Life Guards in the Hamptons (13 page)

“I’ll be home by Halloween, of course. I haven’t missed Halloween in the Harbor in decades.”

I’d never been, not that I remembered. What did they do to make it so special? Hold a witches’ coven and dance naked around the flagpole on All Hallow’s Eve? Most towns simply held a ragamuffin parade for all the children to walk through the main street in costume and grab candy from the storekeepers. Others had fancy parties to keep the kids off the streets and out of mischief altogether. Chances were Paumanok Harbor had its own kind of celebration. They could hold it without me.

Mom pressed, as always. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“Six weeks away? I’ll be long gone. I do have deadlines, you know.”

Sniff. “You can spare us three days.”

They took three days to carve pumpkins? I can see three days to eat all the candy, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend three days waiting for ghosts and goblins to come out. In this place, they might be real. “I’ll see.” I lied.

“And leave Matt Spenser alone.”

“Okay.” I lied again. Mom had no truth-detecting ability, thank goodness. I was counting on Matt to help with the oiaca pretender.

*   *   *

My father returned my call after his golf game, lunch, and a nap.

“How’d you do?” I asked.

“I met a nice woman at the clubhouse bar. We’re having dinner.”

More than I needed to know. “Dad, when you mentioned someone hitting me on the nose, could it be that Stu person?”

“No idea, baby girl. They were two separate visions, so I doubt they’re connected. Might be, though.”

“Okay. Do you get any vibes from a fish or a bird?”

“I thought I’d have the steak.”

“I meant danger coming. From a parrot, maybe, or a shark?”

“Hmm. Now that you mention animals, I’ve been thinking about skunks. They can be rabid, you know, so stay away if you see one.”

A skunk? They didn’t live around here. Unless he meant Melissa with her black-and-white hair streaks. The more I thought about it, I could see her holding up banks and restaurants after all. She was mean enough. Then another thought occurred to me, after my mother’s worries. “Do you have any premonitions about Grandma Eve?”

“Old bats can be rabid, too.”

“But threats? Her health might be a problem, or her age. Can you sense anything? She told me about the Pontiac. Do you still have enough affection for her to feel she’s in peril?”

“To be honest, sweetheart, I think of that woman as rarely as possible. So I guess she’s not in any danger. Either that or she dislikes me too much to make the whole impending doom thing work.”

“What about Mom?”

“She stopped taking my calls, so it wouldn’t matter if I saw an earthquake in her future.”

“She took you seriously enough when you said not to eat anything on the plane and the woman next to her found a cockroach in her pretzels or something.”

“Yeah, but the dryer thing got to her. I convinced her to stop using the blow dryer while she traveled, so she let her hair go all curly, like yours, the way I like it. Then the clothes dryer at some motel blew up, burned all the clothes she’d brought to Florida with her, and half the motel. The managers blamed her for the damage, for overloading the damned thing. She blamed me. Like always. Now we don’t talk and I try not to think about her. So do you think I should stay away from the steak?”

And the bars and the women, unless he wanted another heart attack.

At least he didn’t ask me to take care of him.

S
USAN AND THE OLD TRUCK WERE GONE, but she’d left her clothes and her usual mess in the upstairs bathroom. She also left me some brownies, fresh-baked, so we were okay, I guess.

I walked the dogs down to the beach. How many more days would be warm enough to enjoy outdoors? How long would I be here, with the whole bay beach a block and a half away? I wondered if I’d have to buy Little Red a coat. The Pomeranian had thick fur, but not much heft to him. Every little dog I saw in the city wore sweaters. One of my neighbor’s Yorkies had a wardrobe bigger than mine, and boots, which I had absolutely no intention of buying. If Red’s feet got cold, I’d carry him. Or let him use the papers in the apartment.

He didn’t need a coat this afternoon, even though clouds were covering the sun and the breeze picked up. Little Red kept warm chasing gulls and sea foam from the whitecaps, and the two big dogs who ambled along, ignoring him.

