Table for five (22 page)

“You just said he drowned.”

She nodded. “I was right next to him in the bathtub when it happened.”

“Jesus,” he said again. “So you were a kid, right?”

“Three years old.”

“And your brother…?”

“He never saw his first birthday.” All her life, Lily had
tried to recapture that night. She could still feel herself deep in the fluffy softness of Mr. Bubble, but she had never been able to remember Evan beside her. She sometimes wondered if, without her mother’s reminders, she would recall the incident at all.

She scarcely remembered Evan, either. Occasional flashes and flickers of memory, nothing more. A glint of light upon a smooth baby cheek, that was all. The sound of a soft cry in the night. When she looked at old family photos, she saw them together, and judging by those photos, she adored her brother.

Lily sometimes wondered what Evan would be like if he’d survived. She found herself studying men his age, trying to imagine her brother all grown up. Would he be tall and substantial like Violet, or small and slight like Lily? Would he be gregarious, successful, emotional, reserved? She couldn’t even begin to imagine how different her own life would be, had he survived. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so cautious and reserved. She might trust herself to fall in love, make a family, be a mother.

The gathering darkness had the closed-in feel of a confessional. She’d been raised Catholic but had never gained absolution no matter how many times she recited the Act of Contrition. “I always thought I should remember such a huge disaster,” she told Sean. “How can I not remember it? How is it that my brother, my own flesh and blood, slipped underwater and drowned with me right next to him? How did I fail to notice?” A thousand times, she had asked herself why she hadn’t reached out and grabbed his wet, slippery arm to pull him to safety.

“You were three years old, that’s how,” Sean stated. “A baby. The question I have is, where were your parents?”

“There was some emergency with Violet, and my mother stepped out for one minute,” Lily said. “Three, tops.” She
braided her fingers together. “Sometimes I think what came after was even worse. My mother was investigated for neglect, and Violet and I were sent to a foster home for a time, though I have no memory of that, either. When we came home, everything was different. We were a family who forgot how to be happy.” She shivered, although the night was balmy with the promise of summer. “So that’s it. To this day I have no idea exactly what happened, but my mother was right about one thing. I was old enough to have saved him.”

Lily knew her loss governed everything. The fact that a life had slipped away in her presence had defined her and affected every choice she made. She had never forgiven herself. How could she? Because of the past, she forbade herself to get attached to people. She remained childless, translating her yearning for a child into teaching.

“With all due respect to your mother, she fed you a line of crap, I suppose to relieve her own sense of guilt,” Sean said. “I’m sorry, Lily. For your whole family, but especially for you.”

They were quiet together, and for no particular reason, she felt oddly comforted. In grief counseling, they spoke of good days and bad ones. Lily didn’t really have those. She had good moments and bad ones, around the clock. This particular moment was a good one. She felt curiously light and warm.

“Would you like to have a glass of wine?” she asked him.

“No,” he said, then grinned at her thoroughly discomfited expression. “I’d like to have a beer. However, I do have a Fetzer merlot—all organic—you might like.”

“Yes,” she said, ducking her head. “I might.”

He went and fixed the drinks, handing her the glass of wine. They went outside to sit on the back steps and watch the moon rise. Lily tasted the wine, watching him over the rim of the glass. He ought to be in a beer commercial, she thought. A beer commercial aimed at women. No woman in America
could resist a man who did the dishes, put the kids to bed and then sat down to crack open a cold one.

“Want a sip?” he asked, tipping the can toward her.

Yes.
“No,” she said. “No, thanks. The wine’s fine.”

“You looked as though you wanted some of mine.”

“I’ve never been a beer drinker.”

“I’ll remember that. So,” he said, “what do you usually do on a Saturday night?”

“Well, not this. Not baring my soul to an unsuspecting man. Sorry about that, by the way.”

“I didn’t mind. Maybe next week you’ll bare something else.”

