Whisper Beach (7 page)

Van was saved from answering by Gigi's return. She was carrying a blond curly-headed girl, still half asleep, who rubbed her eye and hid her head in Gigi's shoulder when Van smiled at her.

“This is Amy. Amy, can you say hi to Van and Suze? Van's your cousin.”

Amy shook her head against her mother's shoulder.

“She's a little shy,” Gigi said and handed her off to Leslie, who moved her plate aside, then gave the little girl a piece of cheese.

A car door slammed.

“Mom-mom,” Amy squealed as she slid off Leslie's lap and toddled toward the door.

Gigi went after her. Suze slid closer to Van. “Isn't there another one?”

“I think so.”

There was the sound of general bustling, and Van braced herself
for her aunt Amelia. If yesterday was any indication, she wouldn't be met with open arms. The first to arrive was a boy about four or five years old. He headed straight for the table of food and grabbed a cookie in each hand.

“Clayton Nathan Daly, you put those down until after lunch.” Gigi made a beeline for the boy. He managed to shove one whole cookie into his mouth before Gigi confiscated the other one.

Lunch. That would be a good excuse for them to leave. No way would Van sit down for that meal. Not that Amelia would invite her.

Van stood with a double purpose, to show deference to her aunt and prepare for an exit. She shot a look toward Suze who looked more than ready to go.

“Aunt Amelia,” Van said. Her aunt looked pretty much the same as she had before Van left, a little wider in the butt. But then Amelia had always looked middle aged, even when she was younger.

“Well, it's about time you came home and let everyone know what happened to you,” Amelia said. “Even though it took a funeral to do it,” she added under her breath but loud enough for everyone to hear. She scrutinized Van from head to toe.

Van stood still for the inspection. She had nothing to worry about. She was wearing a pair of black slacks and a gray silk shirt. She was the only one who'd even made a nod to the solemn occasion.

“You'll stay for lunch.”

“We really can't—”

“Your uncle Nate wants to see you. He had to stop by the hardware store after Mass.”

This is why she'd never come back. She was a nonperson here.
Someone to be talked at, shoved around, and generally ignored until she did something that they didn't like; then she was maligned and cast out.

Families. This was what families were. And she wanted no part of it.

Except for the Enthorpes. They had never treated her that way; they'd been loving and strong, and had cared about her. They had always made her feel welcome the few times she'd gone out to the farm with Joe. Would they welcome her now? Probably not.

“Jane, come help me set the table.”

“I can't stay. I've got the three o'clock shift at the hospital,” Jane, who had just entered the room, said. “I have to get home and fix Tom and the kids lunch.”

“You'll take some of these leftovers,” Amelia said, and the two women went off to the kitchen together.

“I'm not staying either, Ma.” Pete pushed to his feet. “I gotta help Wally Phelps with his car.”

“And Pete's giving me a ride,” Kirby said.

“Gigi, we really can't stay for lunch, either,” Van said. “Maybe we can come back later this afternoon or tomorrow.”

Gigi grabbed her wrist. “You can't go without seeing Dad. He wondered why you didn't stay longer at the repast.”

Van stood helplessly while all the old feelings—the sense of being trapped, being stifled, being ignored—rose up and threatened to paralyze her. It was like she had never left. She had to get out. She'd been crazy to have come in the first place.

“Please.”

Suze had come to stand by her side. “I really need to get some work done,” she said apologetically.

Gigi looked so disappointed that Van began to give in. Just
like she always had. Only now she resented the feeling. It was something that she hadn't done in years—backed down or felt resentful. She didn't want to start again now.

But just as she and Suze got to the kitchen to make their apologies to Amelia, the back door opened and her uncle walked in.

Nate was her father's brother but as different as two brothers could be. Her father was tall, wiry, angry, and a mean drunk. Nate was tall and robust, enjoyed a good joke—even if they were off color and politically incorrect—and still athletic. He drank, but not to excess. And he was never mean. At least as far as Van knew.

“Well, look at you,” he said and held out both arms.

Powerless to resist, Van walked into his hug. “Hi, Uncle Nate.” She pulled away. “Sad time.”

Nate shook his head. “Sure is.” He held her at arm's length. “You're looking real New York. Aren't you something?”

“Van says she can't stay to lunch,” Amelia said.

Nate winked at Van. “I'm sure she needs to see lots of people while she's here. How long you staying, Van?”

Van shrugged, her mind suddenly blank for a real excuse. “I'm not sure. Long enough to spend some time with Gigi. I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can get together. Maybe get her out of the house.” She glanced at her aunt. “If that would be appropriate.”

“Better than her moping around here.” Amelia turned back to the sink.

