The Islanders (12 page)

I see myself alone, studying climatological data in some lonely station in Antarctica, learning to create the computer model that will finally be able to predict weather all over the planet. That would make me happy.

We're different people. I know that doesn't necessarily mean we have to be ragging on each other constantly. But that's the way it's worked out. And it's too late now for either of us to change, or to want to change.

NINA WOKE TO A STIFF
neck and cold toes. It took a moment or two for her to understand where she was, or to remember why Zoey was sleeping beside her. Clear, morning sunlight spilled around the edges of the curtains on Zoey's side window, threatening to banish the last of night from the room.

She sat up on her elbow and searched for Zoey's clock. Nine fifty. Late for Zoey to be asleep, early for Nina's normal weekend schedule. Poor Zoey. It must not have been a very good night's sleep for her.

Nina lay back down on the pillow. She didn't want to get up. If she got up, she would have to leave, and it was so safe here, so far from everything that awaited her at home. Maybe that was the answer. Maybe she could just stay here until her uncle was gone. Zoey would let her. Zoey was her friend, thank God . . . if there was a God. Zoey had believed her because that's what friends, really close friends, were required to do.

But her uncle's prediction still held true for everyone else.
Claire would never believe her. Claire would accuse her of having made it all up to get attention. And her father . . . like he would tell his sister her husband was a pervert? Not likely.

She heard the pattern of Zoey's breathing change. She was awake.

“Morning,” Nina said.

“Mmm. Yeah,” Zoey mumbled. She shook her head to clear away the sleep and sat up. “How are you doing?”

“My neck is stuck and my leg is asleep,” Nina said. “Can't you get a bigger bed?”

“Sorry, I wasn't expecting guests.”

“And your pillows are too soft.”

“Oh, it's late,” Zoey said, peering at her clock.

“I slept like a rock,” Nina confessed.

“Good.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Nina said a little sheepishly. “I just hope this never gets out around school. They'd all be
sure
I was gay.”

“Look at it as a slumber party,” Zoey said. “That's Lucas's line. He keeps saying, ‘It wouldn't be like we were sleeping together, Zoey, it would just be a slumber party.'”

Nina nodded, only half listening. “I guess I should get going.”

“You don't have to go, Nina,” Zoey said. “There's no reason why you can't stay. We'll buy you a toothbrush. You can borrow my clothes.”

Nina nearly choked up. She'd been certain Zoey would make the offer. “That's sweet of you, Zo . . .”

“You could read to Benjamin all day long,” Zoey proposed, “you know, to earn your rent.”

Nina smiled ruefully. “Just what Benjamin would like, another girl around the house using up the hot water and getting in the way.”

“He'd like it if you stayed,” Zoey said, sounding a little uncomfortable. “Look, I have to tell you something that might make you mad.”

“Nothing you could say would make me mad. I owe you big time.”

“I, uh, couldn't get back to sleep last night, and when I went downstairs to get some munchies, Benjamin was up. He'd heard you come in.”

“Oh, God, you didn't tell him, did you? Oh, God.”

“Look, Benjamin is—”

“Oh, you did. You told him.” Nina leaned over and held her head in both hands. She wanted to crawl under the bed and disappear. She would never be able to face him again. “He'll think I'm nuts,” she moaned. “He's going to think I'm so disgusting now.”

Zoey put her hand on Nina's shoulder. “He's not going to think any of that, Nina—you're wrong.”

“How could he not?” Nina asked desperately. “I go around saying my uncle and I did all those things together. Oh, God.” She gasped for air.

“You didn't do all those things
together
,” Zoey said sharply. “He did them to you.
To
you. That's what Benjamin said. He said you were just a kid. You probably couldn't even ride half the rides at Disney World.”

“What?” Nina demanded, unable to make sense of what Zoey was saying.

“Look, you were a little kid. You didn't
decide
anything. But you know what? Even if you
had
, Nina. Even if it had all been your idea, and you'd wanted to do it, that still wouldn't change the fact that he was an adult and it was his responsibility.”

“I didn't want to,” Nina said, blazing suddenly.

“I know you didn't,” Zoey said.

“I didn't, but he made me.”

“You couldn't stop him. He was older and bigger and stronger. There was nothing you could have done.”

Nina hesitated. Nothing she could have done? Of course she could have done . . . something. Something. She could have said no.

But she had said no. Hundreds of times. And she'd cried, and begged.

“There was nothing you could have done, Nina,” Zoey
repeated. “None of it was your fault.”

Nina tried to believe it, but somewhere deep in her mind a voice still said, No, Nina, it
was
your fault. Of course it was your fault. How could it not be? You could have done . . . something.

Yet now there was this new idea, just floating along on the edge of her mind, insubstantial still. Maybe it wasn't her fault. Maybe she couldn't have done anything.