The man had a girlfriend and he was flirting with her. What a jerk, she thought. But deep down, she knew he wasn’t a jerk. “Anyway, Friday’s generally movie night and Saturday is—” Date night. She didn’t say it aloud. “I tend to go out with friends, people from school, mostly. Crystal and I have—had—season tickets to the Portland Opera.” She took a hurried drink of her wine. “I told her lawyer to give them away.”

“I don’t blame you one bit.”

“Yes, the memories would be too painful.”

“I was thinking the opera would be too painful.”

“So you’re not an opera fan,” she mused. “There’s a surprise.”

He stifled a yawn, but she noticed.

“I should go,” she said, looking for a place to set her wineglass.

“Don’t.” He put a hand on her arm, gentle but insistent. “Stay. Please.”

His touch made her feel strange, tingly all over, and languid. She was grateful for the darkness that hid her blush.

He took his hand away and grinned at her. “These days I need all the adult conversation I can get.”

And he couldn’t find that with Maura? Maybe he just had sex with Maura, no conversation.

The thought sparked her temper. “There’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?”

“I think we can get along,” she said, “but when I’m here, I’m here for the kids. Because their mother was my best friend and she wanted me to care for them.”

He leaned back against the stair rail and finished his beer. “Okay. I get it. Didn’t mean to assume you have any other reason to give me the time of day.”

She gave a dry laugh of disbelief. “Oh, forgive me for not falling down at your feet.”

“For that, I thank you. I can’t stand it when women fall at my feet. Makes it hard to get around.”

“Very funny.”

“Which reminds me, I have a serious question to ask you.”

She caught her breath, flirting with a brief fantasy before reminding herself of what she’d just told him—she was here for the kids. “What’s the serious question?”

“I’m having a will drawn up.” He smiled. “My first. For the first time, it actually matters if I die.”

“That’s a very strange thing to say.”

“But truthful. Before this, before the kids, I had nothing. Now I’m all they’ve got, and if something happens to me, they should be provided for. So I’m asking you, Lily. Can I designate you as guardian in my will?”

“Absolutely.” She spoke without hesitation. She didn’t allow herself to ask him why he’d pick her and not Maura; she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear that Maura was too busy preparing to serve all humanity as a physician. “When it rains, it pours,” she said. “My sister asked me the same thing. So you have to make the same promise she made.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t let anything happen to you.”

“Deal,” he said, clinking his can to her glass. “So you have what, nieces? Nephews?”

“One of each. I could find myself with five kids if you and Violet check out on me.”

“You’d make a fine guardian, being a teacher and all.”

Lily shook her head. “I never planned to have kids.”

“Because you lost your brother?”

She nearly choked with outrage. “I can’t believe you said that.”

“It’s pretty obvious, Lil. You love kids. I can see that in you. But you’re scared to be a mother and I bet it’s because you never got over a loss you don’t even remember.” He paused, and she could think of no reply. Then he asked, “Are you mad?”

Still she said nothing.

“Hey,” he said. “I never planned to have kids, either. And look at me now—Mr. Mom.”

She noticed that the wine was imparting a pleasant buzz. It occurred to her to ask for a refill, but she had to drive home. “You’re the one who makes a fine guardian,” she said.

He looked at her, startled. “You’re really something, you know?”

No, she didn’t know. “That’s not the sort of thing people say to me.”

He brushed the back of his hand against her arm briefly, yet she felt that touch all the way to the middle of her heart. No, she thought, this was wrong. “Sean—”

A car’s headlamps swung across the backyard, illuminating the garden. Sean frowned. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

They stepped out onto the driveway just as a man got out of the driver’s side. Small and wiry, he looked both vaguely familiar and hopping mad.

“Something the matter, Duffy?” asked Sean.

It was Charles McDuff, the greenskeeper from the golf course.

“A little something, I’d say,” the older man replied with a hint of a Scottish brogue.

The passenger door opened, and Lily’s heart dropped to her stomach. She felt it land like a lead weight. She heard Sean catch his breath.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“We need to talk about your nephew.” Duffy glared at Cameron.

