by Lisa Duffy
“I guess that’s my answer,” Pete said quietly. “Dean said I can stay here for as long as I need. For the record, I love you, Maggie.” The phone line went dead, and she sat in the dark, wondering when those words had simply become words.
Something to be said. And heard. She closed her eyes and tried to feel the emotion behind them.
I love you, Maggie.
But there was nothing inside of her except an empty space.
One she could no longer ignore.
* * *
On Friday, she’s leaving the teachers’ lounge, pushing the door open while glancing at her watch when she nearly hits someone on the other side.
“Oops—sorry!” she says. “My fault!”
Agnes pulls the door open wider, giving Maggie room to pass. “Well, I’m glad it wasn’t on purpose,” she says tightly.
They simply look at each other. They haven’t spoken in almost two months. The longest they’ve gone without speaking since they first became roommates freshman year of college.
Agnes’s face looks thin. Thinner than she’s ever looked, even though she’s always had a wispy, slender frame. Dark half-moons hang under her eyes.
Maggie steps back into the empty teachers’ lounge, gestures for Agnes to follow her.
“Are you okay?” she asks after the door closes behind them.
Agnes frowns. “Of course I’m not okay. We haven’t spoken in forever—”
“No, I mean health-wise,” Maggie interrupts. “You look like you’ve lost weight. Which would be a compliment if someone said it to me, but you didn’t have any to lose.”
Agnes is silent. There’s suddenly a pressure on Maggie’s chest, making it difficult to breathe.
“You said all your tests were clear. In your driveway. Lillian’s driveway—or whatever it is now. Has that changed? I mean, you would have called if something changed!”
Maggie’s heart is racing. She waits for Agnes to answer. But Agnes simply stares at her, a blank look on her face.
“You told me not to call you. Remember? You said, ‘Don’t call me. Don’t get in touch.’ That you couldn’t be around me right now.”
Maggie’s face burns. Had she said that? Those exact words? They don’t sound like something she would say. But she remembers anger coursing through her in the driveway that day. How it burst out of her.
As though a lifetime of keeping it hidden away had allowed it to grow and grow until it became too enormous to contain.
“I’m sorry,” she says now. “I was angry. And not just at you. That’s no excuse—”
“I have to go,” Agnes announces, turning and opening the door.
“Wait—” Maggie calls, but the door shuts. And Agnes is gone, leaving Maggie alone in the quiet room.
She stands for a minute, trying to swallow the lump that’s formed in her throat. On the side table, there’s a newspaper, the front-page picture catching her eye.
She’s avoided looking online or reading anything other than her book ever since the picture of Pete had appeared in the paper. Now there’s another one of him in his uniform. “Ichabod Police Chief Cleared of Allegations” headlined above the picture.
She scans the article. Reads how a third-party was hired to investigate claims that are not being publicly disclosed. The complaints were found to be trivial and exaggerated.
She drops the paper on the table, thinking she should feel relieved. Elated. Instead, she’s numb. As if the article she just read isn’t about her husband. But a stranger.
Someone she doesn’t even know anymore.
* * *
By the time the school day ends, she’s in a full-blown panic. Worried sick about Agnes. Had her cancer come back, and she hadn’t said anything?
She barely got through the day without abandoning her students, running down to the nurse’s office and making Agnes tell her exactly what the hell was going on.
But she didn’t. Agnes was just about the most private person she’d ever known. Not about other people’s business—only her own. She hadn’t even told anyone in school that she was sick until her hair disappeared.
Even then, she was close-mouthed about it.
Still here, aren’t I? she’d say when someone asked her how she was feeling. Or Maggie’s favorite: Shitty. That was it. Not Shitty, thanks for asking. Or Shitty, how about you? Just one word. The air between the person asking the question and Agnes suddenly thick with an uncomfortable silence.
But Agnes didn’t seem to mind. She’d just walk away.
As though, in her mind, the person got what they deserved for asking someone with cancer how she was feeling in a light, chirpy voice.
She waits until she’s home to walk over to Agnes’s house. She knocks on the door and waits. She turns to leave after several minutes when no one answers.
She’s on the sidewalk when she decides to walk over to Agnes’s other house. The front door is open, so she knows Lillian is home. The smell of gingerbread drifts out from the house when she reaches the door.
“Lillian?” she calls through the screen. “It’s Maggie.”
She hears a chair scrape against tile, and Lillian appears in the hallway, a surprised look on her face, the newspaper in her hand.
“Maggie. How nice. I was just going to have some cookies and tea and catch up on life on Ichabod. Come in!”
She opens the screen door and steps in. “Thank you, but I can’t stay. I really just wanted to ask you something. About Agnes, actually.” She can’t keep the worry out of her voice.
Lillian tilts her head and walks forward tentatively, a concerned look on her face. “Of course.”
“I mentioned that Agnes and I aren’t really speaking. And I just have this awful feeling that maybe she’s sick again. Did she happen to say anything to you? I knocked on her door, but she’s not home.”
Lillian shakes her head. “I haven’t really seen much of Agnes. She’s been avoiding me, I think, since I told her I was moving out at the end of the month. I’m looking for a different place on Ichabod.”
