Beach Plum Island (12 page)

“No. Dad said he had the baby with your mom. He never seemed out of it, either. So why would he be confused about having a son?” Gigi had a headache; she was concentrating so hard. “What was Dad’s brother’s name? Was it Peter?”

“No. John.”

Gigi noticed that Ava was pressing her fingers to her lips just like Gigi had been doing a minute ago. She wondered whether this was their dad’s nervous habit and she and Ava had both inherited the behavior. Or had they seen him do it and learned to imitate him, the way chicks imprinted on whatever they saw first when they hatched?

Gigi couldn’t remember her father touching his mouth when he was thinking. Then again, she had forgotten a lot of things about Dad already. Terrifying, to feel him slipping away.

To Ava, she said, “So maybe we really
do
have a brother named Peter and he’s still out there somewhere! Maybe Dad wanted us to find Peter together. Did he talk to Elaine about it, too?”

“I don’t think so. Did he say anything else to you? Like where Peter’s living now?”

“No.” Gigi’s stomach did an unhappy lurch. “What if it’s too late and Peter’s already dead or locked up in prison or something?”

Ava sighed. “Then that would be horrible. I wonder if Dad told your mom anything about this.”

“I think so, but when I asked, Mom said it all happened too long ago to matter.”

“Maybe to her, but not to us.” Ava stood up. “Come on. Let’s go talk to her.”

•   •   •

The hairy arm belonged to a man Elaine could have sworn she’d never seen before in her life. Yet here he was, wandering around in striped boxer shorts like it was his condo instead of hers. She must have fallen asleep again, because she hadn’t heard him get up and now it was past eleven o’clock. She hadn’t ever slept this late before in her
life
, not since having mono when she was a teenager.

The man approached the bed and handed her a mug. “Coffee?”

When she didn’t take it, he set it down gently on the table beside her. It was her special hazelnut; the man had obviously been up long enough to find his way around her kitchen and tame the cranky Barista.

Elaine sat up, pulling the covers up to her chin despite being fully dressed, and stared at the stranger while he plucked a pair of jeans and a black T-shirt off the floor and put them on. Her worst fears were realized when she saw a Habitat for Humanity logo on the shirt. She never invited men to her place until they’d gotten to know each other and established ground rules. And, whenever she
did
invite a man to stay over, it certainly wasn’t some knee-jerk liberal wearing a shirt advertising a hopeless cause.

“Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?” she demanded.

He raised his black eyebrows and laughed. “Morning, sunshine. I’m Gabe, and I brought you home so you wouldn’t do something you regretted.”

She had already done something she regretted, waking up to find this guy in her bed. Elaine sipped the restorative coffee while studying Gabe under her lashes. He had a kind face and a great laugh, actually, a gravelly, sexy chortle that might have caused Elaine to turn and look at him in a restaurant if she’d heard it.

Of course, they weren’t in a restaurant, they were in her bedroom! And if she
had
turned to glance at him in a restaurant, she would have looked away immediately to avoid sending false signals.

Gabe was
so
not her type. Her type was young and sleek, clean-shaven and prosperous. Her lovers went to the gym with the same religious fervor she did. Or, if not, they trained regularly to compete in some rigorous but acceptable sport. No mountain bikers or skateboarders, for example, but skiers and marathoners were acceptable, provided they had day jobs.

Gabe had no facial hair, thank God, but otherwise there was nothing sleek about him. He wore black-framed glasses, the sort that bass players in funky indie bands seemed to buy in bulk, and his dark hair sprang from his head in corkscrew curls. He was average height, and from his build, Elaine would guess his exercise regime probably consisted of walking to the corner bakery. No potbelly, but definitely going soft around the middle.

He was by far the oldest man she’d ever been with, too. At least forty. She avoided men that age. After a certain age, men came with relationship baggage they were bound to dump out on your living room floor, hoping you’d pick it up and organize it for them.

Yet Gabe’s eyes stopped her. She couldn’t help but linger on his face, on those eyes, lighter brown than her own and warmly affectionate even when he wasn’t smiling. His mouth, too, was appealing, generous and curved in a way that suggested he might laugh at any lame joke. Not because he wanted to make you feel good or anything, necessarily, but because this man genuinely found life more amusing than sad. Unlike her.

“Finish your coffee,” Gabe said gently. “It’ll help your head.”

