The Deep Blue Sea for Beginners (20 page)

“Keep her away from him,” Ty said. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Would he hurt her?”

“He hurts everyone,” Ty said. “I kind of feel bad for him. He was best friends with my brother when they were little, but then his mother died, and he just lost it. He became the kid no one wanted to play with. Long story, but he kind of went bad. His dad’s a big deal in a British bank, never around. Rafe just basically ran wild. He always had a girlfriend, usually some nice girl who goes for the bad-boy thing. Pell wouldn’t, but some of them got into coke with him.”

“You’re right, Pell wouldn’t,” Travis said.

“Still, keep her away from him,” Ty said.

“Thanks, Ty,” Travis said.

“You sure this won’t affect me on the team?”

“It won’t,” Travis said. “See you in August.”

He hung up and dialed Pell. What was he going to say to her? He felt like a dad about to deliver a lecture, or someone in a horror movie yelling “Get out of the house, the madman’s about to strike!” Straight to voicemail. He’d already left so many messages, he didn’t even bother. Sitting on the side of his bed, he stared at the wall and knew what he had to do.

Lucy’s grandmother hadn’t liked the plan, but Lucy wasn’t really asking her permission. At fourteen, she was obviously a minor, and there were many decisions she could not make on her own. To access her money, for example, or to leave the country, she needed the permission of her guardian. That person was not Edith Nicholson. It was Stephen Campbell, one of her father’s best friends. Lucy had explained the situation to Stephen, and he had put in a call to her trustee—William Crawford of United Stonington Trust.

William was cool. He’d been a friend of Lucy’s dad, too, and he’d known her mother back in their prep school and college days. He’d listened to Lucy and Stephen, agreed to approve the trip. Normally it wouldn’t have taken such a powwow to plan a visit to Lucy’s sister and mother, but there was one complication that had to be addressed.

Stephen had picked Lucy up at her grandmother’s estate; they drove straight to Beck’s house, and Stephen waited in the car while Lucy ran to the door.

“Is he here?” Lucy asked when Beck answered.

“Yes,” Beck said. “He’s in his room, filled with angst.”

The two girls hurried through the small house; Lucy checked her watch—there wasn’t much time to lose. When they got to Travis’s door, Beck knocked hard.

“I’m busy!” he called.

Beck and Lucy exchanged glances, and Beck rapped again.

“Open up now! It’s urgent!”

“Come in.”

Beck threw open the door, and Lucy saw Travis sitting at his computer, scrolling through some travel website. He had pulled up discount flights to Rome, and she saw he’d been making notes on a pad.

“Hi, Lucy,” he said. “You on your way?”

“You should know,” she said. Travis had reserved the flight for her; he’d wanted to get a seat for himself, too, but it was full price, beyond his budget.

“Well, I’ll try to catch up with you,” he said. “If I can find—”

“No,” Lucy said. “You’re coming with me now.”

“I want to, you have no idea. And I would—Beck, you were right, what else is money for? But I don’t have enough; even if I use all my savings from fishing so far, I can’t afford the full-price fare. I have to—”

“It’s all taken care of,” Lucy said.

“What do you mean?”

“Remember what I told you, about emergencies? I explained it to my trust officer, and he agreed—you are needed, Travis.”

“Lucy, you’re the second-most-capable fourteen-year-old I know,” Travis said, with a glance at Beck. “You don’t need a chaperone.”

“No,” she said. “But Pell needs you.”

Travis took that in; he couldn’t argue with her, didn’t even seem to want to try.

“I’ll pay as much as I can, owe you the rest,” he said.

“It’s a done deal—you don’t owe me anything. Just hurry,” Lucy said. “Stephen’s giving us a ride to the airport. He’s waiting outside now. Pack your stuff, and let’s go!”

“Take a shower, dude,” Beck said. “You don’t want to arrive in Capri smelling like codfish. I’ll pack for you.”

Travis ran into the bathroom, and they heard the shower running. It was just noon, and the flight left New York at eight that night. Lucy and Beck grinned at each other, taking the opportunity to turn Lucy’s watch and Beck’s clock radio six hours ahead, sync them to Italy time.

Seventeen

B
y twilight, high clouds covered the sky, obscuring Monte Solaro in mist. Pell hadn’t returned home all day. Lyra and Max had looked all over the island, then he had dropped her off at home to wait. She’d walked through the garden, thinking maybe Pell had gone somewhere quiet to think. But she knew, and so did Max, that Pell was with Rafe, that they had gone somewhere in the boat.

Lyra sat on the terrace, watching weather move in. Dampness surrounded her, and clouds were settling, vast and gray. A sharp breeze picked up, blowing through the trees. How quickly the azure water lost its blue, drained of brightness. No lights sparkled across the bay; haze enfolded the mainland.

The dock was barely visible down below. Lyra kept her eyes on it, waiting for the yellow boat to return. Max had called Nicolas and John, Stefan, and all his other friends, asked them to watch out for Rafe and Pell. Nicolas had accosted Arturo, threatened him with the loss of his boat slip if he didn’t tell him where Rafe was. Arturo defensively said he’d seen him heading toward Il Faraglioni hours ago, and Nicolas had taken a boat over to look. Max was still searching Capri, going to the places his grandson had been known to go.