She notices Lillian glance around the house after she says this. “Are you not comfortable here?”
“Actually, no. Not really.” She lowers her voice. “I’m grateful that Agnes invited me to stay. But I just can’t do this house. The vibe is just…” She grimaces.
“You’re not into an early-nineteenth-century-Quaker vibe? I can’t believe it.”
Lillian laughs. “Nothing against it. But it’s time for me to look for something else.” She holds up the paper. “There are a few long-term rentals in here that I’m going to look at. I wanted to ask if you could keep your ears open and let me know if you hear of anything. Word of mouth has always worked for me in the past.”
Maggie glances at the paper and winces when she sees Pete’s picture.
“Or not,” Lillian says, reacting to Maggie’s expression. “I don’t want to put you in a position.”
“That face was completely unrelated to you.” Maggie sighs. “I’m actually happy to look at places with you. If you want. I can give you the inside scoop on the neighborhoods.”
A part of her feels as though she’s betraying Leo. But she has to admit—she likes Lillian. She enjoyed Lillian’s company at the cookout at his house.
Sky had sat with them through dinner. She wondered if Lillian would ask Sky about school or sports or her favorite color. All normal questions when you’re trying to get to know someone, but exactly the type of questions that would force Sky to be the focus of everyone’s attention at the table.
Something Sky did not enjoy.
But Lillian blended easily into the conversation. And when Sky asked to be excused and Leo said of course, Lillian merely looked up from her plate and smiled.
“See you soon, sweetie,” she said. “Thanks for your help with George.”
“That would be great.” Lillian pauses. “I didn’t know how you’d feel about me staying. I know you weren’t happy when I moved here.”
> Maggie doesn’t answer for a moment. What had changed? She couldn’t say. Maybe it was just that she had a good feeling about Lillian. It was as simple as that.
And from what she knew, Lillian had respected Leo’s wishes. She didn’t seem to be someone who came to the island with bad intentions. Or to meddle in Sky’s care. If anything, she had gone out of her way to be part of the community—a job at the island’s dog-care service and frequent trips to the local shops. Maggie had seen her walk by her house with a yoga mat slung over her shoulder several mornings this past week. Most likely joining the class on the town green by the harbor.
She lifts her shoulders, lowers them. “I guess I changed my mind. No—wait. That sounds shallow. It’s sort of… have you ever heard about a person you’ve never met? But you hear enough that you form an idea in your mind of what this person is like. Then when you do get to know this person, you find that she was nothing like you thought she would be.”
Lillian looks sideways at her. “Am I this person?”
Maggie smiles. “You are this person.” She pauses. “I am curious though. Why are you staying? I mean, is it just for Sky?”
Lillian twists her mouth as though she’s considering this. “I’m not really sure. I always wanted to move back here. It just wasn’t a possibility with Ann in school and my work. Then Ann grew up and sort of claimed this space. She made it clear that I was only welcome when asked. And she didn’t ask often.” She shrugs. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect when I came here. But there’s something so freeing about being on an island in the middle of the ocean. It sounds silly to say that I’m looking to start over—I’m aware I’m past middle age. I guess I’m still just looking—” She shakes her head. “It’s hard to explain.”
They don’t speak for a moment. Maggie’s eyes drift back to the picture of Pete on the front page of the paper in Lillian’s hand. When she pulls her eyes away, Lillian is gazing off in the distance.
Looking for something she can’t explain.
“It doesn’t sound silly,” Maggie says. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
And she does. She really does.
40
When Leo opens his eyes on Saturday, for the first time in as long as he can remember, he simply stands up. There’s no weight on his chest. No pain in his back.
Only a list of things he needs to do today. And a house that’s becoming an actual thing—straight out of his dreams.
He drew the plans faster than anything he’s ever drawn in his life. Years and years of ideas spilling onto the page. In the end, it’s a simple design. Clean lines. A good-sized house, but not more than what they need. The scale appropriate for the neighborhood.
He’s always had a thing for Craftsman-style bungalows. Exposed beams in every room. Open concept in the main living area. Four bedrooms upstairs. Each one with a view of the water.
The master and Sky’s room are positioned so they have the best light. Almost the entire back of the house is glass. Sliders or windows that look out at the sloping grass lawn with the ocean in the distance.
“Oh, thank God,” Joe had said when he looked at the plans for the first time.
“I was afraid you were going to ask me to build a McMansion. What do you think, boss?” he asked Sky, who was standing next to them.
“It’s perfect. Except there’s no tree house.”
“Let’s build one house at a time here,” Leo said distractedly, looking at his watch. “Speaking of—I’ve got a call with the Realtor for this place in ten minutes. She said she has someone who’s been dying to move into this neighborhood. We might not even need to put it on the market.”
“Hope they don’t mind living next door to an old guy who waters the garden in his boxers,” Joe said.
“It’s not you I’m worried about. When I was trying to find a tenant for the house after my parents died, the property manager kept complaining about my neighbor. Turns out Agnes was telling everyone he brought over that the street was monitored. No noise after a certain hour. No street parking. The whole bit.”
