Good Harbor (16 page)

Their laughter carried over the water.

On the island, only three wiry boys were visible, hunting for wildlife in the tide
pools, nets in hand. Their excited cries were insistent and shrill.

“Hey, Carter.”

“Hey, look!”

“Hey, over here.”

Joyce looked up. From the beach, the climb to the summit of Salt Island looked relatively
easy, but here, at the bottom of the fifty-foot rise, the path seemed like nothing
but a deep gap between two vertical boulders. A knotted yellow rope lay across one
of them. Would she need to haul herself up, arm over arm? She imagined herself dangling
from it, hollering for help. Joyce had done such a good job of avoiding heights, she
had nearly forgotten how much she hated them.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she said, hoping her hesitation wasn’t
obvious.

“Don’t worry about me. Being out in the air like this gives me energy, and I usually
sleep better afterwards. I’m hoping for a full eight hours tonight.”

“Okay.” Joyce pulled sneakers and a sweatshirt out of her backpack. “I’m game.”

She tried not to think about falling and kept her eyes on Kathleen’s feet ahead of
her. In five breathless minutes, they’d reached the top.

Joyce shaded her eyes and moved slowly, like a searchlight, taking in the panorama
of Good Harbor. The tidal river was gone, and the footbridge looked like a Japanese
miniature. The salt marsh glittered bottle-green in the late light, while oblivious
drivers sped through the deepening sky, heading home for supper.

She turned. The balconies of the red motel were deserted, but next door, a fortunate
few sat, in proprietary silence, on the decks of houses perched above the private
stretch of the beach. Joyce imagined their vista, focused on Thacher Island and its
twin lighthouses.

She turned again to scan the broad arc of dark ocean, one hundred eighty degrees of
sky-skimmed water, full and empty, blue on blue, cool and far. Joyce felt dizzy —
a momentary, champagne kind of dizzy. She looked to landfall at the rocky stretch
below Atlantic Avenue where the Bass Rocks wore their customary mantle of gulls and
cormorants, prehistoric birds, drying their mangy-looking wings in the breeze.

Joyce strained to memorize the colors, the specific shape of rock, roof, breaker,
and beak, bathed in this light.

She faced the mansion on the bluff, a boxy Yankee castle that inspired fantasies of
wealth in everyone who walked Good Harbor. Funny how it was not so grand from here,
swallowed by the tree-covered hills above and behind. Next time she would bring binoculars.

Kathleen, meanwhile, stood perfectly still, facing straight out to the sea. She soaked
up the late sun’s warmth. She savored her own breath, in and out, slowing down, after
the climb.

Joyce watched a solitary woman walking the beach, a long, beige caftan fluttering
at her ankles. Joyce looked over at Kathleen, now facing up, studying the overhead
sky.

“What color would you call that?” Kathleen asked. “Cerulean?”

“It’s nearly purple, isn’t it? So rich, you know? Almost” — Joyce searched for a word
— “chocolate.”

Kathleen laughed. “Blue chocolate? That doesn’t sound very appetizing.”

“Oh, no? Blue is the color of heaven, where you have as much chocolate and sex as
you want. In fact, I’ve never understood how anyone could have a favorite color other
than blue.”

“Then I won’t tell you that mine is the color of the sand at Good Harbor.”

“I forgive you.”

“There is only one place I love as much as this,” Kathleen said. “Halibut Point.”

“Never been.”

“In all these years?” Kathleen reproached her. “You’ve got to go. It’s wonderful.
Very different from this. All rocks and crags — no sand. Magnificent. I used to take
my boys. One day every summer, just before dawn, no warning at all, I’d roust them
out of bed. They’d fall asleep in the car, and I’d bribe them awake with cookies and
a thermos of hot chocolate. We’d walk out to the biggest, farthest-out rock we could
find, and the minute we saw the sun, we all cock-a-doodle-doo-ed like roosters.” Kathleen
cupped her mouth and crowed.

The boys on the rocks below looked up.

Kathleen crowed again. Joyce waved at the boys.

“Did Buddy go with you?”

“No. He took the boys fishing without me, so Halibut Point was my little adventure
with them. I told Buddy we were going out for a sunrise breakfast, which we did. We
went to the diner in Lanesville. Hal always got buttermilk pancakes and Jack had French
toast.

“You have to go for the sunrise sometime, Joyce. It’s just . . . well” — Kathleen
reached out to the view and held it between her hands — “as good as this.”

“You talked me into it. But I don’t think I’ll be able to drag Nina along.”

“Hal stopped coming the year he turned fourteen. But Jack went until he graduated
from high school. The last year we went, he drove, and when he got there, he opened
the door for me.” Kathleen smiled at the memory. “Very gallant.”

A sleek powerboat skimmed across the horizon, bouncing lightly on the water. The engine’s
sharp whine sounded a tinny note above the splash of the hull, cutting across the
waves.

Joyce lay back on a flat rock, which held the warmth of the sun and the acrid smell
of birds. “Should we be getting back?” she asked, her eyes closed.

“There’s no rush for the tide, if that’s what you mean.” Kathleen looked over her
shoulder toward the center of the island. “There used to be a kind of pond in the
rocks. It must still be there. The boys and I used to visit it.”

“Let’s go see.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll follow you anywhere,” said Joyce.

“You’re good for my ego.”

Joyce smiled. “About a year ago, I met an interesting woman at a PTO meeting. We really
hit it off, chatting in the driveway afterwards. But when I asked her if she wanted
to have coffee, she said no, she already had more friends than she had time for. Imagine
that.”

