Summer's Child (17 page)

R
ORY INCREASED THE TENSION ON HIS EXERCISE BIKE AND
glanced next to him, where Zack was pedaling furiously while reading the latest copy of
Sports Illustrated
. He was certain Zack had set his tension even higher than Rory’s, yet he was still pedaling faster and barely working up a sweat. Rory could probably work just as hard, he tried to convince himself, but what was the point, really? This easy pace was fine. He planned to take Daria’s advice about talking with Zack while involved in an activity, but he knew he wouldn’t have the wind for a conversation unless he kept the tension low.

He was getting a little annoyed with himself about this new competitive streak he felt with Zack. He hoped that, at the age of thirty-six, he was not already slipping into a midlife crisis.

“Can you get your nose out of that magazine long enough to talk?” Rory asked.

Zack glanced over at him. “I’m working out,” he said.

“But you’ll only know you’re at the proper level of exertion if you can carry on a conversation,” Rory said.

“That’s an old theory, Dad,” Zack said.

It was? “Nevertheless,” Rory countered, “I’d like to talk with you about Kara.”

“What about her?” Zack shot him a wary look, and with good reason, Rory thought.

“Well, not about Kara specifically. But about you and Kara together. You and any girl.” He was stumbling a bit on this.

Zack rolled his eyes. “Is this some kind of sex talk?” he asked.

Rory remembered when Zack was seven or eight and wanted to know how babies were created. He’d embraced the opportunity to talk with his son on the subject, and he’d been good at it, too, if he did say so himself. But that had been a piece of cake compared to this.

“Well, I just think it’s time we had a man-to-man talk,” Rory said.

“I have a feeling this isn’t going to be man-to-man,” Zack said. He was standing up on the pedals, pumping hard. “More like man-to-boy.”

“Well, enough of the preamble,” Rory said. “I’m just concerned that you and Kara are getting a little too…close. I have nothing against her. I like her.” Rory still didn’t know her well enough to know if he liked her or not. Kara was a closed book, as far as he could tell. “I just wanted to…talk with you a bit about it. I mean, I was your age once, and I know the temptation to go too far.”

“You were fifteen in the Middle Ages,” Zack said. “Things are different now.”

“Oh, they’re not as different as you think. Testosterone hasn’t changed. What it can do to good judgment hasn’t changed.”

“Why don’t you just say it and get it over with?” Zack asked. “Don’t have sex. That’s what you’re getting at. I hear you. You’ve done the counseling thing. Thanks for the talk.” He was speaking loudly. A young woman on the bike next to his glanced in their direction before returning her attention to the book she was reading.

“No, that’s not all I want to say,” Rory lowered his voice.
It certainly was his major point, but he knew it was not enough. Like spitting in the wind. He had indeed been fifteen once. “I just want to be sure that if you do end up…having sex, that you use protection.”

“I know all about that, Dad.”

“Well, you can know all about it, and still not use it,” Rory argued. “Think about Shelly. She was an unwanted baby, left to die on the beach. Her mother was probably a kid Kara’s age. If that boy had used protection, that girl wouldn’t have gotten pregnant, and the baby wouldn’t have been abandoned.”

“So, you want me and Kara to break up.”

Rory frowned. “No, that’s not what I’m saying at all.” It took him a moment to realize that Zack was being intentionally obtuse. “I think you know what I’m saying,” he said.

“You and Grace are probably doing it every time I leave the cottage,” Zack provoked him.

“For your information, Grace and I have barely held hands,” he said, as though that noble restraint was his choice. “And besides, Grace and I are adults.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Zack asked.

“You know the answer to that,” Rory said.

Zack stopped pedaling. He lifted the towel from his neck and mopped his face with it. “Look, Dad. You dragged me to stupid North Carolina and I’m just trying to make the best of it, okay?” He got off the bike. “I’m going over to the cardio-kickboxing class. I can walk home. You don’t have to wait for me.”

Rory watched him walk away. Cardio-kickboxing. Zack had gone to the one place in the gym where Rory could never hope to follow him. And he certainly knew it.

