Firefly Beach (36 page)

Caroline was out of breath. She had spent the evening climbing Mount Serendipity, taking the north trail, the one that ran almost straight up the granite ravine. The night was black. It favored the hunted. The stars had come down to strike the crest. From the ridge she had looked southeast and seen the
Meteor
’s lights shining like stars in the Sound. Staring, she had wondered how much longer Joe would be there.

She had seen an owl flying low through the pines, starlight on its chestnut wings. Honeysuckle grew along the trail, and she now climbed down, breathing its sweet scent of summer. The trail forked halfway down. The wide path went straight to Black Hall Center. Melancholy without knowing exactly why, Caroline took the other, narrower one, that curved left toward the Ibis River.

Almost immediately Caroline saw the fox.

He was hunting along an old stone wall, skulking so close to the ground, she thought at first he was a shadow. His coat was glossy red, the tip of his tail pure white. Caroline stopped dead. She watched him stalk a chipmunk. He crept slowly, stone by stone. His ruff stood on end, his snout pointed straight at the prey. But then he heard Caroline.

They faced each other. Caroline’s heart pounded. He looked so small, the size of a miniature collie. He bared his teeth. Lunging once toward Caroline, he flicked his tail and then sprang over the wall. Caroline wasn’t afraid. She thought the fox was beautiful. Seeing wild animals up close was one of the best parts of hiking, and she tried to imagine how she had ever killed them. It was never a part of her personality. Yet she could recall perfectly the smell of gunsmoke, the feeling of her eyelashes against the sight.

At home, Caroline stood in her kitchen, breathing hard. She drank a glass of cool water, trying to calm down. Haunted by the memory, by the spirit of that fox, she stared out the window.

She wore khaki shorts and a long-sleeved blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders. Kicking off her hiking shoes, she peeled off her clothes. She was thinking of how good the shower would feel, how she would make the water really hot, when the phone rang. Naked in her bedroom, she answered it.

“Hello?” she said.

“Caroline. It’s Joe.”

She hadn’t expected to hear his voice. She held the phone in her hand but couldn’t speak.

“Are you there?” he asked.

“Hi,” she said.

“How’s your sister?”

“I don’t know,” Caroline said. She hadn’t seen Skye since the altercation on the beach.

“I hated to leave her the other night, and I’m sorry about what happened at your ball. I didn’t mean to ruin it—”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “I should have told my mother you’d be there. Somehow I had thought I could keep you two apart.”

The phone line crackled, and she imagined the static was normal for a call coming from out at sea.

“Our families. That’s partly why I’m calling,” he said. “I’d like to see Firefly Hill.”

“Yes,” Caroline said, understanding why that would be important to him.

“Do you think it would be possible? I know your mother doesn’t want me there, and I don’t blame her. But I want to visit—” he began, then stopped himself.

“I can arrange it,” Caroline said. Did this mean he was getting ready to leave the area? “When would you like to go there?

“Soon,” he said. “Tomorrow we’re going to bring up the main chest. That should take all day. But once we get it, we’ll be done. Anytime after that.”

“How about Wednesday?” she asked quietly.

“Wednesday would be fine.”

They arranged to meet at her place, and Caroline would drive him over to Firefly Hill. She would make sure her mother was out, so there wouldn’t be any dramatic confrontations.

“Hey, Caroline—” he said all in a rush.

“Yes?”

The line was silent except for the static. It buzzed for a moment, neither one of them saying anything.

“Thanks,” he said finally. Then he hung up.

Two nights later, Simon didn’t even bother to sneak in. The old Porsche came up the driveway with the stereo playing so loud, it woke Skye out of a sound sleep. Entering the back way, he let the door slam behind him. He opened the refrigerator, poured himself a glass of something. When he was ready, he tromped upstairs.

When he entered their room, he had the good manners to move a little more quietly. Not suspecting Skye was wide awake, he stood at the window for a moment, drinking wine as he surveyed the moon on the water. Probably he was thinking of the painting he would do. He would call it
Nocturne #62
—or whatever number he was up to—because he called all his paintings
Nocturne
-something. He was probably setting a price for it in his mind.

He unbuttoned his shirt, then ran his hand over his bare chest. Half turning from the window, he started unzipping his jeans. He was lost in thought. He sipped his wine. His face, illuminated by moonlight, was contemplative. Maybe he was thinking of how famous he would be. Or maybe he was thinking about the waitress he had just left.

“Did you have fun?” Skye asked from her spot in the bed, making him jump.

“Oh, you’re awake?” Simon asked.

“Yes.”

“Usually you’re not.”

That stung. Skye knew he meant that usually she was passed out from drinking too much. But she had not had anything to drink that night. She was shaking a little, her hands trembling under the covers. Her body was detoxing, and it wasn’t easy. She had a dry mouth. A headache. But it was worth it. She wanted to pay attention. She wanted to see things—everything—even her husband coming home late from his tryst. Skye was tired of hiding.

“I’m awake now,” she said quietly.

“Yeah. Well.”

