Junonia (4 page)

Throughout the rest of the day—most of which was spent on the beach—Alice tried her best to get used to Ted and Mallory.

Ted seemed to know more about birds than most people did. He could tell the difference between a least sandpiper, a western sandpiper, and a spotted sandpiper. This impressed Alice. She'd always considered a sandpiper a sandpiper, nothing more. Ted cleared his throat often, and he hummed a lot, too—a low, melodious rumble. If Alice's father had done those exact things in those exact ways, she would have been embarrassed, but neither Mallory nor Kate seemed bothered by Ted's mannerisms. There was a smattering of moles on Ted's back and shoulders that reminded Alice constantly (and sadly) of her speck. However, she did like his bathing suit—it was printed with dogs wearing sunglasses.

When Ted put his arm around Kate's shoulders or rubbed sunscreen on her back, Alice could feel a storm well up inside her. She wanted to keep her distance from him, but she wanted to be near Kate.

Mallory was difficult for Alice to figure out. One minute she was shy and clingy, a barnacle on her father's leg, and the next minute she'd make some pronouncement with a hard face and a snippy voice: “I'm hot” or “The sun's in my eyes” or “I'm thirsty.”

At one point in the afternoon, Mallory heaved handfuls of sand into the air, laughing. There wasn't much wind, but enough that the sand drifted over the group. Alice felt the sand strike her legs. When Ted told Mallory to stop, she defiantly threw sand at him. He calmly got up off his towel, took Mallory by the hand, and led her away. Mallory pitched a fierce tantrum, stamping her feet and flailing her arms about.

Alice watched. She narrowed her eyes and craned her head with awakening interest. There was something about the ordeal she found exciting.

A few minutes later, Ted and Mallory came back. Mallory picked up Munchkey.

“We're going to the cottage for a while,” Ted told them.

Mallory ground her heel into the sand and exclaimed furiously, between gasps, “Munchkey's
not
happy.”

She didn't seem to be addressing anyone in particular. She wants the world to know, thought Alice.

Mallory repeated it as she departed, “Munchkey's
not
happy.”

“Who is?” Kate said a moment later, lowering her sunglasses and rolling her eyes. She laughed helplessly.

Alice thought this was her first chance to be alone with Kate, but Kate stood and motioned for Alice's mother to follow her. “We'll be right back, sweetie,” said Kate.

“Where are you going?”

“A short walk.”

“Stay with me,” said Alice's father, patting the towel beside him. His voice came from beneath the opened book that covered his face.

“I thought you were sleeping,” said Alice.

He chuckled. “Through the wailing?”

Alice didn't respond. She settled next to her father on her mother's towel.

“What are you thinking?” The book remained on her father's face like a little tent.

It was a question he asked often. A question Alice usually didn't like to answer truthfully. She curled her lower lip. “Nothing.”

Without looking up, Alice's father stretched out his hand, found hers, and pressed it gently. “Maybe you'll become friends. . . .” His voice trailed off.

Alice doubted it. She sat up. She felt thick and restless at the same time. She shifted about on the towel. Overhead, gulls circled in wide loops. Fixing her eyes on a single bird, Alice followed it until it intersected with another bird, and then she followed that one. She did this—from gull to gull—until her eyes smarted from staring up into the bright sky.

When Alice's mother and Kate returned from their walk, Alice had forgotten the gulls and was lost in thought about her birthday. She was building up a brilliant party in her mind. In her fantasy, a beautiful bakery cake would be delivered to the cottage on her special day. The cake would be tiered, five layers, similar to a fancy wedding cake. Two people would be needed to carry it—that's how big it would be. It would be frosted in sea blue and studded all over with shells made of spun sugar. Instead of candles, there would be ten sparklers stuck into the top layer of the cake like a bouquet of white, electric chrysanthemums.

“I need your help,” Kate said to Alice as she plopped down next to her. “I've got a plan.”

The cake vaporized instantly. “What?” said Alice.

Kate slid her sunglasses up onto the top of her head. She edged closer to Alice, lifted Alice's chin, and spoke to her in a confidential way. “Let's get Mallory interested in shells. She needs something to . . . something fun to think about and keep her occupied. And you're a shell expert. What do you say?”

“You'll do it with me?”

“Of course. We'll be a team.”

“What about Ted?” asked Alice.

“Let's give Ted a break,” said Kate.

“Okay,” said Alice. “Just the two of us.”

“Well,” said Kate, “
three
of us. Don't forget Mallory.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Alice, laughing. “Duh.”

“Another correction,” said Kate, her expression worn and tender. “
Four
, not three. I'm sure Munchkey will be joining us.”

 

When Ted and Mallory came back to the beach, Mallory's eyes and cheeks were puffy and red. The circles that defined her face were more pronounced than ever. While Kate suggested looking for shells, Mallory hung her head, striking a tragic pose. She seemed to embody pure misery, and yet she took to the idea with a little coaxing.

“Ready?” asked Alice.

Mallory wove her fingers together and sighed.

“It'll be fun,” said Alice.

“Okay,” said Mallory, nodding.

Alice had gotten her shell guide and three plastic bags in which to collect their shells.

