Tainted (15 page)

But Holly had learned that grief could ambush you when you least expected it. She'd be walking from the kitchen to the living room, have a sudden memory of her parents, stop in her tracks, and find tears running down her face, from the sheer force of missing them. Anniversaries of their birthdays and deaths would always bring sadness, but the most powerful emotions came out of the blue, catching her off guard.

“Holly?” Jack had the centerboard in his hand. “Are you all right? Hop on. We're going.”

All she could do was to hold up her hand, signaling for him to wait while she tried to get her composure back.

“Holly?”

“I'm coming.” She didn't want to tell him what had upset her, worried that it would make him sad about his own parents too, so she stepped forward into the water, splashed some quickly onto her face, and while Jack held the boat for her, she hopped on board and grabbed the sail's rope.

One of her parents' favorite movies had been
High Society
with Grace Kelly, Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra. In one scene, Grace Kelly and Bing Crosby sail off together on their honeymoon in a boat called
True Love
. This Sunfish was too small to have a name; it had a blue-and-white striped sail and a fiberglass body which was as rudimentary as a sailboat could be. But as Holly watched Jack take command of the rudder, she thought of it as their own
True Love
.

They set off in the breeze, tacked a few times and headed for the end of the dike and beyond. Jack had picked up the art of sailing seemingly effortlessly, and Holly sat happily, soaking up the sun as they glided across the tops of tiny waves.

Sometimes when she'd go out on her own, she'd purposefully take the boat to the limit and beyond, riding the wind so hard that the hull lifted out of the water, the boat was almost perpendicular, and she was flying. There was always that moment of heady abandon mixed with fear as the sail went that one inch too far, toppling her and the boat into the ocean.

This was going to be an easy, relaxed sail, though. No capsizing, simply meandering along, enjoying a few hours of sun, salt air and post-ceremony, pre-honeymoon time. When they reached the end of the dike, Jack said, “There's a little island up ahead and off to the right, isn't there? I've seen it when I've fished with Henry and I've always wanted to land on it and explore. Do you know the one I mean? I think Henry called it Little Bird Island.”

“I know it. But I don't want to land there. Let's just keep sailing.”

“Why don't you want to?”

“It's called Little Bird but it has another name too. I've always been scared of going there, ever since I was a child.”

“Holly?” He shot her a quizzical look. “What are you on about? How can you be afraid of a little island?” He nudged her leg with his foot.

“Because it's the Bad Boy's Island.”

“What does that mean?”

“It's what we've always called it. My mother told me about it. There was a bad boy who lived on the road into town, just after the Point Road ends; and he used to go to that island and camp out at night.”

“A bad boy?”

“That's what we called him. All my cousins had heard about him too. We used to dare each other to go to the island but none of us ever did.”

Jack pushed the rudder so the boat headed straight into the wind.

“What are you doing? We can't move when we're headed straight into the wind like this.”

“What did this boy do that was so bad?”

Clearly, he wasn't going to move the tiller; she didn't know why this story interested him so much, but she went ahead and explained:

“That's the funny part. We were all terrified of him and thought he was a murderer and none of us dared ask what he'd done. You know how little kids are. We used to tell scary stories about him at night to frighten each other. One day when I was sixteen or so, I finally asked my mother what he'd done and she told me she thought he'd stolen a bicycle. But she wasn't sure.”

“What's funny about that?”

“It's not funny exactly, but you know, like I said, we were kids and we'd built up this whole image of him as this evil, awful bad boy who'd done terrifying things and it turned out all he'd done was maybe steal a bicycle. Still—somehow it stuck. I mean, we kept calling Little Bird Island the Bad Boy's Island even when we knew he hadn't done anything horrible, and I know it's ridiculous, but I still have a thing about it. I don't want to go there. It feels like bad luck.”

“Bad luck? Because some poor boy who may or may not have stolen a bicycle used to camp out there? And it's supposed to be funny that because he may have made one mistake, you branded him an evil monster for eternity? I can't believe how stupid you were and how stupid you're being now.”

“Jack?” Holly reeled with shock and pain. “If you feel that strongly about it, of course I'll go there with you. It just wasn't something I wanted to do on our wedding day, that's all.”

The boat wasn't moving and the sun was bearing down on her and Jack was sitting with the rudder in his hand, staring at her with the same terrible cold expression he'd had those two times when Katy had been sick and crying. Holly pulled the sheet of the sail in a vain attempt to get them moving again.

“Come on. I've changed my mind. That's a woman's prerogative, isn't it? Let's go there. It will be fun.” She was pleading with him now, hating the way his eyes had hardened, desperate to make amends for screwing things up. “You're right, I was being stupid and childish.”

