Beach Girls (24 page)

“How do you know that?”

“Well, I study birds,” she said. “For the books I write.”

Peggy tugged Nell's arm and mouthed, “Maybe she
is
a witch.”

Nell shook her head resolutely. She and Peggy stood back, as Stevie opened the window, removed the screen. A breeze blew in, moving the curtains. The crows didn't even flinch at the commotion—they just held their spots on the branches, waiting.

As the girls held their breath, Ebby flew off the rafter and began to circle around the room. He had grown a lot in the time since Billy had brought him to Stevie—he was no longer a soft fluffy baby, but a lean teenage crow. Nell grabbed Stevie's hand, without even thinking.

Ebby landed on the windowsill. He seemed to lift his head to the sky. The crows in the cedar tree all began to caw. Nell felt goose bumps on her arms. For some reason she thought of her own family: of her father, Aunt Madeleine, Uncle Chris, waiting for her.

“They're waiting for you,” Stevie whispered.

And in a flash of black wings, Ebby flew. He faltered slightly, tumbling down toward the first floor, but then caught himself and rose, rose, toward the uppermost branches of the cedar tree. His relatives saw him coming, and all lifted off at once—a glossy black cloud of wings, bearing Ebby home.

Nell realized that she had let go of Stevie's hand, was gripping the windowsill to watch him go. She saw the crows fly over the beach, into the trees behind the marsh near Peggy's house—where Billy had found Ebby in the first place.

“He's with his family now,” Nell said.

“I can't wait to tell Billy,” Peggy said, her eyes shining.

Nell looked up at Stevie. Her hair was as black as the crows' backs. She wanted to reach up and touch, to see whether there were soft, shiny feathers. She could almost imagine that Stevie was part of her own family, her crow aunt. Or mother. The idea made Nell feel like crying and laughing, at the same time.

“When I go away, will you be waiting for me?” she asked.

“Always,” Stevie said. “You can fly back here anytime.”

Nell ducked her head, hiding a small smile. But where would she be flying back from? The summer was long and wonderful, with no end in sight: Nell didn't even want to think about it. It almost didn't matter, as long as she could return to Hubbard's Point.

“Are you excited about Scotland?” Stevie asked.

Nell tilted her head. Had her father told Stevie about the dumb trip they were maybe taking there? “Not really,” she said.

“Really? You're not excited about going to live there?” Stevie said.

“Live in
Scotland
? Dad mentioned it, but I think he meant
visit
.”

“Nell—that's so far away! You can't move to another country,” Peggy said.

Stevie's face turned red. She exhaled, giving Nell the definite idea that she had said the wrong thing. Nell heard herself gasp. It couldn't be possible. Scotland was across the ocean. How could she get back here, to Stevie? And how would her aunt ever be able to find her—in a foreign land? She was moving to
Scotland
?

JACK WAS
still in a sort of slow-motion shock when Nell came home. He had stood in the driveway for a ridiculously long time, hoping Maddie would come back. At some point a neighbor had walked past. “Everything okay?” she'd asked, seeing him stare into nothing.

“Fine,” Jack said.

He had walked into the backyard, to sit on the picnic bench under the trees. Stevie and he had sat here the morning she'd brought coffee over. An hour passed, and then another. He didn't move. The sight of his sister sobbing had rocked him to the core.

“Scotland?” Nell called, tearing around the corner and pulling him back to the present. “We're going to live in Scotland?”

“Who told you that?” he asked, his stomach dropping.

“I'm not telling you, 'cause you'll just get mad at her. Dad, I am not going to live in Scotland,” she cried. A dog walker paused to watch.

“Come inside,” Jack said, jumping off the bench, walking over to open the screen door. Nell walked in, sand from her bathing suit raining down on the linoleum floor with every step.

“You weren't even going to ask me what I wanted?”

“Honey, I was. I am. I'm just trying to do what's best for us,” Jack stammered. He was still shaken by Madeleine's visit, in shock at his reaction to seeing her, confused about everything.

“I don't want it,” Nell said. “I want to stay here.”

Jack had thought the same thing that morning—it seemed ten years away. Everything had looked so beautiful up at the castle; and Stevie's word,
stay
, had seemed just like a challenge or a promise he wanted to accept. But now . . .

