Silver Girl (29 page)

“You’ll tell them I’m helping? You’ll tell Julie Schwarz and Leo I’m helping?”

“Yes, Meredith,” Dev said. She couldn’t discern if his breathlessness was due to his fast pace or the beauty of the Hudson in the morning light or exasperation. “I’ll tell everyone you’re helping.”

Connie had been certain Dan would call. She knew she had
not
put on a good show that night at dinner; she had been drunk, and Connie had had enough experience with her own mother to know what that looked like. But she hadn’t heard from Dan in nearly three weeks. Their relationship had been progressing, and then, boom, it just ended. Connie wasn’t good at handling rejection. It was, as her sister-in-law Iris would say, messing with Connie’s general state of mind.

She hadn’t heard from Ashlyn, either, even though Connie had tried texting.
Please call. It’s Mom.

She had also resumed her habit of leaving messages on Sundays. It was pointless, Connie knew, as pointless as prayer: she was talking to someone who may or may not be listening.

The only person Connie heard from was Toby. He sent a text that said:
I’ll be there the
5
th or
6
th, OK?

Connie hadn’t been quite sure what that text was referring to, until she scrolled back and saw the text saying that Toby had sold the boat to the man from Nantucket, and he would be on island in three weeks, OK? And she had responded,
OK!
LOL
.

Connie groaned. Nothing about this was laugh out loud. She had to tell Toby that Meredith was here. She had to tell Meredith that Toby was coming. Which one of them would be more upset? Connie decided to keep quiet about it for now. She was afraid if she told Toby that Meredith was here, he wouldn’t show up. And Connie desperately wanted to see him. She was afraid that if she told Meredith that Toby was coming, Meredith would pack her things and leave. Or perhaps worse, she would get her hopes up, and then at the last minute, Toby would call to say that he wasn’t selling the boat after all but was, instead, sailing down to Venezuela to meet some girl named Evelina for a cup of coffee.

Connie looked at the text again. The fifth or sixth? Well, they had nothing going on. They never had anything going on. She responded,
OK.
But left off the
LOL
.

Connie decided to ambush Dan at Stop & Shop. He had told her in passing that when the island got crazy-busy in August, he went to the grocery store midweek at six o’clock in the morning.

Connie hadn’t expected to bump into him on her first attempt. “Midweek” could mean Tuesday or Wednesday or Thursday. And “six o’clock” could mean six thirty or seven. But when Connie pulled into the parking lot at ten minutes past six on Wednesday morning, the strawberry Jeep was there. Connie felt a jolt of nervous excitement and an irrational sense of collusion: the mere fact that Dan was here when he said he would be seemed like a good sign. Connie began muttering to herself.
Calm down. Hurry up! You have to catch him before he leaves. This is so obvious, but only to you. He’ll think it’s a random coincidence; everyone has to go to the store. He gave you the tip for the best time to go, why wouldn’t you take him up on it?
She grabbed a cart, she had a list; this was a legitimate trip to the store. Connie had invited Meredith along the night before saying,
Hey, I’m going to the store bright and early if you want to come.
But Meredith had said no; she had said no to every outing since that woman had accosted her at RJ Miller. Connie said,
Meredith you just can’t spend the rest of the summer in the house. It’s August now, the best month.
And Meredith said,
No, it’s not safe.
Connie said,
But it is safe.
The vandalism has stopped. You let that woman have her say; that was all she wanted was to have her say. She’s not going to do anything else to you. She’s not going to stone
you.

But Meredith wouldn’t be moved. She was stubborn like that. Connie had not forgotten.

The store was chilly, the produce section like an icebox. Connie was on a mission here. She had to find Dan first, then worry about her groceries. But if she bumped into him in the middle of the store with an empty cart, it would announce the obvious.

Connie tossed a netted bag of limes into her cart.

Connie zipped through the store, checking down each aisle. There was a blond woman with two little boys in their pajamas, a man in a suit and tie—a Jehovah’s Witness, perhaps? someone headed to a funeral?—and then she found Dan, looking positively edible in khaki shorts and a T-shirt and flip-flops, standing in front of the healthy cereal. He didn’t see her. Connie could back up, retreat to produce, chicken out. But this was her chance. She had gotten up at daybreak to shower and do her hair. She was bright-eyed, she smelled good, she was wearing a pretty pink cotton halter dress.

She pushed her cart forward. “Dan?” she said.

