Barefoot Girls (41 page)

She resisted the temptation to check on the boys, a favorite hobby of hers, particularly when they were asleep. Their open relaxed faces and unaffected poses as they slept reminded her of what they were like as babies; she loved how pure and simple and good they were, how tender and vulnerable. She felt love for them all the time, but when they were awake she had to deal with their demands, measure out discipline as needed, and keep a watchful and protective eye out at all times. Asleep, she could just appreciate them, revel in them. Had her ever-practical mother felt this luscious love for her and her brothers?

Clutching the book in one hand, she went downstairs and into their large farmhouse kitchen that had been made enormous by knocking out the walls that had led to the dining room and the living room, making the room an everything-room with space for casual entertaining by the fireplace, socializing at the bar they’d created along one side of the kitchen’s island, and eating family-style meals at the long pine table that stood them for Cheerios and scrambled eggs in the morning as well as candlelit three-course dinner parties with the Barefooters and other friends.

She flicked a switch at the door and small soft built-in lights in the ceiling illuminated all of the surfaces in the kitchen but left the rest of the room in shadow. Her room, her domain – that was her kitchen. The boys had their playroom and bedrooms of their own, Gus had his cluttered dark den and his office over the garage and his tool shed. The boys’ and Gus’s rooms, though monitored to keep the chaos at a dull roar, were usually a mess. But this room was like her and her mind: nearly military in its neatness and spare in décor. Clutter was dismissed quickly; much the way Amy dismissed people who she felt weren’t worthy.

It bothered her at times, the way she wasn’t able to embrace everyone wholeheartedly like Keeley and Pam did, the way she wasn’t full of creativity and artistic visions like Zooey and Keeley were. But, at forty-one, she had come to realize that this was who she was, whether she liked it or not, and though she could be restrained and judgmental with outsiders, her love for her family and her friends burned fierce and eternal and there were no bounds to her determination to fight for them. Nothing would stop her but her own death. Often, she was sure that even that wouldn’t stop her; that she would return even then, wreaking vengeance as a poltergeist until justice was done.

The forties-style round yellow clock on the wall above the dual sinks was revealed, too. She stopped and looked at it. Really? Was it that late? There was a snuffling sound in the mud room and she heard Molly’s clicking toenails as she crossed the wooden floor from her basket to the glass-paned door that separated the room from the kitchen. Molly did not whine, and that made Amy smile a little. Good, they were getting somewhere.

Molly, a golden retriever they had adopted to train to be a seeing-eye dog, had been a tougher dog than the last few ones, resisting discipline and showing a willful streak that Amy knew required an even firmer hand than she usually used.  Resisting the urge to look at the mud room and acknowledge Molly, Amy walked over to her small desk nestled in the corner next to it and put down the book. Okay, let’s get to it. No more waiting. In the morning the sunlight and normalcy would reassure her too much, make her doubt her gut feeling tonight, the one that hit her like a speeding train as she read Hannah’s book. If she didn’t have warm-heartedness or creativity on her side, she did have excellent spot-on instincts.

Looking at her desk chair, she contemplated sitting down to make her calls. No, like battle, you have to go into some things on your feet. She picked up the phone and dialed.

Keeley’s cell’s voicemail picked up. “You’ve reached Keeley O’Brien Cohen. I’m sorry to have missed your call. Please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

“Key, it’s Amy. I said it before and I’ll say it again. That message doesn’t sound like you at all, chickie. I know, I know, if you can tell what time I called, you probably think I’m insane, but I’m not. Listen, I read Hannah’s book. Or, most of it anyway, up until where the grandma made yet another cherry pie. Then I had to throw in the towel; enough with the baking. I’m not much of a reader, so maybe that’s a big thing in novels. Lots of baking and cups of tea. I don’t know.”

