ZOEY PASSMORE HAD SEEN LUCAS come running down the street, dodging through the slow-moving cars and around the dark-coated knots of restaurant-hopping yuppies. She had heard him shout out her name, the sound bouncing around the brick and cobblestone till it acquired a metallic twang. And at the last minute, as the ferry’s second and final blast sounded, she’d had to stop herself from getting off the boat and running to meet him.
But she had stopped herself.
She didn’t want to listen to his pleading and apologies. There would be no forgiveness for what he had done.
She had wanted to hide before he could see her, but she’d felt rooted to her spot at the stern. She looked down at him from high above as he slammed his hand in frustration against the railing while the ferry pulled away, putting inches, then feet, then impassable yards of inky water between them.
Only when he looked up, brushing his lank blond hair back with a painfully familiar gesture, only when his dark eyes met hers, did she at last turn away.
Zoey waited until the ferry was well out into the harbor before looking again. From here, on the unlit deck, half-invisible under an obscured moon, she knew Lucas could no longer see her. But she could see him, a forlorn figure almost alone on the bright landing, small against the backdrop of Weymouth’s aged brick waterfront buildings, even smaller against the looming backdrop of modern office high-rises behind them.
He hadn’t left to go back to the party. But at any moment he would. Claire was still at the party, and he would surely go running back to her.
Zoey tried to suppress the images that leapt to the front of her mind. She’d always had far too good an imagination. Now it supplied her with all the pictures she didn’t need to see: lurid shots of Lucas with Claire, sprawled across the leather seats of Claire’s father’s Mercedes. Her imagination even supplied the dialogue: “Claire, you’re so wonderful. So unlike Zoey. So much sexier. So much more adult.”
Although, of course, he probably hadn’t said any of those things. He would have been too busy for conversation. They both would have been far too busy to talk, but oh, they would have thought a few things. The two of them, thinking about the people they were cheating on. Claire cold-bloodedly unconcerned for Jake. And Lucas . . . Lucas probably just thanking his lucky stars that he didn’t have to wait around for Zoey to decide whether she was ready. Why wait for Zoey when he could have Claire right now?
At last, with the ferry well out into the bay, she could no longer see him at all. Now she faced the darkness ahead. Chatham Island wasn’t yet visible except for the faint green light at the end of the breakwater and the white sweep from the lighthouse at the northernmost tip of the island.
She slumped back onto a cold steel bench and hung her head. Her blond hair streamed back, lifted by the wet, chill breeze. “Lucas,” she whispered. But she didn’t cry. She’d cried herself dry over the breakup of her parents’ marriage. She had no more tears left.
Lucas had cheated on her, just as her mother had cheated on her father. And the result would be the same: it was impossible for any relationship to survive this kind of blow. She would never be able to trust Lucas again.
Nearby on deck, huddling together for warmth, a family. Father, mother, and seven- or eight-year-old son. They weren’t Chatham Islanders or she’d have recognized them. They must be going on to Allworthy or Penobscot Island. They’d been shopping on the mainland and carried net stretch bags, like all islanders. The little boy’s bag held a costume, the mask visible in its cellophane-windowed box. One of the X-Men, or something like that.
Halloween was coming up, two weeks away. A depressing thought, not because of Halloween itself, but because Thanksgiving and Christmas followed fast on its heels. The first Thanksgiving without her father at home. And what would have been her first Thanksgiving with Lucas.
Again the images flooded her brain, trailing disgust and jealousy and even, strangely, a sense of guilt in their wake. They mingled inextricably with the images of her mother on that terrible day when Zoey had come home early. Too early and seen what she should never have seen.
Without even intending to, Zoey went back to the railing and gazed at the far-distant landing, now just a bright dot, lost in the lights of the city. Perhaps Lucas was still standing there, realizing what he had lost.
Perhaps he was already back at the party with Claire.
The distant, dwindling light grew blurry. And Zoey realized that she hadn’t yet cried out all her tears.
Lucas stood on the pier in an agony of frustration, watching the ferry disappear into the darkness. It was the last ferry of the night. They had all planned on going back home from the party on the water taxi, splitting the forty-dollar cost between the eight of them. He dug his hand in the pocket of his jeans and looked at what he drew out. Nine dollars and two quarters. Not enough.
And what could he say to Zoey anyway? Even if he had been able to explain, just what was he supposed to say? “No, I didn’t sleep with Claire, we just made out”? That was a lesser offense, certainly, but still not something that would make Zoey rush into his arms, full of forgiveness.
And the truth was he had tried to get Claire to sleep with him. He had tried; there was no denying it. At the time he’d thought Zoey was getting back together with Jake. He’d thought he had some justification. But none of that was going to convince Zoey.
No, Lucas realized bitterly. He had been a jerk, and now he was paying for it. Paying with a hurt that was physical in its intensity. His fault. Claire was to blame, too, but the real fault was his. No big surprise, that. He had a talent for screwing up.
“So you’re my brother,” Lara McAvoy said to Benjamin. She squirted ketchup over her plate of fries and ate a long one in two bites. She was pretty, Nina decided, although you almost couldn’t tell under the overdone makeup and white-trash hairdo.
