The Girls of Tonsil Lake (12 page)

“Shut up, Andie,” Jean muttered, her face red. Jean didn’t blush well, and her skin looked mottled. It served her right. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do we?” Suzanne’s voice was a little high, and the red spots on her cheeks were becoming. Her eyes were wide and bright. “You never even mention your signings till they’re over.”

Jean tossed me a beseeching look, and I lifted my shoulders in a shrug. I wasn’t even going to examine the thoughts I’d had an hour earlier when I introduced them to Lucas. This was Jean, not me. She had spent a morning—with Suzanne—cleaning a neighbor’s yard in her pajamas with her hair looking like a fright wig. I would have called and hired a cleaning crew, anonymously and on the spot, but I doubt I’d have gone myself.

“You don’t understand—” Jean began patiently.

“You got that right.” Andie sipped her coffee, her blue eyes glaring over the top of the thick restaurant cup.

“They’re boring, is all,” said Jean. She looked down at her plate, which she’d hardly touched. “You sit there and people come by and say things like ‘when are you going to write a real book?’ and ‘do you know John Grisham?’ and then they don’t buy your book. You smile till your cheeks shake and you apologize to the store manager because you’ve screwed up her entire day and only sold six books.”

“Oh, Jean, you’ve done better than that,” Andie scoffed.

“Sometimes, yes, especially when I’ve signed right there in Lewis Point. I guess the thing is that writers are supposed to have thick skins, because rejection is such an inherent part of the business, but you know me.” She laughed, an entirely unconvincing sound. “I get my feelings hurt if the clouds obscure the moon; imagine what it does to me when no one wants to buy my book.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t tell us,” said Suzanne. “We’d at least be a support group.”

“Yeah,” said Andie, “we’re good at that.”

“Because I’m always the strong one,” said Jean, and none of us disagreed with her. “I don’t want you to see me being rejected and embarrassed.” She laughed again, sounding a little more like herself. “It’s bad enough you’re seeing me being embarrassed now.”

“Do David and the kids come to them?” I asked. I’d been at book-signings that were attended by the author’s entire extended family as well as every friend she or he’d had since kindergarten. I’d also been at ones like those Jean described.

“No. They did the first one I ever had, of course, but not since then. I’ve asked David not to come and I don’t tell the children until they’re over. They don’t like it, either,” she admitted, “but it’s the easiest way for me to cope with it.”

Lucas said, “I hope you don’t mind if I come and bring my sister-in-law. If I don’t, she might never let me go out on their lobster boat again and that’s about my favorite thing to do.”

“I’d be pleased if you would,” said Jean. She passed a warning look around at the other three of us. “But not you. You stay away.”

Chapter Seven

Suzanne

I’m worried about Tom. More than usual, I mean. Sarah hasn’t heard from him in nearly a month, his father in longer than that. Trent has pretty much thrown up his hands when it comes to his only child, but he still grows concerned when a period of time has gone by with no contact just like I do.

I told Jake about my concern. He said, “Let me check with young Jake. Unless his mother already has?”

When I said I hadn’t talked to Andie about it, Jake hung up and called me back a half hour later.

“He saw him a few weeks ago, Suzy-Q. He said he was pretty messed up.”

The sympathy in his voice had tears rolling down my cheeks in a heartbeat. “I swear,” I said, sniffing, “it was easier when he was in jail. At least I knew where he was.”

I called Sarah back to tell her young Jake had seen her brother.

“I knew that,” she said, “but it doesn’t help us to know where he is now.”

“How did you know? And why didn’t you tell me?” I probably sounded accusing, but I couldn’t believe Sarah’s dislike of me went deep enough that she would withhold information about Tom just to hurt me.

“I knew because Lo told me—young Jake, I mean—and I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you asking questions about him and me.” She sighed. “Also because it would just make you worry more. Tommy was in pretty bad shape.”

“That’s what Jake said.”

“Are you seeing him? Old Jake?”

I didn’t like the reference to him as old, though I guessed that was no different than referring to his twenty-six year old son as young. “Sort of.”