“Stupid and childish and worse. You were being cruel and judgmental, not to mention absurdly superstitious.”

“I was being cruel? I don't think I was being cruel.”

“Did you ever meet him?”

“The Bad Boy?”

“No, the President, Holly. We were talking about the President, weren't we?”

“Jack, please. I'm sorry, OK? And no, I never met him. Please can we just start sailing again and forget about him?”

“Absolutely.” He pushed the tiller as far as he could to the left, maneuvering the boat back into a position to catch the wind and pick up speed. But just as Holly was beginning to hope he'd calmed down, he tacked; the boom swinging so quickly in the other direction, it almost smashed her in the head.

“Jack? What are you doing?”

“We're going home.”

“What?”

“We're going home.”

“I don't understand. This is silly. Can't we forget it?”

“We've done enough sailing, Holly. It's time to go back.”

They'd never talked about the night when Anna had come to visit, the night when he'd gone off and hadn't come back. She assumed he'd slept on the beach, and had wanted to ask him why he had felt the need to leave. But Anna had been there and then they'd been busy planning the ceremony and that awful night faded into obscurity. She didn't want to bring it back to life by mentioning it.

Besides, she had decided that there was a gulf between their cultures she'd just have to get used to. The English don't like to talk about their emotions, and she would have to learn to accept that and be thankful that he didn't overanalyze everything the way Americans did. Going out and sleeping on the beach was better than staying in and being angry. It was preferable to say nothing than say something you might regret. And he might have admitted that he was having problems dealing with a small child who cried and coughed at night. In the heat of sleepless irritation, he might have said something about Katy which she wouldn't be able to forget.

But Katy's crying or coughing wasn't the issue now. The problem was, she had no idea what the issue was, why he was so angry and distant.

This was their wedding day and Jack wasn't speaking to her; he wouldn't even look at her.

She'd prepared herself for the possibility of Billy coming and making a scene. The fact that he'd been quiet in the past week, that he hadn't shown up at the house or called, didn't totally allay her fear of him making trouble for them somehow.

What she would never have imagined in a million years was that the old scary Bad Boy of her childhood would come back and ruin her perfect day. Maybe Jack was right. Maybe she had been cruel to the Bad Boy. If so, he was getting his revenge on her now. In spades.

No one had answered his knock on the door. Which didn't mean he had the right to walk in, but he did anyway. His purpose for coming to the house had been well-intentioned. He was going to congratulate Holly and Jack on their marriage, show them he could rise above his feelings and make a gesture toward some kind of harmony. Having taken Anna's advice about steering clear, he was going to go that one step further and hold out the proverbial olive branch or peace pipe or whatever it took to get himself back on track and in Holly's good graces.

So he'd knocked and no one had answered and then he'd found himself opening the screen door. This hadn't been part of the plan, but he couldn't stop himself from walking in. “Hello,” he called out, but again, no one answered. He almost turned around then and walked out; he might have if he hadn't seen the photographs. They were dotted all around the living room: pictures of Holly and Katy and Jack—a whole gallery of them, framed and on display. And not one of the ones he'd seen when he'd been before. No Mr. or Mrs. Barrett, no pictures of Katy as a baby or toddler.

The new regime.

Jack's kingdom.

He walked around, picking each one up, staring at it, putting it back down. At the far end of the room, on the bookshelf beside the porch door, were two with just Jack and Katy: one beach scene with the two of them sitting on the sand, digging a sandcastle together, the second an indoors shot—at the kitchen table. Katy was sitting on Jack's lap, wearing a Lobster Pot T-shirt that swamped her, pulling a funny face for the camera. And there was Jack, looking like he'd won the fucking lottery. Proud Jack, the proud father of a daughter who wasn't his.

The smug fucking bastard.

He whacked the photo back down on the shelf so hard, the glass broke.

Oh, shit. This is all I need. Jack coming back to find his photo smashed. Holly going berserk. Oh, shit.

Picking up the pieces of glass from the shelf and putting them in the palm of his hand, he carried them into the kitchen.

Get rid of the evidence, bozo, then get the hell out of here and hope Jack and Holly don't notice the frame is broken.

He found a roll of paper towels on the kitchen counter, wrapped the shards of glass up in wads of them and then hunted around until he discovered the garbage can underneath the sink. Lifting a used coffee filter from the top of the garbage, he hid the wrapped-up glass underneath, put the filter full of grounds back on top of it and went to wash his hands in the sink. As he was drying them, he noticed a cellphone lying on the kitchen table.

