Local Girl Swept Away (18 page)

I hesitated for just a second, then managed to drum up an enthusiasm I didn't feel. “That'll make it a really special evening,” I said. I knew it was selfish of me to mind that my big moment would be eclipsed by Cooper's. After all, he was an adult—this was a big deal for him, whereas my show was just a scheme to bolster my college prospects. It was childish to feel disappointed. Swallow it, I told myself, and act like a big girl.

“That's not fair,” Finn said. “Why do you have to combine the two things? The opening should be just for Jackie. Why do you have to stick Cooper in the middle of it?”

“I'm not ‘sticking' Cooper anywhere,” Elsie said. “We just thought it would make the evening that much more special. Don't you think so, Jackie?”

Finn groaned. “You're putting her on the spot, Mom. What's she going to say?”

Elsie looked sincerely worried. “Am I, Jackie? I thought you'd be pleased.”

“I am. It's a great idea,” I said, because—Finn was right—what else could I say?

“It's settled then,” Elsie said. “Let's get this place painted.”

Elsie and Cooper started prying lids off paint cans, but I stood and stared at Finn until I caught his eye. As soon as he looked at me, I mouthed, “Thank you.”

• • •

I felt like I was in the eye of the storm and didn't know where to run for cover. Standing too close to Cooper or even talking to him in Finn's vicinity seemed like tossing a match into dry grass, so I tried to find places where I could paint by myself.

Lucas and Charlotte were definitely flirting, but they were self-conscious about it and kind of jumpy. Finn wasn't speaking to Lucas, and even though he
was
speaking to Cooper, it was only to complain about his workmanship or chide him for taking too many breaks. When Elsie tried to make a joke about Finn's rotten mood, he bitched at her too. By four o'clock we'd finished painting and I was exhausted, not from the work but from the tension in the room.

“Good job, everybody!” Elsie said, clapping her hands. “Cooper and I will clean up. The rest of you go enjoy what's left of Sunday afternoon.”

Cooper tipped his head to me as if silently apologizing for not being able to leave with me. I didn't expect him to. Our relationship, or whatever it was, seemed to bloom only in dark corners and abandoned cabins. I had no expectations of, say, going to a movie or a restaurant or even to the beach with him. Did it matter? I wasn't sure.

The late day sun was warm as we stepped outside and stretched our achy arms and backs.

“I've got my dad's truck,” Lucas said. “I can give you guys a lift.”

Finn scowled. “I'd rather walk.”

“You want a ride, Jackie?”

I glanced at Finn, trying to gauge how much of his anger was directed at me. “I guess I'll walk home with Finn, if it's okay with him.”

He shrugged. “I don't care.”

Considering his crappy mood, that was practically an invitation. “You walking, Char?” I asked, figuring she'd understand I wanted a few minutes alone with Finn.

Charlotte's eyes crinkled and her round cheeks turned scarlet.

“We're going to the beach,” Lucas answered for her.

“Have fun,” I said. I was happy that the two of them had connected, but watching them climb into the truck together, I wished for a minute that I had a real boyfriend, an uncomplicated, straightforward I-like-you, you-like-me kind of thing. Someone I could go to the beach with in the middle of the day. Which would probably never be Cooper. Because the age difference
was
a big thing, even if I didn't want it to be. If I was really okay with it, I wouldn't be so afraid of Elsie finding out, or, God forbid, my own parents.

Finn and I walked down to Commercial Street before I finally said, “Are we going to talk about it?”

“What's there to say?”

“I'm sorry you walked in on us.”

“Me too. But I guess you're not sorry you're doing whatever it is you're doing with him.” He sounded more concerned than angry.

“I know you don't like Cooper, Finn, but he's been really nice to me.”

“Yeah, like butting his way into your show. That's
really
nice.” When I didn't say anything, Finn continued. “Look, it's not just his age. It's his ego. He's used to getting what he wants, Jackie, and you're used to
giving
people what they want. He'll take advantage of you.”

