Summer Darlings Page 25

  “Is everything okay, Mama?”

  “I just needed to hear your voice,” her mother said with phony optimism.

  Heddy, like all children do when talking to their parents, took it as an opening to talk about herself. “Mama, I’ve been thinking about what I want to do. After graduation.”

  Her mother must be listening to the radio; she could hear strange voices. “Teach at PS Thirty-Nine. You’ve always loved kids, and Eileen says her daughter Mary Kate makes seventy-five dollars a week.”

  Heddy knew all about perfect Mary Kate. She shuddered, standing at the double screen doors. Being a teacher seemed boring now, like having to sit through a movie she didn’t want to see. “My future isn’t that clear to me.”

  “A job is just a way to pay bills, Hibernia. Don’t think so hard on it.”

  Heddy rested her cheek against the screen, the mesh scratching her face. “I’ve just been thinking. What if I wanted to work in the movies? Be a writer.”

  “A writer? Women aren’t writers.” Her mother’s voice was exasperated. “Are these people getting to your head?”

  Heddy kicked at the screen. “I suppose.”

  “Hibernia, I’m not saying don’t have dreams but be realistic, please. We all have hobbies. My paintings never paid the rent.”

  Her mother was right. She was getting swept away.

  “I need to tell you something,” her mother said.

  A strange woman’s voice yelled: “I need the phone, lady.”

  “Mom, where are you?” This whole time, her mother’s voice had been reticent, on edge, like someone was about to push her off a cliff.

  “They raised the rent, more than I could pay. I’m at a rooming house on Pineapple Street. I’m sorry, I tried to keep as many of your things as I could.”

  Heddy tried to imagine the rundown brownstone, a public bath in the hall, her mother crammed into a single room, strange voices slipping through the thin walls. “What about the furniture?” She felt childish and sick saying that, but it was all they had.

  “I have Grandma’s chair. And the quilt she knit you. Listen, honey, I’m fine. Focus on getting back to school, graduating, and then Ken McKinney…”

  Heddy rubbed her forehead, feeling the creases. “But, Mom, I’m falling for somebody, someone here.” It slipped out, and now she regretted it. She was being selfish, and how would it help her mother?

  Her mother exhaled, bored. She imagined her mother’s tight bun, the two pieces of hair that fell by her puffy eyes. “So fall for him. Have your summer fling, but don’t let it sidetrack you.”

  “But I like him.” Heddy wouldn’t mention that she was actually interested in two men.

  In the background, someone grumbled: “You’re on ten minutes, lady.”

  “I need to go, Hibernia. But listen, I’ll get us a new apartment.”

  “I’ll give you the deposit, Mama.”

  “Stoppit, I’ll be okay. It’s you I’m worried about. Hibernia, I love you.” Her mother hesitated, then sighed. “But these boys, boys like the ones on that island, they don’t take girls like us seriously. Okay?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Heddy dabbed her eyes with the back of her wrist, choking out a goodbye. She pushed her finger down on the cradle until the line went silent, the steady hum of the dial tone returning. “You’re wrong, Mama,” she whispered.

  In bed, she crawled under the cool sheets, the tears sending mascara down her cheeks. She lay in the fetal position, staring at the moon, low over the water. Outside in the darkness, a light flashed—not the lighthouse—making Heddy sit up. Then it flashed again, and she realized it was coming from Ash’s cottage. Two more blinks through the trees. A pause. Two more.

  His living room light, maybe his outdoor spotlight, she couldn’t tell. Each time the light flashed twice, then paused.

  Heddy switched off her lamp, letting her room fall into darkness, then turning it back on. She paused, before flashing her lights on and off four times straight. She pressed her nose against the screen, waiting.

  Sure enough, the lights in Ash’s house did the same, flashing four times. She giggled despite her tears, smiling into the dark night sky. He was saying good night.

  “Good night, Ash,” she whispered.

  TWENTY

  “Heddy, telephone,” Ruth hollered from the foyer.

  She’d been cutting out Teddy’s drawing of an octopus so he could make a mask to play with. Heddy excused herself, and whispered to Ruth, hand holding the receiver. “I took off the sheets, looked under the bed, in the closet. I don’t have the bracelet, Ruth.”

