Chance Harbor (28 page)

“She’s not up to
anything
!”

“Let’s hope you’re right. Maybe she won’t even come back, now that she’s seen you and satisfied her curiosity. Just promise you won’t see her unless your dad or I come with you. Do not go anywhere with Zoe by yourself, okay?”

“Jesus. Okay, okay,” Willow mumbled without looking at Catherine. She could never look people directly in the eye when she was lying.

The day dragged. Seven hours of school felt like seventy. Willow checked her phone so often—certain that Zoe would text or call, at least to get her stuff back—that her social studies teacher took the phone away.

“I need you to pay attention to me, not to your phone, Ms. MacLeish,” Ms. Frangiapani said, pushing her blue eyeglasses up higher on her nose. “This information will all be on the test tomorrow.”

Yeah, yeah
,
whatever,
Willow wanted to say.
Test me now if you want.
There wasn’t one thing she didn’t already know about world history, thanks to Russell’s stupid dinner-table lectures.

The upside of getting humiliated by a teacher in public school was that it gave you street cred. It wasn’t cool to be too good. After her phone got taken away, two kids Willow had never talked to before invited her to sit with them at lunch. Fiona and Jasmine: Disney princess names, but they were all about fleeces and hiking boots. Like at any minute they might start climbing the school walls and rappelling back down off the roof.

Finally, the last bell rang. Willow racewalked to the office, where, before giving her phone back, the dean of students made her write a letter of apology to the teacher and the principal.

Only one message on her phone. It was from Henry, reminding Willow that she’d agreed to meet him in Harvard Square after school today. They’d met a few times after Willow left Beacon Hill, sometimes with Kendrick and Carly.

She’d worried at first that Henry was like some of the other kids at Beacon Hill; a lot of kids had e-mailed or texted to ask about Nola and Russell, looking to juice up their Twitter and Instagram feeds, a fact she didn’t catch on to until it was too late. But after she told Henry she didn’t want to talk about any of that, he was cool.

“I just like hanging out with you,” he’d said.

Now Willow hesitated before texting him back. Catherine had given her strict instructions to go straight home. “I don’t want you monkeying around alone on the Common while I’m at work,” she’d warned. “And no seeing Zoe unless I’m there. Or your dad.”

But she wasn’t going to the Common, and she wasn’t going to be alone, so she wouldn’t be breaking any of Catherine’s stupid rules.
OK,
Willow texted back, and started walking toward the square.

She met Henry at Newbury Comics. They hung out there until they got dirty looks from the manager, whose lip piercing was so infected it looked like a blood-swollen tick, then wandered back out of the store and started spiraling down the ramp to the first floor.

Ordinarily they spun around together, a not-really-dancing-but-sort-of thing. Today, though, Willow just followed Henry’s tall twirling body at enough of a distance so his arms wouldn’t whack her.

He stopped in the middle of the ramp and said, “How come you’re just walking like a normal boring human? What’s wrong?”

“Just everything,” she said.

He came over and looped an arm around her shoulders. When most guys touched her, Willow freaked, but Henry was her own Big Friendly Giant, a fact they’d discussed so often that sometimes they even quoted the Dahl book to each other: “The human bean is not a vegetable,” “Two rights don’t equal a left,” and, their favorite, “Don’t gobblefunk around with words.” Now she tucked herself into his armpit.

“Everything like what?” Henry asked.

“Like my mom.”

She felt Henry’s long arm stiffen up as he said, “Your real mom?” So he did remember.

“Yeah. As it turns out, she happens not to be dead.”

They’d reached the bottom of the ramp; now they stopped in the hallway where a homeless man in a trench coat reminded Willow of her mother’s weird disguise. Catherine was right to ask how Zoe thought it was okay to lie for such a long time. That was fucked-up.

“Tell me,” Henry was saying, “but only if you want to.”

She did. She had to tell
somebody
, and there was nobody she trusted more than Henry. Not even Catherine.

“Whoa,” Henry said when she was done. “And you have no idea where your mom is now?”

Willow shook her head.

“Well, but at least you know she’s alive, right? You could Google her.”

“Not unless she has an address.” Willow jabbed him in the ribs. “I don’t even know if she goes by the same last name. She pretty much lies about everything.”