Elaine surprised herself by obeying, keeping an eye on him as Gabe disappeared from the bedroom again. How did she even know that was his real name? She hoped he wasn’t rifling through her purse. Well, identity theft was the least she deserved for being such a moron and drinking enough to black out.

The coffee was just the way she liked it, black and strong. How had he known?

More important, where did they meet? Where was her car? And how the hell had this man talked her into letting him bring her home and breaking her own rules?

Gabe reappeared, carrying a plate of toast thick with butter and strawberry jam. Elaine’s stomach rebelled at the idea of food, especially carbs. Never mind the gym. She hadn’t even gotten up to walk to the bathroom this morning! Yet somehow Gabe calmly chided her into eating a piece of toast.

He sank cross-legged onto the floor—all right, he was flexible, so maybe he did yoga, that was a small plus—and chewed his own toast in a companionable way, catching the crumbs in the palm of his hand. His feet were bare.

This guy would be perfect for Ava, Elaine thought, then felt her face flush as she remembered the unpleasant scene from last night: Gigi dancing in her sister’s living room and singing Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” The worst part was that Elaine knew the lyrics by heart because it was one of Dad’s favorite songs.

Gigi’s father’s, too, obviously.
Crap.

Elaine’s hand started shaking so badly, she had to set the empty coffee mug down on the table. She moved too clumsily and missed the table altogether.

Gabe magically appeared beside the bed and caught the mug before it hit the floor. “Whoa. You okay?”

His voice was deep, as appealing as his laugh, but she was determined not to like it. Or him, with his Jedi mind tricks. Gabe needed to leave her condo so she could think. He needed to leave
now
.

She must have said these words aloud, because Gabe bent over and started strapping on shoes. Sandals, naturally, the sort of thick-soled, wide-strapped leather sandals a camel trader would wear. “Okay. If you’re sure you’re feeling all right, I’ll get out of your hair,” he said. He was almost, but not quite, smiling.

She glared. “I am totally
fine
.”

“You’re vertical, anyway.” Gabe hovered at the foot of her bed. “But if you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t seem
fine
at all.”

“I do mind,” Elaine countered, “since you don’t know one thing about my life upon which to base your opinion.”

“‘Upon which’?” he repeated, grinning.

“Yes,” she said. “What’s wrong with that?”

Gabe laughed. “Nothing! I’m delighted to meet a woman who knows her way around a prepositional phrase. That’s why I stopped going online to meet women, you know. I couldn’t stand wading through that sulfurous grammar bog.”

“I know what you mean,” she said, then clammed up, afraid of appearing too agreeable.

Little chance of that. She was too hungover. Bits and pieces from the night before were starting to soak through her consciousness now, as if a layer of paper towels had been pressed onto her damp brain and the contours of last night’s events were only now seeping through it.

Fact: she had been to not just one bar, but two.

Fact: she had driven crazily from Ava’s to the Matchbox Bar, testing how long the yellow lights stayed yellow, only to be escorted out the door by a bouncer because she’d started yelling at some guy about something she couldn’t even bear to remember right now.

Fact: she had driven home, ditched her car, and walked to the Foggy Tavern around the corner from her apartment.

She’d never set foot in the Foggy Tavern before. In fact, she typically crossed the street to avoid it. It was the kind of neighborhood bar with Christmas lights strung up year-round, neon 3-D beer signs, motorcycles parked outside, and a karaoke machine in the corner. How had she ended up there, for God’s sake? What primitive part of her cerebral cortex had fired up to make her think
that
was such a brilliant idea?

Gabe was watching her closely with those unnervingly sympathetic eyes, apparently tracking her thoughts. “How much do you remember?”

Elaine waved a hand, hoping it wouldn’t tremble. “Enough to know we didn’t sleep together.”

“You don’t really know that.” His voice was pleasant. “I could have had my way with you and dressed you afterward. You were really out of it.”

The same horrible thought had crossed her mind, too, of course, but she had dismissed it. Somehow, Elaine couldn’t picture a date rapist in sandals and a Habitat for Humanity T-shirt.

“You’re not the type,” she said.

“Lucky for you. But the next guy who picks you up in a bar might be.”

Gabe now sounded as stern as Ava. One thing was clear: this guy was a caretaker. Probably the adult child of an alcoholic or the oldest brother of a dozen kids.