“The point I’m trying to get to is that I read it and we need to talk. Something’s going on between you and Hannah, that’s clear now. It’s time to put everything out on the table. If it’s rotten and stinky, oh well. We’ll deal with it. I’ve stayed out of it, the whole thing, just trying to be helpful. I didn’t want to meddle. FYI - those days are done. And stop ignoring my calls. This is my third and last message. You better call me back. Don’t doubt that, if I have to, I’ll come up to that penthouse and drag you all the way to Captain’s to talk to your daughter. Me and the girls are going out there tomorrow; just come as soon as you can. N-kay? N-kay. Love you.”

She hung up and stared out the window at the inky darkness, seeing Hannah in her mind’s eye. A thousand memories were bombarding her. That time and that time and that time, and they all clicked into place. A tingling feeling went up her arms and back, and tears started again in her eyes. She was glad she got that call out of the way before the sadness hit her and transmitted over the phone line. Why hadn’t she believed Hannah, had been so quick to dismiss her? Of course Keeley hadn’t been able to shed her horrible childhood like an ill-fitted coat. Of course some of it had to leak out all over Hannah. But she hadn’t let herself see it, and living in that world of stubborn hope, had neglected her promise, their promise, to parent Hannah together.

She picked up the phone again and dialed. Pam picked up her cell on the last ring, and then there was a clatter that made Amy hold the phone away from her ear.

“What? Hello?” Pam’s voice was thick with sleep.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. It’s Amy. I know it’s late, but it’s important.”

There was a pause. “Oh, no problem. I fell asleep on the couch. Tsk. I missed it! Again!”

“What?”

“Celebrity Bitch. I love that show. It’s on too late, though. I keep falling asleep.”

“Yeah, um, well I need to talk to you. Actually, I need more. We’ve gotta go out to Captain’s and see Hannah.”

“What? Is she okay? I was going to surprise her with a visit, but I wanted to read her book first.”

“I read it.”

“Really? How was it? Oh! I can’t believe you beat me.”

“That’s the thing. Reading it made me realize that this whole thing, this thing between Keeley and Hannah, it’s not about the review.”

“Wait, what?”

“Listen, I’ll tell you in the car. And we’ll have to talk to Hannah, of course. But I need you to come with me tomorrow, go out to Captains. We’ve got to go see her.”

“What, why? You’re talking too fast.”

“Please, Pam. Can you come?”

“Of course, I…I can move stuff around. I’ll call Ruth next door and see if she can come over and stay with Jacob. She’s probably still up. Is Hannah okay?”

Amy swallowed hard. “I hope so. I don’t know.”

That got Pam going and Amy spent the next fifteen minutes alternating between calming her down and clarifying when she would pick Pam up. After finalizing the details, she hung up and dialed Zooey’s number. She didn’t bother with Zo’s cell, which was more of a car phone than anything. Now, Amy wished she could dial it and know that Zo would get the voicemail. Calling this late meant not only waking up Zo and having that confrontation; it also meant waking up her controlling third husband, Neil.

The phone rang only once before being picked up, Zo answering in a bright cheerful voice that made it clear that they were awake, probably just back from a party or a show or something.

“Amy!” Zo said, once she realized who it was and obviously trying to communicate that loudly to Neil before he assumed it was some imaginary lover. “It’s nearly midnight! I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a call from you this late. Is everything all right?”

“No, it’s not. That’s why I’m up. I read Hannah’s book.”

“Oh, you did, too? Wasn’t it wonderful? Okay, I’m a little invested in that answer, so tell me what I want to hear, or let’s talk about something else. No raining on my parade, please.”

Amy paused and then said, “I’m sorry, Zo, but rain is in the forecast. You didn’t notice anything? I mean, didn’t it ring any bells?”

Zo laughed a little, sounding relieved. “Oh, you mean Hannah’s ESP? She has it, it’s so obvious. Isn’t that amazing? I wonder where she got it from. Still, I really wish I’d been the one to tell her about Keeley’s mom if she wasn’t going to hear it from Key directly.”

“Uh…,” Amy said, utterly confused. “What?”

“ESP! Hannah has the second sight! She knew all about Mrs. Maggie O’Brien and no one, I mean no one, told her. Definitely not Keeley. And, of course, not me.”

