The Geometry of Sisters (14 page)

Perfect football weather today—bright, crisp, blue sky. Everyone needed a jacket, but the game was so exciting, layers were peeled off as the touchdowns were scored. Travis was having a great game,
moving the ball twenty yards, receiving twice on the same drive, blocking so Chris could score again. At the end of the first half, Newport was up 21-14.

Everyone went to the parking lot to tailgate, and the congratulations on Travis's performance continued to flow. Ted Shannon actually bowed to her, saying her son was going to take them to the championship. The sun was bright, and glinted in Maura's eyes. She shielded her face, thanking him, and as she did glimpsed a young woman at the far end of the parking lot.

Small, dressed in a bulky jacket, holding a child, the woman stood alone, off to the side, away from the tailgaters. Maura's heart clenched and she felt herself moving through the crowd. Cars, trucks, people between them, charcoal grills, music playing, tall trees, a baby squawking, and Maura started to run. Light flashed, as if someone standing in the shadows had just snapped a picture.

She reached the place where she'd seen the young woman, but no one was there. Standing still, she looked around, her heart pounding. Had she imagined it? A girl with a young child at a football game; Maura could almost feel Carrie in her arms. Time had flown—it was just yesterday that she'd carried her daughter to Thurber Field, snuggled her in the autumn air. The sharp memory brought tears to her eyes. Where was Carrie now? How could she stay away?

Glancing down, Maura spotted a pacifier. She picked it up, brushed away dirt and bits of grass, felt it all come back. So there had been a mother and baby—at least Maura wasn't losing her mind. She saw Stephen approaching with two Styrofoam cups, smoothed away tears, and stuck the pacifier in her pocket.

“Everyone's right,” he said handing her a cup of hot cider. “What a game Travis is having.”

“He's pretty amazing.”

“Is it my imagination, or have you been avoiding me?”

She stared at him, hesitating. Memories were swirling around; she felt the pacifier in her pocket, thought of Carrie's father. “You're married to Patricia Blackstone?” she asked.

“I was,” he said. “We're divorced. She remarried, lives in Bristol now.”

“I never met Patricia, but I knew her brother one summer,” she said, watching for his reaction to that.

“J.D.,” he said.

“Is that what you meant by ‘the pipeline’?” she asked. “The connection between Newport and the Midwest?”

He sipped his cider, and she saw redness spreading up his neck into his face as he stared into her eyes. The direct gaze made her squirm, but she couldn't look away.

“Yes,” he said finally. “Well, partly. Tay Davis—Pell and Lucy's dad—was from Michigan. He married a girl from Newport.”

“You know about me and J.D.?” she asked, unable to hold back any longer.

Stephen just nodded. After a pause he said, “He's a good friend of mine. We've known each other since we came to the academy. He talked about you that autumn—after you left to go to Ohio. After.”

Stephen didn't have to say it: after J.D.'s fall.

“I was engaged to someone else,” Maura said.

“Yeah, I heard,” Stephen said, an edge in his voice.

“What did J.D. say?”

“It was a really long time ago.”

“Yes,” she said. Did he blame her for the rest? She felt her shoulders hunching, closing in, protecting herself.

“We were sorry not to meet you back then,” Stephen said, his tone softening. “Ted, Taylor, and I were in Europe that summer. The classic bumming-around-after-college. J.D. was supposed to meet us in Rome. We couldn't get him to break away from his job for the whole two months….”

“He worked hard,” she said.

“Yeah,” Stephen said. “He never rested on his family's name, that's for sure. But we convinced him to connect up with us for at least part of our trip. He never did, though. He wanted to stay here with you.”

“How is he now?” Maura asked.

“He keeps to himself.”

Maura waited for Stephen to say more, and he stared at her for a few long seconds, as if trying to decide how much to tell her.

“He went to Providence for more surgery a year ago,” he said. “They kept him completely immobile for months. It was a serious procedure, but the complications were worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“He developed an infection right after the surgery. It started in his spinal cord, went to his brain. He nearly died.”

“After all this time?” she asked.

“Yes. They had to put him into a coma, to get the swelling down. He couldn't move. They kept him that way until he was out of the woods. When he woke up, he realized he wasn't any better than before the operation.”

“That's devastating.”

“Don't say it to J.D.”

“Why?”

Stephen looked down. “He can't stand anyone pitying him. I think he's afraid of giving up. I'm not sure he really believes he'll get better, but he never stops looking into new doctors, treatments, programs.”

“Nothing's worked?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “At least not that I can see. But J.D. doesn't talk about it. He doesn't want us worrying about him.”

“I want to see him,” she said.

Stephen glanced away, toward the sea beyond the stately school
building. When he looked at her again, she saw a warning behind his eyes, dark and fierce—protecting his friend or, she thought with a shock, protecting her?

Ally came running over as the crowd began flowing back toward the stands. They walked together. Maura waited for Stephen to say more, but he didn't and, swept away with the other teachers, they separated. Maura found herself scanning the crowd for the young mother; she wanted to give her baby back the pacifier.

The second half started. St. George's received. The game went on. Travis scored a touchdown, and Beck waved at her from the stands with Ally. The Newport lead mounted, but Maura was thinking of J. D. Blackstone, of a summer eighteen years ago….

The heat rose from the cobblestones, hardly a breeze in the old alleyway. Katharine was welding in the studio, an ironworker's inferno. Maura stood on the granite step outside, trying to cool off. It had been only a little over a week since she had joined her sister in Newport, but already she felt more at home in New England than she had during her four years of college in Ohio. Hard to admit, but she was glad for the break from Andy, a chance to think about his proposal.

She spied a spigot on a building down the alley. Eight at night, sky still light, stones and metal glinting as if someone had spilled butterscotch; no one was around. Walking over, she glanced up at a small blue metal medallion attached to the old stone building:
Local
23.

