A Brilliant Ride (13 page)

“Yep, and then he said, ‘That is my name!” They rolled around the floor laughing. “So now we just call him Brilliant.”

“Yeah, Brilliant,” giggled Sarah. “Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant,” they sang and jumped up. Holding hands, they danced in a circle. “La, la, la, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.” I felt numb.

“Okay, then. Well, I’m just going to run along and see when dinner will be ready. I love you, girls. I’ll call you when it’s time to eat,” I said shakily.

“Okay, Mommy, love you...Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, la, la, la.”

I walked into the kitchen holding my head and told Blossom I was going into town to get my costume and would be back in time for dinner.

“Okay, have fun. Oh, by the way, a Detective Pici called…and Mr. Sam…he won’t be home for dinner.” My heart pounded.

“Er…okay; I’ll be back soon.” I grabbed my car keys and flew out the door.

I pulled up to
Pengleton’s Party Supply & Costume Emporium with my nerves still rattled. When I entered, Mr. Pengleton was up to his eyeballs in orders. He told me to have a look around.

I turned down the first aisle and there it was right in front of me, hanging on a pink satin hanger, the perfect dress. It was icy-blue with tiny sequins that danced and shimmered in the light. I took it off the hanger and held it up.

“Oh, this dress reminds me of Amy Quinn and all the times we played dress up,”

When we were little and full of mischief, Amy and I would rifle through Mother’s closet in a fit of laughter, trying on her fancy ball gowns, floppy hats and high heels. I couldn’t help but smile, remembering those exquisite years and the hours of belly laughs we shared. Back then, life was a constant merry-go-round of giggles, beach picnics, dress-up, and ice cream sundaes covered with colorful sprinkles. My heart tugged with memories of my dear childhood friend and those magical, carefree days.

Growing up, I spent every July and August with Mother at our place on the Cape, a large shingled house with a wraparound porch. A rambling gem, covered with roses and filled with chintz and wicker, it sits high on a bluff offering magnificent views of the Atlantic. Amy Quinn was a local girl who lived close by. She was a tiny little thing with wispy flaxen hair, skinny legs, a small button nose and round pink cheeks. Her laugh was infectious, and her blue eyes twinkled when she spoke.

She and her large brood lived in a weathered clapboard down by the docks, a historic home that once belonged to a famous ship’s captain. It was rumored to be haunted, which made for great late night storytelling around the fire. The house had wide plank floors, a large creaky staircase, and a small widow’s walk on the roof, complete with a shiny brass bell. The front of the house boasted a large oak tree, a garden swing, and a lovely rose garden with a mermaid fountain. A white picket fence wrapped around the entire property, and the front gate had a small brass plate engraved with the words, “Gull Cottage.”

Amy and I first met at the local ice cream shop when we were just six years old. My babysitter, Lena, had promised me a double scoop of my favorite raspberry swirl ice cream and brought me into town, to Thompson’s Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor, to fulfill the promise. Amy was sitting at the counter with her older sister. She caught my eye the moment I walked in. She was holding a triple scoop of my beloved flavor, covered with wildly colored sprinkles. We struck up a conversation, and the rest is history. After that hot July afternoon, we were inseparable.

I spent many a day and night at the Quinn’s house. Amy’s father was a local fisherman, and dinner at their place was a feast. Every dinner featured the catch of the day, along with lobster tails with drawn butter, clams on the half shell, and mussels in spicy red sauce. I loved spending time with them. They were a big raucous clan with lots of love to go around. Life at th
eir house was loud and carefree, much different from the well-ordered routine at my house.

While Mother had my teen years booked with tennis lessons and swim meets at the beach club, I much preferred lazing around with Amy. We’d spend our time snorkeling in the warm water at the cove, tanning at the public beach or hanging out in her little pink bedroom, dancing to loud music, painting our nails, and squealing about our secret crushes.

