Silver Girl (23 page)

Diving from Dan’s boat the day before had been a pleasure long overdue. How many other forty-nine-year-old women could pull off a front two and a half somersault? Meredith could have gone even further; she had been tempted to do her front one and a half with one and a half twists, but she didn’t want to seem like a show-off, and she didn’t want to injure herself. Dan Flynn had been impressed by her diving, which was gratifying, and Connie, reverting to high-school type, had been proud and proprietary.
I used to go to all of Meredith’s meets.
It was fun to remember those meets, especially home meets where Connie always occupied the same seat in the pool balcony and used hand signals to assess Meredith’s entry into the water.
A little over. A little short.
Two palms showing meant
Perfect 10!
There had been one meet when they had been down a judge, and after much conferring, Meredith convinced both team coaches to allow Connie to fill in. Connie knew the dives inside and out, and Meredith knew Connie would be fair. Connie had ended up being harder on Meredith than the other two judges, but Meredith won anyway.

To dive again had been to return to her real, deep-down, pre-Freddy self. But there had been other great things about yesterday—the sun, the water, the boat, the lunch. Meredith had loved being on the boat, feeling its speed and power, enjoying the salty mist on her face. She was, for the first time since everything happened, buffered from the outside world. She had enjoyed talking with Dan about lobstering, and he had asked her if she wanted to fish with him. Yes, certainly—she wasn’t going to let a single opportunity get past her. At the end of the afternoon when the sun was mellow and golden and the water sparkled and Meredith was enjoying a cold glass of wine with Connie and there was the promise of a real, true lobster dinner ahead, Meredith had realized that she could experience happiness. Fleeting, perhaps, but real.

Even dinner was lovely—to a point. Dan appeared with the lobsters and a blueberry pie—he’d granted Connie’s one wish without realizing it—and when they were out on the deck, Meredith couldn’t thank him enough.

While Connie was in the kitchen pulling dinner together, Dan said, “I hope you won’t think I’m too forward in saying this, but you’re nothing like I thought you’d be.”

This might have suggested a thorny conversation ahead, but Meredith had spent enough time with Dan to know that he wouldn’t try to stick it to her. The bizarre thing was being faced with her own notoriety. Freddy had turned her into a public persona. People like Dan Flynn, a power washer on Nantucket Island, had formed an impression of “Meredith Delinn” without knowing her. Everyone in America had.

She cocked her head and said, “Oh, really? And how did you think I’d be? Tell me the truth.”

Dan said, “I thought you’d be a society bitch. A fallen society bitch. I thought you’d be materialistic, demanding, entitled. I thought, at the very least, that you’d be bitter. Self-absorbed. A fun-sucker.”

“A fun-sucker?” Meredith said. “Me?”

“Now, I’m not going to pretend I
know you
know you. I mean, we’ve only been on two dates, right? Sunday night and today.”

Meredith glanced back at Connie in the kitchen. “Those weren’t properly
our
dates…”

“Point taken,” he said. “But I got to know you a little bit, right? And I think you’re a wonderful woman, Meredith. You’re smart, you’re interesting, and you’re a hell of a good sport.”

“Well, thank you,” Meredith said.

“You’re an accomplished diver, you can cast a fishing line… does the world know this about you? No, the world sees you as… what? The wife of Freddy Delinn. A possible conspirator in his crimes…”

“I wasn’t a conspirator,” Meredith said. She hated herself for even having to say this. “I knew nothing about his crimes, and neither did my sons. But there are still people I have to convince of that.”

“I believe you,” Dan said. “I more than believe you. I know you’re innocent in this. I can tell… because of how you are.”

“Well, thank you,” Meredith said. She said this to end the conversation while things were still relatively light. But she was tempted to remind him that he
didn’t
know her and that he couldn’t accurately tell anything about her. She was tempted to say that none of us knows anyone else—not really. If there was one person Meredith had thought she had known in this world, it was Freddy Delinn, and she had been wrong.