Joe shook his head. “Did she chase everyone away until the right person came along?”
“Enter Mrs. Pearse. The whitest, richest, oldest person on the island. Right up Agnes’s alley.”
“I hope the new family who moves in doesn’t speak a lick of English. Goddamn place could use a little diversity.” Joe smiled. “Not telling you anything though.”
Leo smiled back. “Joe Armstrong—man of the people. You surprise me every day.” He slapped him on the back, left him staring at the house plans.
Leo’s future spread out on the table, waiting to take shape.
* * *
Now the house is gone. Demolished in a day. Joe insisted he’d have the frame up by the end of next week, and Leo hadn’t believed him. But now that he’s seen the speed at which Joe works—the crew he pulled together seemingly out of thin air—he doesn’t doubt it.
He’s noticed a change in Joe and wonders if he has a crush on Maggie. He’d heard about Pete moving out from Joe, who told Leo to keep it to himself in a way that made Leo wonder why Joe had mentioned it at all. He’s not sure he would have noticed that Pete wasn’t around with the odd hours the police chief kept, his truck rarely in the driveway.
He doesn’t really know Pete at all, even though he grew up down the street from him.
He was always just the cop who lived a couple of houses away. When Leo moved back months ago, they’d met on the street once, both of them getting the mail. Leo had said it was good to see him—it had been a while. And Pete smiled and waved, a look on his face that made Leo wonder if the man even remembered who he was. He’d just assumed, after all, with Maggie’s involvement in Sky’s life. But it made more sense when he’d lived on the street for several weeks.
He could count on one hand the number of times Pete was home.
Then Maggie and Joe showed up at Agnes’s Fourth of July party together.
He thought about asking Joe about it, but he wasn’t one to pry right now. He flinched when anyone asked him about Xavier. Made up some excuse about how Xavier was traveling for work. Even though he was just a ferry ride away on the mainland.
Apparently never coming back to Ichabod.
Now though, he’s walking past Maggie’s house, and the thought briefly passes through his mind again.
Joe and Maggie.
For some reason, he feels a heaviness imagining this, even though he likes both of them. Loves them, really.
But Maggie’s marriage breaking up only reminds him of his own.
How he never imagined a future without Xavier. And here he is, building a house all on his own. On an island his husband despises. How long had Maggie and Pete been married? A quarter of a century, maybe?
And just like that, it was over.
But was it just like that? Or was it a series of blows. Or nicks. Or cuts. Injuries that damaged the foundation of the marriage.
His future is taking shape before his eyes. Soon there will be walls. Rooms. A house, waiting for a family to move in.
As the days pass, reality sets in. His family might not include Xavier.
* * *
It’s almost dark when Sky and Frankie walk through the back door. They freeze when they see him, as though he’s surprised them.
He’s equally surprised.
“What are you doing here?” he asks. “I thought Frankie’s mother was picking you up?” He looks at his watch. “Three hours ago.”
He glances at Frankie, then Sky, who look at each other, then him.
“She was picking us up. Is, I mean. She is picking us up!” Frankie corrects, then laughs nervously.
Leo tilts his head. Wonders briefly why they both seem jumpy. But he’s in a rush.
Joe’s waiting at the other house for Leo to bring back a spare set of plans. He rifles through the papers on the table, half listening to Frankie, who’s talking again.
“…then my brother m
issed the bus to his game, so my mother had to drive him. Then we were going to walk, but Sky wanted to show me something in the tree house, so we went there. And now we’re back—”
“Is she getting you or not?” he interrupts, digging the plans out from under a stack, his eyes on the clock on the wall. “The plumber’s waiting, so I have to run.”
“Yes.” Frankie nods. “She’ll be here any second. We’re actually going to start walking and meet her. Like around the corner. Right?” she asks Sky, who nods dumbly, then clears her throat.
“Sorry we didn’t tell you we were still here. I didn’t want to bother you. I know you’re busy working—” Sky begins, and he holds up his hand.
“It’s fine—look. Just walk down to the other house if you end up needing a ride. I have to get back. Okay?”
The girls nod, and he turns and rushes out the door. He’s halfway down the street before he realizes that his entire car is loaded with cedar shingles. The back seat unavailable.
But it’s another hour before he remembers the girls, and by then, he knows they’ve been picked up. He thinks about calling Frankie’s house to confirm they arrived, but just as he pulls his phone out, Joe calls his name.
And the night gets away from him. Just like that.
41
They hold their breath until the door closes behind Leo. Then Frankie turns and glares at her.
“I told you we shouldn’t have come back!” Frankie hisses.
“And do what? Sit in the dark all night?”
They were settled in the tree house when Sky turned the knob on the lantern, and nothing happened. They spent the next hour arguing about it.
Frankie insisted they didn’t need light. Sky insisted they did.
Frankie said it was stupid to go back and risk getting caught. Sky said there was no way she was staying without a light. The lantern was always on at night in the tree house. Otherwise with the door shut and no windows, it was pitch-black.