When I was fifteen, I fell hard for Amy’s older brother, Logan. He was tall, strong, and handsome, with sandy hair, a broad grin with deep dimples, and big blue eyes. Amy teased me constantly. “What’s so great about him?” she’d say. “I don’t know; he just looks like a regular guy to me, just my dorky brother.”

Rick, on the other hand, was a different story. He was Logan’s best friend, and Amy’s absolute dream come true. “He looks like Dennis Quaid, don’t you think?” she’d squeal. I didn’t see the resemblance, probably because I never took my eyes off Logan. He was my dream come true. He was free and strong and spent his days conquering the sea
…well, in my mind anyway.

Logan and Rick spent every summer working on Mr. Quinn’s fishing boat, The Dancing Lady. Each day, at the crack of dawn, they’d head out to sea, spending long hours reeling in giant marlin, striped bass and blue fish. Then they'd pull in nets and lobster traps, before heading back to shore. Meanwhile, Amy and I would spend our days at the beach tanning and spraying lemon juice in the feathered wings of our hair. Afterwards, we’d dash home to change into short summer dresses and brightly colored flip flops. Then we’d head over to the harbor and wait for their boat to come in. Those poor boys never had a chance. We were relentless.

When the Quinn’s boat was in sight we’d squeal and sit at the edge of the dock waving wildly, our tanned legs swinging off the side. Rick and Logan would emerge on deck bronzed and windswept, shouting for us to help out. The sight of them made us swoon. The minute The Dancing Lady was safely docked the two would jump off, and Mr. Quinn would yell from the back of the boat, “You girls let them finish up. They have a lot more to do. Run along now.”

There was no stopping us. We’d throw our arms around them, taking in their salty
sea air smell, and make them promise to meet us after dinner, at the beach, for a fire and a midnight swim. Then we’d run off giggling, planning our night.

Mother hated the fact that I befriended the Quinns.

“They’re local trash,” she’d say to me,
“Townies
- not our kind at all.”

She did everything she could to dissuade me from spending time with them. She worked even harder to extinguish my burning crush on Logan. She had her work cut out for her. Logan and I continued our romance, becoming more and more serious with each passing summer.

It all came to a screeching halt, however, when I was nineteen.

I was no longer hearing from Logan. He stopped phoning, and my calls and letters went unanswered. The final blow came New Year’s Day. Mother
was happy to inform that she heard from one of her girlfriends that Logan had gotten married, to a local girl, over the Christmas holiday. Shocked and heartbroken, I spent the entire day trying to get a hold of Amy. It was useless. She had joined the Peace Corps the year before and was impossible to reach. I gave up trying.

I was sent to Europe that summer, and the beach house was closed up. Mother told me it was being sold.

Years later, I found out the truth.

Logan had tried to contact me, many times, but Mother kept him away. She kept all the letters he wrote me, as well. I came across a box of them when I was looking through an old trunk in our attic. Rather than confront her, I went straight to Robert.
He was sympathetic and told me that while he disagreed with Mother’s tactics, in the end, he believed the separation was good for me.

Mother never did sell our summer place; that was a lie. I’m sure the story about Logan marrying was false, as well. I guess I should have pursued it. I should have looked for him, but so much time had gone by, and my life had gone in a different direction.

I wonder where Logan is now, how he looks, if he’s happy and still fishing in that deep blue water that matched his eyes…

“Excuse me, how can I be of assistance?” I was jarred back by Mr. Pengleton, his little glasses perched at the end of his long nose. “Oh, yes, I see you’ve found it!” He raised one bushy eyebrow. “
It’s a mermaid costume. It is lovely.” He looked at the costume with a proud eye and took it down for me to inspect. “I believe this suits you, my dear.”

“Well, I was just looking really. I mean, well, I really don’t have any idea,” I blushed. “I was thinking, perhaps…Cleopatra. What do you think?”

“Well, I prefer the mermaid,” he said boldly. “Oh, yes, much more refined. If you don’t mind me saying, I think the color suits your eyes. Yes, yes…very nice.” He took it to the front of the shop to ring up.

