Slow Dancing on Price's Pier (4 page)

The first few months after Jonathan had moved from New Jersey to Newport had been filled with one wonder after another. And Thea herself was one of them. She knew every back alley, every unofficial path leading to the beach, every person in town. She became indispensable—their secret weapon in neighborhood water gun fights and games of manhunt. She showed them sand dollars, touristy key chains with dirty jokes, anarchist graffiti on the underside of the pier, a grave with a pirate flag, and so, so much more.

She was the perfect combination of him and Garret. She was as smart as—if not smarter than—Jonathan, and he saw himself in her and admired what he saw. She could talk for hours about Newport history—about the 300-year-old architecture, about the Vanderbilts and Morgans who built their American castles at the water's edge, about how to tell a tourist from a local just by sight. She was an honors student and a first chair trumpet player. She liked to argue, and she was good at it too. Occasionally, Thea was able to sneak into the Dancing Goat and steal a little cupful of espresso. Then the three of them would hide in the alleyway behind Crook's Pub, where they would pass the cup around like a joint to sip bitter coffee that none of them were allowed to have.

Jonathan was in awe of her, half in love the first day they met. He wanted to think they were kindred spirits, that they shared their way of looking at the world. But for all that she was like Jonathan, she was like Garret too—distracted, restless, always wanting more.

Sometimes she took them to the warehouse that hosted the fish and lobster market at the farthest edge of Price's Pier, where brownish green “chickens” scuttled over one another in enormous, shallow blue tanks. Jonathan hated trips to the lobster market. The first time Thea had brought him there he'd had to fight back tears. Living lobsters were nothing like the crustaceans they ate for dinner—their shells so plastic and red they could have been toys.

But Thea was fascinated by the lobsters, grotesque and awful as they were: the culls that had only one claw to wave about uselessly, the pistols that scuttled armless over the bottom of the tank, the sleepers that were too listless to move, the soft shells that rattled around in their own peeling bodies.

While Jonathan dragged his feet, Garret and Thea bent by the hips over the open tanks and competed to spot King—the biggest lobster in the bunch, the lobstrosity. Jonathan had tried to tell Thea and Garret that there was no King, that every week someone came and bought the biggest lobster (“to eat it!”), and that King was a different animal each time they saw him. But Thea and Garret didn't care. They goaded each other mercilessly:
I dare you to put your hand in. I dare you to touch his claw.

Jonathan and his brother had always been quick to fight, but that first summer with Thea, things between them settled down. Garret was the one who was most likely to steer them into trouble. Jonathan was the one most likely to bail them out. And somewhere between was Thea, who commanded the whole enterprise of their friendship even when none of them knew it. The balance was perfect. At least, it had been for a while.

 

 

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Thea faced down a Friday night that included neither her husband nor her little girl. She had no idea what to do with herself, but the world had given her plenty of options:

From her mother:
You know what you should do? Tell your husband to come over so you can cook him dinner. That's all you need. One dinner, he gets a little tired, a little homesick, and now he might as well just spend the night. Call him. Tell him you're cooking right now.

From Irina:
I know! You can go to a bar. Wouldn't that be cool, Mom? You never go to bars. Kristi's mom does it all the time. You could go with her!

From her friend Dani:
You know what you should do? You should go shopping. Seriously. Buy new underwear. That always helps me.

For most of her life, Thea had been good at taking advice. She'd taken her mother's advice that she marry one of the Sorensen boys—though not the one everybody expected. She'd taken Jonathan's advice that she buy a minivan instead of a Subaru Impreza. She'd taken Irina's advice that LOL was better than ha-ha.

But none of the advice she'd received about what to do with her first Friday night alone seemed right. She'd cleaned the house, she'd caught up on bills, she'd called a few friends—but all were busy cooking dinner for their children or going out with their husbands (if they picked up the phone at all).

Loneliness squeezed her heart, and so before Thea gave in to sitting on the couch, eating Oreos, and watching reruns of decadeold sitcoms, she left. She headed back to the coffee shop, walking the five blocks from her house to the pier with her hair pulled up in a baseball cap and her work sneakers on. At seven p.m., the pier was in full swing—music playing through the open windows of bars, pedestrians crowding shoulder to shoulder in the thoroughfares. But because the Dancing Goat was tucked away at the end of a narrow alleyway, it was often a somewhat more peaceful refuge away from the panic and frenzy of the main pier. The head barista, Jules, was surprised—if not a little dismayed—to see Thea when she came through the door.

“Thea!” Jules put his cell phone in his pocket but not so quickly that Thea hadn't been able to see that he was texting when he should have been working. A few customers were sitting together at the tables, talking easily and sipping their drinks. The apprentice baristas—Rochelle and Claudine—gave her a quick wave before going back to their conversation with the couple at table eight.

“Hi, guys!”

“I wasn't expecting to see you!” Jules said.

Thea walked behind the counter, feeling better already. “I figured you'd need some help with the refrigerator project.”

“We just finished,” Jules said.

Thea opened the display fridge and peered in. It was sparkling clean. “Oh.” She stood up, put her hands on her hips, and scanned the shop to see what needed to be done. “Slow night?”

“Eh. Pretty slow,” Jules said. “For a Friday. But it's a little early yet.”

Thea heard a faint buzzing and saw Jules's eyes go wide with surprise. His hand jerked toward his pants pocket to stifle the sound, and inwardly, Thea smiled.

