Seashell Season (27 page)

Chapter 75

E
llen and I were alone in the kitchen. She had asked me to come inside for a “private chat.” That sounded ominous, like something the evil stepmother says in one of those old fairy tales when what she really means is she's going to tell you she's throwing you out of the house and disinheriting you, but I went with her, hoping that when I could go back to the veranda, there would be more burgers ready. I'm not a pig or anything. Just that they were so good, definitely not from some ordinary old cow.

Anyway, I watched while Ellen poured a glass of wine and took a sip of it. I tried to spot any resemblance to Dad, but I couldn't see anything. Not that it matters.

“Do you want a glass?” she asked, as if the idea had suddenly occurred to her. “It's very good.”

“No, thanks.” I'm not a wine person, though I've had a few glasses in the past. And I wondered what Verity would say if she knew Ellen had offered me alcohol.

Ellen raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. “What does your father have to say about his cousin looking you up?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Nothing. I haven't told him.”

“Probably a good thing. We were never close, Alan and my part of the family.”

“Why not?” I asked.

Ellen sighed and looked all fake sympathetic. Well, maybe she really was feeling sympathetic. “Let's just say none of us could relate to the path Alan chose for himself.”

In other words, I thought, Ellen and “her” part of the family—whatever that meant—decided early on that Dad was a loser.

“Do you like it here?” Ellen asked then. “I mean, living in Yorktide. It's a pretty small town.”

I shrugged. “I've mostly lived in small towns,” I said. “It doesn't matter to me.”

“Small towns are fine,” Ellen said, “when there's a big city a short drive away.”

“I thought Marion might be here,” I said.

Ellen finished her wine before saying: “When I said that my part of the family was never close to Alan, I should have added that we were never close to his parents, either.”

I don't know what prompted me to say this, but I said, “Marion's okay. She's nice. Verity kind of looks out for her.”

“Does she? How good-hearted of her.”

Something in the way Ellen said those words made me think what she really thought was what I used to think. That Verity was nuts for being nice to the mother of the man who'd pretty much ruined her life.

A woman, one of the guests, gestured to Ellen from the door then, and Ellen went off to join her. I wandered back to the veranda. I don't really know what to make of Ellen. She seems so different from Verity and Annie. From anyone I've ever known, really. Not intimidating or nasty, just—foreign. Richard is easier for me to feel comfortable with for some reason. I don't know why. Maybe because I didn't feel so scrutinized, like I did with Ellen. She didn't actually stare at me or look me up and down. Still, I felt she was watching me very, very closely. The Little Kidnapped Girl, local celeb. Maybe she was looking for a sign of my father's criminal tendencies.

Verity told me that Ellen and Richard don't have kids. I wonder why. They can certainly afford them. Maybe they don't like kids much, like me. Well, that's not true. I don't dislike kids; it's that I've never really been around them. The Gallisons' twins are pretty cute, now that I've seen them up close. I could spend some time with them, I guess. Grace did invite me over. Anyway, asking someone why they don't have kids is one of the rudest things you can ask someone, so unless Ellen decides to tell Verity or me why she doesn't, we won't know.

Not that it matters.

But maybe I'll ask Verity why she didn't have another baby after I was taken. I think I might have a right to ask her. She is, after all, my mother.

Speaking of kids, I was the only one at the party. In fact, I think I was the only one under, like, thirty-five. That was fine. Like I said, I don't have a lot in common with the average teenager you find around here. At least, the ones I've met and, granted, that's not a lot. Anyway, not one of the guests paid me more attention than to say hello or nod and smile as they passed. That was fine by me. Maybe they didn't know who I was. Or maybe they did, and Ellen and Richard had asked them to pretend I was just some nobody.

This group was pretty much the opposite of the people Dad and I hung out with—used to hang out with—not that we were ever all that social, like I said. And you didn't have to be a rocket scientist to see that the biggest difference between Ellen and Richard's friends and our old crowd was money. They have it; we didn't. We don't. Dad and me. And money, or the lack of it, means so much. I mean, if you have money, you can afford to get your teeth fixed. Do you know how many people I used to know who were missing teeth? I mean the front ones, the ones everyone sees. From what I could tell—and there was a lot of smiling and laughing going on at this party—nobody was missing any teeth.

I wonder how much money Verity actually has in the bank. I wonder how much her house is worth.

I like Verity's house. If I lived in a house as big as the one Ellen and Richard are renting, I'd probably only get lost.

I spotted Verity then, over by the pool, standing alone, and I went to join her.
I'll skip another burger,
I thought,
and suggest we just go home.

Chapter 76

“W
ell, that wasn't too bad, was it?” I said with false brightness. In my opinion, we had stayed far too long, and I was eager to be back home in our lovely little bungalow. “We've done our duty.”