“Well, er; I guess that’s the one then.” I smiled.

He wrapped it up beautifully and showed me how flexible the tail was. “Yes, very clever you see, so you will have no trouble dancing or sitting. It’s very well done, don’t you think?” he twinkled.

“Yes, yes, very clever,” I repeated. I smiled at the crown and little wand that came with the costume and thought about what kind of shoes a mermaid would wear while spending time on shore attending a country club ball. “Ok, well then, I’m off.  Thank you very much, Mr. Pengleton. I’m lucky to have found it.”

“Oh, it was no trouble; your husband told me to put it aside for you.” I stopped in my tracks.

“My husband..?”

“Why yes, he said you’d be coming in directly. He said you had your heart set on a mermaid costume.” He held his heart, and smiled.

“Mr. Pengleton?  Did this gentleman actually say he was my husband?”

“Hmm, let me think. No, no actually he said that Mrs. Dupres would be coming in, and I guess I assumed he was your husband. Is there a problem my dear?”

“Oh, no…no problem; I’m just a little confused that’s all.” I smiled, knowing
very well it wasn’t Sam who called. “Yes, well thanks again Mr. Pengleton,” I shouted out as I opened the shop door.

“Have a brilliant time!” he shouted back.

I froze. Why am I surprised? I thought and hurried out the door.

Sam got in
at about 9:30. I was in the bedroom reading one of the “empowerment” books Phyllis gave me. He sashayed over and kissed my forehead in a perfunctory manner. “Did you have a nice day today?” he asked. I looked up and wondered how he would react if I shared the Brilliant encounter with him. I hesitated.

“Oh, you know…the usual.” I stuttered. “I picked up my
costume for the costume ball. I’m going as a mermaid this year.”

“That’s nice. I’m sure you’ll look great. By the way, I had success with the Grant account, Pen. So, that mean’s I’ll be going out of town again, for about a week. Maybe you can hire a decorator while I’m gone. I really want to start renovating around here. Oh, and my parents mentioned something about coming into town…they want to get together. Please call them and set that up. Another thing, before I forget, I can’t seem to find my cuff link, the ones you bought me last birthday; remember? One is missing. Please ask Blossom to look around for it. Thanks.”

He turned, winked at me, and headed in to see the girls. I heard them squeal when he walked in. I also heard a voice whisper, “What do you want out of life? Decide what you want.”

The following day
, Blossom took the girls into the city to see Mother, and Claudia and I went shopping for shoes. I was desperate to find a pair to go with my costume. We entered the main floor of Leighton’s and were assaulted by overly eager sales girls spraying us with overpowering scents. We pushed through and headed for Designer Shoes on the second floor.

“Oh, I love shoes,” I said to Claudia in a breathy voice clutching my Leighton’s credit card.

“Yes, and with our
Sublime Shopper Silver Level Bonus Points
we can really let loose! Please! These shoes will practically be free,” Claudia squealed and made a bee line for a pair of black stilettos.

I had my eyes locked on a pair of silver mules encrusted with crystals and was just about to pick them up when I heard a voice behind me.

“Excuse me, madam; may I help you?” asked a small grey haired gentleman. “Oh, yes madam, those are simply divine.” His eyes lit up. “They’re brilliant; look how the stones shimmer,” he sang out.

“Brilliant?”

“Yes madam.”

“Did you say
brilliant
?”

“Yes, madam, brilliant,” he confirmed.

“Is it you?”

“I think so.”

“What are you doing here?” My heart raced.

“I work here, madam,” he replied calmly.

“Don’t give me that. Look, you know very well…” I felt my stomach flip. “Don’t think for a second I forgot what you said…you know…about shifting and changing form.”

“Madam?”

“Listen, I’ve just gotten myself back together again, you know…after our last meeting.
I’ve convinced myself you aren’t real
,” I whispered. “So please go away;
I’m begging you
. What could you possibly know about selling shoes? It’s ridiculous…”