Chapter 7

DOESN’T LOOK LIKE ANYBODY LIVES HERE,” SUZE 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.”

“WELL, 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.

“OVER 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.

It took a minute for Van’s eyes to accustom themselves to the low lighting; it was too dark for her taste. On the edges of the large dining room the sun glared through the windows but cast everything else in between into dark relief. Some nice bamboo shades would prevent the patrons from having to wear sunglass in the morning and late afternoon.

“Our gang’s old table?” Suze asked. “It’s free.”

“I guess.”

They stepped past the hostess desk just as a man who had been paying his check turned around.

Van stopped.

He stopped.

“Oh shit,” Suze said and walked away.

Behind him, Dorie burst through the kitchen door and stopped cold.

Van had a wild urge to laugh. But it would hurt too much.

She tried for a friendly smile. He didn’t bother.

“Van.”

“Joe,” she said, trying to sound pleasant, as if seeing him hadn’t just knocked her on her ass.

“I heard you were back.”

“For the funeral.”

A muscle in his cheek jumped. “How have you been?”

“Great. You?”

“Fine. I— Fine.”

“Well, good to see you.” Van stepped away. A few feet away Dorie threw her head back, mouth open, eyes to the ceiling. Van glared at her.

She heard, “Yeah, good to see you, too.” But when she turned back to Joe, he was walking out the door.

She turned on Dorie. “If there is a God, Dorie, you’re not going to find him in your ceiling.”

“Not God. Only the saints. But I swear even the saints can’t help you. What’s wrong with you, girl?”

“Nothing. Why should it be?”

“He loved you. The least you could do is be civil. You know you’re not the only one who’s had a hard life.”

“I was civil.”

“Ha. If that passes for civil in New York, you’d do best to come back to Jersey and learn some manners.”

“Stop it. He caught me by surprise, that’s all.” Van narrowed her eyes. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“For Chrissakes,” Dorie said. “He would love you again if you’d make the least little effort.”

“I don’t want him to love me. We were kids. It ended. Period. No fond memories. No rekindled flames. Over and done with.”

Van stalked away. Ran into one of the tables that cluttered the large rectangular room.

The Blue Crab could use some organization, Van thought, clutching her bruised hip bone. It didn’t really hurt that bad, but she needed something to concentrate on while she forced angry tears from her eyes and tried to keep her mind off her utter humiliation. How dare Dorie set her up like that. She didn’t think Joe had been in on it. He seemed completely stunned to see her. And not at all happy.

He still looked good. A man now, filled out, strong. And just as heart-stopping. She squelched any inclination to think further than that. Did Dorie think she was so pitiful that she needed help getting a boyfriend?

She found Suze sitting in her old spot at their favorite table. Van hesitated, frowning at the table and at the three empty chairs. Van had usually sat across from Suze by the window and next to Joe. She sat down in his spot instead, as if to eradicate his memory.

“That was weird,” Suze said.

“No, that was planned. I’m going to kill her.”

“She just wants you to be happy.”

“By dredging up the past? Were you part of this?”

Suze held up both hands. “Not me. She said crab cakes and I came running.”

“Good, because I’d hate to have to kill you, too.”

THE CRAB CAKES were good, the potato wedges crisp and not too salty. Dorie had disappeared into the kitchen and it looked like she wouldn’t be coming out again anytime soon. Just as well. Van was pretty mad, and either Dorie knew it or Dorie herself was mad at Van.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Rehoboth with me?” Van asked.

Suze looked up from her plate. Her mouth was stuffed with crab cakes, and there was a dab of ketchup on her polo shirt.

Van couldn’t stop the smile of affection as she took in her friend’s hopelessly messy appearance. The woman was a scholar, smart, sensitive, creative—and a slob. Already her room at Dorie’s was piled with books and papers and clothes hanging on every piece of furniture.

And they had only been there one day.

Suze swallowed and took a sip of water. “Why are you in such a hurry to get to Rehoboth? If it’s a hot cabana boy, you’ll do fine without me. If it isn’t, having me along won’t help. Damn.” She’d spotted the ketchup, grabbed a napkin, and begun scrubbing at the stain.

“You need a keeper,” Van said.

“Not you. You’d drive me stark raving mad. Tell me you’ve never spilled ketchup on your shirt.”

“Of course I have. Only I don’t make it worse by rubbing it into the fabric.”