“Good, good,” Nate said. “I'll walk you out to your car.”

Gigi didn't want them to leave, but with the distraction of the kids and Amelia wanting her to help in the kitchen, Nate managed to maneuver Van and Suze out the front door.

He closed the door behind them with a sigh. “Never a dull moment.”

“Sounds like you could use one,” Van said sympathetically.

“I don't mind so much. Gigi's had a rough time of it, but it's been a strain on the whole family. Amelia's just about at the end of her rope.”

He slowed down, and Van slowed with him. Suze made no pretense of holding up but went ahead to the car and got in.

“Clay was a good enough guy, don't get me wrong, but they had no business getting married. He couldn't support a family and little Clay came along in less than a year and Gigi had to stop working.

“Then with that damn hurricane . . .”

“Dorie told us some of it last night.”

“Hell, I woulda helped them, but Clay was just a stubborn cuss. When the looting started, he moved into the RV with a shotgun. Then last week he climbed up on the roof to do God knows what. The whole place was condemned. And that was that.

“Now she's a widow with two kids, no insurance, and living at home.”

They stopped at the car. “It must have been hard on her and the kids with Clay living away from them,” Van said.

“Hard on everybody. There were tears and fights, and I think she feels guilty for not being able to make him come stay with us. There was room. But like I said—stubborn. And now it's too late.

“We love having her and the kids live with us, but it isn't healthy.”

Van nodded.

“I sure would be grateful if you could talk to her. Maybe give her some ideas about what to do. She just seems stuck.”

“Uncle Nate, I don't really know what I could do to help.”

“Just talk to her. She always looked up to you. She still talks about you. She could use a friend right now.”

“All right. I'll see what I can do.” Maybe she owed Gigi that. Her uncle hadn't said anything, but he must know about the money Gigi gave her. At least he hadn't pulled the after-all-she-did-for-you card—yet. “Maybe Suze has some ideas. Tell Gigi we'll call her tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

Nate opened the door for her but held it before she got in. “One more thing, Van.”

She waited.

“You ought to go see your father while you're here. He won't have anything to do with us. But maybe—”

She shook her head.

“Oh hell, Van. I know he was a bastard. He was an unhappy man.”

“He was a monster.”

“Maybe it seemed that way to you.”

“He killed my mother.”

“What? Nonsense.”

“He was too drunk to pick her up from her job at the hospital, so she had to walk home.”

He shut the car door and faced her. “And if he had picked her up she wouldn't have gotten hit by the car?”

Van blinked furiously. She didn't want that all dredged up. “I offered to help Gigi out, not get a lecture about family.”

“I beg your pardon. But remember this, and you're old enough to hear it. There were any number of people your mother could have called to pick her up. Even more at the hospital who would have gladly given her a ride home. But she didn't ask. She was mad at your father and had to play martyr.

“There are two sides to every story, Van. Takes two people to
have a fight. Now that's all I'm gonna say. If you decide you want to see him, I'll let him know. If not, well . . . that's your choice.”

He opened the door again, and Van got in.

“Uncle Nate?”

He stopped. “Yeah?”

“Don't be mad. But you don't understand.”

“I'm not mad, but think ahead to how you'll feel when he's dead.”

Happy.
That's what she wanted to say. She'd be happy when her father was dead. “I should have been your daughter,” she said at last.

Nate chuckled. “Nah. You got all your father's good qualities. He didn't start off to be bad, no more than Clay started off to be a failure. Just think about it.” He shut the car door.

Van drove to the corner. Stopped at the stop sign. And screamed.

“Geez,” Suze said, covering her ears.

“Sorry, but these people are . . . are . . .”

“Your relatives?”

“Ugh. Don't remind me.”

“The Morans really know how to push your buttons. What did you promise to do?”

“Stay and help Gigi get her life together.”

“That all?”

Van sighed. “I'll give her three days. Actually . . . there might be something else I can do.” Van turned abruptly to look at Suze.

“What?”

“Do you mind if we make a little detour? It won't take long.”

D
OESN'T LOOK LIKE ANYBODY LIVES HERE
,” S
UZE SAID
.

“No.” They were sitting at the curb of a white wood house. A beach cottage really, though it was several blocks from the beach. The white paint had grown a little dingy, the shutters a little grayer, but the lawn was cut. The windows were intact. There were even curtains, the same curtains that had been there the day she left. But it looked deserted. Of course it would; no one had lived in it for years.

“You grew up here?”

“Yep.”

“What happened to your dad?”

“My father? Not a clue. Nor do I care. He moved out right after I did. Evidently he's still alive.”

“So why are we here?”

“Because I own it. My grandmother left it to my mother, who left it to me.”