“Mother, maybe...” She stopped.

I waited, looking down at a crescent-shaped chip in a nail, then said, “Maybe what?”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” I reached for a cotton swab and the nail polish remover, holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder. “It’s just a good time, Sarah. Nothing serious.”

“Does Andie know?”

I could feel myself blushing and turned my back on the bathroom mirror. “She knows.”

“What does she say?”

“Well, she’s not happy about it, but—”

“Never mind. I understand.” Her voice was flat and bitter. “You’re only concerned about other people’s happiness as long as it doesn’t interfere with yours. What made me think you could change?” She hung up with an abrupt “goodbye.”

I disconnected the phone and laid it down and began to fix my fingernail. It would only take a minute and then they’d all be perfect. I needed to repair my makeup, too, because I’d cried when I talked to Jake. Where were my cosmetics? Andie made such a mess in here I couldn’t find anything when I wanted it. Jean’s book-signing is tomorrow and I will need to help her with her makeup.

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.
Oh, for God’s sake, my hands were shaking.
Oh, Tommy, where are you? Sarah, what have I done to make you hate me so?
The questions kept hammering. But I couldn’t listen to them. I needed...

I opened the door to the medicine cabinet, holding the newly polished nail away from the others. Surely there was something in here that would help take the edge off, silence the questions for a while. I knew I had some left. I had only been taking one a day, just as the prescription said, so I knew there was another two-week supply in the bottle.

Well, not quite that many. I looked at the bottle of antidepressants in consternation, trying to remember if I had doubled up on other days.

Tommy, please call. It’s okay if you need money. I don’t mind, really I don’t.

The bathroom door opened. “Suzanne, are you in here? I knocked, but you didn’t answer.”

Vin looked down at the bottle in my hand, then at me. I saw an expression cross her face that looked horribly like pity, and her green eyes went dark. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t.”

Andie

We’ve been here two weeks now, and I feel better than I have for a couple of years. I find it odd that I am not homesick for the house where I have lived for fifteen years, or even for my kids and grandkids.

“I don’t miss mine, either,” said Jean when I mentioned this. “I think it’s because they’re always inside us, wherever we are. And our children are grownups now. We don’t see them every day.”

Which is a mushy thought but probably accurate.

I don’t really miss Paul that much, either, though I enjoy talking to him when he calls. It will be interesting to see if this relationship develops into what I’ve avoided ever since divorcing Jake. If it does, I’m going to have to explore a whole bunch of mind and emotion things, which exhausts me just thinking about it.

That book business is going along just fine. Vin tells me what she wants, I bitch at her, then I do it. I can’t say I want to spend the rest of my life doing it the way Jean does, but it’s certainly an interesting diversion.

It reminds me of exercise. When it’s new and different, you kind of enjoy it, but once you find out it takes real discipline and makes you sweat in the bargain, it’s not near as much fun.

We spend a lot of time on the beach, both together and separately. It will be hard to go back to being landlocked. We’ve always laughed about moving back to Tonsil Lake in our retirement days and I must admit the idea doesn’t sound as ridiculous as it once did.

Although we all avoid going there during daylight hours, I did make a lonely trek there when I first got sick, driving around the lake, past the church and cemetery, all with my hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel. When I looked at the lake, it was as though I could see—but of course I couldn’t.

The trailers are gone except for a couple of doublewides that have been put on permanent foundations, and everything looks pretty respectable these days. One end of the lake doesn’t have any houses at all, just trees and well-tended grass. The other has the pub and the general store that has been there since we were kids, though it looks better now.

The trees have matured and given the whole area a park-like look. The road to it has been improved enough that it’s much easier to get to. If you’re there about twilight and you squint a little, it’s downright pretty back there.

One morning last week, while we were having coffee, Suzanne said, “I think we should have a question a day that we all have to answer and we have to tell the truth.”

We are all enjoying it here, but to Suzanne it’s one long slumber party. I didn’t want to answer a question a day, but when Suzanne wanted to know why not, I didn’t know how to tell her it was because I didn’t want to talk to her about Jake. Which, knowing Suzanne, would probably be Thursday’s question, as in, “What kind of attachment do you have to former relationships in your life?”