The boy tossed his head and glared right back.

“S
o did your uncle just completely freak on you?” asked Jason Schaefer. He kept his voice down to a low murmur so Duffy, the greenskeeper who was overseeing their punishment, couldn’t hear them.

Cameron was snapping on oversize coveralls in preparation for his enforced community service. Because they’d trashed the golf course, he and his two friends would be spending a long time with the greenskeeper. A very long time.

“So did he freak out or what?” Jason prodded.

Cameron sat down to put on the waders Duffy had provided. “Yeah, I guess.”

It was worse than that, actually. His mother, had she been alive, would have gone into freak mode, crying and wringing her hands and wondering what people would say. His father would have bust a cap, too, thundering warnings about how Cameron was jeopardizing his future.

His uncle and Lily, who for some reason had stayed late the night Duffy had gone to the Schaefers’ and threatened to bring in the cops, had reacted with an almost eerie quiet. Sean
had thanked Duffy for bringing Cameron home and promised a call to the police wouldn’t be necessary—this time.

Then he and Lily had taken him inside. Cameron had expected anger or at least a frustrated “What were you thinking?”

His uncle hadn’t freaked. Neither had Lily. They hadn’t said much at all and Cameron had the uncanny feeling they both knew exactly what he was thinking, probably better than he did.

“Well, shit,” said Andrew Meyer, their other accomplice. “I wish you’d listened to me. We had a story and we should have stuck with it.”

“
You
had the story,” Cameron muttered. “You told it to anyone at school who’d listen.”

“I only told one person, just one,” Andy said. “She promised she wouldn’t say a word.”

“Idiot,” Jason said.

“You’re the one who sang like a bird when the coach questioned you,” Andy said.

“Only after you told them to question me,” Jason snapped.

“All right, that’s enough chatter,” Duffy said. “You gentlemen have some work to do.”

“Yes, sir, right away, sir.” Andrew snapped him a salute.

The sarcasm seemed to be lost on Duffy, an old guy from Scotland, and Cameron was just as glad. The three of them filed out of the greenskeeper’s building and Duffy gave them their marching orders. Today they were to clear the pond near the Number Ten fairway. The marshy pond was choked with duckweed that had to be piled in a cart and taken away.

And that, of course, was only the beginning of their punishment. Suspended from the golf team, they were to spend every day after school at the course, virtual slaves performing acts of contrition.

Andy and Jason treated the punishment like a big joke,
singing an off-key rendition of “Back on the Chain Gang” as they worked amid the weedy fringes of the pond. Cameron tried to joke around, too, but it felt forced and he soon lapsed into sullen silence. The brown mud sucked at his feet and he could feel the chill of the water through his rubber boots.

This sucked, literally and figuratively. Everything sucked lately.

He worked like a robot, bending, uprooting a handful of weeds, flinging them onto the bank. The mud felt like cement, closing around his feet, holding him captive.

“And to think we could be at the driving range with the team,” said Jason. “Look at all the fun we’d be missing.”

Although Cameron wouldn’t admit it, he did miss practicing with the team. He liked hitting drives, dozens of them in a row. He liked matching up his skills against a tough course like Echo Ridge.

It was stupid, the way he used to argue with his dad so much about golf. He wished he hadn’t done that. He wished he had simply told his dad the truth, that he loved the game and wanted to make it his life, just like his father and uncle. Cameron had blown it, though. He’d been given one chance to caddie for his father in an important tournament and he’d been a disaster. After that, he had to pretend he didn’t care, about caddying, about his father’s game or his own.

At least he’d managed to get himself suspended from the team. Mission accomplished. He should have done this a long time ago, except it wouldn’t have happened. No way would he have been suspended from golf when his father was alive. God, how many times had Cameron been tempted to tell his dad exactly why he wanted to quit the team? Of course, Cameron always chickened out or told himself it was pointless because as far as his father was concerned, you never quit for any reason.