“You mean you could have kicked him out after your mother died?”

“I was a minor. If he'd left, where would I have gone?”

Suze sighed. “There is that. Are we getting out?”

“I don't know.” Van didn't want to get out. But she couldn't really keep paying taxes while the property fell to ruin. She could get a good price for it; several real estate agents had called her with interested buyers. She should have let it go. It could be sold, she would be richer, and there would be nothing to hold her here.

And yet here she was.

How many nights had she come home from work, tired from going to school all day and working the afternoon and night shift at the Blue Crab—feet hurting, back aching, with homework still to be done—only to get hit with the pungent beer and cigarette smell that permeated the room? Her father passed out on the couch, the guests and hosts of a late-night talk show blathering away on the television.

At first after her mother died, when her anger at her father subsided a bit, she'd try to get him to bed. But that didn't last long as her anger rekindled and settled in her gut. There were nights when she thought about killing him while he slept.

But something held her back. It wasn't fear. It wasn't morality. She was just too tired to care. So she'd pick up the worst of the mess and go to her room. Close the door and try to concentrate on her studies.

She'd graduated. Not with great grades, but not bad for someone who was hanging on by a thread. She began hiding her tips from work; her father was too far gone to notice that she wasn't bringing in as much as before.

She thought she would have enough after the summer season
to move out, find a room somewhere, or even move to a different town. But it all blew up in her face; it—

“Van. What are you doing? You're either spaced out or comatose, and neither is appropriate for the situation. Plus you're scaring me.”

“Huh?” Van turned to see Suze's face a foot from hers.

“Are you all right?”

Van blew out air. “Yeah. I've been planning to sell it. But now . . . I'm thinking maybe I could let Gigi and the kids live in it until she gets her life together.”

Suze unfastened her seat belt and turned in her seat. “What makes you think she's going to get her life together, especially if people keep giving her excuses not to?”

“You thinking loaning her this house is enabling her?”

“Uh, whaddaya think? She wasn't even living with her husband the last couple of years, but back at her parents', where I bet you money, her mother takes care of the kids, does the laundry, and the cooking. And Gigi doesn't have to pay for a thing.”

“Well, she's been going through rough times.”

“Like you haven't? Like any of us haven't?”

“You don't seem very sympathetic,” Van said.

“Me? Of course I am. It's just, I don't know. I only knew her that one summer, but she always seemed so vapid. And perfectly willing to let other people take responsibility for getting things done.”

“I guess, but she was so . . . I don't know. Everyone loved her. She was always sweet, scared, or crying.”

“Well, we saw crying and sweet already. Do you think she's scared?”

Van barked out a laugh. “If she's smart, she is.”

“Maybe she's smarter than you think.”

“How so?”

“Maybe she wants everyone to take care of her. Poor, sweet Gigi.”

“Well, she
was
sweet. Never said anything bad about anybody. Never did anything scandalous.”

Suze groaned. “I remember. She even made excuses for Dana. Who, by the way, I saw at the funeral repast.”

“You did? I didn't. Did you talk to her?”

“Hell no. She saw me and headed for the opposite side of the room. I don't think she'll be making overtures anytime soon.”

“Well, as long as I don't have to deal with her, I guess I can't begrudge a few days of shoring Gigi up while I decide what to do about the house. I suppose I'll have to call the lawyer to make arrangements for getting inside.”

“W
ELL, IF IT
isn't Joseph Enthorpe.” Dorie placed a menu in front of him. “Haven't seen you in a while.”

“Been busy.”

“So I hear.”

She stood there grinning at him, and Joe knew he hadn't fooled her. Dorie always did know what was going on.

“What are the lunch specials?”

She told him, her smile didn't waver.

“How's Harold?”

“He's off on one of his trips.”

“Oh. Well, if you need any help closing up for the winter—”

“But don't worry that I'll be lonely.”

She was baiting him. Why didn't he just go ahead and ask? It was natural to ask about someone you hadn't seen in a while and who was back in town.

“That's good to hear.” He gave her his order.

She didn't go away. “Don't ya want to know why I won't be lonely?”

God, did he ever. “I'll have a Guinness with that.”

She coughed out a laugh. “Guess you already know why I won't be lonely. And I thought you were here for my crab cakes.” She took his menu. “I'll be back with that Guinness.” She walked away.

Joe should just get up and leave before he embarrassed himself further. What was wrong with him? He was thirty-three. Had never been shy or marble-mouthed. Women liked him. And yet he couldn't bring himself to admit that he cared about how Van's life had turned out more than he should. And more than he had any right to ask.

It had been twelve years. Couldn't they just pretend that all that shit hadn't happened? Couldn't he just ask about an old friend without it being a big deal?