I wondered if dogs worried about growing old. If they worried about making it up the stairs, or getting outside in time to avoid accidents. Were they ever concerned that no one would be around to fetch their kibble and clean their water bowls? According to my mother, Little Red feared he’d been abandoned again every time we left him alone, which kept him anxious and aggressive. She felt he acted hostile because he was afraid of being
abused again, or afraid of bonding to another person who might break his heart.

I thought he had a mean streak. And a stupid streak that forgot who bought the dog food. Like now, when he was tired and wanted to be picked up. Other dogs might sit down in front of their owners, or simply stop walking. Not Little Red. He lifted his leg on my shoe to get my attention. Luckily, the well was dry by then, and also luckily I wasn’t wearing sandals. I didn’t know if I had that much tolerance in me. I picked him up anyway, tucked him inside my unzipped sweatshirt and promised to buy him a boy dog’s coat, no sissy plaid with ruffles and bows. And nothing that matched my winter jackets.

Funny how you could love something so annoying.

Which reminded me of my mother. When would she get the idea I didn’t belong in Paumanok Harbor, didn’t want a vanload of kids, didn’t feel responsible for perpetuating her genes or protecting her whole damn town?

Feeling guilty—what else were daughters and granddaughters for?—I stopped by the big house to ask if Eve wanted to go out to dinner with me, my treat.

She had a casserole in the oven. Vegetarian lasagna. Oh, boy. I locked the dogs inside my mother’s house and brought the brownies back with me.

The table was already set for two, with flowers and candles and the hand-thrown blue pottery dishes. For me? I was touched.

She handed me the garlic bread to put on the table while she carried out the lasagna. Trying not to drool, I asked, “So have there been any spottings of the oiaca today?”

“Someone thought they saw pink toes under a shrub near Jas and Roger’s house. Someone else said they heard a tweet from the field nearest the bay. I keep it for summer flowers, because the wind is too strong for tender vegetables and there’s a low spot that gets poor drainage.”

Where the parrotfish could wet its gills.

“It’ll likely flood tomorrow with the rain that’s coming.” A cold front, according to the weather station. A
squall off the water late tonight, according to Bud at the gas station and Elgin, the harbormaster.

I’d trust Bud and Elgin any time. I wouldn’t be sitting outside too long, waiting for Oey to show up.

The lasagna was too hot to cut yet. I would have scooped it up with a spoon, but Grandma Eve insisted it set and firm up. I ate a piece of garlic bread. “Did anyone go check that field?”

She chuckled. “I got the Boy Scouts to lead the observers out, the long way around. For a fee. And they sold enough cans of mixed nuts to pay for a camping trip next spring. The Girl Scouts get their turn as tour guides tomorrow, if the storm passes.”

“Any problems with the cars? Anyone else giving you grief?” Her food, my concern. Fair trade.

“Only the idiots who thought they’d carry in supplies to build a platform in the middle of my corn maze. And the group that wanted to charter a plane for a flyover. They’d likely scare the poor bird to bits.”

Some bits with feathers, some with scales. The lasagna contained neither, and was as delicious as it smelled, when she finally put a serving on my plate.

“But people behaved?” I asked around a mouthful.

“Mostly, especially after I made tea for the EPA folks and the Audubon Society photographers.”

Heaven knew what was in Eve Garland’s tea. I never drank the stuff.

She smiled. “The Wildlife Federation and National Geographic people come tomorrow. I hope they’re thirsty.”

I never trusted her smiles, either. They reminded me of the witch in Hansel and Gretel inviting the children into her parlor. “Come here, my pretties.”

This time the smile seemed genuine. It made her look younger, too, more rested. I could give my mother a good report. No need to call out the reserves.

“Not much noise last night, right?”

She took another bite and nodded. “I heard some commotion from your house. Then it got blessedly quiet, thank goodness. Whatever you did seems to have
brought some calm to the street. I don’t suppose you want to discuss it with me, do you?”