“What's wrong with Atlanta, Dad? What's wrong with Boston?”

“I thought you didn't like Boston.”

“I didn't like
Francesca
. That's all, and you know it!”

“You didn't seem very happy there.”

“Dad—I liked the swan boats. I liked the Freedom Trail.”

Jack's head began to ache. What did landmarks have to do with where a family made their home? Besides,
had
she liked the swan boats? He remembered her seeming sullen the day he'd taken her. And taking her to the Old North Church had been like dragging the statue of Paul Revere himself up the steps, down the aisle. Suddenly he had a premonition of what it would be like, taking her to Loch Ness, or Inverness Castle. What had he been thinking?

“The best part about Boston is, it's not very far from Hubbard's Point. So,
please, Dad . . . Go back to work at Structural, and that'll be fine.”

“I can't, Nell,” he said, the truth of it all hitting him. “I gave my notice there. And my new boss, in Scotland, is waiting for me to start.”

“No!” she sobbed.

“Nell,” he said.

“Please, Dad. Please don't do this. I love it here.”

“I do, too,” he said. But even as he spoke, he knew: sometimes love wasn't enough. If it was, he would have been able to make things work with Emma. If it was, then he and Madeleine would have been able to make everything okay between them. Sometimes love was a driving force—but in opposite directions. And at that moment, however hard it was, he was sure that going to Scotland was the right thing. It would be new, fresh—they'd have time to get on their feet, both of them, he and Nell.

I've got to go now
, Madeleine had said.

Well, so did Jack. He was an idiot to think he could stop running now.

“Sweetheart,” he said, reaching for her.

“You're hurting me,” she wailed, tearing at her own hair. “Can't you tell? You're hurting me, Dad! First you won't let me see Aunt Maddie, and now you're taking me away from Stevie. And Peggy! I don't want to go to Scotland. I don't want to, I don't . . .”

Sobbing, she tore up the stairs. Her wails came through the floorboards, as if her heart were being broken, and Jack sat in a chair down below, his own heart cracking at the same time.

THAT NIGHT,
Stevie couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, listening to the waves build, pierced through at bringing everything crashing down on Nell. A storm was building out at sea, and the wind picked up a little more each hour. The moon was waning, but still over half full. Filtered through high clouds, its light shone through her window all night long, till finally she gave up, got out of bed, pulled on her bathing suit and a shirt and walked down to the beach.

The sky was dark blue, glowing with moonlight. Thin clouds were moving in, veiling the light. Stevie walked all the way to the end of the beach, feeling the hard sand under her feet. The waves came in and out, licking her ankles. She had had a lifetime of love and happiness here, dating all the way back to her summers with Emma . . . and then Madeleine.

Beach girls today, beach girls tomorrow, beach girls till the end of time . . .

What had gone wrong? And why did she have the feeling she had failed them both—her two dearest friends? She had tried to bring Madeleine back with Emma's family, and she'd tried to welcome Nell into the fold. Her heart felt heavy; she should have stayed a hermit. Walking along, the darkness was thick and heavy. She heard the waves, saw the white ripples, silver in the moonlight. A wet, salt breeze blew from the east, stinging her cheeks.

When she got near the footbridge, she dropped her shirt on the sand and stood there in her bathing suit. She needed to swim, to feel the salt water buoying her up—she just wanted to feel
held
, even by the sea. The tide was all the way out, as far as it would go. She hadn't skinny-dipped since that first morning when Jack was sitting on the boardwalk watching her. Remembering that, she turned around to look—and he was there.

Stevie froze, then began to walk up the beach. He came down to meet her.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.”

“Of all the beaches on all the oceans, you had to walk onto mine,” she said. They stood together, toes touching, as she looked up and tried to see his eyes. His hair fell across his face, shadowed by the moon.

“I'm sorry for telling Nell about Scotland,” she said. “I thought she knew.”

“I've tried to broach the subject with her before,” he said. “But she's stubborn about things she doesn't want to hear. So, don't worry. She had to find out somehow.”

“Is she okay?”

