Fire Works in the Hamptons : A Willow Tate Novel (9781101547649) (8 page)

Infant apparel had to be flame-retardant by law, she told me now, after I'd kept the poor child naked all day except for her diaper, which was usually so wet it couldn't have caught fire.

“I don't think Elladaire can burn herself,” I told Janie. The fireflies never did, or there'd be no fireflies.

“But she can burn down everything else. You've got to do something, Willy. I can't tell my customers I'm canceling their hair appointments because my grandniece is a time bomb. I sure as the devil can't take her with me to the salon with all those chemicals.”

“You could tell them you have to take Elladaire to visit her sick mother. People will understand.”

“I need the money to help pay Mary's bills. Her insurance won't cover half the expenses and that bastard she married won't cough up a dime.”

I gave Elladaire a good-bye kiss. “I've asked for help. I don't know what else to do.”

“Well, you better start praying. I'll drop her off in the morning.”

Great, Janie had Elladaire when she slept from seven to seven. I had the infant arsonist when she was awake. What if it rained and we couldn't go to the beach? I read the directions on the fire extinguishers.

 

“Grandma, you know those drops you gave me for the dogs, to keep them calm? Are they safe for people?”

“Of course.”

“What about babies?”

“This better be for one of your stories, Willow Tate, or I am disowning you tomorrow.”

 

Next, I asked the only real experts I had. I was used to them by now, and not afraid to stand outside in the dark and talk to fire-flinging beetles. They whirred and whizzed around leaving trails of tiny shooting stars, but they offered no answers. I gave up and started inside. I had to let the dogs in from their fenced-in area at the side yard first, so I walked around the house. One of the lightning bugs must have followed me, then tried to investigate the old shepherd.

Who knows what a dog sees? A bug? A spark? The dog snapped at the insect, and the insect torched back.

There was a lot of frantic crying, yelping, and running in circles. The dog was pretty upset, too.

I called the nearest vet in Mom's address book. Most likely his answering machine would direct me to the all-night veterinarian clinic in Riverhead, but that was almost forty minutes away! I begged him to pick up.

For once my wish was granted. Dr. Matt Spenser had several emergencies that day, so he was checking on patients at the animal hospital, next door to his house. He knew my mother, the work she did, and her dogs. He told me to come right over.

We had a handful of vets on the East End, in East Hampton, Montauk, and Sag Harbor, which left Amagansett, Paumanok Harbor, and Springs with none close by. Matt Spenser filled a big gap.

He filled the examining room, too. He stood at least six-two, with the body of a football player. His light brown hair was long and tousled, as if he didn't have time for a barber. He had on an old shirt with bleach holes in it. Even if I didn't know he was divorced, I would have guessed. I guessed his age at about forty, his love for his job about a hundred percent.

He gave Buddy a shot for pain, some salve for the burn on his jaw, and a soft treat from the jar on the counter. He offered me a glass of water.

“I'm sorry, there's nothing stronger here. You look like you could use a scotch.”

“That's okay. I don't drink.”

“Me neither.”

He went back to talking to the dog, although he had to know Buddy was half deaf. “Good boy. You'll be fine. I know it's scary, but it's over and you can go home to your pals and your soft bed.”

I didn't know about Buddy, but I felt better listening to his calm, soothing voice. What a nice man. I sighed in relief that he'd answered the phone and fixed my dog.

He looked over at me. “Don't worry. Mostly likely he won't remember anything about tonight.”

“I hope he remembers enough not to chomp on any more lightning bugs.”

Dr. Spenser kept stroking the dog. “You know, I see a lot of insect stings in dogs and cats. They're always putting their noses where they don't belong. The bites I'm seeing now are different, though, more like burns. I worried about the first cases I got last week from Paumanok Harbor, because it looked as if someone was holding a cigarette to a dog. I was ready to call the police, the Animal Control officer, and the ASPCA, but then someone brought in another dog. And another, from a different neighborhood, on different days. The owners were people I knew, people like you who really love their animals.”

Buddy was my mother's dog, but I didn't need to tell him that. I needed to give him the current theory I was trying to promote. “It's a new strain of beetle, I hear, that carries some kind of acid. People are talking about Plum Island where they do those animal experiments.”

“This isn't hoof-and-mouth disease.”

“No, but it's never been seen before.”

“A lot of things in Paumanok Harbor have never been seen before. Like your mother's uncanny communion with canines. And how the guy at the drugstore always knows when I've got a hot—That is, he knows more about my personal life than I do.”

“Walter believes in safe sex.”

“So do I. That's why I run spay and neuter clinics every month. It's not the same. And one of your neighbors brings her imaginary dog every year for his physical.”

“That's very kind of you to play along.”

“Who's playing? I swear I can hear the dog's heart beating. That's just the tip of the Paumanok Harbor iceberg.”

“But you like it here?”

“I love it. You never know who or what'll walk in the door next.” He gave me a smile, to emphasize his point.

“Um, well, the air is purer here and the people are, uh, creative thinkers.”

He laughed. He wasn't buying my explanations, but he wasn't calling me a liar, like a bunch of the lie-detector Harborites would have. And he had a nice laugh. “I don't think Paumanok Harbor's weirdness comes from the air or the locals' imaginations.”

“Maybe it's in the genes,” I said, laughing too so he wouldn't realize I was finally telling the truth.

“You know, I was one of the vets at the big horse show you guys put on.”

“You did a great job, between the horses and dogs and sheep. Did you get to see any of the show?”

He nodded. “Some really amazing stuff. But the end got kind of hazy somehow.”

Which told me what kind of man he was, besides nice. He was normal, ordinary, one of Them. One of Us would have seen and remembered a herd of iridescent white mares dancing and disappearing as the show concluded, despite the mayor's hocus-pocus.