  Ruth bent to pick up dust bunnies with her hand. “Jean-Rose said she didn’t find it at the club.”

  “We can’t make it appear—we don’t have it.” Heddy was tired of feeling a thief; she hadn’t taken anything. “What are we going to do?”

  Ruth didn’t answer, disappearing into the living room, so Heddy pressed the phone to her ear, hearing jazz music blasting. “Hello,” she said.

  “Heddy, it’s Sullivan.” Through the static, she heard loud voices, laughing girls.

  “Where are you? It’s nine in the morning.” She looked at her watch. “Not even.”

  “It’s been a late night. We didn’t sleep. I watched the sunrise at Navy Sea.” She wondered who “we” was, then remembered the crowd at his show, the boys in gingham button-downs with the sun-kissed hair. How the girls watched him, keenly aware of Sullivan Rhodes.

  “You must be exhausted,” she said.

  “I’m calling because. Well, I’m calling because…”

  Someone yelled: “Let’s go skinny-dipping.”

  And Sullivan must have moved away because she heard a door click shut, and the noise quieted.

  “Is Peg there?” Heddy could see a rich girl like her taking off her clothes, running into the water, and loving that everyone was staring at her perfect behind.

  “No, Heddy. Listen, I’m calling because as I watched the sun come up, I wanted you to know that I wished you were here. Everyone had someone, and I could have asked one of the girls to sit with me, but I sat alone, because I wanted you. My buddy was like, ‘What is it about this girl, man?’ And I know what it is: I can be myself with you. You know about my family, but you don’t care about all that. And it makes me want you. It makes me want to just talk to you. God, I love talking to you.”

  “Sullivan.” She imagined them sitting together at sunrise, his friends asking her for her opinion, calling her Sully’s girl. Peg would see them, and her prim smile would turn into a scowl, and how Heddy would sink deeper into Sullivan’s embrace, pretending to be apologetic but feeling nothing but pride.

  “Sullivan, I like you, too.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  Heddy kissed the mouthpiece, wishing then that they could keep talking and she could be forever distracted from her mother’s predicament and the missing eternity bracelet. But he needed to sleep. She didn’t want him to say something he didn’t mean in his delirium. “I’m not sure.”

  “Can you come over tomorrow?” he asked.

  “I have the children.”

  “We have plans Friday, anyway. I guess I can wait. Let’s have dinner after. Will you have dinner with me?”

  “Sure, I will.” She grinned as she hung up the phone, rushing to follow the kids into the sunroom. Jean-Rose popped her head in.

  “Remember: A reward if it turns up.” She leaned down to kiss each child on the cheek. “I’m off to the hair salon.”

  Heddy’s chest tightened with anger, watching Jean-Rose drive off in the rain. “Ruth?” She was at a loss; what would they do?

  Ruth balanced her hands atop the broom. “We might not have taken it, but we’re going to find it.”

  Heddy took the children to a matinee of The Music Man that afternoon, and since it was raining, she convinced Ruth to avoid the storm and sleep over again, so they could talk. She was trying to be excited for her dates—first with Ash, then with Sullivan—
but she was too distracted with the bracelet. Her headache centered between her eyebrows, a throbbing that wouldn’t stop. She popped two aspirin.

  Ruth came out of the bathroom, already in her nightgown. “Stop worrying. It will turn up.”

  Heddy’s brow furrowed, and she worked to relax the creases. “Do you think she’ll call the police on us?”

  “Of course not. Ted probably gave it to his girlfriend.”

  “Ted has a girlfriend?”

  “No, but probably.” Ruth laughed. “You’re a ball of nerves, aren’t you? We’re going to be okay.”

  Heddy inched her way under the sheets, not even bothering to change her clothes. She curled up, making a fist with her hand and biting her fingernails.

  “Ruth?”

  Her friend wiped the drool gathering in the corners of her mouth. “Hmm?”

  “Why do you think she blamed us? I mean, it could have been anyone.” She imagined the gardener sneaking upstairs or the lady with the fabric swatches. There were the bridge ladies, sometimes with distant relatives in tow.