As soon as they settled at the table, it became clear that Connie was drunk. Dan glanced at Meredith, and Meredith made a helpless face. She felt responsible and embarrassed. She had noticed Connie drinking wine on the boat, a lot of wine, two bottles minus the one glass that Meredith had had, but she’d said nothing. What would she have said? Connie was a grown woman and she liked her wine. Some women were like that; they drank chardonnay like water, and it had no obvious effect. Meredith was comforted by the fact that Connie drank wine. Connie’s mother, Veronica, had been an abuser of gin and could be found at any time of day with a Tervis tumbler at her elbow. There were always half-filled bottles of tonic around the kitchen and lime wedges in various stages of desiccation on the cutting board and in the sink drain.

Of course, Connie liked her gin, too. (Meredith decided there must be an inherited predilection for the juniper berry, because no one would have grown up watching Veronica destroy herself like she did and then voluntarily
choose
to drink gin.) Meredith had watched Connie pour herself a gin and tonic at the kitchen counter, but she didn’t comment. It was, after all, cocktail hour. Furthermore, Meredith was in no position to judge or scold. Connie had saved Meredith’s life; she had brought Meredith to this place and had put her in a position to have a wonderful time today. If Connie wanted to drink, Meredith wasn’t going to pester her.

Now, though, Meredith felt negligent. Dan helped Connie into her chair, and she slumped. He pulled the meat from her lobster. Meredith pulled the meat from her own lobster thinking that the best idea was to act normal and see if they could make it through the meal. Meredith fetched Connie a glass of ice water with a paper-thin slice of lemon, the way she liked it. Then she helped herself to an ear of corn and some salad. She was impressed that Connie had been able to pull dinner together in her condition. Meredith could take a few pointers from Connie in the kitchen. There would come a day in the not-too-distant future when she would have to prepare her own meals, and she had never learned to cook. She was ashamed of this. Her mother had been a classic housewife of her era—veal saltimbocca, chicken and dumplings on Sundays, the best tuna salad Meredith had ever eaten. Meredith could microwave hot dogs, and she could fry or scramble an egg; that was how she’d managed when Leo and Carver were small. And then, magically, overnight it seemed, there was money to go to restaurants every night and hire a cook for breakfast, lunch, snacks, and any dinner party that Meredith wanted to throw.

But Meredith couldn’t let her mind veer off this way. The meal before her was enticing, yet simple. Surely with a little instruction, Meredith could one day manage this?

“Cheers!” Meredith said.

Dan met her glass with a clink, and Connie, too, reached for her glass, but hesitated, realizing it was ice water. She succumbed, picking up the water and touching glasses with both Dan and Meredith.

“This looks delicious!” Dan said. He was using the too-loud, overly cheerful voice that one used with the infirm.

Connie made a move on her salad. Meredith said, “Eat!”

Meredith dug into her lobster. Her face was pleasantly warm and tight from the sun. There was no conversation, but that seemed okay. They were all busy eating.

Meredith said, “Boy, being out on the water really gave me an appetite!” She eyed Connie. Connie cut a piece of lobster, dragged it long and lavishly through the clarified butter, then left it impaled on the end of her fork, dripping onto the tablecloth.

“Eat up, Connie!” Meredith said. She felt like she was talking to a five-year-old.

Dan was eating ravenously, probably trying to get as much food in him as he could before this dinner came to its untimely end. Meredith wanted to say something that would ensure Dan would come back.

She said, “So what else should I do while I’m here on Nantucket?”

“Well, you have to go to Great Point,” Dan said.

“How do I do that?”

“You need a four-wheel drive—the Escalade would work—and a beach sticker.”

“Do you go to Great Point?” Meredith asked.

“Every chance I get,” Dan said. “The fishing is great. And the clamming on Coatue.”

“I’d love to go clamming,” Meredith said.

“I’ll take you sometime,” Dan said.

“That’ll be fun,” Meredith said. “Won’t it, Con? Clamming with Dan?”

Connie’s head fell forward, and at first Meredith thought Connie was agreeing with her, but Connie’s head dropped dangerously close to her plate before she caught herself and snapped her neck back. She came to for a second, though her eyes were glazed over and, Meredith noticed, she had salad dressing in her hair. Okay, Meredith hated to be a fun-sucker, but she was going to call the game.

She gave Dan a look, and Dan nodded. He picked Connie up, and together they delivered Connie to her bedroom. She sighed as she hit the mattress. Dan retreated, but Meredith stayed to tuck Connie in.

By the time Meredith got downstairs, Dan was standing by the front door, ready to leave.