“You already know your visitor is not going to appear in any rare bird sighting magazine. No cell phone photo will show up on the Internet. After that, I don’t know why it’s come, or what it wants. I’ll try again tonight when it’s more vocal and may be easier to track.”

“Do you need to borrow my galoshes and rain gear? Or a heavier jacket? Bud says it might turn cold, too.”

“That’s really thoughtful of you, but I’ve got all of Mom’s stuff in the closet.”

“Here, I’ll pack up the rest of the lasagna for you so you don’t have to cook tomorrow. And don’t forget the brownies. I know how you love something sweet.”

I felt all warm and cozy. Until she said she made the lasagna for Lou—and set the pretty table for him, I supposed—but he couldn’t get out from the city. DUE had news of some psychic disturbance in the lines of power, maybe connected to that missing professor, some kind of hero in his heyday.

“None of their precogs have more specific information, so every agent is on alert.”

Lou was on a diet, too, so she didn’t want my brownies around.

I wasn’t complaining. “Maybe it’s just the coming storm throwing off the charts or the meters or the mentalists.”

“Maybe. I wouldn’t be surprised if whatever it is leads them back here, not with all the peculiar occurrences. And you’re here now.”

Which meant I’d have the whole Department of Unexplained Events on my doorstop, checking my moves? Or else they thought I caused the irregularity on whatever woo-woo counter they used. Grandma Eve obviously did.

She ranted on while she packed the lasagna, how the renovation of the old Rosehill estate into a Royce Institute outreach center was taking too long. The grand old house couldn’t pass inspection for a meeting hall without more extensive remodeling than originally thought.

Part of the delay, she griped, slapping the lasagna into
three different plastic containers—“So you can freeze some for later”—was that East Hampton Township didn’t like taking Rosehill off the tax rolls as a nonprofit, or the Bayview Ranch, either, destined to become an equine rescue and training facility, also sponsored in part by the Royce people.

“They ought to be here now, not leaving us with no one but you to figure things out. That’s why the whole university got established in England, to look after the descendants with psychic abilities. Well, we’re descendants, too.”

And I was chopped liver? No one from Royce saw the troll. No one from DUE found the night mares’ missing colt or figured out the lantern beetles’ symbiosis with the blubber-shedding leviathan in the salt marshes. I did. And I’d take care of the fishbird, too. On my own. Without calling on their high and mighty experts. They couldn’t even find their missing professor.

I
twee
-ed all the way home, with a week’s worth of meals and a day’s worth of desserts. And determination.

They couldn’t blame me and they couldn’t make me fight their battles. But I’d show them what Willow Tate was made of. I’d wade into trouble, just like one of my superheroes, and save the day.

Right after the thunderstorm. I saw the first bolt of lightning and ran the rest of the way home, where I pulled Little Red into my lap and a blanket over my head.

So there.

A half an hour later the storm seemed to pass. So the weather mavens could be wrong, too.

I went out and refilled the tray of tidbits to tempt all tastes, including the squirrels I had to chase away. The wading pool held enough water, but I filled a bowl from the kitchen tap in case Oey was too fastidious to drink where he bathed.

I circled the house, tweeting, whistling, okay, begging. Come back, little shebass?

It wasn’t working. I got no spark, no rush, no answers, only the wet wind in my face. And Bud was right, the
evening turned much cooler than last night. And darker, earlier, with the rain-heavy clouds scudding along like a video clip.

So I went inside, got my sketch pad and a warmer jacket and the brownies. Then I dragged one of the porch chairs closer to the pool and sat, drawing what I had seen last night and thinking about it. Thinking hard, trying to make contact, knowing full well I had no clairvoyance or telepathy, only what and when the Others chose to share. I thought hard anyway, and drew fast.

Bird. Fish. Fish. Bird. Oey. Pretty, strong, smart. Oey. Lost, alone, needful. Oey. Oey in a willow tree, Oey swimming in a stream alongside one, Oey cold and hungry, shivering. Oey going back where it came from.