Suze dropped the napkin, pulled her shirt front out so she could view the front and groaned. “I do need a keeper. It’s just that my mind starts thinking about something else and I forget to pay attention to what I’m doing.”

“What are you thinking about? And don’t tell me Joe Enthorpe unless you’re planning to wear the rest of your dinner on your head.”

“No-o-o. Actually I was trying to find a relationship between Nabokov’s Lolita and the Wife of Bath and the misogynist writings of the fourteenth century.”

“Say what? No wonder you didn’t notice that ketchup. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, though I did read the juicy parts of Lolita.”

“And I love you anyway because it’s a topic that can really kill a conversation. And flirting? Doesn’t happen.”

Van pulled her eyes from the spreading ketchup stain. “Yeah, but you could flirt, with a little practice. You used to have the boys falling all over themselves to ask you out.”

“That was then, and, besides, I think it was because I came from a rich family.”

“Bull. It was because you were hot. Still are except for the ketchup. You should wear more black. It covers a lot.”

“But shows chalk.”

“You’re something else, you know that?”

Suze made an exaggerated frown. “How well I know it.”

By the time they finished eating, the memory of that uncomfortable meeting with Joe was fading, and Van felt a lot better. She and Suze ordered dessert and coffee.

Dorie hadn’t made another appearance, but Van didn’t know whether it was by design or because the restaurant had become crowded.

“I think we better go,” Suze said, looking around. “They could use our table.” She pushed her chair back, started to stand, and exclaimed, “Oh Lord,” before sitting down again.

“What?” Van felt panic rising and, along with it, her strawberry cheesecake. She didn’t dare turn around.

“It’s . . . oh, you know . . .” Suze frowned.

Van risked a glance behind her. A trio of police officers were headed their way. “Oh Lord. It’s Bud-Whosit.”

“Albright,” Suze said. “And I think that’s Jerry Corso, isn’t it? I don’t recognize the other one.”

“Maybe they won’t recognize us.”

“Or maybe they will,” Suze said. “Put a smile on it.”

The group slowed as they passed the table.

Jerry stopped, squinted at Suze, looked at Van. His eyes widened. They went back to Suze. “Suzy? Suzy Turner?”

“Hey, Jerry.”

The other two turned their attention to the table. Bud half smiled at Suze then switched his gaze to Van. Van forced a smile to her lips. She’d never liked him. He was a bully in high school.

Bud’s eyes widened, and a not very nice smile spread across his face. “Well, hell. What are you doing back here?”

Van kept her smile, though it hurt her teeth. “Clay Daly’s funeral.”

“You sticking around?”

“Leaving in the morning.”

“Huh.” Bud nudged the others away. “I’ll tell Dana I saw you. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

Van and Suze watched the men walk to the back of the restaurant.

“Bud certainly has perfected his bully swagger,” Suze said.

“Is that what it was? I thought he was trying to keep his pants up.”

Suze started to laugh. Stopped herself. “Dana? Do you think he and Dana are . . . ?”

“Married? Going out? BFFs?” Van said. “Sounds like it. But I wouldn’t wish him on my worst enemy, not even on Dana.”

“Snark. You’re not really leaving tomorrow?”

“No, but Bud doesn’t need to know that.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Do you want him knowing where you are?”

“Eeww.” Suze brushed crumbs off her lap. “I wonder if Bud has ever written anything?”

“Besides a ticket?”

“Yeah.”

“I doubt it. Why?”

“Because I could add him to my work on misogynist literature.”

“Guess you don’t like him either.”

“Never did. Still don’t. And I can’t imagine what Dana sees in him.”

“He’s a guy, isn’t he? Dana was never very particular.”

“Sorry, Van. I didn’t mean to bring up . . . you know.”

“Not your fault. But do you see why I didn’t want to come to Whisper Beach? All roads lead to Dana and Joe.”

“Well, at least it means she and Joe didn’t stay together.”

“I don’t know what it means. Nor do I care. We’re grown-ups now. Are you ready to go?”

As they stood up, two waiters collided on their way to the kitchen. Plates, cups, saucers, and glasses slid off their trays, and clattered on the floor.

Everyone in the restaurant turned to gape.

“Looks like Dorie could use some good advice about organization,” Suze said.

“Tell me about it. At least the trays fell away from the two tables that someone placed right in front of the swinging door.”

Dorie appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. Shook her head.

Van and Suze waved and went to pay their bill.