  “She told us why: because we go in her room.” Ruth said.

  “But she thinks we’re capable. And why? Because we’re not society girls.”

  “If I lose this job, Mom won’t get her medicine. I never told you that. Jean-Rose gives me extra, just for that.”

  “She does?” Heddy put her hand on Ruth’s. “Ugh. I’m sorry.”

  Ruth closed her eyes, pulling the sheet over her small frame. “I need this job, Heddy.”

  As Ruth’s breathing grew steady, turning into a low snore, she realized that her friend was just as scared, she was simply putting on a brave face. That they were in this position at all angered her. Heddy knew that Jean-Rose lost the bracelet—the woman was cavalier about everything she owned—and of course, she’d blame others for her own shortcomings. Heddy tossed and turned, thinking every shift in position might bring clarity. But her thoughts kept drifting back to the bracelet. If she didn’t find it, Jean-Rose would label her a thief, and what if she told Susanne, and then Abigail Rhodes?

  She opened her journal, writing in the moonlight about the possibility of Ruth losing her job, which reminded her about her mother losing her apartment. When she was done filling an entire page, she realized that only two lines mattered. She rewrote them, larger this time, on a blank page: My plan B: Find the bracelet. Then ask Jean-Rose if she needs a nanny in the city.

  It was time to find a job for the fall.

  TWENTY-ONE

  It was dark when Heddy hung her pink shift dress on a hook on the back of Ash’s bathroom door, fastening her bikini top. He’d told her they were going out on a boat, but she hadn’t put on her bathing costume because she assumed they’d eat first. Instead, he’d packed a picnic basket to bring along, which she found incredibly romantic. She apologized for arriving an hour late, since Jean-Rose insisted that Heddy bathe the children and tuck them into bed before she left.

  Heddy finished changing, returning to the living room with Ash in his bedroom, and struggled to find a comfortable but seductive position on the couch. With her freshly shaven legs folded under her, she let her eyes explore the coffee table, where she saw a folder labeled MONTCLAIR, NJ. She unfolded her studied position, leaning forward to open the folder, spying a few yellowed clippings, each one neatly cut out, additional columns of text stapled to the back.

  “Montclair Home of Suicide Financier on the Market.” The article depicted a stately Victorian nestled into a manicured garden. A second clipping asked: “Is It Financial Suicide to Own This House?” Heddy recognized the gossip column from the New York Sun and read the first few lines:

  When Edward Green’s splendid six-bedroom home came back on the market last week, real estate tycoons from 42nd to 14th Streets were abuzz. But buyer beware: The painted lady’s $42,000 price tag—nearly triple the cost of the average home—may have helped drive Green to his 1955 suicide after Green’s Madison Investments failed to secure bids at the eleventh hour.

  Ash’s door unlatched, and she snapped the folder shut. He whistled as he stuffed two towels in a beach bag and filled the cooler with ice. Neither one of them said anything for a second or two, and the quiet made her anxious until he put his hands on her bare shoulders, massaging them.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he said. “Do you have a sweatshirt?”

  She smelled his aftershave and Colgate dental cream; he must have brushed his teeth. “Do I need one?”

  “The water can be chilly—I’ll get you something.” He emerged with a flannel collared shirt with buttons down the front. “A little big, but it’s warm.”

  The navy flannel reminded her of a blankie she’d had as a kid, and when he turned around to pack a thermos from the fridge, she raised it to her nose and inhaled, smelling Downy fabric softener.

  “Can we stop with all this mystery? What are we doing exactly?” she said.

  “We’re going night crabbing off Menemsha.” He handed Heddy a large metal flashlight, and she slid the red switch on. A thick yellow beam cast a circle of light on the wood floors.

  “We’re catching them?”

  He stuffed a second flashlight into his bag. “Maybe. I’ll bring a lobster pot.”

  “How did you know I’d be game?” She arranged her denim tote bag on her shoulder.

  “I couldn’t date a girl without a sense of adventure.”