“It’s been a long time since I made a new friend. But I think that’s mostly my own
fault,” Kathleen said. “I’m so private. I don’t . . . what’s the word? . . . disclose.
Especially if something’s wrong. It was drilled into me that you don’t put your business
out where anyone else can see. It makes for a lonely life. My grandmother used to
say the Irish are a lonely people. She said it with a kind of pride.

“I sometimes think one of the reasons Pat was attracted to religious life was the
closeness we saw among the Sisters who taught us. The Sisters of St. Joseph were such
good women — none of that smacked-knuckles business — very kind to us and generous
with one another.” Kathleen paused. “I haven’t thought of them in such a long time.”

Joyce watched the sunlight shift in Kathleen’s white hair, making her eyes seem much
bluer. Suddenly they were brimming. “Kathleen?”

“I’m okay. I just miss her. My sister.”

“Of course. But you can talk to me, you know. About anything.”

“Yes.” Kathleen put her hand on Joyce’s shoulder for a moment. “I know that.” Waves
splashed in the deep grotto beneath them and sent up the smell of cool brine. Kathleen
got to her feet. “Are you ready to explore?”

“Lead on.”

They made their way across a fairly level plain of rock, clambering around granite
boulders strewn by ancient ice. It didn’t take long for Kathleen to find the pond,
which turned out to be a brackish puddle surrounded by scrubby weeds. Tiny wasps buzzed
across its glazed surface.

“Sorry,” Kathleen said, wrinkling her nose. “I guess what I really remember is how
much Hal and Jack loved finding it.”

Joyce crouched down. “I can see why. It’s crawling with life, heated by the sun and
nourished by bird shit.”

Kathleen laughed.

“Boy, are you a cheap date. All it takes is a single four-letter word, and you’re
on the floor.”

“You’re a bad influence. I’m swearing a blue streak these days. Well, for me it’s
a blue streak. Buddy gets a kick out of it, actually.”

“Oh, great. So now I’m known in the Levine house as the woman who corrupted Kathleen.”

“Buddy calls you Dr. Joyce.”

“Ha.”

“Well, Doctor, I think we’d better be going.”

“Okay, but, Kathleen, I need to pee.”

“Well, go ahead.”

Joyce hesitated.

“I’ll join you.” In one fluid motion, Kathleen crouched and pulled her pants and underwear
around her knees.

“Wow. For such a ladylike lady, you’re very good at that.”

“Thank you,” Kathleen said with mock dignity. Joyce laughed and managed a reasonably
good imitation.

“Didn’t you have peeing contests as a kid?” Kathleen asked, watching as it ran down
the rocks, drying without a trace. “Patty and I did it in the backyard, summers. My
grandmother caught us once. Chased us around the house with a hairbrush, but we were
too fast for her.”

“I don’t think I ever had a peeing contest in my whole life. This is like a milestone!”

“Mazel tov,” said Kathleen, starting to laugh. “Today you are a woman.”

That set Joyce off, and soon they were on their sides, gasping for breath, hiccuping
laughter.

“Oh, oh, oh,” said Joyce, pulling her pants up. “It’s not even all that funny. Can
you imagine what we look like?”

“I’m afraid so.” Kathleen wiped her eyes and stood. “I think we’ll go back around
the other side. It might be a little faster.”

She headed down a cascade of rocks that seemed more and more menacing to Joyce as
they descended. Kathleen pointed out good footholds and hummed under her breath; Joyce
tried to manage her rising panic. I will not wimp out, she thought. Shit, I
can’t
wimp out. What would Kathleen do? Carry me?

They were on the sand within fifteen minutes and walked back to shore in water lapping
at their ankles. Kathleen took Joyce’s hand and raised it like a prizefighter’s. “Now
you can tell the world you conquered Salt Island.”

“Let’s have T-shirts made,” Joyce said.

“Okay,” said Kathleen. “But first, let’s go for a drink.”

BUDDY WAS WAITING
at the door when Kathleen got home. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “Joyce and I had a
margarita out on Rocky Neck after the beach.”

He followed her to the kitchen, where she began to describe the walk to Salt Island.
“It was so beautiful, Bud. We found that little pond the boys used to love. I think
Joyce was a little nervous climbing down, but I was calm as a clam. Pretty good for
an old lady, huh?”

He stared at her for just a moment. “Good?” he said, straining to keep his voice level.
“What if you fell? What if she fell? The lifeguards were gone. It’s been dark for
over an hour. I almost called Jack at work. I was close to calling the cops. Didn’t
you even think what I might be going through here?”

He was nearly shouting, and Kathleen went cold with shame. Buddy sat down heavily
and put his head in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have left a note. I wasn’t thinking. It was
just . . . I forgot myself.”

He didn’t move. The clock ticked above their heads.

Kathleen heated a can of soup and they ate without speaking. Soon after, she went
to bed with a copy of
Library Digest
. Buddy stayed in the den, the TV on.

Sorry as she was for worrying Buddy, Kathleen tried not to feel too guilty about her
day with Joyce. She was too tired to read and turned off the lights. Running her hands
over the muscles in her thighs and calves, she thought about taking some aspirin;
she’d probably be sore in the morning.

She woke up, hours before dawn, uneasy. In the bathroom mirror she pulled up her nightgown
and stared at her breast. The skin was red and raw, the nipple was sore, and there
was a dull ache inside her chest. Kathleen stared at her haggard, frightened face.
What had she done?

Later that morning, Dr. Singh reassured her that the symptoms had nothing to do with
exercise. “Please, Mrs. Levine,” he said gently. “Put that out of your mind. Skin
problems are a normal side effect. This happens to many patients, and the symptoms
resolve once the treatment is over.”