CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Two days after seeing Zoe at Catherine’s, Eve crossed the Route 1 bridge from Newburyport over the Merrimack River in search of her. Most of the boats had been pulled out of the water for the winter. Instead of the usual forest of masts, the river was a shimmering bolt of indigo silk unrolling toward the ocean, which lay just beyond the mouth of the river.

Zoe lived on the other side of the river, in Salisbury, and that’s where Eve was going, even though Zoe hadn’t given her the address and had no idea that her mother was coming. Too bad. Zoe couldn’t expect to be the only one with surprises up her sleeve. And Eve didn’t have a way to call her daughter anyway.

Bear was in his customary pose, seated on his massive haunches in the passenger seat and panting with pleasure, turning his head to grin at Eve from time to time. He was tall enough that his head nearly hit the ceiling.

She probably shouldn’t have brought him. But she’d grown so accustomed to having Bear’s company that she couldn’t stand the thought of leaving him home. It would be difficult to give him back. Bear was her link to those last carefree hours with Darcy. Oh, Darcy had called twice already, but she didn’t want to see him again. Eve knew that her feelings for him were misplaced. It was the island, or maybe all of the Canadian Maritimes, that Darcy and his dog represented to her. It wasn’t real, what she felt.

And even if it were, what was the point of entering into another relationship at her age? In a few years, God, she’d be seventy. Not many good years left. She enjoyed her conversations with Darcy. She enjoyed him. But who were they fooling, talking on the phone like teenagers? Where could all of that lead?

To intimacy. Maybe even love. But then? More grief down the road. No, she couldn’t take that. Better to live on her own.

She’d explained all of this to Darcy on the phone, in very plain language, but he’d only laughed. “Well, even if we have only a few good minutes left, wouldn’t they be better if we spent them together?”

She didn’t agree. Couldn’t. Her heart had been broken too many times. Besides, she was too focused now on Zoe, on finding her and keeping her close, if possible, to think much about Darcy.

Eve cracked the window open, letting in a rush of salty air and causing Bear to swivel his giant head her way and threaten to scramble onto her lap until she opened his window, too. She thought again about Zoe, wondering why her daughter had come back now.

Unfortunately, Catherine was right about one thing: in the past, Zoe had typically put herself first. Eve hoped Zoe wasn’t here to extort money from them. Or to threaten Catherine in any way about taking Willow back.

Eve could kick herself for fainting and then conking out on Catherine’s couch before having a proper conversation with Zoe. What had happened between the two girls while she was asleep? And why hadn’t Zoe tried to get in touch with them since then? She felt sick, thinking that Zoe might disappear again.

She remembered waking on Catherine’s couch. Zoe was gone. She had immediately panicked. What if she had only dreamed about Zoe’s return, as she had so many times before?

Eve had cried out Zoe’s name, but it was Catherine who appeared, rising out of the armchair across the living room. Apparently she’d gone upstairs to tuck Willow into bed, then had come back down to the living room to sleep in the chair, determined to keep an eye on her after the fall.

“Silly girl,” Eve had said, smiling.

She had felt hugely comforted when Catherine had shushed her the way a mother quiets a small child and told her it wasn’t a dream. “Zoe’s really back and she’s okay, Mom,” Catherine said. “I’m sure you’ll see her again soon. Sleep, now.”

The next time she woke, it was still dark, but Catherine was making coffee and Willow was eating breakfast before going to school. Catherine had looked fragile, her skin almost translucent in the sunny kitchen, her hair pulled back severely from her forehead with a red hair band that didn’t suit her. She was clenching her jaw.

As they drank coffee in the kitchen, Catherine filled Eve in on what Zoe had said about her itinerant life in Florida.

“And that’s it?” Eve had asked desperately. “Zoe didn’t tell you how long she’s staying here? Or where she’s living?”

Catherine shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mom. I really don’t know anything else. You know Zoe.”

That was the problem, Eve thought. None of them knew Zoe.

Fortunately, Zoe had given Willow her address, and Willow had shared it with Eve before leaving for school—but only after making Eve promise not to tell Catherine.

“I don’t think Zoe’s ready to see her,” Willow had said solemnly while Catherine was upstairs, getting ready for work. “She told me to only use her address if it was for something really important.” She had flashed a sweet, unexpected smile. “I think you’re something really important, Nana.”