I thought of the afternoon Cooper and I were together in Cabin 5. It wasn't true. Cooper had pulled away before I had. He'd never hurt me.

I shook my head. “He's not who you think he is, Finn.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But he's not who you think he is either.”

As usual, Commercial Street had been taken over by bicycles and pedestrians, but we had to move out of the middle when a Winnebago driven by a terrified senior citizen suddenly pulled behind us. The foot and bike traffic gave way just enough for the bus to squeeze through, then flowed back into the street like a river around a rock.

The interruption was a welcome break in a conversation neither of us seemed to want to have.

“This time of the year I can't wait for all the vacationers to pack up and go home,” Finn said. “I like it when the weather's cold and the place is deserted.”

I laughed. “You're really kind of an old fart, aren't you?”

He reached over and yanked a lock of my hair. “And proud of it, smart-ass.” It was such a comfortable gesture, I had to remind myself not to respond in an equally familiar way. Not to smack at his arm, or sass him back flirtatiously.
It's not what he means and it's not what he wants.

But Finn's mood kept improving as we got closer to the West End, and I felt more at ease with him than I had in ages. As we walked past MacMillan Wharf, Mojo's, the Blue Moon Café, the New Art Cinema, it almost felt like it was
our town
again, the way it used to. Before. We joked with each other, and made fun of the tourists, a pastime locals never got tired of. And when I looked over at him, his face seemed relaxed for the first time in four months.

“I saw Ms. Waller Friday afternoon,” he said as we neared his house. “She gave me some brochures.”

“
College
brochures?” I tried not to sound as shocked as I was.

He nodded. “Of course, she thinks I should look at Dartmouth, but I assured her that was not happening.”

“But you're looking at other colleges? You might apply?”

He smiled. “I might. I'm ‘exploring my options,' as Ms. Waller says.”

“That's good, Finn. That's really good.”

“Yeah, I knew you'd say that. I'm not giving up on boats entirely though. I was thinking maybe I could do something with oceanography, study marine life or something. I don't even know what the possibilities are, but I think I'd like to learn more about the ocean.”

“That's a great idea!”

“I'm just thinking about it, so stop grinning at me.”

“Okay,” I said. But I couldn't stop. And my grin must have been contagious because he gave it right back to me.

Friday night Cooper and Elsie and I hung my photographs in the newly spruced-up gallery. I was amazed by the way the blank walls called attention to the pictures, made them breathe and pulse and become, well, art. My head was buzzing with nervous excitement and I was hardly able to keep from bouncing on the car seat as Cooper drove me home.

When we pulled up in front of my house, he managed to stop my jiggling with a quick, deep kiss. I looked immediately to the window of my parents' bedroom, but the lights were already out.

“An artist is born,” he said, scooping his fingers through my hair and pulling it away from my face.

Which was exactly what I was thinking, even if I didn't have the nerve to say it out loud. I had the feeling I'd just glimpsed the path my adulthood would take, and it was wide and long and brighter than I could have imagined. I was having my first show—my life as an artist had begun.

And I was growing up in other respects too. My relationship with Cooper took a leap forward every time we were alone, and I knew, before long, there would be a decision to make. Part of me felt ready to jump into another “first,” but I was still nervous too, and tended to pull away a little when Cooper ran his hands over my body, setting off sparks that shocked and thrilled me. As soon as I resisted in the slightest, he stopped and apologized, and then I had to assure him there was nothing to apologize
for
. I was obviously confusing him and I felt bad about it. I wanted to give in entirely, to belong to him, but the decision wasn't quite that simple.

It wasn't that Cooper seemed old to me, but more that I sometimes felt like a child when I was with him. He was, after all, an actual grownup and I was an inexperienced kid. It was what kept us from being a couple in public—we didn't look right. And an insistent little mosquito in my ear kept asking,
Why would he choose you?