“Hey, take it easy, Cameron,” said Jason, dodging a flung weed, its roots trailing mud. “You don’t need to throw stuff so far.”

“Sorry, wasn’t watching.” Cameron wondered why messing up the golf course had been so unsatisfying. He had taken intense physical pleasure in the act of destruction, but as soon as he was finished, he felt empty. His friends had been triumphant, declaring it a good night’s work. Cameron hadn’t shared their satisfaction. No matter what he did, he still felt empty. It was like eating cotton candy. It never filled you up, but eventually you made yourself sick on it, anyway.

As he slogged toward the next section of the bank, something caught his eye. “Hey, check this out,” he called in a stage whisper, gesturing to his friends. “It’s some kind of nest.”

“Ducks, probably,” said Andy. “Look at the size of the eggs. Hand me one, will you?”

“Me, too,” Jason said. “I bet I can hit that cart trail with one. Splat!”

“No way.” Cameron planted himself in front of the nest. “We’re not disturbing this. I’m not even going to pull the weeds around it.”

“Come on, we’re bored. It’s just a bunch of eggs. They’re probably all over the golf course.”

“Forget it,” he said. “We’re leaving these alone.”

“Guess what else we’re leaving alone?” said Jason, dropping his rake and gloves. Andy quickly caught on and followed suit. “If Duffy asks where we went, tell him we flew north for the summer.”

“Right.” Cameron was just as glad when they left. Sure, they were his friends, but sometimes he wished they meant something more to him than the occasional good time. He especially wished he hadn’t listened to them the other night when they came up with the plan to mess up the golf course.

He worked alone, relieved that Duffy didn’t come to check on him. He didn’t want to have to lie for his friends, but he didn’t want to get them in even more trouble, either.

He left a thick fringe of vegetation around the nest and finished just before dusk fell.

His coveralls stank of brackish water and he was covered in mud. His shoulders and back ached, but he felt curiously light. Maybe he shouldn’t have skipped lunch, he thought. Then he admitted to himself that it wasn’t hunger making him feel this way. It was the fact that he had been caught. Finally. The weight had been lifted off his chest.

Duffy had said he could go home at sundown. Cameron wasn’t sure how to accomplish that. He was supposed to get a ride with Jason, who had his license.

It was a long walk home.

Most of his friends had their licenses by now, but not Cameron. He was too scared to get behind the wheel of a car and completely humiliated by his failure. Not humiliated enough to drive, though. He’d tried a few times, but it didn’t work. He broke into a sweat, couldn’t see straight, started shaking like a leaf in the wind. Dr. Sachs was “working” on the issue with him. They were “working” on a lot of issues, but Cameron thought it was all a waste of time. How did talking about something you can’t change fix it?

He eyed the gas-powered cart Duffy had given them to use. He was fine with driving a golf cart, but Duffy would have a fit if he drove it off the premises. He wasn’t about to call his uncle, though. He’d already screwed up enough for the time being.

He puzzled over the matter while he loaded clippings and debris into the cart. He stopped when he saw someone walking toward him. In the low light, he couldn’t make out her features, but he recognized the lanky figure and swinging ponytail instantly.

Great.

“Hey,” he said, barely slowing down his work. He felt kind of embarrassed, dressed like a jailbird, filthy from the day’s work.

“I heard about what happened,” Becky Pilchuk said.

“The whole school heard about it.”

“Pretty much.”

While he worked, she just stood there. He could feel her watching him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he asked, loading the last bundle of debris into the cart.

“No. I just came to see—oh!” She was startled when a pair of mallard ducks landed in the water, throwing up a tail of spray in their wake. It was a male and female, gliding in tandem toward the reeds.

“Don’t go too close,” Cameron said. “There’s a nest.”

“Really?” Pushing her glasses up her nose, she craned her neck to see. “Where?”

He pointed. “In those reeds. Right in the middle.”

