The Scarlet Letter Scandal (4 page)

“Yeah, steam everything up for us,” Maggie said with a snicker.

“Nathan, these are my friends Maggie and Lisa,” said Eva by way of introduction. “And you don’t need to steam them. I have that big crab pot and the propane burner and I can just throw them in there.”

“Hello, ladies,” said Nathan, tipping his hat. “All right, well, let me get that started for you anyway.”

Nathan walked to the old open-ended wooden garage near the house and took out the large metal crab pot, propane, and burner.

Eva smiled at her friends. She held up her wine glass.

“We’ll have to take a break from this wine,” she said. “As you all well know, we only drink beer around here with steamed crabs.”

Maggie and Lisa stood up from their Adirondack chairs, offering help, and the three women set about preparing the picnic table. Eva unrolled brown paper, taping it at the corners. Maggie brought out a wooden crab set that included mallets, a roll of paper towels, and crab knives. Lisa put together a bowl of vinegar and a bowl of J&O seasoning, which Eva told her the country store recommended over the Old Bay spice more commonly used elsewhere in the state.

While all the dinner preparations were going on, Maggie whispered, “Guess we’ll hear all about this one at dinner?” to Eva, who just shook her head, waving away the suggestion. Nathan prepared the fresh catch, lighting the outdoor propane burner, putting a few inches of water at the bottom of the large crab pot, adding seasoning and vinegar, and finally dumping the crabs into the pot.

“You think two and a half dozen or so will be enough?” he asked Eva.

“Plenty,” said Eva. She trotted down the steps from the screened porch carrying her wallet and a Summer Shandy beer. “How much do I owe you?” she asked Nathan, handing him the beer.

He smiled at her, highlighting his deep sun-bronzed dimples, and the wrinkles around his steely deep blue eyes.

“Fancy city beer, huh?” he asked, taking the bottle.

Adjusting the brim of his hat and scratching at his prematurely salt-and-pepper beard, Nathan held a finger in the air, pretending to calculate numbers in his head. “No charge, Eva. These were leftovers.”

“I know that’s not true,” said Eva. “Because crabs are scarce this season.”

Nathan tipped his hat again to Maggie and Lisa as he walked back to his truck. “You ladies enjoy yourselves this evening, a’ight?”

“Thanks for the special delivery,” said Eva, waving to the islander as he pulled out of the driveway.

Maggie sat down at the picnic table, pulling her wild auburn hair into a ponytail and pulling it through the hole in her baseball hat in preparation for eating the messy seafood. “Care to tell us what the ever living fuck just happened there?” she asked, a grin spreading across her face.

“He is very handsome,” said Lisa, blushing. “Is he a…friend of yours?”

“Geez, girls, get your minds out of the gutter,” said Eva, opening the lid of the crab pot to add more seasoning and a splash of vinegar. “He’s just a local waterman I met at the country store awhile back who gave me his number in case I ever needed crabs to eat for dinner. Like Nathan said, you can’t buy them live anywhere on the island because the watermen sell their catches to the restaurant industry. So you have to know someone in order to get them, or ride your bike over to the docks when they come in from the water.”

“Oh, you’ve got his number all right,” said Maggie. “And it seems like he’s got yours, too.”

“As a recent divorcée who finally took a real vacation for the first time in my life, the last thing I’m doing is scouting out potential boyfriends,” said Eva.

“I know the three of us haven’t gotten together in a few months,” said Lisa, “but you still have a boyfriend, right?”

“I do,” said Eva, “though it seems weird to call a man like Charles a boyfriend. He’s, well, he even came down to visit the island one weekend last month, but I haven’t been in New York very often so I haven’t really seen him much.”

“I think it’s great you took some time off,” said Maggie. “With your mom passing and the divorce, it seemed like the perfect time for you to take a break. I bet the chef from New York misses you working up there.”

“In some ways—some very specific ways—I miss him, too,” said Eva, smiling to herself. “He is really, really talented at food preparation. And he’s been so supportive.”

“But?” said Lisa. “It sounded like you were going to add a ‘but.’”

“Ahh, this girl is always ready to add a butt,” said Maggie, laughing at her own joke. “Even if it’s wearing rubber pants.”

Eva glared at Maggie. “You know, I don’t just jump into bed with every guy I meet.”

Maggie responded, “Lighten up, island girl. You know I’m just playing. So do you need some help getting those hot steaming crabs on the table, or what?”

Eva narrowed her eyes at Maggie. “Yes, starving. Let’s eat.”

Maggie looked at her friends. “And since it’ll take us at least an hour or two to pick these crabs, let’s begin the first meeting of the Scarlet Letter Society we’ve had in five months.”

“I think it’s obvious we’re going to start off by talking about whoever wrote about our existence on the Internet, am I correct?” asked Eva.

“Clearly,” said Lisa, passing the bowl of corn on the cob.

“So how much sanctimonious high-falutin’ bull hockey is this
blog
crap?” asked Maggie, swilling her Summer Shandy. A large steel antique washtub filled with ice and bottles of the popular local favorite beer now sat beside them on a small wooden table dragged out from the porch. Citronella tiki lights kept bugs away and lit their bay-gazing Maryland summer crab feast.

“It’s positively unreal,” said Eva. “Like any of us needed this middle school Internet crap when we all have other actual real life things to deal with.”

“I was already a wreck dealing with the miscarriage, and this just set me over the edge,” said Lisa. “I’ve been a mess. I can barely keep the bakery open. I was happy to have a reason to close it this weekend. What I mostly do is spend time worrying. What if Jim finds out about my membership in the Scarlet Letter Society? After everything we’ve been through…”

“Whoa, slow down there, buttacup,” said Maggie. “I doubt Jim reads some trashy local blog and it’s not like he hangs out down at the fire hall where the guys are talking about it.”