Amy sighed. This was the downside of creativity: nuttiness. “ESP, really? Seriously? No, Zo, I think this is more real than that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Let’s talk about it later. You and me and Pam are going out to Captain’s. I don’t care about whatever charity crap you’re doing, either.”

“I’m not doing any ‘charity crap’, for your information, so stop with that. But… what’s going on? We’re going to Captain’s? It would be nice-“

“No, this isn’t a visit, Zo, it’s an intervention. It’s about Hannah.”

“What? What’s the matter?” Zo’s voice started to take on a hysterical edge. Amy heard Neil’s deep voice in the background saying something unintelligible. There was a rustling of a hand going over the phone’s handset and then Zo’s raised voice, muffled, saying, “This is important. Can I have a minute? Just one little minute by myself?”

Amy sat and listened to their argument. How long before this marriage ended? Why hadn’t Zooey listened when Amy tried to warn her about Neil? Zo was hopeless when it came to men; she consistently picked the wrong guy. She watched six minutes tick past on the wall clock and then, finally, after the loud thud of a door slamming, Zo was back on the line.

“Tell me. Now.”

So Amy did.

Chapter 36

Hannah woke, her face crushed against the arm of the sofa with her neck twisted awkwardly, to the crash of one of the photo albums falling from where she had propped it up next to her onto the floor. Pam’s living room was filling slowly with the ghostly gray light of early morning. Around her, on the floor, piled on the large squat coffee table, at her feet, were every one of the Barefooter’s photo albums, brought to the house yesterday.

After her visit with Mrs. McGrath, unable to breathe properly, she bypassed Pam’s house and ended up at the Barefooter house. There she gathered up the rest of the albums, taking them to Pam’s in batches, her final decision made. She would search them all night until she found the evidence she knew was there. Then she would leave the island, leave everything. She didn’t know where she would go, or what she would do, but she couldn’t go on with this life, this outside-looking-in life, anymore.

She heard the grind of shoes on the sandy walkway outside of Pam’s front door and her eyes grew wide. Oh, no. Mrs. McGrath again?

Then there was a soft hooting sound, like children pretending to be owls. No, it was more melodic and rhythmic than that.

A woman’s voice, velvety-rough, sang out,

“Here is a little song I wrote

You might want to sing it note for note”

Then two other women’s voices joined in, one deep, the other high and yodeling.

“Don't worry, be happy.

In every life we have some trouble

When you worry you make it double

Don't worry, be happy......”

They paused to hoot some more and then the cowbell on the door started ringing. “Hey, Hannah! Don’t worry, be happy! Are you in there?”

Hannah sat up. It was the Barefooters! Here, now!

They continued singing, this time with the cowbell punctuating every verse.

“Ain't got no place to lay your head

Somebody came and took your bed

Don't worry, be happy

The landlord say your rent is late

He may have to litigate

Don't worry, be happy

Look at me I am happy”

She heard Aunt Pam say, “That could’ve used a little more cowbell, come on!” And the ringing of the cowbell went wild.

Hannah couldn’t help it. The bubble of laughter burst out of her throat.

“We hear you laughing in there!” Aunt Amy called.

“Yeah, we know you’re in there, and if you need more cowbell, we’ve got it!” Pam yelled and rang the cowbell again raucously.

Hannah laughed in spite of herself as she stumbled across the room to the front door. She threw it open to see the three women standing on the other side of the screen, all wearing hats. Hannah recognized the hats immediately: they were from her mother’s Mad Hatter’s Tea Party that she’d held when she still lived in Fairfield. Aunt Zo’s was a fisherman’s hat emblazoned with the words “Gone Fishin’”, the brim covered with dangling multi-colored lures. Aunt Pam was wearing one of those crazy beer-hat contraptions with two cans of Budweiser in it. Aunt Amy, seeing Hannah, lifted up the giant foam sombrero that overwhelmed her tiny frame and doffed it dramatically, sweeping it down by her side while bowing.