Uncle Mark had said it was her fault. And he'd said that no one would ever believe her.

Only now, Zoey believed her. And so did Benjamin.

“My dad is having a barbecue for them,” Nina said. “He said I should invite whoever I wanted.”

“You know I'll come if you want,” Zoey said. “So will Benjamin.”

“If you guys were there, I wouldn't be so . . .” Nina's words were choked off by a fresh wave of emotion.

“Sounds like fun,” Zoey said, so gamely that Nina had to laugh through her tears.

“Oh, yeah. Loads of fun.”

The island's only grocery store was small, indifferently stocked, and notoriously overpriced. But the alternative was to take a ferry ride to Weymouth, travel by car to the Shop and Save, travel back by car, park, carry a week's groceries from the parking garage
onto the ferry, and ride the ferry home. People went through all that to stock up on Cheerios and canned goods and beer, but if you wanted something frozen, or anything in a hurry, the Chatham Island Market was the only choice.

Claire pushed a cart through the aisles, having already picked up the Sunday
New York Times
her father liked to read, a pound of butter for the corn on the cob, and the cider vinegar that was so important to her father's homemade barbecue sauce.

That, along with one or two other items, completed the official list as Janelle and her father had written it. Now she was looking for anything new or interesting, anything she might want for herself. After all, if she was going to be forced to run down to the grocery store first thing on a Sunday morning, she deserved some sort of reward.

Nina, apparently operating from some sixth sense, had managed to be gone when the chore came up. Very unlike her to be up and about so early on a weekend.

Claire headed toward the front of the store, resigning herself to the fact that nothing else really seemed worth buying. She stopped suddenly as she saw Jake come into the store, heading right to the register where his own family's Sunday
Boston Globe
was on reserve. He was dressed for church. Claire glanced at her watch. She didn't attend church herself, but she was pretty sure the service started in fifteen minutes, meaning Jake had
plenty of time. She quickly dropped a big sack of charcoal into the cart and beelined for the register.

“Jake. Hi.”

“Oh, hi,” he said, seeming a little flustered.

She made a point of straining to lift the charcoal from the basket to the checkout counter. After a fractional hesitation, Jake grabbed the sack and hefted it for her.

“My dad's throwing a barbecue this afternoon,” Claire said, pointing to the charcoal as evidence. “We have some relatives coming in. Forgot the charcoal, and now I have to drag that all the way home.” She felt a little ridiculous, pulling the old helpless female routine, but then, Jake seemed to be causing her to do all sorts of dumb things she wouldn't normally do.

“Yeah, your dad should have come to get it.”

Claire shrugged. “I don't think he thought about how heavy it is. Especially with the rest of this stuff.”

Jake wrinkled his forehead in a pained expression. “If you're going straight home, I guess I could carry it for you. I mean, I've got ten minutes to spare before the service.”

“That would be great,” Claire said gratefully. Poor Jake, she reflected, trapped by his own politeness. Although, to be honest, he owed her.

She paid and took the bag containing the food and the newspaper while Jake lifted the charcoal onto his shoulder.

“You know, my dad wanted us to invite some more people to this thing,” Claire said.

“Uh-huh.”

“It's swordfish and steaks and corn on the cob,” she said.

“Sounds good,” he said noncommittally.

“I don't suppose you'd come,” she half asked.

He shrugged. “I don't know.”

“If you want to, I'd like you to. Just as a friend. I promise I won't go around telling people you're my boyfriend or anything if you don't want.”

He shifted the bag to his other shoulder. “I don't know what to do,” he admitted bleakly.

“About the barbecue?” she asked, deliberately obtuse.

“About you,” he said bluntly.

“Oh.”

“I think about you a lot.”

“Good things?”

“Not always,” he said harshly. Then in a softer tone, “Sometimes.”

“I'm glad. About the sometimes.”

“You'll laugh, but I was actually going to ask my minister about it.”

“About me?” Claire said, vaguely threatened by the notion
of being discussed with a minister. Was she a moral dilemma now? A sin?

Jake laughed shortly. “He's basically cool for an old guy. And I can't really talk to my dad or mom about things like this.”

“You could talk to me,” Claire offered.

“You're the problem.”

“Oh. That's right. I forgot.”

He relented a little. “You're not the
only
problem, all right? You're just one problem.”

They had reached the front door of the house. Jake slung the sack down onto the porch steps. Claire brushed charcoal dust from his shoulders.

Both realized at the same moment that they were close, their faces only inches apart.

Claire stopped brushing. He was looking at her with eyes full of doubt and something else. She moved closer, ready if he wanted to make a move, but not wanting to repulse him by being too direct.

“I want to,” he whispered.

“Then do,” Claire said.

