Chance Harbor (41 page)

“I am so sorry,” Eve whispered, and she was, for all of it: for Andrew giving up his own son for her, for this woman’s pain, and for her own, too.

The two of them sat in silence, united by the knowledge that no matter how well loved, a child can still be lost and a mother’s heart can never completely heal.

•   •   •

Catherine finally left Grey at five o’clock, when the light had washed out of the sky and it was clear that Zoe wasn’t coming home. They’d made love on the beach, with her on his lap, sheltered by the rocks and noisy surf. He had wanted to take her to bed again in the trailer, but that felt too close to Zoe. Instead, they passed the time by eating eggs scrambled with cheese and scallions and a salad made with avocado and tomatoes.

“What do you mean when you say you’re a gypsy?” she’d asked.

“I’m only half.” Grey looked uncomfortable. “On my mother’s side. My father grew up in New Hampshire. He had a car dealership up there and met my mother on the beach. She told his fortune. She still does that here in the summers.”

“So what kind of gypsy are you? Romany?” That was the only sort of gypsy she’d heard about, and that was from some television show about gypsy weddings that Willow made her watch once.

Grey told her that all gypsies were descended from people in India who fled the Ottomans and moved to Europe. “My family, the Boswells, are descended from the Romanichals. English gypsies.”

“I’ve never heard of English gypsies,” Catherine said, then remembered the time her parents had taken them to England and Scotland, and the brightly painted caravans they’d passed once in a field. “Gypsies,” her father had pronounced with disgust. “You can’t trust them. They don’t know the meaning of hard work.”

Grey was telling her how the Romanichals had immigrated to New England in the 1850s as horse traders. “Then, when people didn’t need draft horses as much after the First World War, the Romanichals started making furniture or telling fortunes to make a living. My people were nomadic, so they took up businesses like roofing or paving. Anything that let them travel. There are something like a million gypsies living in the United States.”

“Are you nomadic?”

“No.”

“But you were in Florida,” she said. “Now you’re here.”

“I live here. I went to Florida because Sadie needed me.” He sighed. “Not that I did much good.”

“She knew you were there for her,” Catherine reminded him. “The rest was up to her.”

“Is that what you tell yourself about Zoe? That you were powerless unless she decided to change?”

That stung, but it was true. “Eventually, yes.”

“You’re smarter than I was, then.” Grey stood up, cleared the table.

Catherine helped him rinse the plates and stack them in the dishwasher, conscious of his hip and thigh close to hers. She wanted to lean against him at the sink but didn’t. What would be the point? She’d had her fling. Now it was time to go back and get her real life sorted out. Grey clearly belonged to Zoe, even if he was only a friend. Zoe needed friends.

She dried her hands and glanced at the clock. “I should be going. She’s obviously not coming home.”

“And then what happens?” Grey had whispered, his lips close to her ear as they stood beside her car afterward. “Will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t say that.” He bent down and kissed her, pressing her against the car.

“You live with my sister,” she said. “I don’t want to come between you and Zoe.”

“You’ll work things out with her. I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

“We’ll see.” She couldn’t imagine it, though, Catherine thought as she walked up the steps of her own house now, an hour later.

She hung up her jacket on one of the pegs in the hall and was aware, suddenly, of the quiet in the house, reminding her again that Willow was no longer only hers. No more pretending that Willow was her daughter. She had to play the part of loving aunt from now on, sharing Willow not only with Russell, but with Zoe as well.

Furiously, she started snapping on every light in the house, going from room to room as she stomped her way upstairs and into the shower. She would get into her pajamas and drink wine and watch a stupid movie. No romantic comedies, either. Only bloody action flicks. No more tears. No more pleasure. Just action, damn it. Time to embrace being on her own.

Catherine showered and wrapped herself in the soft pink fleece robe her father had given her one Christmas. She poured a glass of wine, wondering whether any of the Barbie doll outfits she and Zoe played with had included wineglasses as accessories. She should patent that idea, she thought, as she made a generous bowl of popcorn.

She was sitting in front of the television, pouring popcorn directly from the bowl into her mouth as she flipped through the movies on demand, when the doorbell rang. Catherine glanced at the clock. It felt like midnight; she was shocked to see it wasn’t even eight o’clock.