It wasn't right, but then what was right any more? Was Jack right to have rushed Holly so quickly into marriage? Jack, Billy's instinct told him, had been the one to get rid of the photos of Holly's parents and past. How right was that?

He picked up the phone, flipped it open.

Jack's or Holly's?

When he punched the key to bring up the contact list, Holly and Figs were the only names listed. So that question was answered.

Not one other name? Jack had no friends, no family whatsoever?

Clearly not.

He hit the “Messages” button.

Zero.

While he was at it, he decided he might as well check the “Recently Dialed” list. There were four calls to the same local number—he assumed Holly. But there was also one international one. So Jack did still have one tie to home. But what tie? With whom? Billy was about to look for a pencil and a piece of paper when he heard the porch screen door open. Immediately he memorized the international number, flipped the phone shut and replaced it exactly where it had been on the table.

“Jack, it's our wedding day,” he heard Holly saying in a pleading, tearful voice. “Can't we sit down and talk about it? I didn't mean to upset you. I've apologized. I don't know what else to do.”

There was no escape from the kitchen, no back door. Billy stood, holding his breath, hoping they would go upstairs so he could sneak out the front; at the same time he wanted to hear what Jack's response to Holly would be.

He didn't get a chance to do either. Jack walked straight into the kitchen.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Jack's face looked as though it should have a bubble above it with the word “Snarl” written in it.

“I came to congratulate you two. No one answered my knock and then I had a coughing fit and I came in to get a glass of water.”

“Where's the glass, then?”

“I was just about to get it when you walked in.”

“Oh, no.” Holly stood at the threshold. “Billy. What are you doing here?”

“I told Jack. I wanted to congratulate you and I had a coughing fit so I came in and was about to get a glass of water.”

“You mean you broke in. You mean you trespassed on private property.”

The snarl had turned to a sneer of contempt and disdain.

“Look—I'm sorry.” He held up his hands. “I'll leave.”

“Bloody well right, you'll leave. You have no business here. I don't want to see you in this house again.”

“I have some rights, Jack. I
am
Katy's father.”

“We'll see about that.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It means . . .” Jack walked to the threshold, took Holly's hand, and led her with him until they were standing opposite Billy, only a few feet away. “I want to adopt Katy.”

“Jack?” Holly looked up at him.

“Yes.” He let go of her hand, put his arm around her. “We're a family now. I want to adopt her.”

“You won't be able to. I haven't gone to lawyers yet out of respect to Holly. But if you push me, Jack, I will.”

“If I push you?” Jack took his hand away from Holly's shoulder, stepped forward and pushed Billy in the chest—with enough force to send him staggering backward.

“Jack!” Holly cried out at the same time as Billy said, “Fuck you, asshole,” regained his balance and clenched his hands into fists.

“Stop!” Holly screamed. “It's my wedding day. Stop! Please don't fight. Please.”

Billy took a step back, away from Jack.

“All right. For your sake, Holly. But you know something, Jack? You're supposed to be this perfect man, but you've already screwed up big time. I heard her when you came into the house. I don't know what you did, but you managed to make her miserable. And you've been married for what? A couple of hours? I came here to make peace and congratulate you, but I don't think this marriage will last. I think Holly is smarter than you give her credit for and she'll come to her senses and get rid of you. But I'll tell you something, I won't hesitate to get lawyers involved if I have to. For Katy's sake. The last thing she needs is a psycho bully father.”

Jack raised his eyebrows and smirked. Billy watched in confusion as he then walked over to the bread bin and opened it.

Please God, don't bring out a gun.

He brought out a cigarette and matches and proceeded to light up. After two long inhalations and puffs, he leaned back against the counter and shot a haughty look at Billy.

“You don't want to fight me—fine.” He shrugged. “Can't say I blame you. You're a loser, Billy. And I'm warning you now—you'll lose everything if you try to come between me and my family.”

“A psycho bully who threatens people. And you love this guy?” Billy looked at Holly and shook his head. “What have you gotten yourself into, Holl? What would your parents think?”

“Yes, I love him.” She wiped away her tears and straightened her shoulders. “And my parents would love him too. I know they would. I know they
do
. You're ruining everything, Billy. Everything. I knew you would.”

“Let's play a little game, Bill. I'll close my eyes and count to ten. Let's just see what happens if you're still here when I get to ten and open them.” Jack took another puff of his cigarette and closed his eyes. “One . . .”

“Jesus, Holly—where did you find him?”

“She found me on a bus. Two . . .”

“What station was the destination? Hell?”

“Three . . .”