Jules was twenty-one years old, a junior in college whom she'd hired every summer since he was sixteen. He was an art major—long-haired and frail-boned—and he frequently came to work with paint splotches on his jeans and under his nails. Though he worked hard, he partied hard too. His phone book was a who's who of the Newport club scene. Sometimes, it boggled Thea's mind that he was just one year younger than she was when she'd had Irina. At twenty-two—while he was partying and literally painting the town—she'd been learning to breast-feed.

“Listen,” she said. “I'm not doing anything tonight. If you want me to take over for you, I'm happy to do it.”

Jules eyed her suspiciously. “Really?”

“It's no big deal,” Thea said, and she walked to the tall white locker that held their aprons. “Go out. Have a good time.”

Jules took a step toward her, put a hand on her shoulder. “I don't mind staying,” he said. “I mean, if you want to, like, go out. You know? Go get into some trouble?”

“Please,”
she said, laughing. “Women with ten-year-old daughters don't cause trouble.”

Jules stepped back, crossed his thin arms over his black T-shirt. “How old are you? Thirty? Thirty-one?”

“Thirty-two,” Thea said.

Jules's smile tipped up at one corner, and he gave her an exaggerated once-over. “You could definitely cause trouble, Thea. Believe me.”

She chuckled and turned away. “Get out of here. I'm ordering you. I'm the boss.”

“All right, but . . .”

“Nope. Out.” She finished putting on her apron as he took his off, and she watched him out of the corner of her eye as he dug his car keys out of his pocket.

“So, I'll see you later?” he said.

“Yup! Later!” She picked up a rag and began to wipe down the counter. Then he was walking out the door, and another customer was walking in, smiling, and a few minutes later the first rush of a Friday night was pushing through the door, and the world was beginning to slip back into place.

 

 

By three a.m., Garret had had enough. He'd already gone to the gym, gone for a walk, and gone for a beer, and now there was nowhere left to go but crazy. Irina had hit her head on his bookshelf just when Jonathan had been about to put her to bed, and now she simply would not stop crying. She'd told Jonathan that she didn't want to stay over—that she wanted her and her father to go sleep
in their house
. And for a while, it had seemed his explanation held. But once she'd hit her head and the tears had started, there was no end.

Jonathan came into the living room where Garret was pretending to watch a late night horror movie—though he'd hardly been able to focus on it over Irina's bloodcurdling screams. She was still weeping in Garret's bedroom, but she was beginning to sound tired now, the sobs less forceful, the tears probably dried.

Jonathan dropped down on the sofa beside him. He was wearing dark navy pajamas, a matching top and bottom that had doubtlessly been purchased by Thea. His skin was pale and dull, and his brown eyes were glassed-over. “I don't know what else to do.”

“Thea's going to think we tortured her.”

“Irina's always had a flair for drama.” Jonathan rubbed his face. “I think she's just . . . uncomfortable. It's her first night in a strange place.”

“She wants it to feel normal, but it just isn't.”

“And I can't help,” Jonathan said.

Garret shrugged and decided to take a different approach. “Don't worry so much. She's a kid. She'll fall asleep. She just has to get tired enough.”

“I don't think so,” Jonathan said. “She's stubborn. You of all people can appreciate that.”

Garret reached for his bottled water, took a long pull.

He'd thought of Irina over the years, thought of her often. For every one time he saw her, he'd dropped three birthday cards for her in the mail. He hadn't meant to neglect his niece, but Irina was Thea's daughter—and Garret had sworn to himself that where Thea went he would not go. Holidays had been notoriously uncomfortable—and lonely. Knowing that his family was at his parents' house on Christmas, opening presents and eating candied walnuts, nearly killed him every year.

Now, Thea and Jonathan's daughter was whimpering and talking to herself unintelligibly in Garret's bedroom. Her parents' separation was hitting her hard. Garret had last seen her two years ago, and she was getting to look like Thea more and more every day. She had Jonathan's face—his narrow, high cheekbones, his pointed chin—but she had Thea's hazel, almond eyes. Garret had been looking forward to Irina's visit; he missed her. She was, after all, his brother's daughter. He wanted to be a part of her life.

In the other room, Irina's crying regained momentum, part sob and part protest. But Garret knew that no matter how hard she cried or pretended to cry, she wouldn't be able to bring her parents back together. Wearily, Jonathan got to his feet. “I'm really sorry about this.”

Garret shrugged. “Eh. What're you gonna do?”

Jonathan put his hand on his hips, his chest sinking visibly as he sighed. “Maybe I should take her home.”

“Really? Now?”

“Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Maybe I just should have kept her for the day.”

Garret sank deeper into his leather couch and focused on the TV. “Let's give it five more minutes,” he said. “Then Uncle Garret and Irina will have a little talk.”

 

 

The first year Garret spent in Newport, Thea had not been a girl to him. Girls were smiley and lively. They wore little skirts that showed off the long backsides of their legs, and they smelled like candy or flowers. Girls liked to shout at him when he was walking down the hallway or they strutted next to him when the school day ended and the mass of his classmates pushed their way outside. Girls pulled him behind the bleachers at lunchtime to kiss him and put his hands on their breasts. When he didn't pay attention to them, girls cried.

And so by these standards, Thea was not a girl. She wore unremarkable jeans, too-white sneakers, and her glasses were purple plastic. The only thing about Thea that intrigued Garret was her hair—her beautiful, dark hair that fell so effortlessly into inky, rolling waves. When they wrestled or fought, as they often did when Garret wanted to play video games and Thea wanted to go outside, Garret would sometimes get a fistful of that beautiful hair and tug—not to hurt but just to feel the strength of it and the sound of her voice as she squealed.