Willow,
she thought, fear hitting her gut like a fist. She hurried to the door and looked through the peephole. Zoe stood there, her hair a halo of curls. She was one of the few women whose short hair didn’t make her look like a PR executive, Catherine thought, despite her shock at having her sister materialize on her porch after she’d been waiting in vain at Zoe’s trailer for hours.

Well. Not completely in vain. She felt her cheeks flame as she yanked open the door. “I was at your house,” she blurted. “Looking for you.”

“I know. Grey told me. That’s why I’m here.” Zoe stepped inside and began appraising Catherine’s appearance as only her sister could.

Catherine remembered this from their childhood, how Zoe had this habit of looking her up and down, always finding fault. “Are you trying to bore people to sleep with that dress?” Zoe had said once when they were in high school.

“Want a glass of wine?” Catherine offered, then remembered. “Sorry. I’ve got cider. Or tea?”

“I don’t need anything.” Zoe was still looking at her with those keen blue eyes. She’d rimmed them in black eyeliner and black mascara; she looked like a cabaret singer. “Are you sick or something? Why are you already in your pajamas?”

“I was cold. I took a shower and I was about to watch a movie.”

“Sounds like another thrilling Saturday night,” Zoe said, not quite smirking.

“Shut up. What can I get you? Popcorn?”

“I said I don’t need anything.”

Catherine turned around, aggravated by her sister’s bullish tone. “Fine. Why are you here?”

“You came to see me, remember?”

“It’s an hour’s drive, Zoe. You should have called. What if I’d been out?”

“I could say the same to you.”

“I would have called, but you never gave me your number! Apparently I’m not in your trusted inner circle.”

Zoe crossed her arms. “Can you blame me? I knew you’d come spying on me. Just like you used to do. How the hell did you find me? Did Willow give you my address, the little traitor?”

“Don’t call her that. And no.” Catherine flopped down on the couch, turned off the television, and took a gulp of wine.

“What, then? You spied on Willow? Stole it? What?” Zoe remained standing, her legs apart. A gunfighter’s stance.

“Something like that.”

“God. You are too much. No wonder Willow doesn’t trust you.”

“What do you mean, she doesn’t trust
me
?” Catherine shot back. “
You’re
the one who took off on her!
You’re
the one who won’t tell anybody what you’re doing here, or what your plans are for the future!”

“Because I haven’t figured them out yet!” Zoe yelled back. “Jesus Christ. I’m not you, Kitty Cat. I don’t have my ducks lined up in a pretty row. I’m living my life one scary day at a time.” She fell onto the other end of the sofa, legs outstretched, and stared at the TV’s blank screen. “What were you going to watch?”

“Something stupid to take my mind off my life.”

“Oh, boohoo. Poor you. Nice house, great job, never a night on the streets. My heart bleeds. Write me when something bad actually happens.”

My husband left me and you’re going to steal back your daughter,
Catherine wanted to say, but she pressed her lips together because she was still thinking about what Zoe had said about living life a day at a time. It was probably true that Zoe barely had her feet back under her. She’d given up Willow, fought her addiction, and lost Sadie, not to mention all of the other terrifying things that must have happened to her while she was in hiding. How alone she must have felt.

But it was her own fault, Catherine reminded herself sharply, thinking of how much anger and grief Zoe had caused everyone. “Plenty of bad things have happened to me,” she said.

Zoe glanced at her. “You really do look like shit.”

“Thanks. I can always count on you to prop me up when I’m down.”

“Seriously. What’s going on? Headache?”

“What the fuck do you think it is? My
heart
, okay?” Catherine said. There had never been any way to hide things from Zoe. When she wasn’t high or zonked out on whatever, Zoe was always the keenest observer in their family. That’s what had made her so good at shoplifting and sneaking out of the house: she always knew what the rest of them were doing, and even thinking, while they were clueless about her.

“Why?” Zoe pressed. “What’s wrong with your heart?”

Catherine turned to look at her. What to say? She didn’t want to begin any conversation around Zoe taking Willow. She couldn’t go there yet. “I miss Willow when she’s at Russell’s,” she said.

To her surprise, Zoe nodded. “That must be tough on you,” she said. “I knew Willow was with Russell this weekend. That’s why I decided I’d better come now instead of waiting until tomorrow.”