He turned. The expression on his face was… complicated. It was many expressions at once. He looked surprised, happy, wary, perplexed, caught.

He said, “Connie, hey!”

“Hey,” she said, trying to sound upbeat, despite his obvious lack of enthusiasm. “Well, I took you up on your tip about the grocery store at this hour, and you were right! The store is empty. It’s clean, and everything has been restocked.”

“See?” he said. “I told you.” He plucked a box of Kashi off the shelf and put it in his cart. Connie looked at his other groceries—taco kit, ground beef, tomatoes, Triscuits, Starbucks coffee, avocados, six boxes of pasta, celery, plums, two large bottles of V8 Splash. She wondered if she had caught him stocking up for a party to which she hadn’t been invited, until she remembered that he had teenagers at home.

“So,” she said, “what have you been up to?”

Now it was his turn to cast his eyes into her cart, where he saw the lone bag of limes.

Connie wished she had picked something else as her token item.

And sure enough, when he looked at her again, his face said it all—limes for gin. She had been so drunk; she had started drinking on the boat in a way that had quickly become antisocial, and she had continued to drink until she fell face-first into her dinner. And what did she put in her cart to underscore the fact that she was a drunk? A bag of limes. Connie thought she would die of mortification right then and there.

“Oh, you know,” he said. “The usual.”

The usual: It was such a nonanswer. It was a blow-off. Connie should retreat. She had to accept that this relationship, friendship, whatever it was, was dead in the water. But she didn’t want to.

“Have you been out on your boat?” she asked.

“Every Thursday and Sunday,” he said. “Have to keep after the lobster traps.”

The lobster traps, containing the lobster Connie hadn’t eaten, hadn’t even tasted.

“Mmm,” she said. “What about the Galley? Have you been back to the Galley?”

He didn’t answer that question, which meant what? He hadn’t been to the Galley, or he’d been to the Galley with another woman?

He said, “How are you doing? How’s Meredith?”

Connie wasn’t surprised to hear him ask about Meredith. He loved Meredith. She knew it! But that was her fault. She had dragged Meredith along on both of their dates, and on the second date, Meredith and Dan had bonded over what to do about drunk Connie.

“We’re fine,” Connie said. “Meredith is good.” Lies, all of it lies. They were drowning. They needed someone to save them. “We were wondering why you haven’t called.” That was good, Connie thought, using the pronoun “we,” implicating Meredith as well. Poor Meredith, who refused to leave the house. Connie had even suggested going to Mass so she could light a candle for Leo, but Meredith said no.

Dan smiled. “Why haven’t I called?” he said. “Well, you ladies seem to have your hands full.”

“We do have our hands full,” Connie said. “They’re full of despair and grief and loneliness. That’s why we miss you. You were fun. I haven’t seen Meredith smile like that since…”

“Well, good,” he said.

“And I like you, too,” Connie said. It felt like a bold admission, but this was a positive—the barrier of small talk had been knocked down. She was going to say what was on her mind. “I thought you’d call; I thought we’d go out again.”

“Is that what you want?” Dan said.

“Yes,” Connie said.

Dan nodded thoughtfully. “I think you’re a beautiful woman, Connie. And I know you’ve just lost your husband, and I understand the kind of grief you’re experiencing…”

“It’s my daughter, too,” Connie said. “My daughter doesn’t speak to me. We had a falling out after Wolf died.” Connie couldn’t believe she was blurting out True Confessions here in aisle ten of the supermarket. “I think if my daughter hadn’t abandoned me, I’d be doing a lot better…”

“I understand that, too,” Dan said.

“Do you?”

“My son Joe took off cross-country a few weeks after Nicole died—he stole my truck—and I’ve only heard from him once, by e-mail, and he was asking for money. And I sent it to him, despite how infuriated the request and his exodus in general made me. Because he’s my son.”

Connie nodded.

Dan said, “I told you about Joe at dinner at the Cauldron.”

You did?
Connie thought.

Dan said, “You don’t remember, do you? Because you were drinking, maybe. Well, we were all drinking that night. But your drinking, if I may be so bold, seems to be in defense of something. You’re afraid of me, or of intimacy, or the idea of intimacy. You’re afraid to start dating someone, you’re afraid of talking to someone, and that’s why you brought Meredith along both times I asked you out. I get it, Connie: you’re not ready. But I’m not ready for someone who’s not ready. Does that make sense?”