“Bless you,” Eve said, pulling Willow against her in a sudden fierce hug.

She’d given Zoe an entire day and night to get in touch. When she hadn’t, Eve had decided to look for her. Now she checked the GPS again, despite knowing exactly where she was. She couldn’t believe Zoe was right across the Merrimack River in Salisbury, of all places.

Back when the girls were small, Eve used to bring them to Salisbury Beach on hot days after school or even at night. It wasn’t the same as the deserted, singing white sand beach at Chance Harbor, but it was still better than sitting at home in the stifling September heat. Andrew claimed to be too Scottish to ever agree to air-conditioning. They’d come here and have a picnic dinner after Eve got out of work, sometimes eating pizza and fried dough on the boardwalk.

Then they’d go down to the water. Eve usually settled on the beach with a book, glad to have the sea air clear her head after whatever PR crises she’d faced at the hospital. Catherine typically hung back for a bit, then waded into the icy water with a grimace. Zoe threw herself into the waves as if into a mother’s arms, shrieking with laughter.

Catherine had always been afraid of whatever might lie beneath the water—sharks, crabs, rays—while Zoe teased her sister, even swam underwater and pinched her legs, pretending to be some crazy biting beast. Which, looking back now, she was.

Eve knew she should be angry with Zoe for vanishing. For coming back so secretly. For not making it home before Andrew died. And now for deliberately not giving Eve a way to contact her. But she was still too relieved to find Zoe alive to allow herself the luxury of anger. Her daughter was home and safe. That trumped everything.

Her GPS led her to a mobile home park a few blocks before the Salisbury boardwalk. She was surprised to see, even off-season, how many cars and trucks were parked in the driveways and how permanent some of the trailers looked. Many had patios and decks, screened porches, and even stone walls and birdbaths or garden statues.

Eve couldn’t imagine what had brought Zoe here, of all places. She anxiously navigated the narrow streets—well marked, another surprise—until she found Arrow Lane and turned onto it, looking for 27, the number Willow had scrawled on the paper.

This trailer was white and smaller than some of the others, but it was tidy. A picket fence enclosed a garden of perennials gone by. A stone birdbath stood next to a brick walk leading to the front steps, and the windows were adorned with ornate shutters, painted red. A motorcycle was parked in the driveway.

The sight of the motorcycle made Eve even more nervous. She knew nothing about Zoe’s living situation, and women didn’t usually ride Harleys that size.

When Eve knocked on the trailer door, a man answered it. He was tall and magnetic-looking, with broad shoulders and a stubborn chin. His tangled blue-black curls fell to his shoulders. His wary dark eyes were rimmed in lashes so black that at first she thought he might be wearing eyeliner, and a scar beneath one eye gleamed pale against his toffee-colored skin. He wore black jeans and a black leather jacket similar to the one Zoe had on last night. This couldn’t be the same jacket, though, Eve thought in confusion, because this guy was much larger than Zoe.

So large, in fact, that he easily blocked her view of the trailer’s interior. “Can I help you?” the man asked, in a way that made it seem as if he wasn’t really interested in doing so.

“I’m looking for Zoe.” Eve pulled her purse more tightly across her shoulder.

The man’s dark eyes narrowed. He had a long, elegant nose, and this expression, along with the gleaming black hair and the almond shape of his eyes, made him look regal and foreign despite his workman’s clothing. The kind of regal that heralded another time. Alexander the Great, maybe, prepared to go into battle to unite ancient Greece.

“Is she here or not?” Eve pressed as the silence lengthened and become uncomfortable.

“Depends who’s asking.”

“I’m Eve MacLeish. Zoe’s mother.” She held out a hand. “And you are?”

At her name, the man’s expression had altered. He was smiling now, his eyes warm and a lighter shade of brown. Chocolate, maybe. “Nice to meet you. I’m Grey Boswell. Zoe didn’t say you were coming.”

“She didn’t know. I wanted to surprise her.”

“Sure. Come on in.”

Eve hesitated. Grey had said nothing to indicate his connection to Zoe, though he must be her boyfriend, if they were camped out here on the beach together. At least he didn’t look wild-eyed or sleepy or red-eyed or angry, all of which Zoe’s other boyfriends had been. With the exception of Mike, her sweet high school and college boyfriend, Zoe had demonstrated universally awful taste in men.