Lyra sat on the settee, arms wrapped around drawn-up knees. Ten years of being alone, not having the day-to-day guardianship of her children, and right now she was so scared she couldn’t breathe.

The damp grew so thick, moisture dripped from the leaves. Lyra thought of Pell, dressed for a sunny day, wondered if she was getting chilled. The brass telescope stood on its tripod, anchored to the stone parapet. Lyra unfolded herself to move it inside. She turned on some lights in the living room, used a cloth to wipe it off. Her stomach flipped; she was taking care of a “thing” again, when what she really wanted was to be holding her daughter.

She thought back to the week before Pell arrived. She’d busied herself, cleaning and polishing, making the house as perfect as possible. She’d planted window boxes for the guest room, polished the silver tea set. Max had laughed at her—he didn’t think she knew, but she’d realized immediately what he was thinking. Who cared about the house, about objects? It was people who mattered.

Her daughters.

She drifted toward a large painting, three feet square, hanging on the wall. Abstract, soft pastel, it showed three rounded green shapes—one large, two small. The green was a shade of mint, rain-washed, the shapes smudged around the edges. They might have been hills.

Christina had painted it for Lyra the year before she died. She’d been losing ground, forgetting words, everyone’s name, even Max’s. But during that time, her art had deepened. It was as if without clear thoughts and language, nothing blocked the true spirit welling up from inside.

“What a beautiful landscape,” Lyra had said when Christina presented her with the painting. And it really was: three defined hillocks in the foreground—the larger flanked by two smaller ones—overlooking a vast sea of blue. “The ocean, and three hills.”

“No,
girls,”
Christina had said, correcting her.

Lyra had smiled; her friend often mixed up words. But Christina pointed, starting with the shape in the middle. “Lyra,” she’d said. “And her daughters.”

Immediately Lyra saw. “Pell,” she’d said, touching one hill, “and Lucy,” the other.

“Yes,” Christina had nodded. “Lyra and her children.”

Lyra gazed at the painting now. It captured the way one flowed into another, whether hills or people. Separate, independent, yet necessary to the landscape, to the larger composition.

The phone rang, and Lyra ran for it.

“Hello?” she said.

“Mom, it’s Lucy.”

“Hi, Lucy,” she said. “Have you heard from Pell?”

“Not a word, and that’s so weird. It’s not like her. Mom, I’m on my way.”

Had Lyra misheard her?

“On your way?” she asked.

“Yes. I know it’s last-minute and all, but you don’t have to worry about getting things ready or anything. I’ll sleep on the floor. It’s okay. The main thing is, I want to be there for Pell. And you too.”

“Lucy,” Lyra said. She stared at the painting. “You shouldn’t have to come all this way just to check on your sister. I’m supposed to be taking care of her. I want to see you—I’ve had it in mind to call and ask you to come. Why didn’t I do that? And why have things gone so wrong with Pell?”

“How could it be easy?” Lucy asked. “We love you so much. All this time and distance between us is what’s hard.”

“You’re only fourteen, and you know that?”

“Of course I know it. Pell’s my older sister.” The words were simple, direct, enough said. The girls’ sense of each other was so intense, one sister knew when the other needed her.

“When do you land?” Lyra asked. “I’ll make arrangements to have you met at the airport.”

“Thank you, Mom,” Lucy said, and gave her the flight details. Lyra wrote them down. “I’m bringing someone with me,” Lucy continued. “Travis Shaw. Pell’s boyfriend.”

“Lucy, I’m not sure,” Lyra began.

“Mom,” Lucy said. “You don’t know how it is. This is the way we do things. Travis is part of our lives.”

“Okay” Lyra said. “He’s welcome, of course. And I can’t wait to see you.”

They said goodbye.

Lyra heard footsteps on the terrace. She turned, saw two people through the tall windows: Pell and Rafe. It had started to rain, and they were dripping wet. Lyra had ten seconds to feel relief before worry took over. Pell looked miserable, and walked straight through the living room, past Lyra, toward her bedroom.

Rafe stood just outside the door, in the rain.

“Where were you?” Lyra asked. “Where did you take her?”

“To Il Faraglioni,” he said.

“I swear to God, Rafe,” Lyra said. “If she’s not okay …”

The young man stared at her. His eyes seemed clear, alert, but darkness hung on him like his wet clothes.

“Go check on her,” he said. “She’s pretty upset.”

“I can see that,” Lyra said. “What happened?”

“I made a mistake,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

And he walked off the terrace, back into the steady rain.

Another boy’s arms around me.

His lips on mine.

And I’d leaned into him, wanting everything to go away losing myself in his kiss for ten, thirty, sixty seconds.

I couldn’t tell myself it was just a quick peck, that he tried something and I instantly turned away. Because that’s not what happened.

The boathouse, so spare and clean, the changing weather sweeping through the two small windows, that first gust of wind, and the breath of rain. I’d wanted mist, damp, cool rain, and here it came.