After leaving the gym, Rory drove to the cul-de-sac and parked his car in Poll-Rory’s driveway, but didn’t go inside. Linda’s big female golden retriever, Melissa, was waiting for
him on his front steps, and he decided to take that as a sign. It was time he picked Linda’s brain about the summer of ’77.

He walked down the cul-de-sac to the cottage nearest the beach road, Melissa at his side. The dog ran up the porch steps ahead of him, and Rory knocked on the screen door, instantly setting off a cacophony of barking from inside the cottage.

In a moment, a woman with chin-length red hair came to the door. A mass of gold fur swirled around her legs. Four dogs, at least. The woman looked at him just for a second before breaking into a smile.

“Hello, Rory Taylor,” she said.

“Hi…Jackie, is it?”

“That’s right.” She opened the door just enough to reach out and shake his hand, then glanced down at Melissa, who hadn’t budged from his side. “I heard Melissa’s become your little groupie,” she said. “She’s our escape artist, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve been enjoying her company,” he said, scratching the top of Melissa’s head.

“Are you looking for Linda?” Jackie asked.

“If she’s not busy.”

“She’s been expecting you to stop by. I guess you’ve been talking to people who were here back when Shelly Cato was found, huh?”

“I’ll talk to anybody who’s willing to talk to me,” he said.

“Stay there a second.” Jackie disappeared inside the cottage, and in a moment Linda came onto the porch, three bottles of beer clasped between her hands and four dogs at her heels.

“Hey, Rory!” She offered him a broad, white grin. “Let’s go up on the deck.”

He was momentarily taken aback by the sheer force of her reception, although her greeting the day he’d met her on the beach had been equally as exuberant. The quiet, painfully shy girl from years ago no longer appeared to exist.

He followed Jackie and Linda and their large, blond retrievers up the winding wooden stairway to the small deck. Linda handed him one of the beers and motioned for him to sit on the lounge chair. The dogs sniffed and wagged around him, and Melissa rested her head on his thigh.

“So.” Linda leaned forward, elbows on knees, the beer in her right hand. “You’re trying to find out who deserted Shelly on the beach.”

“That’s right,” Rory said. “I know it was a long time ago, but I thought I would see what you remembered.”

“I’ve tried to forget those years, actually,” Linda said, still smiling. “They were kind of rough for me.”

He nodded his understanding. He had gay friends and knew that in many cases, their adolescent years had not been easy. “Well, you seem great now,” he said. “What kind of work are you doing?”

“Besides raising too many dogs? Teaching. Jackie and I both teach at Duke.”

“I’m math,” Jackie said. “Linda’s literature.”

Rory grimaced at the combination. “And you two get along?” he asked.

“Most of the time.” Linda laughed.

“So,” Jackie said, crossing one leg over the other, “tell me what Linda was like when she was a kid.”

Linda laughed again. “We’re not talking about
me
, Jack. We’re talking about all those rowdy kids who used to live on the cul-de-sac.”

“Rowdy?” Rory asked. “I didn’t think they were anything unusual.”

“That’s because you were one of them,” Linda said. “I was sitting on the sidelines, watching the world go by.”

“Then you’re probably a good one to talk to,” Rory said. “Maybe you can be more objective than anyone else.”

“I bet it was no one we knew,” Linda said. “I mean, I can certainly come up with some ideas for who it might have been, but the truth is, it was summertime and Kill Devil Hills was hoppin’. It could easily have been someone just down for the week. Or even the day.”

“That’s true,” Rory said. “But I’m going to focus on the cul-de-sac for now. I’ll branch out from there.”

“Well, there was always Cindy Trump.” Linda turned to Jackie. “They called her Cindy Tramp.”

“Ah,” Jackie said.

“She was unbelievable, wasn’t she?” Linda asked Rory. “Honest to God. Those boobs. I remember she got them when she was, like, ten, or something. And she wore this bathing suit, this one-piece—she couldn’t have been more than twelve—and when it got wet, it became sort of see-through. You could see her pubic hair through it, which really blew me away back then, ‘cause I was only about nine and barely knew what I was looking at. You could see her nipples and everything.”

Rory had to laugh. He could feel the heat of the memory on the back of his neck. “I’d forgotten about that bathing suit, although I can picture it now that you mention it. It was pink, right?”

“Lavender, I think. Close enough.”