“That sucks,” Henry said. “You totally deserve better.”

“Thanks,” she said, and thought, yeah, she did, but that didn’t mean anything better was going to happen. “What I hate most is that I can’t do anything about this. It’s not in my control.”

Henry laughed. “So you’ve seen the light.”

“What?” She tipped her head up to look at him, frowning. From this angle, she could see the red-gold stubble of his beard popping out on his chin. And his wide, smiling mouth. She liked Henry’s mouth, Willow realized.

“I mean that you’ve come to the conclusion that nothing is in our control, as people have had to realize since the dawn of time. We’re talking about human beans, here, remember?”

“And the human bean is not a vegetable,” she said.

They both laughed, and then Willow had to stop laughing, because Henry was turning her in his arms somehow until she was wrapped against him, warm instead of cold, but shivering at the same time because of the way Henry made her whole complicated world seem easier.

•   •   •

They took the earliest possible ferry from Nova Scotia back to Prince Edward Island on Tuesday morning, and Eve was on the road back to Massachusetts by midmorning.

As she crossed the Confederation Bridge, Eve replayed Catherine’s call in her head. Not the words as much as her daughter’s strained voice. She’d heard that high note of panic in Catherine’s voice only once before. It was a night when all three of them had gone searching for Zoe, not quite sixteen, who was out long after curfew. Catherine was home from her first year of college for the summer, and she had found Zoe passed out under one of the bridges in Newburyport near the rail trail. Bruises on her face, difficult to rouse.

Catherine had called 911 first, then Eve, her voice laced with that hysteria as she said, “Something really bad happened to Zoe, Mom. Come to the hospital. Right away.”

This felt like that: driving as fast as she could down through New Brunswick, pushing the gas pedal to the floor and leaning forward, as if her body weight could give the car more momentum. It had started to rain. The visibility was poor and passing trucks sprayed the windshield, blinding Eve every few minutes. She felt like she was hallucinating, or maybe hypnotized by the red taillights swirling in front of her as her mind lit up with questions like some bell-ringing arcade game. Was Zoe all right? Where had she been all this time? Where was she living? What was she using for money?

After Catherine’s frantic call, Darcy had held Eve all night long but nothing more. They didn’t even undress. A kid crisis trumped lovemaking every time. Eve couldn’t help this, and she was glad Darcy understood, but she was also sorry. Underlying her overwhelming wonder and relief about Zoe being alive was a shimmering slick of resentment that her fantasy life had been disrupted. This was probably the last time in her life she would ever feel young and desirable. Zoe coming back would age her by decades.

Darcy had helped her pack the car at Chance Harbor. At the last minute, he’d insisted that she take Bear for company. “In case you get stranded on the road,” he said.

“A lot of good that dog would do me,” she’d said. “If somebody tried to jack the car, he’d probably lick him to death.”

“But he
looks
intimidating,” Darcy had argued. “And talking to a dog makes you feel less crazy than talking to yourself. Trust me, I know. Plus, Bear will be safer with you looking after him. You’ve seen how he wanders. And I’ll have an excuse to see you again if you take my dog.”

“When?”

“As soon as I can.” As Darcy kissed her good-bye, a light brush of his lips on her forehead, Eve caught a hint of the whiskey they’d drunk by the lake, a combination of peat and night sky. Darcy’s cream wool sweater was itchy, but she briefly rested her head on his shoulder and let him support her weight in the circle of his arms.

Darcy was right: Bear
was
good company. It was a comfort to have his warm body on the front seat next to her, where she had invited the dog to sit after catching a glimpse of his morose expression in the rearview mirror. What must the poor dog think, being shunted from one person to the next?

Like Willow, Eve thought, and that’s when the tears started to fall, threading down her cheeks until she had to pull over and search the car for napkins. This made Bear think she was getting something to eat; his tail thumped against the door, making her laugh and break off a piece of granola bar for him.

Eve somehow made the trip in just over ten hours. She ate in the car and stopped only when she needed gas. She drank seven cups of coffee and popped M&M’s to keep herself awake. Once she crossed the border into Massachusetts, she zoomed past her usual Newburyport exit and breathed a sigh of relief as she wound through Cambridge’s narrow streets. At least she was done with that hypnotic highway driving. So much easier to stay awake in a city, where you had lights and traffic to look at instead of that straight black ribbon of road.