Turning the faucet, she heard water rush through copper pipes. She wore cutoff jean shorts and a blue shirt, a scarf holding back her long hair. Cupping her hands, she splashed water; untied the scarf, soaked it, and cooled her arms, her throat, backs of her legs. She rinsed out a small tin pail and filled it to drink.

Just then the heavy door swung open, and she felt a blast of heat. A tall man stood there, streaked with soot and sweat. He tilted his welding mask back, staring at her with bright blue eyes. They were
alone in the deserted alley with the sun setting behind the old warehouses.

“Want a drink?” she asked.

“Sure, thanks,” he said.

She filled the pail, handed it to him, suddenly hyperaware of his eyes, and the feeling of cool water evaporating off her skin in the twilight heat. He drank, watching her. The sense that she had stepped out of time, into the nineteenth century, this hidden byway, these whaling-era buildings and cobblestones, seemed overwhelming.

She crouched by the faucet, wet her scarf again, and handed it to him.

“Thank you,” he said, wiping his face.

“You're welcome. It's your water.”

“True,” he said. “Although everyone on the alley uses my faucet.”

“I'm not the first?”

“No,” he said. He didn't smile, didn't joke, didn't flirt. But he stared at her so deeply she felt everything shift.

“Would you like more water?” she asked.

He nodded, and took the heavy mask off the back of his head, laid it down on the step. He was wearing Nomex flameproof overalls, and unhooked the buttons at the top, swung the straps over his shoulders, let the bib fall down. He had a ripped gray T-shirt underneath, and sweat made it stick to him. He washed his hands. She watched him fill the pail, take another long drink.

“What do you do in there?” she asked.

“I'm welding the railing for a balcony,” he said.

“Heavy industry on this alleyway,” she said, thinking of her sister working in her own studio.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping his face. “Newport's still a city.”

“Not just docks with big boats,” she said. “And candle shops on the waterfront.”

“No, but that's where the bars are,” he said. “Do you want to get a drink?”

She glanced at Katharine's door. Would her sister mind her going off to hang out with her neighbor? She knew how obsessed Katharine got with her sculpting, how often she worked past midnight. But Maura's own feelings stopped her. This guy was making her heart pound like crazy, and she kept thinking of Andy.

The welder waited for her answer, and the streetlights crackled on overhead. She heard the electricity humming through the transformer; it might as easily have been coming from him, or from her. She felt the charge sparking between them, saw it flash in his blue eyes.

“What's Local 23?” she asked, pointing up at the medallion, trying to slow it all down.

“You should know,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, laughing nervously.

“Well, because your sister's in it too.”

“My sister.”

“Katharine,” he said.

The alley was small, very few occupied warehouses. Of course everyone would know each other; hadn't he just said they used his water faucet? But the truth began to dawn. She stared at his hair, brown and short, and she knew that her sister had cut it for him.

“Ironworkers Local,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “We're in the same union.”

“You're J.D.,” she said.

“You didn't know that?” he asked. “I knew you were Maura.”

They shook hands, and the feeling of his skin sent another jolt through her.

Katharine had always said they were just friends, and Maura had always hoped she was wrong about that. She had always wanted there to be something between Katharine and J. D. Blackstone.

And now she didn't. She wanted to go to the wharf with him, forget about everything, have that drink.

“Let me clean up,” he said.

“Should we ask Katharine to come with us?”

He laughed, a look of warmth filling his eyes as he glanced over at the studio door. It was closed, but through it came the high-pitched sound of metal sparking metal. Arcs of fire welding Katharine's sculptures together.

“She won't come,” he said. “She's always so focused when she's in the middle of a piece.”

“In other words, you're doing her a favor,” Maura said. “Taking me off her hands.”

“If that's the way you want to see it,” he said, his eyes glinting.

And in that moment that hot summer night eighteen years ago, Maura O'Donnell forgot all about Andy Shaw. And about her sister too.

Newport beat St. George's 28-21, their first victory over the Dragons in seven years. Everyone was saying Travis had won the game for the Cuppers—even Chris, the quarterback, said Travis was the hero, he didn't care who got credit as long as they had a winning season.

The students celebrated by taking over Truffles that night. The evening was chilly, but it didn't matter. Ally had worked on her tan, and she was showing it off no matter what. She wore a strapless blue silk dress, high-heeled sandals, the necklace he'd given her for her birthday. Travis would have rather gone somewhere private with her—stayed away from all the others, but Ally wanted the school to see them together.

Everyone jammed into the bar area, where it was too loud to really talk. Truffles served drinks and fancy food. Travis saw kids handing over Platinum AmEx cards; all he had was twenty bucks. That was enough for two virgin frozen daiquiris. Some kids had fake IDs or knew the bartender and were drinking champagne.

Ally pressed against his body, his arms around her. Her skin felt
so soft and smooth, and she put her hand behind his neck to pull his mouth down to hers. They kissed, long and hot, in a way he'd been dreaming of since leaving Columbus. At the same time, he was embarrassed, and he hated himself for it.

When he looked up, instead of gazing into Ally's eyes, he found himself scanning the crowd. Pell was by the door, standing with Logan, Cordelia, Chris, and Ty. They talked, leaning together, but Travis saw Pell watching him. Caught, she looked away.

“You were amazing,” Ally said, stroking his hair. “Really … you showed these preps how we do it back home. Football done right!”

“Yeah,” he said.

“So, who are your friends? I want to meet them. Come on, introduce me to all these people buying us drinks!”

And Travis did. He made his way through the group, introducing Ally to all the team members near the bar, their girlfriends, kids from his classes. By the time he got to the door, his friends saw him coming and stepped toward him grinning. Except Pell. She hung back a little.