The store Muzak was playing “Beautiful Day.” Before she could talk herself out of it, she said, “Do you want to go somewhere? For coffee, maybe, or a walk on the beach?”

Dan pulled his cell phone out of his back pocket and checked the time. He said, “I have to be in town at eight.”

Connie waited.

He said, “Okay, let me finish my shopping. I have time for a walk on the beach. A short walk.”

They went to Monomoy, where the sand was thick and marshy and the air smelled of fish and seaweed and things decomposing, though with the sun coming up and the vista before them of the harbor filled with boats, Connie couldn’t imagine anyplace more alluring. So she had the setting, and she had the man, temporarily, but she wasn’t sure what to do. She was appalled at herself for suggesting this outing. (She wouldn’t candy coat it: she had forced him.) Her whole life she had been pursued by boys, then guys, then men. She had been the adored wife of Wolf Flute for more than half her lifetime, but now Wolf was gone, so who was she? It was as though he had taken Connie with him. She was nobody’s wife.

She was dangerously close to being nobody’s mother.

Connie’s feet made a sucking sound as she walked in the wet, dense sand at the shore line. The way Dan had said “a short walk” made her self-conscious. Already Connie thought about turning around so as not to hold this man up any longer. But she was intrigued by what he’d said about his son Joe stealing his truck, taking off for California, e-mailing to ask for money.

“Tell me about Joe,” she said. She felt embarrassed that Dan had, apparently, already
told
her about Joe and she had no recollection.

“Oh, man,” he said. “We’re getting heavy, deep, and real right away?”

“I’m sorry,” Connie said. “But I hear the clock ticking. And I really want to know.”

“Joe,” Dan said. “Joe, Joe, Joe.” He was staring out at the water, and this gave Connie a chance to study him. He was so handsome that it made her a little queasy. She liked his short, clipped hair, the brown and the gray; she liked his blue-hazel eyes, the scruff on his face, his Adam’s apple, the supple, tense form of his runner’s body. Dan took care of his body, Connie could tell. He was going to make it last, and at their age, there was something very appealing about that.

“Just saying the kid’s name makes me anxious,” Dan admitted.

Connie knew this feeling. God, did she! Every time Connie thought or said the name “Ashlyn,” her blood pressure rose. Every time someone else said the name “Ashlyn”—especially someone like Iris—Connie felt like she had a gun trained on her. She was excited to have this phenomenon described by someone else.

“Joe was named for Nicole’s dad,” Dan said. “So, from the beginning, it was like he belonged to her. Only her.” Dan stopped, picked up a round, flat rock, and skipped it a dozen times across the shallows. He grinned at Connie. “I am an excellent skipper of stones.”

“Indeed, you are,” Connie said. It seemed like he was trying to impress her, which was a good sign.

“If you believe in things like that,” Dan said. “That a child can be more aligned with one parent than the other just because of how they’re named. I’m not sure I believe it, but I don’t know; all three boys were inordinately fond of their mother. On some level, I understood it. She was their
mother,
and she was very nurturing. She was a nutritionist by trade. She worked with the commonwealth on state-mandated school lunches, and locally she worked with the private schools and the Boys & Girls Club and the Boosters. She made sure there was fresh fruit for sale at high-school football games. It sounded ridiculous, but somehow she made it work. It would be a clear autumn afternoon, and next to the snack bar that, by tradition, sold hot dogs and Doritos, there would be a wooden basket of red, crisp apples. Somehow she got the funding for a juice press, and one of the old-timers from the retirement community would be there turning the apples into juice.” Dan shook his head. “The kids loved it; the parents loved it. Nicole was written up in the paper. A local hero.”

Connie smiled. “So your kids loved her even though she made them eat spinach?”

“They ate spinach for her, they ate kale, they ate
okra,
for God’s sake. I used to try to sneak them licorice and Milky Ways, but they would never eat candy. ‘Mom would freak out,’ they said. I offered them Fritos and Happy Meals. My middle son, Donovan, said to me once, ‘Filled with trans fats!’ Nicole had them brainwashed; they were her… disciples, and not just about food. About everything. No matter what I did, I couldn’t compare. I had a flexible work schedule so I made it to every single one of their ball games, but the only question they asked when they scored the game-winning basket was, ‘Did Mom see it?’ It used to drive me bonkers, and when I complained to Nicole about it, she accused me of turning our parenting into a competition, which wasn’t healthy for anyone.”