“Oh God,” said Eva. “I hate the idea of anyone talking anywhere about my love life.
The fire hall?
Is that really happening?”

“Yeah, but so what? Wes told me his brother was talking about it because his wife told him about it,” said Maggie.

“Okay, so now your gay best friend theater director and therefore half the town along with the massively gossipy fire hall community are all discussing the three of us being members of a secret society of women who cheat on our husbands?” asked Eva.

“I feel sick about it,” said Lisa. “We all know how this town works. They have nothing better to do than talk about something like this.”

“Yeah, pathetic for certain,” said Maggie, “but who gives a flying fuck? People need to get a life, or something. And what about the subdivision swinger sex club? That seems a little more controversial than our personal lives, doesn’t it? Shit, I’ll read about
them
.”

“I have the weirdest feeling it’s my neighborhood,” said Lisa, putting down her crab mallet and picking up her beer.

“
Your
neighborhood?” asked Eva. “How do you know? There must be seven hundred and fifty of those cookie-cutter clusters, no offense.”

“Please, none taken,” said Lisa. “You both know how much I hate my life every time I drive past the ‘Welcome to Stony Mill’ sign.”

“What makes you think it’s your neck of the woods?” asked Maggie.

“There’s this girl Rachel who works down the street from my bakery,” said Lisa. “And she’s my neighbor. We’re on the welcome basket committee together.”

“The what?” asked Eva.

“The
what the fuck
?” said Maggie.

“Oh God, I never should have mentioned it, I’m embarrassed,” said Lisa. “It isn’t something I ever would have done. I never get involved with that neighborhood crap. But this girl is my neighbor at home and in town so she asked if I would contribute a pie or muffins once in a while when someone new moves in. I don’t usually have to deliver them or anything, and I just blow off the committee meetings or whatever.”

“Committee meetings,” said Maggie. “I bet those parties are outta control.”

“You ladies would die if you saw this queen bee who runs it,” said Lisa. “Jeannie Appleton, she’s in charge of
everything
.”

“Wow, she must be so proud to run her whole vinyl-sided borough,” said Eva.

“She’s a nightmare,” said Lisa. “She’s the word we save only for very special horrible women.”

“A Cuntasaurus Rex?” said Maggie. “I went to high school with her. Jeannie Robbins back in the day.”

“You did? Holy crap. No, what was the other thing you call people?” said Lisa.

“A thundercunt,” said Maggie and Eva in unison.

“Yes,” said Lisa. “She’s their leader. The mayor thundercunt.”

“She is someone I would love to cunt-punch,” said Maggie. “Even back in high school.”

Eva shook her head. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can’t go around cunt-punching people?”

“The judge would be on my side,” said Maggie.

“Well, I wouldn’t be your lawyer,” said Eva.

“Sure you would, miss corporate fancy ass,” said Maggie. “Pro bono, too.”

“Pro bono my fancy corporate ass,” said Eva. “I think the firm would scratch my name off the building and all the stationery if I started working as some Jerry Springer cunt-punch defender.”

“That would be an interesting business card,” said Lisa, feeling happy to spend time with her friends. It wasn’t that she had forgotten about her recent miscarriage, but for the first time in weeks it wasn’t at the very front of her brain. She sipped her beer, wiping crab seasoning onto a paper towel and reaching for a piece of corn. She glanced past her friends at the waning light of a stunning sunset, thankful for its peacefulness.

“What’s the latest in your world?” Eva asked Maggie, sitting back to take a break from picking crabs, enjoy the painted sky, and sip her beer.

“Not much,” said Maggie. “Renovations at the shop have kept me busy, things are fine with me and Dave.”

“Completely fine?” asked Lisa.

“Yeah,” said Maggie. “I started spending more time taking photos, which has sort of always been a hobby but I found a really good camera at this consignment shop so I’ve been spending more time doing it. I brought it down here to get some pictures.”

“Change the subject much?” asked Eva. “Don’t get me wrong. I love that you’re taking photos, and the view from here of the sunrise over the Choptank River is phenomenal if you can get up that early. But Lisa asked about you and Dave.”

“I was just trying to share the news about my new hobby, missy,” said Maggie, flipping Eva the bird. “Look, nothing’s really changed. Dave and I are committed to getting back together, and I’ve spent most nights at the old house with him and we’re happy.”

“But you haven’t totally moved back in?” asked Lisa.

“My apartment over the shop has been my home for a long time,” said Maggie. “It’s convenient. My books and shit are there. I’m just not ready to pack all that crap up and move it to a place that’s so many blocks from work.”

“You’d still be able to walk to work,” said Eva. “But I certainly can see how you wouldn’t be jumping at the idea of getting rid of the place of your own.”

“It’s not like I’m afraid of commitment,” said Maggie. “I mean I’ve been married how many times? I’m losing count.”

“Three including the one to your current boyfriend or whatever you’re calling your first husband-slash-ex-husband,” said Eva.

“Would you marry Dave again?” said Lisa. “Does he talk about it?”

“We don’t really talk about it,” said Maggie. “Things are fine. Why stir them up?”

“Fair enough,” said Eva. “Makes sense.”

“There’s something to be said for just not stirring things up,” said Lisa.

The women set about cleaning up the crab feast, rolling debris-covered newspapers, tossing trash bags in the metal cans behind the garage. Eva walked Maggie and Lisa to the two upstairs guest rooms, giving out towels and water bottles. She apologized again that the small guest house was being renovated for when the boys got there. She walked downstairs and began closing up the house. She had taken her mother’s first floor bedroom. She showered and changed, flopping into bed to read the
Wall Street Journal
before she could fall asleep. Just as she reached over to turn out the light, she heard the sound of a tiny “ping” on her windowsill.