He nodded. “Finally she is. It took half the night, but she eventually cried herself to sleep. I—the walls were closing in on me up there. I needed a walk. Are you going to swim?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Me, too. Let's go in.”

He dropped his shirt beside hers, and they dove into the next wave. The night air was cool, so the water felt warm. Stevie swam strong and fast, out toward the raft. She felt the tide start to turn—felt resistance as it started coming in. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a wide, gold path on the rising black water. She heard Jack swimming nearby, caught a glimpse of his sleek back.

Her lungs ached, but the exertion felt so good. She had the feeling that he was trying to wear himself out, too. Her muscles stretched as she sped up, picking up the pace. Jack got into the spirit, racing her to the raft. They hauled themselves out, laughing. She shook her hair and sat down beside him.

“Didn't your mother ever tell you not to swim after dark?” he asked.

“That was one thing she didn't tell me,” Stevie said. “She had a serious appreciation for the beach, and she knew that night swimming, especially with a friend and a storm moon, is one of the high points.”

“But you didn't know you'd have a friend tonight,” he said. “Did you?”

“No,” she said. “But neither did you. Did you?”

“I thought you might be there.”

“Those other times, I swam at dawn. I don't know what time it is now—”

“Probably about four-thirty. I felt it anyway. I can't explain how. Maybe it's because I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

“Maddie came to see me.”

“Jack!” she said, thrilled.

“It was so good to see her,” he said, but his eyes looked stricken. Her heart caught in her throat as she saw him shake his head.

“What, Jack?”

“Nell and I are leaving.”

She turned slowly to look at him, her stomach dropping.

“Now that the reality has sunk in for her, the longer we stay, the harder it'll be.
She's . . . she's really crazy about you. And about this place. I've screwed up something huge—but I can't undo it.”

“But seeing Maddie—you said it was so good to see her.”

“It's too hard, Stevie. It's too big—for both of us. She drove away first—she couldn't handle it either. There's too big a hole in our family for anyone to fix.”

“It doesn't have to happen all at once,” she said.

“I wanted to stay,” he said. “I did. You have no idea how much. When you said it that night, after the beach movie . . .
stay
. I've heard your voice ever since. And I've thought—really thought—what if we did? I tried—I wanted it to happen.”

“Why can't you?” she asked.

“I've signed a contract. I changed our plane tickets—we're going to leave Hubbard's Point tomorrow, leave for Scotland this weekend.”

“You can't,” Stevie said.

“I wish I couldn't, but I have to.”

She thought of Madeleine, how unfinished everything was. There had to be a way to heal it, to make everything right before Jack left—if he had to go at all. “Maddie loves you,” she said. “And I know you love her.”

“There's no doubt about that,” he said. “There's a part you don't understand. And I can't talk about it. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to. It's easier to push it away when I'm not so close . . . to people who knew Emma.”

“But think of Nell,” she whispered into the chilly wind. “You're taking her away from people who really love her.”

“Stevie, I'm doing it
for
Nell. I'm her father—I have to take care of her the best way I know. You know how much I wish things were different, don't you?”

She nodded, but he didn't give her a chance to reply. He threw his arms around her, kissed her with fierce intensity. His mouth was hot, and his salty skin was wet against hers. They kissed wildly as Stevie's thoughts raced, as she fought to hold back tears. They held each other for a long time, their bodies keeping each other warm in the chilly air, until Stevie gave up and let the tears come—she was covered with salt water anyway. Lying back, holding each other, they felt the raft moving beneath them on the waves.

Stevie held his arms, tingling from his touch, soothed by the movement of the sea. Why did he have to leave? The question would hit her, and she'd tense up again. But he kept holding her. The wind came up, drowning out the words he tried to say to her. They were on a ship, far from land; she told herself they were far from all their problems. The full moon had cast a spell when she had seen it rising from the castle tower, had brought them together out here, on this raft in the bay.

The wind swirled down, chilling their skin as they slid off their bathing suits. Jack's body gleamed in the tawny light, powerful shoulders and arms, strong thighs, poised over her. Stevie was strong, too, pale from working in her studio. She couldn't wait for him, arching up to kiss his neck, taste the salt, moan as he entered her. The wind-whipped waves moved underneath, and he thrust from on top, and she never wanted to let go.