“Before we begin,” said Alice, “I should show you what to look for.” She flipped open her guide and explained which shells were common, which were considered good finds, and which were rare treasures. Alice's chest inflated with authority as she spoke. “The junonia is the best. Every year I hope I find one and I never do.”

“I bet
I
will,” said Mallory, perking up. “That's what I'll look for—a junonia.” She dragged out the word
junonia
, pausing for a beat between each syllable as if it were four words.

“It's harder than you think,” said Alice, trying to keep her voice from becoming sharp with irritation.

“I'm a good finder,” said Mallory. “Let's go.”

Alice started off, Mallory was at her heels, and Kate followed close behind, carrying Munchkey and the guide. They left Ted with Alice's parents.

Some shells seemed to be everywhere—clamshells and scallops and sailor's ears. Alice barely noticed them, but Mallory was scooping them up as though they were quarters and nickels and dimes scattered at their feet. “This is easy,” she said.

“You should be more picky,” Alice said quietly.

“What?” said Mallory.

“Oh, nothing.”

When Alice found a lightning whelk—the first interesting thing she spotted—she held it out for Mallory to see. She told her its name, then said, “It's not perfect. It's chipped at the bottom, but it's pretty good.” Alice had several lightning whelks at home. Bigger ones and ones in better shape. She offered it to Mallory. “Here,” said Alice. “You can have it.”

Mallory dropped it into her bag with hardly a glance.

They walked and walked.

Alice pointed out augers and cockles and coquinas. She liked teaching Mallory the names of the shells, although sometimes her student was less than attentive.

Because she was looking down and focusing her attention so precisely, Alice lost track of time and of herself. She wouldn't be able to put it into words, except to say she felt removed from the world. Or just at its edge. At the edge of the wild and beautiful world. She felt small, too. But part of something large. She was happy.

Mallory brought her back to the here and now with the questions: “What's this? Is it rare?”

“That is a kitten's paw,” Alice told her.

As soon as she heard the name, kitten's paws became Mallory's favorite. “Kitten's paws are the best,” she said emphatically. “And they really look like kitten's paws. I'm going to try to collect hundreds of them.”

She crouched like a kitten and pounced when she saw one. “Meow,” she said.

After that, Alice concentrated on her own collecting. To her, kitten's paws were ordinary. She found two good things—a perfect shark's eye and a tiny bright orange conch no bigger than a fly. They brought her boundless satisfaction.

“Let's turn around and head back,” Kate called.

Alice had forgotten about Kate. She'd been lagging behind, giving Alice and Mallory plenty of space. Now Alice wanted to be with Kate, and so after they turned around, they walked together, arm in arm, with Mallory just ahead of them, still consumed with her search for kitten's paws.

The sun was softening. Banks of clouds sat on the western horizon like great cottony hedgerows with deep lilac shadows.

“What do you want for your birthday dinner this year?” asked Kate.

“Same as always,” replied Alice. “Hot dogs on the grill and key lime pie and chocolate cake.”

“You're the only person I know who gets a pie
and
a cake for her birthday.”

Alice giggled and tipped her head to one side.

They unlocked their arms but remained close together, Alice's shoulder brushing against Kate every few strides.

They talked about school and clothes and books. They talked about Alice's friends and about Helen Blair. Alice wanted to ask Kate about Mallory and Ted but was suddenly overcome with a bout of shyness.

A comfortable, uncomplicated silence passed between them. Alice watched the water for dolphins, and then she watched Mallory.

Mallory had wandered away from the surf toward a clump of pale, tufty grass that crept down to the ocean. Alice saw her stoop low—opposite the direction of the bent-over grass—then spring back up with something in her hands.

“Look what I found!” Mallory screamed. She ran directly to Alice. “Is it a junonia? It's something good, I can tell. Right?” Her eyes were flashing.

It was an old conch, riddled with tiny holes and spotted with tar. It was about nine inches long. To Alice, it looked like the tooth of a dinosaur.

“It's not a junonia,” said Alice. “But it's good. It's a nice, big, old conch.”

“It's really not a giant junonia?” Mallory asked wistfully.

“No,” said Alice.

Mallory's face fell. The glow she'd had about her just seconds earlier had dimmed to nothing.

“I like it,” said Kate. “It's so big.”

“I'm tired,” said Mallory. She mumbled something else and handed the conch to Alice.

Alice lifted the shell to her ear. She narrowed her eyes, then closed them. “You can hear the ocean,” said Alice. “I love that.” She gave the shell back to Mallory. “Try it. It's nice.”

Mallory clamped the opening of the shell over her ear. An odd expression crossed her face. “Mama?” she whispered. “Mama?” She waited a long moment, then put the conch into her bag. With one quick jerk, she pulled Munchkey from the crook of Kate's arm and trudged on.

Alice looked up at Kate, searching her face. Their eyes caught and locked. “I'll tell you later,” Kate said quietly.

 

It was Alice's mother, not Kate, who told Alice about Mallory. They were alone in the living room of Scallop, sitting on the saggy couch. Alice's mother said that Mallory's parents were divorced, and that Mallory's mother had gone to France for a while and no one knew when she'd return.

Suddenly, certain things made sense to Alice. Now Alice understood why Mallory had said that Munchkey's mother had gone to sea in a pot. And she knew why Mallory had called “Mama?” into the conch.