“And I remember the bathing suits she wore later on.”

“God, yes.” Linda groaned, and he knew that she’d had the same visceral reaction to Cindy and her voluptuous body that he’d had. “She’d wear these crocheted bikinis,” Linda said to Jackie. “She was always real tan and she’d go prancing around on the beach leaving males lusting in her wake. And there I was, drooling from behind my book.”

“I never knew, Linda,” Rory said, shaking his head. “Never knew that you and I had so much in common back then.”

Linda laughed.

“Chloe was pretty hot back then, too,” Linda said. “She was…sultry, with that long thick hair and those eyelashes.”

“
Sister
Chloe?” Jackie asked.

“Oh, yes,” Linda said. “Chloe and her cousin, Ellen. You know Ellen, who comes down every once in a while with her husband? The heavyset woman?”

Jackie nodded.

“Yes, Chloe was hot,” Rory agreed, “but she was always skinny as a rail. Except for….” He let his voice trail off. It felt odd to discuss Chloe’s body with women, and odder still to discuss the body of a nun.

“I know what you mean.” Linda finished the thought for him with a chuckle.

“Well, it sounds to me,” Jackie said, “that it couldn’t have been this Cindy Tramp person if she was always parading around in a bikini. How would she hide her pregnancy?”

“But that’s the thing,” Linda said. “Daria found Shelly right at the beginning of the summer, and the week before had been totally shitty weather. So nobody was parading around in any kind of bathing suit. We were all bundled up that week.” Suddenly, she leaned toward Rory, a serious expression on her face. “Rory,” she said, “I’m afraid to tell you who I really think Shelly’s mother was.”

He frowned. “Why?” he asked. “Who?”

“I always thought it was Polly.” There was an apology in her voice.

“Who was Polly?” Jackie asked.

Rory sat back in his chair, sinking his fingers into the fur on Melissa’s neck. “My sister,” he said. Then to Linda, “Why would you think that?”

“It just seemed logical to me,” Linda said. “I mean, hadn’t you ever considered it?”

“No,” he said vehemently, “not at all.” He looked at Jackie. “My sister had Down’s syndrome.”

“And that’s just it,” Linda said. “It would have been easy for someone to take advantage of Polly, and if she’d gotten pregnant, she might not have had any idea what was happening to her body. She might not have known any better than to try to get rid of the baby.”

Rory smiled tolerantly. “Even Polly would have known how cruel and inhumane that would be,” he said. It disturbed him that Linda would think otherwise.

“Well,” Linda said, sitting back in her chair. “I can assure you it
wasn’t
me. And if it wasn’t Polly, and if it
was
someone on the cul-de-sac, then you’d better try to track down Cindy Trump.”

F
ROM THE LIVING-ROOM WINDOW IN HER SMALL APARTMENT
above the garage, Grace could see her house. It was after ten in the morning; surely Eddie had gone to the café by now. She was avoiding her husband to the best of her ability. She had to see him when she went into work, of course, but even there, she limited conversation to those words that had to be said to keep the café and shop running smoothly.

She descended the outside apartment stairs and entered the house by the back door. Since moving above the garage, she only went into the house when she knew Eddie wouldn’t be there, and the house always seemed too still and empty to her. Quiet as a tomb. Today, she had only one quick task to do there, and then she would head up to Kill Devil Hills.

She went upstairs and opened the door to the room she had been avoiding for months. Pamela’s room. It gave her a jolt to see the bare mattress on the bed, the walls stripped of posters and photographs. Eddie must have cleaned out the room, and it angered her that he had not asked her permission. Had he cleaned out her closet, too?

She walked quickly across the room to the closet and slid open one of the doors. Pamela’s clothes were indeed gone, but there were a few boxes of items left on the closet shelf, along
with the large glass jar containing the shell collection. Grace reached up to pull the jar into her arms. Its lid was dusty, and she cleaned it off with a swipe of her hand as she walked out into the hallway. Shutting the door behind her, she realized she’d been holding her breath, and she stood still for a moment, trying to breathe normally again.

She was downstairs in the living room, nearly to the front door, when she was startled by the deep, very familiar voice of her husband.

“What are you doing with Pam’s shell collection?” Eddie asked.