And there was another thing too. Earlier in the week, Cooper and I had gone back to Cabin 5, and while we were lying on the couch together I started to imagine that it was Finn next to me, Finn running his tongue over my lips, Finn making my breath stop. I tried to push the image away, but I was only partly successful. How could I consider sleeping with Cooper if I was still dreaming of Finn? But Finn was
never
going to love me, so why shouldn't I be with someone who actually cared about me? I looked at the question from every angle, but the answer wouldn't come clear. I hoped that maybe one day I'd stop thinking so much and it would just happen.

I let myself into the dark, quiet house and tiptoed to my room. Sleep didn't seem like a possibility, but how else could I fill up the long hours between now and tomorrow night's opening?

The white jacket hung over the back of my desk chair. During the week I'd soaked it in vinegar and hand washed it in detergent to try to get out the stains and smells. I hung it outside in the sun, but the pearly white was still dingy and discolored, and there were splotches of bleach surrounding the spots of mold I couldn't completely wash out.

Quietly, I got the ironing board from the hall closet and set it up in my room. It calmed me down to guide the nose of the iron through the deep wrinkles, even though it didn't do much for the appearance of the jacket. I poked the collar into place and flattened the embroidered diamonds until the cloth was relatively smooth.

I was about to hang it on a hanger, but changed my mind and instead slipped my arms into the sleeves. Heart pounding, I turned to see my reflection in the mirror. I pulled at the tails and straightened the lapels, but the faded jacket did not turn me into Lorna—it wasn't a magic cloak. Still, it fit me as perfectly as it had her, which made me feel . . . stronger. I stood up straight and peered into my own eyes.

Of course I couldn't ever wear it. My best friend
drowned
in this jacket. (Didn't she? But then, how did it turn up in Cabin 5?)

A loose black thread dangled from a sleeve. Absentmindedly, I pulled on it and was horrified to see how quickly one of the embroidered diamonds began to come unraveled. I snipped the thread, but the damage was done.

Reluctantly, I took off the coat and hung it on a hanger on the door of my closet.

• • •

After a restless night, I hoped to skip out the back door early the next morning without my mother's usual pleading with me to eat breakfast, but she'd just come back from the bakery with a bag of pastries.

“Got your favorite,” she said, holding out an almond croissant.

“My stomach's too shaky to eat. Maybe later,” I said, nesting my camera into my backpack.

“You nervous about tonight?” Mom asked as she slathered butter on a roll for herself. “Or is that supposed to be a secret?”

“A secret? What do you mean?”

“Well, you've hardly told me anything about your big show.”

“What? I told you all about it.”

“Well, you mighta told me, but you didn't invite me, did you?” She sipped from a coffee mug and didn't meet my eyes.

I was stunned. “Do you
want
to go?” It had never occurred to me.

She shrugged. “Well, I
am
your mother. Of course, I guess it'll be all those arty types, like Finn's folks. I wouldn't fit in.”

“That's not true,” I said. “All kinds of people go to openings. It's a celebration for the artist. You should come if you want to.”

She looked skeptical. “You don't want me there.”

“Mom, I'd love for you to come.” As I said it, I realized it was true. “I didn't think you'd want to come. You've seen all my stuff already.” The smell of the croissants was tempting me and I opened the bag to look at them curled together in greasy splendor.

“Well, I've seen 'em here in the house, but it's different when they're hung in a museum, isn't it?”

“It's not a museum, it's a gallery,” I explained. “A museum is . . . bigger.”

“Well, whatever. I'd never get Marco to go with me anyway. Even if he's home in time, once his butt hits the couch after dinner, he don't move.”

“Come with me then.”

She grunted. “I don't know. I'll think about it.” She grabbed another roll from the bag, and the aroma wore down my resistance.

“Okay, give me half of that,” I said, my hand reaching for the crusty, buttery pastry.

“What would I even wear to something like that?” she said, her eyebrows knitted with worry. “I don't have the right kinds of things.”

“Sure you do,” I said, feeling oddly excited. “I'll help you look in your closet later. We'll find something.”

She let out a whoop. “The person who wears jeans and a T-shirt 364 days a year is gonna help me get dressed up? That's rich.” But, as the hot coffee fogged her glasses, a rare grin curled up her lips.