“Where were you?”

“What am I supposed to do? Give you an account of every move I make? If you wanted that sort of husband, you should have married Peter.”

“I realize that now,” Skye said, “but I want to know anyway. Where were you?”

“In my studio. Painting in the barn.”

“Those aren’t your painting clothes,” Skye said.

“How would you know?” Simon asked, laughing. “They were right about the rehab, Skye. You do have a problem. You’re too drunk most of the time to notice what the hell I wear to paint.”

“I’m not drunk tonight,” Skye said calmly.

“Whatever,” Simon said.

“I want a divorce,” Skye said.

That silenced him. He finished undressing. He drank a little more of his wine. She imagined that he might be wondering how he could continue to have it both ways: He wanted Skye and the comfort of her money and the prestige of her name, and he also wanted to go to bed with anyone else he desired.

Simon stood naked in the moonlight. He was tall and thin, and the blue light made his body look wet. Again he sipped his wine, stroked his chest. He started coming toward Skye. He sat on the edge of the bed, offered her a drink from his glass. She shook her head. Placing it on the table, he reached under the covers.

He slid his hands up under her nightgown. He brushed her skin, caressed her breasts. Skye hadn’t been touched that way for so long. She bit her lip and arched her back. He kissed her neck, his tongue darting out to taste her skin. It felt so good, Skye thought she would moan. But she didn’t.

“Um, Simon?” she said.

“Yeah?” He kept licking and sucking her neck, touching her hips and belly with his warm hands.

“Get out of my bed.”

“You know you don’t mean that,” he growled.

“Get out of my bed,” she said again. “Get your sleazy clothes off my floor, and get out of here now. Do you really think I want you to touch me after you’ve been with another woman? Didn’t you hear me before? I want a divorce.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” he said. “You can’t be serious.” He sat up straight, staring down at her.

“I’m serious,” Skye said, her throat aching.

He yanked himself off the bed. He tore into his clothes, slamming around the room. He was swearing, hate on his tongue. He wasn’t getting his own way with her. He never would again. Somehow the courage Skye had found on the beach with Caroline and Clea was following her into the rest of her life. She was putting an end to anything that hurt her.

Simon left the room. Skye heard his boots on the stairs, and then she heard the door slam behind him as he walked out of the house. Trembling, Skye reached for the telephone by her bed.

It was five in the morning on Wednesday—nearly dawn—but she dialed Caroline’s number anyway. That’s the way it was between them: Anywhere, anytime Skye needed her, Caroline would be there. They hadn’t spoken since their fight on the beach, but Skye didn’t care. She had to reconnect with her sister. Trying to hold the receiver steady she heard Caroline’s sleepy voice answer.

“It’s me,” Skye said.

“Are you okay?” Caroline asked, worry immediately in her voice.

“I’m fine,” Skye said. “Caroline, I’m so sorry to call you so early.”

“I’m glad you did,” Caroline said.

“I just asked Simon to leave,” Skye said. “It just happened, and I wanted to tell you. Can you believe it? I told him I want a divorce. I’m just so sick of it.”

“Oh, Skye,” Caroline said. “I’m glad.”

“I just want to get better,” Skye said. As she spoke, she felt her voice getting hoarser. She knew that what she was saying was so true, but so hard. Getting better: It should be the easiest thing in the world, but at five in the morning, trembling and desiring a drink to block it all out, to obliterate the pain, she had never imagined anything harder.

“I want you to get better,” Caroline whispered.

“I haven’t had a drink all day,” Skye said.

“I’m so proud of you,” Caroline said. And Skye remembered all the other times Caroline had been proud of her: At her spring concerts, her school plays, when she was six and did the best cartwheel in first grade, when she was twelve and made her first sculpture, when she went to college, when she moved to Rome, when she had her first one-woman show in New York.

Caroline had always been there, and Caroline had always been proud. Skye gripped the receiver harder to quell the trembling in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” Skye said. “About the things I said on the beach.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Caroline said. “It kills me to admit you have a point.”

“You mean…you’re sorry?”

“Did I say that?” Caroline asked, gentle laughter in her voice.

“I’m lucky to have you,” Skye said.

“Took the words out of my mouth,” Caroline said. “I’m lucky to have you too.”

“I’m going to try to sleep now.”

“Do you want me to come over?” Caroline asked. “Do you need me to sit with you?”

“No,” Skye said, hanging on. She knew this would pass. She knew it would.

“Are you sure?” Caroline asked. “I’ll just be with you if you like. We can walk down to the beach and maybe go for a swim.” But even as the words came out sounding sure and positive, Skye heard her stop. She was doing it again, trying to make everything better when Skye had to do it herself.

Skye laughed, and this time Caroline really laughed back.

“That’s okay,” Skye said. “I’m fine by myself.”

“I know.”

“Anyway…” Skye trailed off, tired now. “Everything will be okay, just as long as you…”

“As long as I what?” Caroline asked.

“Love me,” Skye whispered.

“That’s the easy part,” Caroline whispered back.