Ten minutes later she pulled into Catherine’s driveway and switched off the ignition. Bear whined and thumped his tail. “Now what?” she wondered, stroking his silky head.

The dog jumped out of the car when she opened the door for him and followed her up the stairs to Catherine’s porch. The lights were on in the house. After a moment’s hesitation, Eve rang the bell.

Catherine answered the door, her straight blond hair lifting in thin strands around the shoulders of her green sweater, her face pale and free of makeup. She’d lost more weight in the days Eve had been in Canada; her daughter’s blue eyes looked enormous, like the eyes of some Japanese anime heroine, and her delicate nose and mouth were pinched and pale.

“Mom,” she said. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Where is she?” Eve’s heart was hammering hard enough for her to feel it in her throat.

“Come inside, Mom.”

Eve stepped into the house, Bear at her heels. Catherine pressed her back against the wall to make way for the dog. “What the hell is that?”

“He belongs to a friend,” Eve said. “Don’t worry. He’ll behave himself. But he probably needs some water.”

“Mike’s bowl is in the kitchen,” Catherine said.

Just then, the puppy scrabbled down the steps and took a stiff, bowlegged stance, growling at Bear. The bigger dog sniffed Mike, wagged his tail, and lumbered down the hall toward the kitchen. Mike glanced at Catherine and then tore after him, barking.

“Will they be all right?” Eve asked.

“Mike can hold his own,” Catherine said. “Here, come sit in the living room.”

Eve shook her head. “No. Please. Just tell me about Zoe. You can’t imagine how difficult it was, driving down here without knowing anything.”

“I’m sorry.” Catherine seemed, if anything, to shrink down another size. “I can’t tell you more, because Zoe hasn’t come back. I’ve told you everything. Zoe’s alive, Mom. That’s all I know.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Eve said. “You’re sure?”

Catherine nodded. “Willow had been seeing her for a while.”

“My God. I really don’t believe it.” Eve felt something peculiar happening with her vision; everything was receding. It was as though she were looking at her daughter through the wrong end of binoculars suddenly. The kitchen beyond her seemed miles away.

“I know it’s a shock, but it’s true.” Even Catherine’s voice sounded muffled, as if they were speaking across a river. “Zoe’s definitely alive and she’s here. Well, not
here
here, obviously, but in Cambridge. Willow has been sneaking out to meet her.”

“I wasn’t sneaking!” Willow said as she padded into the hall from the kitchen to join them. She must have just taken a shower; her hair was wet and dark. “Zoe made me promise I wouldn’t tell, Nana. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right. I understand how Zoe can be,” Eve said, then felt the floor tipping beneath her. The wooden boards felt oiled slick beneath her feet. She was aware of a cracking sound and then a terrible pain at the back of her head before she blacked out.

When she opened her eyes, Willow was cradling her head and Catherine was phoning an ambulance. “No, no,” Eve said. “Please don’t call them. I’m all right.” She must have fainted and fallen. She struggled to sit up, but had to lie down again when her vision swam. The pain felt like someone had slit the back of her neck open with a knife.

“Don’t you dare move until we get you checked out, Mom,” Catherine said, crouching down to tuck a living room pillow beneath Eve’s head. “That was a nasty fall.”

“Don’t make such a fuss,” Eve said, but she didn’t try to sit up again. Not yet. She felt like she might vomit and there was a buzzing sound in her head, as if someone had turned on a fluorescent light in there. Willow was stroking her hair. This should have felt pleasant, but given the pounding in her head, Eve wanted to slap the girl’s hand away.

“Tell me about Zoe,” she said.

The doorbell rang before Catherine could answer. Eve knew, even as Catherine opened the front door, who it was. All of the love and worry and guilt and anger and loss she’d felt since Zoe disappeared were washing over her, emotions like a heavy surf pounding her against the wooden floor until she was numb with cold, breathless, and sick with fear.

Eve used all of her strength to sit up, pushing herself up off the wooden floor with both hands. She craned her head toward the door, biting her lip to keep from crying, to keep from shouting her daughter’s name in joy and surprise, in relief and fury, knowing she was powerless to change anything that had gone on before, or was about to happen now.