To Grey, she said, “Thank you. But I think I’ll wait outside while you tell her I’m here.”

“You sure? Might be a while.”

“Oh.”

Grey must have read the disappointment in her face, because he added, “She’s just taking a shower. I’m about to go to work. Sure you don’t want to wait inside?”

The fact that this man was leaving gave Eve the courage to say that she’d come inside after all.

“Good. I’ll tell her you’re here,” he said, and disappeared after she’d stepped through the door.

Grey went down the hall to speak to Zoe, then gathered his things—a wallet retrieved from somewhere and tucked into his jeans pocket, a backpack slung over one shoulder, a motorcycle helmet—before shaking her hand good-bye and leaving. She watched through the front window, arms crossed, for Grey to straddle the bike and roar away before finally turning around to examine her surroundings.

The trailer’s living room wasn’t exactly neat—there were magazines and newspapers strewn about, and a few empty mugs and plates—but it smelled clean and the rugs were in decent condition. The living room was painted pale yellow and was separated from the kitchen by a low Formica counter with a retro pattern of black-speckled white like the old composition notebooks her daughters used in elementary school.

The kitchen cupboards were white with bright red knobs, continuing the retro theme, and the living room furniture was inexpensive but serviceable—a green cloth couch and a leather recliner. It looked like a seaside condo, really, Eve thought, feeling better now about Zoe’s living situation.

She sat on the couch to wait. A few minutes later, Zoe hurried into the living room, still toweling her hair, looking bewildered. “What’s happened? What are you doing here, Mom?”

“Nothing. I just came to see you.”

“How’s your head?” Zoe draped the towel over one of the kitchen stools and finger-combed her short blond curls. She wore no makeup, but her skin was mostly unlined, her cheeks pink from the shower, her nose sprinkled with freckles. She looked younger than her age, which—and Eve was mortified to have to do a deliberate calculation here—must be thirty-four.

“My head’s fine.”

“I’m glad,” Zoe said. “Want something to drink?”

“Water would be nice.”

“How did you even find me?” Zoe asked, filling a glass from the tap and adding a couple of ice cubes from the freezer. She held the glass out to her mother, rolling her eyes. “Never mind. I can guess. Willow.”

“She made me promise not to tell Catherine.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Want anything to eat?”

Eve shook her head. “Why is it a relief? And why didn’t you give Catherine and me any way to contact you?”

Zoe snorted. “You were asleep when I left. And the last thing I need is to have Catherine bulldogging her way into my life. Jesus. She’s wound tight as a top. What a scold.”

Eve agreed, but didn’t want to say so. Funny how quickly she reverted to her old mothering stance of trying to treat the girls fairly and evenly. They were always so quick to find fault with each other. “Things aren’t easy for her since Russell left.”

“Yeah, no kidding. What a dick.” Zoe’s head was in the refrigerator and her voice was muffled.

“I’m surprised to hear you be that judgmental,” Eve said carefully. “Russell was always good to you. And he has been very good to Willow.”

“He wasn’t good to me! He was condescending. And how is he being good to Willow now? Remind me.” Zoe came back to the living room with a bag of carrots and proceeded to eat one of them, crunching loudly. “Oh, right. He’s dragging Willow through another mess. What a nightmare.”

You started Willow’s nightmare, Eve thought, but contained herself. “Russell loves Willow. He’s doing his best to stay connected to her. Seeing her on weekends and some weeknights.”

“Hooray for him.” Zoe bit into another carrot with a snap.

“Do you have to eat those now?” Eve said irritably. “While we’re trying to have a conversation?”

“Sorry. No, guess not.” Zoe set the bag down on the table beside her. “So, is this the part where we play twenty questions? I bet I can guess what they are.”

“Probably. But let’s start with that guy on the motorcycle. Is he your boyfriend?”

“He’s hot, right? But, sadly, no.”

Eve wondered why not, but let it go. “All right. I would like an account of what you’ve been doing for the past five years.” Somehow, the anger she’d thought wasn’t there had started working its way up from her belly and into her throat. How dare her daughter be so flip about everything?