  Menemsha, a tiny fishing village “up island,” as they called it, was twenty minutes away from Jean-Rose and Ted’s house, and the drive reminded Heddy just how large Martha’s Vineyard actually was, even if it was as third as big as nearby Cape Cod. As soon as she and Ash parked along the sandy road lining Menemsha Pond, Heddy smelled the fetid stench of rotting fish. Rows of drag fishing boats backed up to the docks, and even after seven, men, their shirts stained with sweat, were sorting through their catch. One man’s hands were bloodied from filleting a fish on the dock railing, others were hosing down their boats, washing away the seaweed and salt water, the slime and smell.

  He tickled her waist. “Sorry, it’s a bit grizzly down here.”

  “I like seeing it,” she said, because she liked everything when she was with him. “I’ve never thought much about how it all happens: the fishing, that is.”

  They came upon a squat shack built of faded gray clapboard, the white paint chipping off the trim, a simple sign over the door: BAIT. Inside, an older woman with leathery skin and snow-white hair sat behind the counter. She didn’t look up, and Heddy wondered how she took the smell, a commingle of salt air and the gaseous muck of low tide.

  “The water is calm,” the wizened woman said, reaching over to a row of keys hanging on tiny hooks behind her, picking the one with the purple toggle. “You shouldn’t have a problem. The tide is low, perfect for crabbing. Take the Kelly Anne.” She handed Ash the keys, and he bowed to her.

  “Thank you, Mary girl,” he said, which made the craggy woman snort.

  Ash took the helm of the small boat, and she stood beside him. Heddy hadn’t been on a pleasure boat yet this summer, or any summer for that matter, and she held on as the zippy vessel slammed against the surf. The boat climbed whatever crest it could find, coming down with a thud just after flying up, sending up a sprinkle of water across Heddy’s skin. She was cold as soon as they started, grateful for Ash’s shirt.

  The island looked different from out there. She could see its edges, the way the forested hills and rocky cliffs tumbled down to the sea. The houses hidden down long drives in the countryside of Chilmark, where farmland gave way to large sprawling homes, were visible; many were cedar-shingled and neatly shuttered, lush green lawns rolling like carpet to the sea. As the tiny village of Menemsha disappeared into the distance, Heddy stopped looking back and only watched what was in front of them, a wide expanse of dark blue water with a dot of green land.

  “We’re heading to the Elizabeth Islands,” Ash said over the rev of the engine, the rhythmic bah-boom of the boat ma
king it hard to hear. “Most of them are owned by some wealthy family in Boston, but you can dock at Cuttyhunk. A few hardy year-rounders live there, although its mostly summer folk, but they don’t have phones, and most of their TVs are so full of static it’s like watching snow fall.”

  She sat in the passenger seat, sea spray chilling her legs. “What do people do there?”

  “Enjoy the quiet. You can buy an ice cream, and, of course, there’s oysters.” He glanced at her for a moment, then fixed his eyes on the skinny spit of land.

  Cuttyhunk Island’s stone walls and tidy houses looked similar to the Vineyard’s, although she couldn’t see much with dusk closing in. The boat rounded a bend and was a few feet into an inlet when Ash killed the engine. He handed her a small iron anchor. “Toss this down up front, will you?”

  Heddy carried it to the tip of the boat and threw it overboard, feeling the weight of its fall. She stared into the water, a murky view of the sandy bottom. It took a moment to find her balance, the boat gently bobbing in the sea, and her footsteps echoed against the fiberglass floors as she went back to where Ash unpacked the cooler.

  “I hope you’re hungry.” He opened a bucket of fried chicken from Cronig’s, a container of potato salad. They settled onto the red leather bench at the back of the boat, eating the crispy chicken off paper plates. Sunset was an orangey glow in the sky, and the water shimmered, surrounding them with a circle of sparkling jewels.

  “Is this where you bring all the girls?” She worked to sound flirty rather than jealous.

  He laughed, scooting closer to her. “Nah, I normally come alone and cast a line, let my mind drift.”

  “I’ve never met a businessman who liked to daydream before.” She giggled, then kicked herself for sounding too childish.

  “Hey, I’m not some money-hungry Wall Street trader.” He nudged her with his elbow. “Kitty kit, you’re good at getting me to talk, but I want to know more about you, and not about your life here. Your life away from here.”