“No, it was okay. Actually, I'd see them again.”

“Really?” The word came out overloud.

Gemma shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, why not? And that pool is pretty sweet. Not that I'm a great swimmer, but I could sit in one of those lounges all day and look at it.”

I felt inordinately disappointed by Gemma's words. I'd been hoping she had seen Ellen and Richard to be as bogus and stuck-up as I had. In fact, I'd been almost sure she would share my opinion.

“So, you liked Ellen and Richard?” I asked, hoping I had jumped to a wrong conclusion and that it was only the pool Gemma had liked. It really is a lovely pool, like something you'd find at a Mediterranean villa.

“They seem okay,” she said. “I mean, they're different from anyone else I know. Why? You don't like them?”

I shrugged. “I'm not sure,” I lied. I was sure. I didn't like either of them one bit.

“He gave me money, you know.”

My hands tightened on the wheel. I was furious. “No, I didn't know. How much?”

“Fifty bucks. Cash, too.”

“And you took it.” I tried to keep any trace of bitterness out of my voice.

Gemma laughed. “Well, yeah. I mean, he said he and Ellen felt bad about never having bothered to see me when I was born, and they figured they owed me at least one birthday gift, considering all the birthdays they missed.”

Well, that was clever,
I thought. “He should have asked me if it was okay,” I said.

“Why?” Gemma asked reasonably. “Why isn't it okay that I accept a birthday present from a relative?”

That stung, but I kept my mouth shut for the moment. Gemma, after all, was just a kid, a kid who probably hadn't ever had a wad of cash handed to her. Of course she would take the money, especially if she thought there were no strings attached. I thought about the twenty dollars my father had sent to Gemma shortly after she'd come home to me. Tom's money hadn't bothered me because I wasn't in the least afraid that he was out to steal my daughter away from me. Ellen and Richard, though, were unknown quantities, their motives equally unknown to me.

“What are you going to do with the money?” I asked. I wasn't stupid enough to suggest she put it in the bank account I'd opened in her name and into which I channeled what small sums I could spare from the weekly housekeeping budget, a budget that had been heavily stretched since Gemma moved in.

“I don't know,” she said. “I'll think of something.”

I have a strong feeling that Ellen enjoys playing the role of Lady Bountiful, condescending to offer assistance to the less fortunate in her path. I wonder if she makes a habit of rescuing strays, everything from dogs to down-on-their-luck relatives. Maybe Gemma is only the latest in a long line of those favored with Ellen's attention. And how long, I wonder, will that attention last? Some people are notorious for picking up and then abandoning good causes, leaving those temporarily in the limelight in a worse condition than they had ever been before the do-gooder had shown up.

Don't I have a right to be cynical and suspicious? Especially when it's on the part of my daughter?

Chapter 77

I
have to admit that for about half a second I thought it was slightly creepy for some older man I'd never met before, who isn't even related to me by blood, to hand me two twenties and a ten. But Richard sounded sincere enough and he didn't touch me or anything, and Ellen came into the kitchen just then and she, too, said how bad they felt about not “being there” for me all these years—though how they could have been there for me when no one knew where I was, I don't know!—and that from now on they wanted to be part of my life.

I'm not dense enough to miss the signs from Verity that she's not happy about Ellen and Richard suddenly showing up. For one, she hardly said a word when we got back home from the party yesterday. I mean, all those years I was missing and she was alone, knowing nothing about what had happened to me, and not once did either Ellen or Richard call or write or send
her
gifts of cash. They never cared about her, or about my father from what I can tell, so why now decide to care about me?

That's the thing. I don't think Ellen and Richard
care
about me at all. And I don't care about that. I don't know what they want with me, but as long as they keep having us over to that enormous house with the pool and outdoor kitchen and as long as they want to keep making up for all the birthdays they missed, hey, I'll play nice.

Verity was at her studio at the college, so I took my sketchbook to the backyard and set about trying to draw the big pine tree (I really should find out what sort of pine it is), but it was rough going. I just couldn't seem to get the shape right without winding up with a sketch of a triangle. Too many images of artificial Christmas trees in my head, maybe. I know I should probably be taking lessons from someone who actually knows what she's doing. Some people teach themselves stuff like drawing or how to play the guitar, but they're probably geniuses or something. I wonder how much drawing lessons cost. I wonder if Verity would want to teach me.

Ellen and Richard, I thought, probably have enough money for drawing lessons. They probably have enough money to buy a few of Verity's biggest and most expensive sculptures. I wondered if there was a way to . . .