At any rate, I got voted down, which I should be used to after forty-some years of knowing these women, and as much as I hate to admit it, the questions have been fun.

We now know that Jean’s all-time favorite book is
Little Women
, Vin’s is
Gone With the Wind
—which surprised the hell out of me, Suzanne’s is
The Price of Pride
, which Jean wrote. We all accused Suzanne of sucking up, but then she listed a whole bunch of really good reasons why it was her favorite. Tickled Jean to death and shut Vin and me right up.

My favorites are Sue Grafton’s alphabet mysteries, which only recently replaced the Nancy Drew books in my reading heart. I like knowing what I’m getting when I open a book.

The next day, the question was favorite movies. After breakfast, we went to the video store and rented them all, and as soon as we got in from the beach that afternoon we made popcorn and started watching them. We never had supper, which was good because it was my night to cook.

I’m pretty sure Jean got sick in the middle of the night, but she was okay in the morning. I really wish she’d gone to see Carolyn Murphy before we came here.

Lucas Bishop comes around occasionally. Not enough to get in our way or to dilute the all-girl atmosphere, just enough so that we’ve all gotten to know him. He’s a truly nice guy, I think—like David and Paul and Jake are nice guys, but different, too. He’s in love with Vin and I think everyone knows it but her.

I can see Jean missing David when Lucas is around. This pleases me, because theirs is the only true love story that I’m sure of and I know she’s been less than happy for the past year or so. Although this worries me for her sake, it worries me for my own, too, because I need a happily ever after story to believe in.

Curiously enough, Lucas’s presence doesn’t make me miss Paul. I think maybe I’ve spent too much time alone. Now that I’ve finally allowed him into my life, I want him to stay there; I’m just not sure how far in I want him to be. Oh, hell, I think this boob that looks seventeen has affected my mind and made part of it seventeen, too.

I’m not sure how Suzanne feels, which is curious, too, because she’s the original wearer of her heart on her sleeve. I know she talks to Jake almost daily, but he’s a subject I avoid and I hope she does, too. She doesn’t look good today. The face that is always all light seems to be in shadow. I touched her shoulder as I walked by, and she clutched my hand for a moment.

Jean’s book-signing is today. She was in a real flutter all morning. She hadn’t brought any suitable clothes, her hair needed cutting, and she was almost out of that antacid crap she takes all the time again.

Vin brought out this thing that looked like a wadded-up sheet, but when Jean put it on, it was a white gauze dress with a scoop neck and little cap sleeves. It was probably calf-length on Vin, but it went to Jean’s ankles and looked like that was exactly what it was supposed to do. Suzanne did her hair, makeup, and nails and she looked great, if a little thin.

I scrounged in my suitcase and found the abalone necklace and earrings I’d bought with the vague idea of giving them to Miranda. I carried them into the kitchen and thrust them at her. “Here,” I said. “If you don’t like them, don’t worry about it.”

But she put them right on and they completed the outfit perfectly. I felt like an idiot because it made me so happy, but when I looked at Vin and Suzanne I saw that they were beaming, too. And Jean looked a little less anxious, sliding her thumb over the smooth setting of the necklace and smiling at her reflection in the mirror Suzanne had set on the kitchen table.

Fine, so we’re all idiots. I don’t care.

Jean checked her leather attaché for business cards, bookmarks, and flyers, lifted her chin, and went to the back door. “Remember,” she said, “you’re not to come. I’ll be fine.”

“You bet,” I answered.

“Break a leg, sweetie,” said Suzanne.

Vin just smiled and waved. “See you later.”

We crowded together at the windows in the door and watched her until she was out of sight.

“Okay,” said Vin. “I’m going to the dock. Andie, you’re checking with the florist. Suzanne, what are you doing?”

Suzanne rolled her eyes. “Calling the photographer at the
Island Voice
, although I don’t know how she could forget since we’ve called her almost every day.”

I looked up at the clock. “Should we synchronize our watches?” I asked, grinning.