Her boyfriend, Keith, sat back in the diner booth. Nina noticed that he looked less handsome under the harsh fluorescent overheads than he had seemed in the dim light of the party. Although he still had excellent rock-star hair.
Benjamin sat beside Nina, across the table from the other two. The fingers of his right hand rested where he could maintain contact with his coffee cup. That way he wouldn’t have to feel around for it. He was aiming his opaque black shades in the direction of Lara’s voice, giving his usual uncanny impression of being sighted, although of course he saw nothing at all, not even Lara’s bold, curious stare.
“Yeah, I’m afraid so,” Benjamin said. “I didn’t intend to just spring it on you, but things were getting a little out of control . . .”
Nina stole a glance at Keith: the thing that had gotten out of control. But there was no acknowledgment. He just watched from beneath half-closed lids.
“And you say I have a half-sister, too, huh?”
Benjamin nodded. “Her name is Zoey.”
“Well.” Lara ate a fry.
Benjamin sipped his coffee. “Yeah.”
“I knew I supposedly had a natural father out there somewhere in the world,” Lara said. She laughed derisively. “I mean, I knew I wasn’t related to that slug my mom married.”
She certainly seemed to be taking it well, Nina thought with mild surprise. If Nina had suddenly had some guy pop up and go, “Hey, guess what, I’m your half-brother,” she was sure she’d have reacted with something more emotional than french fry eating.
“Where does he live?” Lara asked.
“We all live in North Harbor,” Benjamin said.
“North Harbor? Where’s that?”
“You know, Chatham Island,” Benjamin said.
Lara nodded. “Oh, right. That’s one of those little islands out in the bay. I haven’t lived around here all that long. I used to live down in Kittery until I moved out to get my own place.”
“Our own place,” Keith interjected sullenly, his first contribution to the conversation.
“Is it cool living on an island?” Lara asked. “I mean, do you guys party a lot out there?”
Nina stifled a sarcastic response. This was Benjamin’s half-sister, after all. They shared the same father. And for that matter, so did Zoey, and Zoey was her best friend. This Lara girl might look like a bimbo and sound like an airhead, but surely, if she was related to Zoey and Benjamin she had to have some good qualities.
“I like the island,” Benjamin said. “Um, so. What do you do?”
“You mean, like, for work?”
“Or school, or whatever,” Benjamin said.
Lara shrugged. “I wait tables. I also do temp work sometimes.”
Benjamin smiled. “See, it must be a family trait. My folks . . . which is to say, your folks, too, to some extent . . .” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, we own a restaurant on the island.”
Keith perked up slightly at this. “Like, a good restaurant?”
Probably wants to know if the Passmores are rich, Nina realized. She wondered if Benjamin had thought the same thing. She saw the tiny, ironic smile, quickly suppressed.
“Just a little place for islanders year-round and tourists in the summer.” He plastered an innocent smile on his face. “What is it you do, Keith?”
“I do whatever,” Keith offered.
Uh-huh. Keith sold whatever. Whether he also did it was an open question, but Nina and Benjamin had followed them around long enough earlier that evening to be sure that Keith, at least, was in the business of selling drugs.
“Anyone mind if I don’t smoke?” Nina asked. She retrieved her pack of Lucky Strikes from the bottom of her purse, shook one out, and stuck it unlit in the corner of her darkly lipsticked mouth.
Lara stared at her for a moment, then returned her attention to Benjamin. “So, like, you’re blind, huh? You can’t see anything?”
“All I can see are reruns of Full House,” Benjamin said, straight-faced. “It’s a weird kind of thing; totally baffles the doctors.”
Nina laughed out loud, then stifled herself when it became clear that neither of the other two had gotten the joke.
“So, what am I supposed to say?” Lara asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like okay, so you’re my half-brother, right? So, what does that mean?”
“I don’t know that it means anything, Lara, except that now you know you have a half-brother and half-sister and a biological father.” He shrugged. “Maybe if you need an organ donation someday . . .”
Lara thought about this for a while as she consumed a few more fries. “You’re not just making this up, are you?” she asked finally. She gave Benjamin a strange, sideways look.
“Why would I make it up?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes people tell me things and I don’t know if they’re real or not.”
Nina noticed Keith grinning wryly and chuckling to himself.
“Well, I’ll tell you what, Lara,” Benjamin said patiently. “No one wants to rush anything or force anything, all right? So how about if I give you my number at home. You think about what you want to do, and if you want to, you can call me, okay?”
Nina fumbled again in her purse and produced a pen. She wrote Benjamin’s phone number down on a paper napkin and handed it to Lara. Keith reached aggressively and took it, leaving Lara’s hand poised in midair. She shrugged and ate another fry.
“We have to go,” Keith said. He looked at Benjamin, then at Nina. “She’ll call you if she wants anything.”
Lara stood up and turned her sidelong, skeptical gaze on Benjamin. The look was lost on Benjamin, of course, who kept his shades pointed at the spot where she had been. “Is this all true?”
“All true,” Benjamin said.
“Because I heard maybe you just made it up.”
“Where did you hear that?” Benjamin asked reasonably.
For some reason Keith found the question funny. He laughed harshly and shook his head in merriment.
“I hear things about people,” Lara confided.
“Oh, yeah,” Keith agreed sarcastically. “You’d be amazed what Lara hears.”