“I see it now.” Excitement lightened her voice. “Look at all those eggs! Cameron, that is so cool.”

It wasn’t
that
cool, he thought.

“I’m glad you left the nest alone. I bet they’ll hatch any day. It’ll be fun to watch. We should check on them every day, shouldn’t we?”

Oh, like he was going to agree to that. It was practically a…a date. A date with a dork. “I’m about finished here. I have to cart this stuff away.” He felt her studying him as he worked. Her intensity was disconcerting. “So go ahead and say it,” he blurted out.

“Say what?”

“All the stuff you’re thinking, like why I did it and how stupid and pointless it was.”

“I know why you did it. And I’m pretty sure you know that it was stupid and pointless.” Without being invited, she hopped into the cart.

He loaded up the tools and got behind the wheel. “All right, Dr. Freud, why did I do it?” he asked as he took off toward the decant and composting area of the golf course.

“Because your parents died and you’re going a little crazy,” she said simply.

That did it. He slammed on the brakes of the golf cart, so hard that she put out her hands to brace herself. Her vulnerability made him even madder. “How the hell do you think you know that? You don’t know anything about me. What makes you think you know why I’m such a screwup?”

She winced as though stung by his temper, but she didn’t stop looking him in the eye. With deliberate, unhurried movements, she got out of the cart. “Because,” she said, “I felt the same way when my own mother died.”

Ah, shit, he thought. Shit, shit, shit. That was the last thing he’d expected from her. “Get back in the cart,” he said.

She walked away at an unhurried pace, her head down.

He pulled the cart next to her. “Please. Please, Becky.”

That stopped her—either the
please
or the fact that he’d called her by name for the first time. She looked up at him, and the evening light streaked across her face, burnishing it with deep gold. She wasn’t so homely, he thought, remembering the stupid scores he and his friends kept on the chalkboard in the locker room. Becky Pilchuk always came in dead last. Now he knew that was because no one ever really saw her. You just had to look past the dopey clothes and eyeglasses.

She sat down next to him and stared straight ahead. “I know you think I’m a dork, but there are some things I understand better than anyone else.”

“I don’t think—” He stopped. Why lie to this girl? She’d
never done anything to him but try to be his friend, and he just went along with disliking her because everyone else seemed to. “All right, maybe I used to think you were a dork. I bet you used to think I was a—I don’t know. A tool or a poser.”

“Or a dumb jock.”

“Yeah, maybe that. Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t bother getting to know you and I should have.”

She glanced over at him, the sunlight slipping through her hair, making it shine. “It’s not too late,” she said.

“Tell me about your mom.”

She folded her hands very carefully in her lap. “It wasn’t a shock or anything, like yours was. She was sick for about a year when I was in middle school. She’s just as gone, though, and sometimes I miss her so much my whole body aches. And the worst thing is, I can’t make it go away. I loved my mom so much, even when I was in seventh grade and being rotten to her. I loved her like—I don’t know, in a way I can barely describe, you know?”

He nodded. He did know. Every night he lay awake and prayed his parents knew that, too. “There’s something else,” he said, tentative but yearning to get this out. “The very last thing I ever said to my father is ‘screw you.’” There. It was out. He hadn’t even told this to Dr. Sachs.

“Bummer,” she said.

“Bummer? I tell you something like that and all you say is ‘bummer’?”

“Everybody says ‘screw you’ to their parents. It’s not like you invented the phrase. I was horrible to my mom sometimes, even when I understood how sick she was. But I never stopped loving her and she knew that, same as your dad.”

Did he? Cameron wondered. He conjured up a picture of his dad and himself, and surprisingly, in every memory, the two of them were happy.

“And now that she’s gone,” Becky said, “where does all that love go? Where do I put it? Who do I love like I loved my mom? It’s still in me like it was when she was alive, but now it doesn’t have anywhere to go.” She took off her glasses and looked at him. “This isn’t very helpful, is it?”

“Actually, it makes more sense than anything else people have said to me.”