He shook his head. “I don't know. I don't know what's right.”

“What's
right
?” she repeated wryly.

“I should hate you,” he said.

“But you don't.”

He looked down at the ground. “No.” He turned and began to walk away, slumped as if he were still carrying the heavy sack.

“Come by this afternoon,” she called after him. “It's just food. It's not a commitment.”

He turned, walking slowly backward. “Steaks, you said?”

“New York strip.”

“Let me think about it.”

“I'll save you one. Medium rare?”

He started to answer, but at that moment the church's bells began to peal from the direction of the circle. He gave a wave and took off at a run.

NINA PASSED THROUGH THE CROWD
milling around outside the church on her way home from Zoey's. The church did double-duty for Catholics and Protestants, with the Catholics getting the use of the historic building from eight to ten and the Protestants from ten on.

Lucas was just on his way out, along with his mother. Jake and his family and Aisha and her family were heading in. Aisha gave Nina a wave and a helpless shrug as her little brother pushed her toward the door.

Nina walked on, feeling the state that comes after tired. She was moving automatically, like a machine. Her mind was clear, racing at a frantic pace, processing the same information over and over and getting nowhere. What should she do? The question came up again and again and led only back in a circle to itself once more.

She needed a week of sleep. She needed to be far away. She needed to scream at the top of her lungs and shatter anything
she could lay her hands on.

Someone had dropped a sack of charcoal on the front steps, and for a moment Nina stared at it as if it might be an omen. But the charcoal held no magic answers.

She went up to her room and sat on her cold bed. It seemed like a lifetime since she had lain in it before running in near panic to Zoey.

She looked at the clock. Ten minutes after ten. The next ferry had already left Weymouth and would be here in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes. If her uncle was on that ferry, he would reach the island in fifteen minutes. Two more to disembark. Five more to walk up to the house.

Or would her father go down and meet them?

Nina jumped up and went back out into the hall. “Claire. Are you up there?” she yelled up the stairs.

“Yes. Where have you been? I got stuck going to the store and it was your turn.”

“Where's Dad?”

“Down at the ferry meeting Aunt E.”

Nina went back into her room. He would be here in a very few minutes. And there was no way she could avoid seeing him again. Saying hello. Even a hug.

She sat down on her bed. If before her mind had been in hyperdrive, it now seemed paralyzed. It was as if she were
caught moving in slow motion while the minutes flew past. Now the ferry would be docking, on time as always. Now they would be getting off, calling out to Nina's father. Big hugs for his sister, a handshake for Uncle Mark. How was your trip and oh, it's so beautiful here.

They weren't going to have to drag her from her room unwillingly. She wasn't going to take this like a little kid afraid of the first day of school.

She got up and headed down the stairs, feeling with each step like she was on her way to witness a tragedy she had no power to stop.

She was sitting in the living room when she heard laughing voices coming across the front yard. Closer, closer. The door opened. Her aunt was the first in, then her father, dropping luggage. Uncle Mark stepped in last.

He was shorter than her father, with a doughy complexion and slumping shoulders. But he had beautiful blue eyes that seemed out of place in a man otherwise so ordinary looking.

“Well, here's Nina now,” her father announced as if they'd just been discussing her.

Aunt Elizabeth came forward and gave her a hug, making all the usual noises about how she'd grown, how she remembered Nina as a little girl and here she was practically a woman.

Nina felt her aunt release her. She stood there between living
room and foyer, not feeling the floor under her feet, aware only of her heart pounding at twice its normal speed.

“Nina probably doesn't even remember me, it's been so long,” her uncle said.

No hint of guilt in his voice. No shadow of doubt on his face.

She braced herself for him to touch her, but after advancing a few steps, he withdrew, dropping his arms to his sides. Now he searched her face with quick, darting eyes.

Fear!

In a flash of insight, Nina saw it revealed before he tucked it safely away.

He was afraid.

“We sure enjoyed having her stay with us, even though the circumstances were so unfortunate,” her uncle said to her father.

“I was always grateful you were able to do it,” her father said. Then he clapped his hands. “Nina, go tell Claire they're here. Or would you two like to go freshen up?”

“No, no,” Aunt Elizabeth said. “We want to see you and the girls.”

“I'll get Claire,” Nina said. She climbed the stairs, still feeling a jumble of emotions. Part of her wondered if it had all been some hallucination on her part. How could her uncle stand there so calmly, knowing what he had done? Had that really
been fear she'd seen in his innocent blue eyes? Or had he just picked up on her own tension?

She paused at the top landing. She had weathered the first encounter. But she was no nearer knowing what, if anything, she should do.

It was almost impossible to look at that dull, bland little man and see him as the man who had abused her so long ago. He had been a figure of nightmares for so long. Was this really the same person?