“Are you lecturing me?” She squinted at him, bringing him into focus, her head swimming.

“Nope. I wouldn’t dare. But honestly? Do you remember anything about last night? I practically had to carry you home.”

Elaine felt a slight tremble in her lower lip and put her fingers up to stop it. “Not really.” She wouldn’t let herself whisper, hang her head, or close her eyes. In her experience, refusing to act ashamed was the first step toward moving on from a bad decision instead of wallowing in guilt. “Where did we meet?”

“In the karaoke bar around the corner. You were singing an Aerosmith song.”

“That’s impossible. I can’t sing.”

“I didn’t say you were any good.”

Elaine winced at the idea that she might have been bellowing into a microphone as some reflexive, ridiculous, ineffective revenge for Ava letting Gigi sing in her house. Jesus. Was she really that jealous? That pathetic?

She was, obviously.

“Then what? How did you end up in my condo?” She couldn’t bring herself to say “in my bed.”

“It wasn’t easy. I thought you were going home with that motorcyclist in the red bandanna. The guy with all the tattoos. Remember him?”

Elaine groaned. It was all starting to come back like a downloaded YouTube video playing in halting segments: some bald Neanderthal in a red bandanna had actually picked her up and slung her over one shoulder. He’d tried to carry her out of the bar. This much Elaine remembered because she could recall the dizzying, sickening sensation of the world being upside down, a world of blue jeans and sneakers and peanut shells on the floor.

Then what?

It was all a blank. “We didn’t sleep together.” She wanted to be absolutely clear on this point.

“No.” His light brown eyes crinkled again. “I only ravish women who are awake.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before. This isn’t me.”

Gabe had stopped smiling. “Glad to hear it.” He put on his denim jacket—seriously? A denim jacket? Who wore those, other than models posed against mountain backdrops in catalogs?—pulled a card out of his wallet, and placed it on the table beside her. “Call me if you ever need a bodyguard for one of your nights on the town. Or a lunch date.”

She picked up the card and squinted at it.
Gabriel Blaustein.
Oh, God. The knight who’d come to her rescue was a chubby Jew in a jeans jacket who, for some reason, had been in a karaoke bar with Christmas lights and defended her honor in some mysterious, misguided attempt at chivalry. And she had no ethical choice but to be grateful. Or to act grateful, anyway, even if she’d rather have him just beam up to wherever he’d come from.

“Wait,” she said.

Gabe turned around, his eyebrows raised above the frames of his black glasses.

“It’s nice to meet you, Gabe,” she said. “My name is Elaine.” Out of habit, she didn’t offer her last name.

“I know.”

“How?”

“I had to go through your purse to find your driver’s license, so I’d know where to carry you home after you passed out.”

“Oh my God.” She put her head in her hands and closed her eyes, humiliation rising like a cloud of unpleasant scent to choke her.

She felt the side of the bed sink as Gabe sat down. He reached over and stroked her hair. “Everybody’s entitled to one bad night,” he said. “You got lucky on yours. But don’t do that again, okay? Or if you do, keep that card in your wallet so you can call me. Promise?”

“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, clenching her eyes shut.

“Why not?” Gabe continued to stroke her hair, his fingers gentle.

Elaine didn’t have an answer to that, so she said nothing. It was taking all the energy in the world not to cry.

•   •   •

They found Katy in the garden. She looked remarkable, Ava thought, nearly healed. Her pale hair was brushed straight back from her forehead and held in place with a tortoiseshell hair band. Her gray eyes were serene. She was wearing black capris and a pink tank top, and she was weeding one of her perennial gardens, tossing plants into a green plastic tub.

Katy stood up and shaded her eyes as they approached. “Oh, hello! I didn’t even know you’d gone out,” she said to Gigi. “No wonder you didn’t answer when I called to see if you wanted breakfast.”

As Gigi explained about riding her bike to Ava’s house to see Evan’s drawings, Ava wondered how it was that a mother wouldn’t know if her fifteen-year-old daughter had left the house. Of course, as Elaine had pointed out, their own mother never knew where they were, either. Maybe that was the result of having a house big enough that your bedroom was on a separate floor from your child’s. Ava could still remember the heady thrill of sneaking out of this very house in high school to meet Mark in the middle of the night.