No. That's just not me, asking for a handout. If they want to give me—us—money or whatever, then fine. But asking is somehow—wrong. And I know Verity feels the same way. I think she might even be insulted if Ellen decided to buy one of her works. She'd suspect it was more of an act of charity than anything to do with artistic appreciation. She might be right, but in my opinion, she'd be crazy not to sell and take the money!

I heard the sound of a squeaky hinge and looked up to see Grace coming out the back door of her house, twins in tow. The Gallisons have one of those chunky plastic swing sets and a sandbox and a jungle gym in their yard, and the kids dashed right for them. Well, toddlers don't really dash. They kind of waddle, and when they fall down, it's more like their legs just buckle. Luckily, they don't have far to fall. Anyway, I got up from my seat and, leaving the sketchbook behind, went over to say hi to the neighbors.

Chapter 78

D
avid was right on time. I thought: Alan is almost never on time. I opened the door to find him holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

“Hi, Marni,” he said. “These are for you. I hope you're not allergic.”

I shook my head. “No allergies,” I said. “And you can call me Gemma.” Frankly? I'm tired of clinging to that old name, the one I never liked all that much anyway. That's why I introduced myself to the Gallisons as Gemma and why I told Ellen and Richard to call me Gemma. Now, let's see if I can get Cathy to switch over.

David came inside and followed me to the kitchen. “Something smells great,” he said. “What's on the menu?”

Verity smiled at us both. I wondered if she and David were going to kiss, and when they didn't, I wondered if it was because of me.
Really,
I thought,
all this old-fashioned discretion has got to stop.

“Bo ssäm,” Verity said. “It's a Korean version of pulled pork.”

David put the bottle of wine he'd brought onto the counter and got the corkscrew from its place in the silverware drawer. Of course he's been to Verity's house before and maybe a lot of times. I went in search of a vase in the living room and couldn't find the one Verity uses most often. I couldn't remember where she kept it and, thinking of David, who probably knew exactly where it was, I felt a little bit like a third wheel for about half a minute, but then I remembered where the vase was stored (behind some art books in the bookcase), and it was all right.

We sat down to dinner, Verity and I in our usual seats across from each other, and David between us.

“I hear you met your father's cousin on Saturday,” David said to me.

“I told David they'd swooped into town,” Verity explained.

Swooped?

“Yeah,” I said. “They're renting a house for the rest of the summer.”

“Nice house?”

“Big. I counted four bathrooms. There could be more.”

“Kind of excessive for two people,” Verity said.

David shrugged. “Unless they plan on having a lot of overnight guests.”

Verity said nothing to that and the conversation—what there had been of it—about Ellen and Richard was over.

The food was great, as usual. I don't know where Verity learned to cook, but I'm thinking I should get off my lazy butt and maybe start paying attention to what she does in the kitchen. If I'm going to wind up living with Dad again someday, I'm going to have to take over the cooking, because I'm not going back to eating the boring stuff out of a can that he makes.

And someday I'll be living on my own. I should probably learn to cook for myself, too.

“Do you have kids?” I asked David, in my usual abrupt way.

David finished chewing a mouthful of kimchi (it's
so
hot!) and said, “Nope.”

Note that I did not ask him why he didn't have kids. “Verity says you were married before.”

“I was. And she dumped me for one of my colleagues. Let me tell you, it was not a good experience.”

“Ow. Do you hate her now?”

“Gemma . . . ”

“No, it's okay,” David told Verity. “No, I don't hate her. I'm not a big fan of hate. Too tiring. It'll be fine if I never see or hear from her again, though. And since we didn't have kids, there's really no reason she should contact me or vice versa.”

And I thought about how Dad and Verity were always going to be tied together in some way because of me. And for the first time I wondered if Verity resented me for that. I think that if I were in her situation, I might resent the kid who kept me bound to a wacko. But then I thought:
No. Verity's not the type. She's nicer than I am.

For dessert we had ice cream with fresh blueberries, and by eight thirty David had gone. He said he had an early morning appointment with his chiropractor. It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that Verity spend the night at his place because it would be fine by me and they must be going crazy not being together, but I kept my mouth shut.

I like David. He doesn't bullshit the way so many people do. I can see why he likes Verity. She doesn't bullshit either. At least, not as far as I can tell, and believe me, I've been looking for evidence. I spent the first seventeen years of my life living with a liar and a cheat and a thief. I have no intention of letting myself be fooled again.

When Verity came back from walking David to his car, I offered to help clean up, which is not something I usually do. Well, it's not something I've
ever
done.

“Thanks,” she said. “I'd appreciate that.”

I didn't want to get into a big touchy-feely discussion about her and David, but I figured I had to say something, so I said, “He can really eat.”

Verity laughed. “Then you two should get along.”

I laughed too and stuck a plate in the dishwasher. “Yeah.”