“Who told you I was alone? Grey?”

“Willow. She gave me her cell number a while back. I realized it was probably better if we had some regular contact. I didn’t want her taking any more chances to come out to Salisbury on her own.”

Catherine flinched. She hated the idea that Willow and Zoe were communicating directly, but said, “Thanks. You’re right. It’s probably better if Willow knows how to reach you. She’s pretty anxious about you suddenly disappearing again.”

“I’ve promised her I won’t do that, and I won’t. So what’s up with you and Grey?”

“Nothing,” Catherine said too quickly.

Zoe laughed. “Right. Remember, Grey’s like my best friend, my brother, and my guru all wrapped up in one tidy package. I know him. He’s obviously crushing on you.”

Catherine touched her chapped lips. “I like him, too. But he’s not exactly my type.”

“How do you know? You’ve only ever been with Russell. And look how that turned out.”

Catherine made a face. “Russell wants us to get back together.”

“
What?
He’s out of his gourd.”

Zoe sounded so indignant that Catherine had to smile. “Apparently the girl has changed her mind about getting married. I think Russell’s just floundering now.”

“Too bad for him, but you’re not seriously considering a reboot of that relationship, are you? Because if you are, I might have to kidnap you and take you back to Salisbury with Grey and me.” Zoe toed off her boots and pulled herself up to sit cross-legged on the couch.

“How can you sit like that?” Catherine grumbled. “It hurts my knees to even
look
at you.”

Zoe grinned and flexed her thighs down even more, until her knees nearly touched the couch cushion. “Om,” she chanted, putting her palms together close to her chest.

“You are such a show-off. Have you been doing yoga?”

Zoe nodded. “Grey’s sister, Sadie, taught me. She was into meditation and all that crap.”

Catherine waited a beat, then said, “I’m really sorry about Sadie.”

“Grey told you?” Zoe lowered her eyes, played with the frayed hem of her jeans.

“Yes. That must have been awful for you. For him, too.”

“And for his mom. I still can’t believe it. We tried so hard to save her.”

“I’m sure you did.”

“I nearly died, too,” Zoe said, her voice soft. “A couple of times before I met Sadie. That made it worse, finding her. I could picture myself.” She shuddered. “I wish I hadn’t gone to work that day. Maybe she’d still be alive.”

“You, of all people, should know that Sadie had to save herself, Zoe.” Catherine hesitated, then added, “Anyway, I’m glad you didn’t die.”

“You don’t need to say that,” Zoe said. “I would deserve it if you felt differently. I knew I was risking that when I got on the bus in Boston.”

“I’m not trying to be a hard-ass or punish you in any way. What’s done is done. You’re back now. That’s the important thing.” Catherine finished her wine and stood up. “Want a sandwich or something? I’m starving.”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Make me one and I’ll see.”

“You are still such a spoiled brat.”

“And you’re still an easy touch. Why are you even offering to make me a sandwich if you resent doing it? That’s a little passive-aggressive, don’t you think?”

Catherine sighed. “I offered because you’re my guest. That’s what’s done.”

“I’m not your guest. I’m your sister.”

“And I was born to be a caretaker.”

“I don’t buy that, either. That’s like saying I was born to be a drug addict,” Zoe said, following her into the kitchen. “One thing I’ve learned is that a lot of things happen by chance, but we also make choices.”

“We agree on that. Truce, okay? Jesus. You’re exhausting me!”

Zoe sat at the counter while Catherine rummaged for turkey, lettuce, and cheese. She slapped mayonnaise on two slices of bread, assembled the sandwich, and cut it in half. She put half on a plate for Zoe and pushed it over. “Here. If you eat that, I’ll make you another one.”

“Fine.” Zoe took a bite and chewed thoughtfully, looking at Catherine. “You might look like hell, but I bet it’s a relief to give up on being the perfect womanly half of a perfect couple.”

“That’s a horrible thing to say.” Catherine felt the bread ball up in her throat and focused on swallowing past it. “I’m still devastated that Russell left me.” As she said this, though, Catherine realized it wasn’t quite true anymore. She could still feel the sharp hurt and anger, but it was buried now beneath other concerns. She was moving forward. Approaching life differently. She thought of Grey, of his body beneath hers on the beach, and turned away so her sister couldn’t see her expression.