screwdriver you could ever need.
“My father’s worktable in the basement doesn’t look like this,” Sky tells him. “He’d try to build something, and he was always running out to the hardware store because he couldn’t find what he was looking for.”
Joe laughs. “Pride was your father’s problem. I’d offer to help. No can do. Let’s just say I hope you didn’t inherit your woodworking skills from him. Okay, Sport—first things first. Safety.” He hands her a pair of clear plastic glasses, and she frowns.
“Nonnegotiable,” he says, and she rolls her eyes but slips them on.
They pick out the wood next, and she watches Joe use the saw to cut the legs. Then he sets her up at a table and teaches her how to use the electric sander.
Which turns out to be so fun that she gets carried away and sands both of the legs down to what Joe calls toothpicks and they have to start all over again.
Joe doesn’t seem to mind. He just cuts two more legs and hands her a piece of sandpaper, shows her what he wants her to do in the same calm voice he always uses.
“You’re much nicer than Mr. Craft,” s
he tells him.
“Who is Mr. Craft, and why isn’t he nice to you?”
“He teaches woodworking at the high school. He’s not nice to anyone. Frankie’s brothers are scared of him, and they’re not scared of anyone.”
“It’s a tough job. I’m not sure I could handle a classful of teenagers. I only went through that stage once with my son, and I sure made my share of mistakes.”
She looks at him through a cloud of dust that’s formed above her hand, the sandpaper hot in her palm. “I didn’t know you had a son. How come he never comes over?”
Joe studies her. “He died four years ago. You knew him, actually, but you were just a baby. You just don’t remember.”
She does the easy math and frowns at him. “I’ll be eleven in four months. Four years ago, I was almost seven. I wasn’t a baby.”
Joe nods, considers this. “Well—you were a baby when he was… himself. There were a lot of years he didn’t come home. He had a drug problem. Then my wife got sick, and he started stealing her pain medication. We couldn’t allow him in the house anymore.”
“Where did he go?” She couldn’t imagine not having anywhere to live. “I sleep in the tree house sometimes, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”
Joe gives her a sad smile. “He wasn’t a child like you, Sky. David was twenty-four. An adult. And we didn’t just kick him out. We were helping him pay for an apartment in the city. Then I surprised him with a visit and an old woman answered his door. He’d given us a fake address. He was homeless, using the money on drugs.” He looks down at the floor, then back at her. “We thought we were helping him, but he wasn’t ready for the help. The last thing he told me was to stay out of his life. That I made him feel worse about himself. Then he died of an overdose.”
She rubs the wood with the grainy paper. She doesn’t want to tell him that she’s sorry. That’s what everyone says to her about her parents and she never knows what to say back. Thank you? Me too?
She glances at Joe, who’s running his hand against a wooden leg.