“As long as you got to see Ty Farraday and Paloma Blanca, his Lipizzaner mare.”

He looked at Buddy, but he spoke to me: “I saw them single you out of the whole audience.”

“We, ah, became good friends during the preparations.”

“Lucky man.”

Hmm. “He's gone now.”

“Stupid man.”

Hmm, hmm. There was absolutely nothing wrong with a nice, normal man. Except I'd sworn off all men. I changed the subject quickly. “Thanks. I believe some experts are coming soon to get rid of the infestation.”

He politely accepted the change. “That's good. So far I've seen nothing serious, but a plague of venomous insects could be dangerous.”

He lifted Buddy down from the examining table with ease. The shepherd had to weigh a good sixty or seventy pounds, so the man kept fit. While he washed his hands at the nearby sink he asked, “Do you still have that feisty Pomeranian whose leg I had to amputate?”

“Who else would take him?”

He laughed again. “Well, keep him in at night when the fireflies are out. All that hair could turn into a catastrophe. Let's hope we get a storm soon. Insects don't like to fly in rain or wind. Either way, their courting season will be over soon, and they'll stop lighting up to find a mate. Or they might reach their age limits. I'd like to do some research on the species, so I know what I am dealing with for the next bite. Do you think you could bring me one?”

“NO!” I shouted. “That is, no. It's too dangerous to capture a live one, and I've never seen a dead one.”

“Maybe I'll come out and take a look for myself. Where's the best place to find them?”

A parallel universe, but I couldn't reveal that. My backyard, but I couldn't encourage him. Matt Spenser was an outsider, a danger in itself to Paumanok Harbor and its residents. I had to keep him at a distance, even if I'd feel better having a calm, competent man for a friend, at the least. I tugged on Buddy's leash to get him headed for the door.

“You should bring him back in a couple of days for me to check the wound.”

“I thought you said he'd be okay.”

“What if he ate the bug?”

Good grief, Buddy'd be a blowtorch every time he barked. “No, he didn't. I saw the thing fly away.”

“That's good. But bring him in anyway.” He sent me another smile. “I'd like to see you again.”

Oh. “Maybe my mother will be back by then. I'll tell her.”

“An amazing woman, your mother. Do you know she's the reason I settled on this neighborhood? She convinced me this was the perfect spot for a new practice. She was right. And know what? She said I'd be happy to meet you. She was right there, too.”

My mother ought to be sent into space to rescue Canis Minor. On the other hand, there really was nothing wrong with having a cup of tea with a nice, normal man. Nothing except blazing bugs and babies.

CHAPTER 8

P
EOPLE ACTUALLY VOLUNTEERED for this?

I'm sorry, Mom, but your hopes for grandkids just went down the toilet, along with a lot of disgusting unmentionables. I admire women who can do this, who get real pleasure out of changing diapers, spooning slop into uncooperative mouths, singing the itsy bitsy spider ten times. I am not one of them. I doubt I'd feel any different if the infant were mine.

Elladaire is cute and lovable. I'd love to buy her books and stuffed bears and pretty dresses with flowers on them. Spend another day keeping her happy, keeping her from the electric cords, the dogs' tails, the house plants, the bric-a-brac, everything else dangerous, inedible, or irreplaceable? No thanks.

It was raining. No nonflammable beach. No playground. No stroller rides. I couldn't pop her in the car and head for stores that carried toys and baby videos and board books. Not when a single wail could set the car on fire.

“It's just you and me, kid, but today's the last day. Your auntie Jane can take over from here. I wasn't the one who let you teethe on a bug bigger than a praying mantis. I know it's not your fault, but I'm not cut out for this job.”

It started too early, for one thing. Janie arrived with Elladaire before I could shower or change or make breakfast.

“Here's her oatmeal, her bottle, more clothes, more diapers. I have to meet with Mary's insurance agent about her house and how much fire damage they'll cover. Lord knows what they'll put down as cause.”

Elladaire was fussy, which was a polite way of saying she was difficult. She spit the oatmeal all over my sleep shirt, threw the bottle across the kitchen, mashed her bananas and Cheerios into my hair when I picked her up, and peed on the couch while I was changing her. Her eyes filled with tears, her lower lip started to quiver.

I stood ready with wet towels and a fire extinguisher. I was exhausted, hungry, and filthy, and couldn't do anything about any of it because I couldn't take my eyes off her for a second, not until she took a nap. Here I was, wiped out and at my wit's end, and it wasn't nine o'clock in the morning yet.

Bad mother that I am, I found some idiot kids' show on the TV. A goofy clown sang and danced and flashed bright colors. Elladaire was fascinated. I put the wet towel on my forehead.

Then I heard the thunder. The rain was bad enough, but now we had an electric storm, too? Elladaire and I could hide in the bathroom. No, then she'd grow up afraid of lightning like me. For now she just seemed startled.

I wondered about the fireflies. Where did they go in the rain? For that matter, where did butterflies and ladybugs go so their wings didn't get wet? Under trees, I guess, though I've never seen any during storms.

I waited for the next flash or boom, but the thunder rolled on, louder, closer. Elladaire's eyes got wider.

That was not thunder, I realized, but a truck barreling too fast down the private access. It was most likely a wholesaler desperate for Grandma Eve's fresh produce. Or a manure deliveryman in a hurry to get back on the main street before our dirt road turned to muck in the rain. What if Elladaire and I had been walking down to the farm? Worse, what if the loud noise frightened the baby into crying? I felt like shouting to the dumbass driver what I thought, except this wasn't mid-Manhattan, and I couldn't use those words in front of a child.