“Oh my God. That is such a boring story,” Zoe said, her eyes skittering toward the carrots. She twisted her hands in her lap.

Once an addict, always an addict, Eve thought suddenly. Zoe probably needed something in her mouth 24-7 to stay clean. She’d always been high-strung. Drugs and alcohol were her way of self-medicating.

“Go ahead and eat your carrots,” Eve said. “Maybe try to chew with your mouth closed. And tell me everything. You may think your story is boring, but your mother will not. I promise.”

To her relief, Zoe laughed. She took another carrot and said, “I already told Catherine pretty much everything. She must have told you.”

“No. Not much.”

Zoe told Eve how she’d hitchhiked to Florida and lived hand-to-mouth on the street or in shelters while she worked at whatever she could, most recently cleaning hotel rooms.

“People are pigs,” Zoe added.

“And that’s a surprise to you?”

Zoe bit into another carrot, slowly. “I guess not. I mean, look how I lived, right?”

“You had a drug problem.” Eve took a deep breath, then added, “You’re an addict, Zoe.” Andrew would be proud of her, she thought, for speaking her mind.

“Yes,” Zoe acknowledged. “I am.”

“Are you using anything now?”

“No, Mom. I’m clean.”

Eve nodded. “I’m glad. How did you quit?”

“By almost dying a few times. The last time was the worst.”

Eve winced, imagining Zoe nodding off on somebody’s couch, or maybe in a gas station bathroom. Being found, rushed to a hospital by strangers. Machines keeping her alive.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“Yeah, well. I brought it on myself. I had to get scared straight, right? That’s what everybody says. You and Dad tried your best, but you couldn’t have gotten me off drugs. I had to do it.” Zoe stood up and carried the carrots back to the fridge, put them away. She came back with a glass of water and sat back down on the opposite end of the couch, cross-legged and facing Eve.

“How long ago was this?” Eve asked.

“Two years ago. I met Sadie, Grey’s sister, at work. She offered me an empty room in her house so I could stay off the streets. It was Grey’s doing, really. He’d come down to Florida to look after his sister and thought I’d be a good influence on her, believe it or not. They’re gypsies, so Sadie lived part of the year down there, part of the year here.”

“Gypsies? Really? I’d call them snowbirds,” Eve said.

“Nope. They’re gypsies for real. Their mom is a fortune-teller here on Salisbury Beach. Madame Justine.”

Eve had seen Madame Justine’s signs—tarot card and palm readings for ten dollars—but had never been tempted. “If Sadie’s a gypsy, then isn’t Grey one, too?” She thought about the mobile home park, about all of the cars and trucks here. Of course: the gypsies in this area were itinerant workers, roofers and driveway pavers. They schooled their children sporadically and married them off to one another. Why would Zoe want to hang out with them?

Look at her, though, Eve reminded herself. Zoe was clearly healthy. And happy. The gypsy lifestyle must agree with her.

“They’re only half gypsy,” Zoe was explaining. “Sadie was more into the lifestyle than Grey ever was. Grey’s a boatbuilder. He has a shop in Salisbury and a house, too, but his mom lives there, since Grey travels so much. Now he’s fixing up another house for himself.”

Eve was trying to take all of this in and failing. Oh, what did it matter, anyway, if Zoe’s friends were gypsies or boatbuilders or kangaroos? The only thing that mattered was Zoe. What she was doing now and what she intended to do next.

And Willow. What about Willow? If Zoe was living like a gypsy, clearly they’d have to prevent Willow from living with her. Willow needed stability.

“Why did you decide to come back now, after all this time?”

“Timing, I guess. When Sadie died, I realized how alone I felt, and that made me think about how much Willow must have been missing me, at least at first. Grey was driving north and said he wouldn’t mind some company. And I’d been thinking about things. I didn’t want to come back too soon; I felt like my head was finally on straight. Though of course I wish I’d been here for you when Dad died.” She covered her mouth, whispered, “I can’t believe I didn’t get to see him, Mommy.”

Eve felt terrible, seeing her so upset. And how much worse would it be for Zoe if she knew she’d lost not just one father, but two?

Still. Eve had decided: she had to tell Zoe about Malcolm before she disappeared again.

“It’s all right. Dad knew you loved him.”

Zoe nodded, her face pink. It looked like she was struggling, trying not to cry. “Were there a lot of people at his service? I bet there were.”