She nearly dropped the jar as she turned to face him. “How come you’re not at work?” she asked.

“Sally opened for me,” Eddie said, referring to one of the waitresses. “And I think I’m going to have to hire someone else, too. You’ve been…not too reliable recently.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“Where have you been lately, Grace?” he asked. “Why haven’t you been at the café? I don’t mind doing most of the work, but it would help if you could at least let me know when you’re going to be there.”

“I had a number of doctors’ appointments,” Grace lied, and immediately regretted it. A look of worry crossed Eddie’s face as he took a step closer to her, but he seemed to know better than to touch her.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently, and her heart betrayed her by filling with love for him. He looked very tired. New gray streaks marbled his dark hair, and there were bags beneath his blue eyes. These past few months had been rough for him, too.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to shake off the feelings of warmth for him. “I’ll be back at the café later this afternoon.” With that, she clutched the jar closer to her chest and left the
house, wondering if he’d noticed she was wearing the short seersucker robe she always wore over her bathing suit. She hardly looked as though she was on her way to a doctor’s appointment.

She found Rory on the beach by the cul-de-sac.

“Hi!” he said when she set her beach chair in the sand next to his.

He looked pleased to see her, and that pleasure tugged at her guilt. She was not being very kind to the men in her life.

“Hello.” She took off her robe, sat down and pulled a tube of sunscreen from her beach bag. “How are you?”

“Better, now.” Rory said. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“Well, I had some time before I have to go in to work, so I thought I’d come up here for a while.”

“Here.” He leaned over to reach for the sunscreen. “Let me put that on your back for you.”

She held the tube away from him. “I can do it,” she said. She squeezed some of the lotion onto her hand and tried to transfer it to her back.

Rory laughed at her contortions. “Come on, don’t be shy.” He reached for the tube again, and this time she handed it to him. She leaned forward in her chair as he massaged the lotion into her back and shoulders.

This is a mistake
, she thought. How should she handle things with Rory? She didn’t want to lead him on, yet she knew of no other way to be able to spend time so close to Shelly. She knew she was giving him the wrong impression. He thought she was repeatedly driving round trip between Rodanthe and Kill Devil Hills just to see him.

She was relieved when he stopped rubbing her shoulders and was no longer touching her. She was not unaware of his attractiveness, but no man—not Rory, not her husband—
could pique her interest these days. “Thanks,” she said, leaning back in her chair.

She chatted with him about the weather and a little about some attempted conversation he’d had the day before with Zack. Something about sex; she didn’t want to get into
that
. She hoped he would mention Shelly, trying to wait an appropriate amount of time before delving into her favorite topic herself. Her gaze was on those people walking along the beach, hoping to see the tall, young, blond woman who was capturing her heart.

When a few minutes of silence had passed between them and it was apparent he was not going to mention Shelly, she could stand it no longer.

“Oh, before I forget,” she said, forcing her voice to sound casual, “I have something for Shelly in my car.”

“She’s at work today,” Rory said. “But I can give it to her, if you like.”

“At work? You mean at the church?” Her heart sank at the realization that she had come all the way down here and Shelly was not even at the Sea Shanty.

“Right. St. Esther’s.” Rory shaded his eyes to look at her. “What do you have for her?”

“Oh, just an old jar of shells. It’s been collecting dust at my house for ages, and I thought she might be able to put it to good use.”

“I’m sure she will,” Rory said. “Don’t forget to leave it with me before you go.”

“I might as well drop it off at St. Esther’s myself,” Grace said. “I have to go right past there on my way home.”

Now that she knew Shelly was not around, she was anxious to get back on the road. But it would look odd to leave this soon, and besides, Rory still wanted to talk.

“I spoke with one of the neighbors today,” he said. “A
woman who was here when Shelly was found. She was one of those kids who was very shy and quiet and faded into the woodwork, but I think it made her a keen observer of everything that was going on around her.”

“And…so, what did she observe?” Grace held her breath, waiting for his answer.

“Oh, she’s really playing a guessing game about who might have left Shelly on the beach. Same as everyone else. Only…” His voice trailed off.

“Only what?”

“She said she always thought it was my sister. My sister, Polly. She had Down’s syndrome and was fifteen at the time Shelly was found. I think Linda’s out of her mind, of course, but…the thought is still grating on me.”