“So, how are your grades, Claire? This is your last year of high school, isn't it?”

Claire nodded. “My grades are fine. With any luck at all I'll be accepted to MIT next year.”

Claire looked past her aunt's head and glared at Nina on the far side of the backyard. Nina was sitting by herself on one of the patio chairs, sipping a soda and by pointing her chair away from the others making it clear that she was not going to be involved in any way.

Typical Nina
, Claire thought angrily. She had two modes for this kind of social occasion. She was either off in her own world or else driving everyone nuts with deliberately idiotic discussions. Frankly, right now Claire could have used the second Nina. Her aunt had been pestering her for the better part of an
hour about guys, about school, about the island, about her plans, then back to guys. Meanwhile Uncle Mark seemed to have permanently attached himself to Mr. Geiger, nursing a bottle of beer and commenting on her father's handling of the grill.

“A climatologist? You mean like a weatherman on TV?”

“No, it's a little more involved than that,” Claire said patiently.

Janelle bustled in and out of the house, screen door slamming, shuttling casserole dishes and napkins and pitchers of lemonade out to the table that had been set up in the middle of the yard. It was covered in a blue plaid tablecloth and set with plastic forks so there would be less cleanup.

Three of her father's employees from work, a man and two women, sat awkwardly by themselves, looking self-conscious about being at the boss's house. The neighbors, the Lafollettes, were due to come over any moment.

“Antarctica? Can't you study the weather somewhere nicer?”

“That's sort of the point. You study weather where there's lots of weather to study.”

Suddenly Claire saw Nina jump up out of her chair. She trotted over to meet Zoey, who was coming around the side of the house, leading Benjamin.

Claire's stomach lurched. Oh, great. Perfect Nina touch,
inviting the guy Claire had just recently broken up with. Wonderful. Now, if Jake showed up, as she hoped he would, the scene would be complete—the guy she had dumped but who still, probably, liked her, and the guy who had dumped her, who she definitely still liked.

Where was Lucas? He would make the crowning touch.

“MIT? Isn't that a boys'—”

“Excuse me, Aunt Elizabeth,” Claire said, interrupting the latest question. “I have to go and play hostess for a moment.”

Claire got up, feeling no relief as she traded one awkward situation for another. “Hi, Zoey, Benjamin.”

“Claire,” Benjamin said with his usual smug mockery, “I'll bet you're thrilled to see me here.”

“Daddy will be glad,” Claire said. “You know you're his favorite choice for son-in-law. Or son, for that matter.”

Claire grabbed her sister's arm and pulled Nina aside. “Nice move. Do you realize I've invited Jake?” she demanded in a whisper. “Me and Benjamin and Jake and Zoey?”

“Whatever,” Nina said distractedly.

Claire sighed. “Do you always have to be a pain in the ass, Nina?”

Nina stared at her disconcertingly. Her eyes darted toward where their father and Uncle Mark were standing over the coals. Nina looked as if she were going to say something, but instead
she just walked away quite suddenly, as if Claire didn't matter.

Benjamin was on Zoey's arm, since he wasn't familiar with the backyard. Aunt Elizabeth was introducing herself to them, peering closely at Benjamin's shades.

Benjamin was pulling one of his patented routines, Claire observed, trying unsuccessfully to keep herself from smiling. He was standing directly in front of her aunt, reaching to shake hands but deliberately aiming his hand far off to the side. When Aunt Elizabeth sidestepped to grab it he instantly turned in the other direction, forcing her to jump back.

“Are you a friend of Claire's, or of Nina's?” Aunt Elizabeth asked him, still staring at his sunglasses like she was trying to look around them.

“I'm the family chauffeur,” Benjamin said with a perfectly straight face.

“Oh, I . . . Oh.”

Benjamin smiled.

“Oh, it's
a joke
,” Aunt Elizabeth said, looking relieved. “I get it.”

The back door of the house swung open and slammed back on its springs as Janelle reappeared, carrying a covered tray of rolls. Immediately behind her came Jake, carrying two flats of beer.

Claire smiled and went over to intercept him. “You came,”
she said with quiet satisfaction.

He shrugged with the heavy burden. “My dad said if I was coming, I should contribute some beer. He gave me a couple cases.”

“You didn't have to,” Claire said.

“Where should I put it?” Jake asked, still refusing to smile or give any sign that he was anything more than a casual guest.

“There's a big chest full of ice over there.” She pointed.

“I'll go ice them down, then,” Jake said.

He shifted his arms beneath his burden and Claire noticed something. The two cardboard flats held only six six-packs, not the eight that would make two cases.

Probably Jake had just misspoken. Probably it never had been two cases. Either that, or Jake had stashed two six-packs away for himself. In which case that might have been the only reason he'd come at all.