“I'm going. This is stupid.” He walked over to Holly and placed his hand above her elbow. “I'm really sorry it has to be like this, Holly. I'm sorry you're upset. I bet you looked beautiful in your wedding dress today.”

As he walked out of the kitchen, he heard Jack's “Four . . . .”

Well, that couldn't have gone much worse.

The half-mile hike to his house seemed much longer, as he rewound the tape and played the entire scene over in his mind. Getting caught in the house was dumb, almost fighting Jack yet again was dumber. But Jack had provoked him when he'd shoved him. He'd been looking for a fight.

And what had he done to Holly to make her so upset before?

Your parents would have loathed the man, Holly. Even I can see that. Love has made you blind and I guess loneliness or age or grief has made Henry blind and all Anna can see is how good-looking he is. I'm the only one who knows there's something wrong with him. I'm crying wolf and everyone else thinks he's a puppy.

When he reached his house, he headed straight for the telephone on the kitchen counter, picked it up and dialed the international number he'd memorized. He listened as the phone rang twice in succession instead of the one long American ring. After four of the two-in-a-row rings, someone picked up and a female voice answered with a name. Eliza McCormack.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, but I was looking for Jack Dane. Do you know him?”

“Excuse me?” A clipped English accent. Like some woman in a BBC adaptation of a Jane Austen book.

“Jack Dane. I'm a friend of his and I was trying to get in touch with him.”

“I have no idea who you're talking about. You have the wrong number.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I'm sure. You have the wrong number.”

“OK, well, thanks anyway.”

“Goodbye.” She hung up.

He hung up too, and immediately redialed the number he'd memorized, in case he'd punched in a wrong digit the first time. She answered on the first ring, this time with “Hello.”

“Sorry, it's me again. I thought I might have dialed the wrong number before.”

“You
did
dial the wrong number before. And you've dialed the wrong number again.” A very upper-class, exasperated voice. He couldn't place an age—but she wasn't young or old. Maybe in her forties.

“OK, sorry.”

“I suggest you find the right one and don't bother me again.”

“OK, sure. Goodbye.”

She didn't bother to say goodbye, obviously desperate to get rid of him. Which made sense if he'd dialed the wrong number twice and she didn't know Jack Dane. Still—he was sure he'd memorized it correctly. Maybe someone else lived at that number. And that someone was the one Jack had called.

Billy took his own mobile phone out of his pocket, scrolled down his list of contacts and hit Daniel. As he waited for an answer, he stared out across the bay; a huge tanker was making its way down the canal looking ancient, rusty and tired.

“Hello?”

“Daniel? It's Billy Madison.”

“Hey, Billy. How are you?”

“Fine. Listen, I was hoping you could help me with something. You spent your junior year abroad in London, didn't you?”

“I was in Manchester, actually.”

“Right, well, maybe you won't know this, but I have an English phone number. If I give it to you can you tell me where it's based, if you see what I mean? Whether it's a London number or whatever.”

“I know some of the codes, but it's like area codes—there are tons of them. I know Manchester and I know London and Oxford. Anyway, try me.”

Billy reeled off the number.

“That's a mobile number—a cellphone. Not a landline.”

“Really?”

“Mmm-hmm. I guess that doesn't help you. Sorry.”

“No, that does help, thanks, Dan. I'm in a hurry but I'll give you a call soon and we can catch up with each other.”

“Sure.”

After they'd said their goodbyes, Billy grabbed a beer from the fridge, went outside and sat down on the wicker chair Anna had lounged so seductively in when she'd come over.

A cellphone was personal. Jack Dane must have called the McCormack woman personally. And she, for whatever reason, was pretending she didn't know him.

He had no proof, though. And his theory would hardly stand up in a court, much less in the minds of Holly and the people around her. Besides, how could he admit he'd surreptitiously looked at Jack's phone?

As his thoughts were churning away, he found himself staring at the dike, at the tiny beach three-quarters of the way to the lighthouse; but not until he'd finished his whole can of beer did he realize that he'd been unconsciously focusing his gaze on the exact spot where Katy had been conceived.

Holly had been a sweet, shy, seventeen-year-old girl. To this day, he couldn't explain to himself why he'd had sex with her. He was feeling hurt and rejected by Anna, and Holly was there; sure. Boys will be boys. But it had never really made sense to him—because Holly had been a friend and he'd never had one sexual thought about her. There were other girls he could have taken advantage of, more obviously attractive ones.

Yet he'd just said, “I bet you looked beautiful in your wedding dress.” He hadn't expected to say it; it just came out.

What confused and surprised him was that he'd meant it.

Billy Madison stood up and headed back to the kitchen for another beer.