“Oh yes,” Eve said, and tried to describe it for her: the people crowding into the wake, the church service in Newburyport, and the memorial service a month later at the church in Chance Harbor.

“He was well loved,” she said, remembering Marta like a thorn she’d forgotten was embedded in her foot.

Marta had had the nerve to show up at the funeral in Newburyport, and even came to their house for the reception afterward, saying, “I’m so very sorry, Eve, about all this. It wasn’t meant to be this way.”

What had she been talking about? At the time, Eve was too numb with grief to ask, much less to throw her out of the house, which was what she should have done. What had Marta meant? That Andrew hadn’t meant to die? Or that he hadn’t meant to die on her couch instead of his wife’s?

Meanly, now, Eve decided she could be glad in one way: at least she hadn’t had to deal with the shock of finding Andrew, of trying to do CPR and failing to revive him, as Marta had done. (Marta had told her this at the reception.) Eve hadn’t had to ride in the screaming ambulance, knowing the trip was futile.

No. By the time Eve made it to the hospital an hour after Marta’s call—Marta’s house was in Brookline, a suburb of Boston, forty miles south of Newburyport—Andrew was already gone. Just the rapidly cooling shell of his body on the gurney. Marta was a shadow in a black coat disappearing down a long, antiseptic-smelling hallway.

Beside her on the couch, Zoe was weeping quietly. “I feel so awful about Daddy. About all the things I did to disappoint him. God, if only I had another chance, I would take it all back. Or I would at least have made it home in time to tell him I was sorry.”

You used up all the chances he gave you, Eve thought sadly, remembering Andrew storming out of the house once when he discovered that Eve had been secretly giving Zoe money after Zoe moved out of the house with Willow. A lot of money. She had done it because she was terrified that her daughter and granddaughter would end up on the street. Andrew, on the other hand, had been determined “not to fall for any more of Zoe’s damn drug addict tricks.”

He could be so harsh. But he was right: Zoe had probably used that money for drugs.

“Daddy loved you, honey,” Eve told Zoe, finally daring to slide over to her daughter on the couch and stroke her hair while Zoe cried on her shoulder.

Zoe’s head felt as it had when she was a girl, heavy and hot. She had only ever let Eve hold her when she was sick or upset. Eve had treasured those moments, the feeling of her daughter’s solid weight against her. Zoe’s hair was always long. So odd to feel it cropped short now. As short as Eve’s own.

Zoe had been high-strung as a child, easily upset. When she was tiny, the least thing could spark a tantrum: a wrinkled sock, peas for dinner, having to wear a jacket. High school was even worse. Then the tantrums built into tsunamis with terrible consequences. Once, they’d tried to ground her for breaking curfew in ninth grade, and Zoe had run away. They’d found her with the help of the police, living in a tenement house in Revere with a man ten years older than she was. The man had overdosed before they could charge him with anything.

The truth was that Zoe had never really fit into their family. Zoe had said that herself one Christmas. Screamed it, really, at the dinner table. Zoe was a junior in high school, while Catherine had come home from college, filled with excitement about her classes, her professors, even the food and her crazy roommate.

At dinner, Andrew had praised Catherine. “You’ve taken an important step toward independence,” he’d told her. “I’m proud of you.”

That’s when Zoe, already sulking because they’d told her she had to eat Christmas dinner at home with the family before going out with friends, lost it completely. Said she might as well leave the family, because they obviously didn’t need her, with Catherine around.

“I don’t even fit into this stupid perfect TV family!” she’d shouted. “I’m not like any of you!”

Then she’d stormed out in the way only Zoe could storm, making the china rattle in the cupboards. They didn’t see her for two days. Of course, that was before they knew she was not only drinking and smoking weed, but doing ecstasy—molly, they called it now, MDMA—and cocaine, too, as well as whatever pills she could get. Zoe swung between euphoric highs and crippling depression, depending on what drugs she was taking. How could she and Andrew have been so stupid? To have missed their daughter’s addiction for so long?

Because nobody wanted to think a beautiful, middle-class girl would become a drug addict, least of all her parents.

“Zoe,” Eve said quietly, “Daddy did love you. You have to believe me.”