He'd bite the bullet and ask Dorie when she came back with his beer.

A young waitress came with his beer. He thanked her, grinding his teeth.

He played with his beer glass until the same waitress brought his meal. Ate his crab cakes. They were delicious as always, but he hardly tasted them waiting for Dorie to reemerge from the kitchen.

She didn't.

He glanced toward the kitchen door. No sign of Dorie.

He speared the last roasted potato wedge. Brought it to his mouth, chewed slowly. Swallowed. This was stupid. He caught the waitress's eye. She hurried over to his table.

“Is there something I can get you?”

“Yes. Could you ask Dorie to come out here?”

A flicker of anxiety flashed in her face. “Is there something wrong with your meal?”

“No. I'd just like to talk to Dorie. We're old friends.”

“Oh.” The girl visibly relaxed. “I'll get her.” She practically ran for the kitchen.

It seemed like ages before Dorie sauntered back out, wiping her hands on a white dish towel, and letting the door swing closed behind her.

“What? You have a problem with my crab cakes?”

“They're delicious as always.”

“Oh, for a minute I thought I had lost my touch.”

“Is Van staying at your house?” There, he'd asked.

“Who wants to know?”

“Cut it out, Dorie. It's hard enough to ask without you giving me grief.”

“Hang on a second. I got to tell Cubby to watch the kitchen.” She flashed him a smile. “I'll be back.”

She was going to make this difficult. Joe guessed he deserved it. He hadn't handled things very well—okay, he'd botched things—all those years ago. If he'd known things were so desperate, he would have asked Van to marry him. Live with him in Syracuse while he finished school and then come back to run the dairy farm.

But it all blew up in his face. Van. The farm. Everything that mattered to him. He'd recovered from most of it. Instituted a plan to work what was left of the land. And if his mother was on him about grandchildren, hell, she already had a few and there was still plenty of time, if he could just find the right woman to share his life with.

Dorie came back, sat down across from him. “Now where were we?”

Joe sighed. “We were at the place where I asked about Van and you ran off to the kitchen.”

“Oh yeah.” She frowned, patted her hair, a newer, blonder version of her last trip to the salon. “Well, she came back for Clay's funeral. Stayed over last night, then was going to see Gigi today. Noticed you weren't at the funeral.”

“Van did?”

Dorie shrugged. “How should I know? I just know that I noticed that you weren't there.”

Joe huffed a sigh. “I had a job.”

“Ah.”

“So is she still here?”

“She better be. I told her she better not try to sneak off without saying good-bye.”

“So you don't know if she's planning to stay for a while?”

“Nope. Though I expect she won't. She was on her way to Rehoboth Beach for a vacation.”

“Rehoboth? Why would she—” He caught himself. Of course she would never come back here for a vacation. He was surprised that she'd even come back for a funeral.

“Why don't you call over to the house and ask her yourself?”

“I don't think so.”

Dorie looked out the window and back at him, then jumped to her feet. “I gotta get back to work. I'll tell her you asked about her.”

“Dorie, wait a minute.”

“Gotta go.” She didn't even slow down, and before he could even consider going after her, she'd disappeared back into the kitchen.

Well, now he knew. That would have to do. But it left him feeling
depressed. He finished his beer. Left a tip and carried his bill to the cashier.

He was being stupid; he should at least make contact. Maybe they could be friends. But that was a joke. When he dreamed about women, they always were Van. Even when he was with women, he often was thinking about her.

He was making way too much of Van's return. It was probably from hanging out at Mike's in the evenings. It was like stepping back in time. He'd grown up with half the guys who hung out there.

And the women. It was kind of depressing. He'd be glad when Grandy was back to take over the marina and he could go home to the farm.

He lifted a toothpick from the dispenser, nodded to the cashier, and paid his bill.

“O
VER THERE
.” Suze pointed to a minuscule parking space near the Blue Crab.

“I don't know why we just didn't park at Dorie's and walk. We could use the exercise the way we're eating.”

“Speak for yourself. Anyway, she said to hurry. The word got out that she was making crab cakes today. There was a rush at lunch, and she's having a hard time saving any for us.”

Van squeezed the car into the space.

Suze jumped out and Van ran after her. “The things you'll do for food.”

“Not all food. Just Dorie's crab cakes.”

“Then it's a good thing we were in the car and only a few blocks
away.” Van followed Suze diagonally across the pier to the entrance of the Blue Crab. It looked a little run-down in the daylight. But it was still a popular place. She could see people at the tables by the windows.

They stepped inside to a blast of air-conditioning. Van couldn't remember if that was something new since she and Suze had worked here. Or whether that had been another reason waitressing at the Crab had been such a plum job.