“Is there any chance she could be right?” Grace asked.

“No, no way.” Rory shuddered. “At least I hope there was no way. Surely my mother would have known. But then…I’m starting to think crazy things. Like what if it
had
been Polly? And what if my mother knew and kept quiet about it to protect her? My mother was very protective of Polly, and I don’t think that would’ve been totally out of the question.”

Grace felt sorry for him. He was torturing himself with this, and she wanted to rescue him. “Yes, but if it had been Polly, don’t you think you would have known something was going on with her? You lived in the same house.”

“You’re right,” he said. “It’s just that Linda planted that seed in my mind and it’s been eating away at me ever since.”

Grace looked down at her pale legs. “Well, as usual, I’m starting to burn,” she said, although her legs looked just as white as they had when she arrived. “I’d better head back to Rodanthe.”

“We can go in the cottage for a while,” Rory suggested. “Or we can go somewhere for a drink or a cup of coffee.”

She turned away from the hope in his eyes. “No, I can’t, really. I just came down here for a little break, but I’d better get back to work.”

Rory stood up and folded her chair for her. “You must love driving,” he said, alluding to all the time she was spending in the car for a mere half hour on the beach. Especially when she had a beach a few blocks from her own home. He had to think she was either madly in love with him…or simply mad.

“I don’t mind,” she said.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to give your shells to Shelly for you?” Rory asked.

“No,” she said. “If I leave now, I’ll have time to stop at the church.”

Grace had never been to St. Esther’s and was not certain if she should go into the church itself or the small building beside it. She opted for the building, and once inside, found herself in a wide, woodsy-smelling corridor. A man stepped into the hallway from one of the offices and walked toward her.

“Hello,” he said. He was dressed in a short-sleeved, blue plaid shirt and khaki pants, and he was sandy-haired and handsome. He eyed the jar of shells in her arms, then looked at her quizzically.

“I’m looking for Shelly Cato,” she said.

He motioned toward one of the wooden benches against the wall. “Have a seat,” he said. “I’m Father Macy. I’ll find her for you. I think she’s working in Father Wayne’s office right now.”

“Thank you.” Grace took a seat, the heavy jar on her lap, and watched the priest walk down the hall and disappear into one of the rooms.

In a moment, Shelly stepped into the hallway from the
same room. She smiled as she walked toward Grace, a small look of confusion on her face. “Hi, Grace,” she said.

Grace stood up. Her heart did a dance in her chest, as it had every time she laid eyes on this young woman. “Rory said you were here, so I hope you don’t mind that I stopped by,” she said. She held out the jar in front of her. “I have this collection of shells that’s been lying around my house forever, and I thought, rather than throwing them out, I’d see if you might be able to use any of them.”

“Thanks.” Shelly took the jar from her arms. She tilted her head to discern what might be behind the glass. “There’s probably some in here I can use,” she said.

Grace did not want to leave, but there seemed to be little else to say. Her throat began to tighten and ache. “Okay, then,” she said. “I’ll probably see you in the cul-de-sac next time I come up to see Rory.”

“Okay,” Shelly said. “Bye.”

“Bye.” Grace turned to leave, but Shelly stopped her.

“Grace?” she asked. “Are you and Rory just friends?”

“Oh. Yes, Shelly. We’re just friends.”

Shelly’s smile broadened. “Good,” she said. “Thanks for the shells.”

Back in her car, Grace had to force herself to drive out of the church parking lot and away from Shelly. She was going to have to be very careful. Her heart was going to give her away if she didn’t keep her emotions in check. She had not expected things to play out this way when she’d first gone to Kill Devil Hills. She’d only wanted to find out how much Rory had learned about the discovery of the newborn. She had not known then that the baby had lived.

Poor Rory was so far off the mark with his investigation. She was torn between being glad of that fact and wishing he knew about the nurse. Why had no one seen the nurse? She
would love to have a word or two with that woman, although she wasn’t at all certain she could control her actions if she were ever to find her. She almost felt sorry for Rory that he was barking so tenaciously up the wrong tree, but she would never help him. As a matter of fact, she would have to do all she could to lead him astray.