Zoe turned to look at her without lifting her head off the couch, so that her hair snagged on the green tweed fabric. The trailer was so quiet that Eve heard the shushing sound made by Zoe’s head rubbing on the couch. “Come on, Mom. You don’t have to pretend. You know he didn’t love me unconditionally. Not like Catherine.”

“He was concerned for you. He wanted you to grow up to be good. Responsible. Every parent wants that for their children.”

“Not every parent,” Zoe mumbled. “I’ve seen the other kind.”

Eve thought back to the apartments Zoe had shared, to the shelters she must have gone to when she was desperate. She probably had seen plenty of the other kind. Somehow, this didn’t seem the time to tell her about Malcolm, so Eve stayed on more familiar ground. “We were upset when you drank and did drugs, when you let your grades slip. We were certainly disappointed when you got pregnant and dropped out of college.”

To her shock, Zoe leaped off the couch and turned on her. “You and Dad had no idea the kind of shit that happened to me in college!”

For a moment, they stared at each other, Eve willing Zoe to stay in the trailer. She knew by the way her daughter’s body was trembling that Zoe’s instinct was to run away. “Why don’t you tell me, then?” she said quietly. “I’d like to know what really happened to you in college.”

Zoe sat down again, but shook her head. “I can’t. You’ll only tell Catherine, and she might tell Willow.”

This was about Willow’s father, Eve realized with a start. Oh, good Lord. What was Zoe saying? That she’d been raped? “I won’t tell Catherine,” she said. “I promise.”

Zoe shook her head, adamant. “I don’t want to talk about any of that.” She turned to her then and said something unexpected. “I need to see Chance Harbor again before you sell it, okay? Promise? I was always happy there.”

“Of course,” Eve said. “I was planning to go up again anyway, to finish up some work I started.” Maybe that would be the right time to tell her about Malcolm.

“Can I ask you something else?” Zoe said.

“Why not?” Eve said, steeling herself.

“Could we bring Willow to Chance Harbor with us?”

“I don’t know.” Eve frowned, considering. “Catherine probably wouldn’t want her to miss school,” she said, silently adding, And she certainly doesn’t want Willow spending time alone with you.

“Willow’s miserable at school,” Zoe said with an impatient toss of her head. “Catherine doesn’t know anything about my daughter’s life.”

Eve stared at her. My daughter, Zoe had said. Oh, dear. If Zoe wanted custody of Willow and Catherine fought her on that, what would happen?

Maybe, now that Willow was fifteen, she’d be allowed to choose. Who would she want to live with, if it was left up to her? Eve knew how much Willow hated having to spend time with Russell and Nola. Would those visits continue? Russell was her legal guardian, but could that be overturned?

She was jumping to conclusions, Eve reminded herself. Maybe Zoe wouldn’t even want the responsibility of raising her daughter.

“I certainly do think you should spend some time with Willow,” she said. “Still, we ought to discuss the logistics with Catherine, since she knows Willow’s school and social schedule.” She hesitated, then asked, “Are you working?”

Zoe nodded. “Grey helped me find a job with a friend of his who owns a car dealership. It’s an Internet dealership; I drive the cars to the buyers. It’s fun. Yesterday I took a Range Rover to Maine. This afternoon I get to drive a Mini Cooper down to the Cape! I work my own hours and get paid off the books,” Zoe added. “Twelve bucks an hour.”

She said this with pride. Zoe probably loved the fact that she was off the radar and free of ordinary burdens, like paying taxes, Eve thought. “And how long will you be staying here?”

Zoe shrugged. “I don’t know. I just came to see Willow, you know?” she said in a rush. “I never meant to even talk to her. But she seemed so unhappy. So lonely. I couldn’t help it.”

“What do you want now, then?”

“To know Willow,” Zoe said quietly. “And to let her know that her real mom loves her. Catherine is good to her, but she can’t be that, right? Her real mom?”

“No, honey. Only you can be that.” Eve reached out to put a tentative hand on Zoe’s knee. Zoe smiled at her.

They were silent then, the two of them sitting close together, Eve’s hand resting lightly on Zoe’s leg. She slowly became aware of the faint ticking of a clock in another room and of the fact that her daughter was finally sitting still, as if she were a wild animal and Eve had, with great patience and skill, managed to quiet her so she wouldn’t run.