“Don’t you want to stay and finish your dinner?” Meredith said.

“I’d better go,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

She couldn’t argue with him about that. “Do you want to take the pie, or…?”

“No, no, no,” he said. “You ladies enjoy it.”

Something about the way he said this made Meredith worry they would never see him again. She panicked. She said, “I know Connie really likes you. She’s just… going through some stuff. Her grief, you know… and then, as if that’s not enough,
I
show up. And all of the things that have happened since we’ve been here. She’s under a lot of pressure.”

He held up his palms. “I get it,” he said. “I’ve been there.”

Oh, no,
Meredith thought. He was slipping away. This was upsetting. Meredith wanted him to stay—and if he had to leave, then she wanted to make sure he’d come back. For Connie’s sake, certainly, but also for her own. He’d become sort of like a friend.

Meredith opened the door for him. She said, “Well, thank you again. For everything. It was… the best day I’ve had in a long,
long
time.”

These words weren’t lost on him. He smiled. “You’re welcome, Meredith. You’re very welcome.” He moved in to hug her, and as he pulled away, he said, “Keep your chin up.”

Oh, no! That sounded like a permanent good-bye.
Dan stepped outside. Meredith didn’t know what to say, so she said, “Okay, I will.” Once he was in his Jeep, she closed the door.

Now, Meredith touched the sore muscles between her ribs and decided she needed some Advil. But Connie would be feeling way worse this morning than Meredith did. Meredith eased herself out of bed and headed downstairs to see about her friend.

Dan didn’t call for three days, and then four. Connie was pretending not to notice, but Meredith was certain she did. She asked Meredith how humiliating her behavior had been at dinner. The last thing she remembered, she said, was taking a bite of salad. “And it was overdressed!”

As if soggy salad was the problem.

Meredith tempered her response, though she felt flashes of fury: Dan Flynn was a quality person who could probably do them both a lot of good, and Connie had frightened him away.

She said, “Not humiliating at all. You were tired.”

“I was drunk.”

“You have a lot on your plate,” Meredith said. “Emotionally speaking.”

“True,” Connie said. “Do you think Dan realizes that? Do you think he’ll give me a free pass for one shabby drunken night?”

“Of course I do,” Meredith said.

But the phone didn’t ring. Meredith and Connie went about their days quietly. Meredith got a little braver. She ventured out onto the deck for half-hour stretches, she went for short walks on the beach with Connie. She took her first incredibly delightful outdoor shower and stayed in until the hot water ran out. On Saturday morning, Meredith and Connie went into town, and Meredith could tell Connie was hoping they’d run into Dan. Meredith found she wanted to run into Dan herself. Imagine that! Instead of fearing a chance encounter, she was seeking one out. She and Connie walked along with their eyes peeled. When they passed 21 Federal, they fell into a glum, respectful silence, as if for the newly deceased.

Then Connie said, “You know, I think Dan liked
you.
”

“What?” Meredith said.

“I think he liked you.”

“Connie,” Meredith said. “I am the least desirable woman in all the world.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “First of all, I am married to Freddy Delinn. Second of all, look at me.” She was glad her point would be underscored by the fact that she was wearing her thrift-shop wig, which was growing ratty. “No one
likes
me. No one will ever
like
me again.”

“I think Dan liked you,” Connie said. “As a person. I think he liked the way you were.”

“I think he liked the way
you
were,” Meredith said.

“Then why isn’t he calling?” Connie asked.

Connie came up with an answer. Dan wasn’t calling because she, Connie, was a hag. Since Wolf died, she had let herself go. She needed her nails done, she needed her eyebrows and bikini line waxed.

“We’re going to the salon,” she said.

“I can’t,” Meredith said.

“Of course you can,” Connie said. “Wear your wig.”

“It’s not that easy,” Meredith said.

“Of course it’s that easy. We’ve been out to places a lot more public than the salon, and you’ve been fine.”

“I know,” Meredith said. “But I can’t go to the salon.” The salon was the equivalent of swimming in shark-infested waters. It was like negotiating a minefield on a pogo stick on Friday the thirteenth. The Pascal Blanc salon had been the first place to publicly denounce Meredith—and it didn’t get much more public than the front page of the
New York Times
Style section. Surely Connie had seen the article?