Rafe’s arms strong and lean, and the danger so sexy, the knowledge that he’d stepped off the path and made it back alive. Kissing me, hot and wet, pulling me down on the narrow bed, and I’d let him.

Thinking everything in my life had been a lie, the word
everything
starting and ending with my dad. Because that’s what he’d been to me, nothing less. Running home from school, there’d been one person I wanted to see: him. Having a bad dream, there’d been only one who could give me comfort: him. His goodness had erased all the dread and badness of my mother’s leaving.

So what am I saying? My mother’s bombshell, the disillusioning news that my father had been one factor in why/how she’d left us, had thrown me into crazy disarray. The Pell I’d always been disappeared in that moment. Steady, helpful, loving, caring, responsible me—gone.

Don’t think I haven’t known how people saw me. After my mother left, once we got through the first horrendous year, Dr. Robertson’s help enabled me to find my center, realize what was important, know that Lucy needed me, that I had to be the best older sister possible. At the age of seven, I pulled myself together. I remember it so clearly—I saw the alternatives: be good, be there like my dad, or be a wreck, be gone like my mom. I elected to be like him.

All through my life, and I do mean all through, up until today, I’ve been hyper-responsible. Walk my sister to school, help her with her homework, make sure she gets to bed on time. When our dad was sick, I acted as a nurse. I filled a basin with warm water, used a washcloth to wash his face, helped him shave. Once he stopped being able to work, he was home all the time. His illness took him down over the course of a year; sometimes he’d go to the hospital—when he got pneumonia, then a staph infection, two surgeries to relieve pressure on his brain.

I insisted on knowing the details. His doctors had instructions to tell me the truth; my dad trusted me and my strength
that
much. So at the end, when he came home after surgery to remove infected parts of his skull—”debriding the bone,” it was called—and a nurse would come to our house to clean out the wound—I would stand right there, holding his hand, while she swept the crater in his head with hydrogen peroxide on a Q-tip. I was thirteen; other kids were at after-school sports, at the library, with their friends. I was with my dad.

“You’re the strongest girl I’ve ever known,” he said.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “It’s easy, I love you.”

We’d beam at each other, even as he was turning into a skeleton, losing so much weight he barely weighed more than I. We were there for each other—I couldn’t forget what he’d done for me and Lucy. Other dads might have brought someone else in to care for the kids—like a nanny, or a governess, or a girlfriend. Not him. He let us know how much we mattered to him.

He neither pushed us nor forbade us to talk about or call our mother. But the feeling became, it was easier without her. When we did talk to her on the phone, we were all left feeling so empty. She should be here, she shouldn’t be here, we didn’t know. That might have been the time my father could have told us the whole truth. He could have let himself be a little more of the bad guy, to save her from being completely, one hundred percent wrong.

Now, in my room at my mother’s house, I heard the rain pouring down outside, pattering on the roof and leaves. My mother’s voice at my closed door. “Pell,” she said. “Please, let’s talk. Will you come out?”

But I wouldn’t. I went into the bathroom, tried to scrub Rafe’s kiss off my lips. The feeling of his hands off my arms and shoulders. What I couldn’t erase was the excitement I’d felt. I did it all myself—kissed him, turned myself inside out lying on that bed in the boathouse, wanted him with everything I had. My mother’s voice kept going outside the locked door, saying Lucy and Travis were on the way.

I already knew. I’d listened to my voicemail.

“Pell, Lucy’s worried about you. We’re flying to Italy tonight. I can’t wait to see you,” he said.

Travis, my boy.

Threw him away, didn’t I?

Responsible me. The girl I used to be, let’s go back to her for a minute. Even after my father died, and we moved to Newport, and started school there … even then, I was steady and reliable. I didn’t see the point in breaking rules. Life handed me certain opportunities, and I accepted them, respected the boundaries along the way.

There were few exceptions to that. I’ll give you an example of one, and show you how ignoring the boundary, the rules, made me feel bad. Guilty, if you will—not in a religious sense, but in a moral, ordered one. Stepping outside the lines seemed, at that time, an unnecessary risk. I could have been expelled, and where would that have left Lucy?

Here’s what happened. Last winter:

Travis and I had been getting closer, had started going out just before Christmas. Our relationship had bloomed slowly. He’d arrived at school just that fall, fresh from Ohio, where he’d had a longtime girlfriend. They’d broken up. I wasn’t the reason, but I wanted him to be sure. I’d felt the wild, amazing attraction to him—not just physically, but emotionally, in my heart and every other part of myself. And when he’d reached for me, I’d slowed it all down. Not to drive us more crazy than we already were, but to give him time to get over Ally.

Christmas came—that’s when I first realized I wanted to travel here, to Italy, to connect with my mother, stay with her, bring her back. Being with Travis, seeing the closeness he had with his mom and sisters, realizing their family had been broken and had come back together—that’s what started me thinking. I’d even considered Capri for Christmas, but realized two things: it wouldn’t give me enough time to really get to know her, and also it would take me away from Travis, just when we were getting started.