Folly Cove (26 page)

“No, no. Sebastian's hanging out with
Anne
.”

Elly opened her mouth, then closed it, processing this. “That's weird. Sebastian's so much older. I didn't even think they knew each other. Are you sure he's seeing Anne? Not Laura?”

Paige arched an eyebrow. “Yes! Seb told me he's been seeing Anne every day. Apparently, she got thrown off a horse in the woods because of my brother's stupid dog. Sebastian felt guilty about her getting hurt, so he's been helping her out. But he hasn't said one thing about a baby. Are you sure she's
got
a baby?”

“Ha-ha.” Elly grinned. “Maybe your brother and my sister are playing house. Anne's staying at Aunt Flossie's cottage, free from Mom's prying eyes. That would be sweet if they got together.”

“I doubt that will ever happen. Oh, not because of Anne,” Paige added quickly, “but because of Sebastian.” Her face contorted. Paige was obviously struggling to decide how much to say.

Elly waited, trying to read Paige's expression and remembering how she used to look after field hockey practice, sweaty, her ponytail high and tight. She and Paige would laugh as their lips—distorted and numb from the mouth guards they wore on the field—refused to make words properly, giving them strange speech impediments.

Funny how you could see a friend after such a long time and notice the way she'd aged, but then the changes gradually faded as you kept looking at her. It was as if all her past selves were still there, waiting to be revealed by memory.

Paige finally said, “Listen, I think you should tell Anne to be careful around Sebastian. My brother would hate me for telling you this, but he's been pretty depressed since his wife killed herself.”

“Oh my God. I'm so sorry.” Elly sat back in her chair, stunned. “When did this happen?”

“About eighteen months ago.” Paige clasped her hands around her empty wineglass, causing Elly to signal the waiter to bring them another round. She'd swing through McDonald's for a coffee if she had to; this conversation definitely required more alcohol.

“I don't even know who Sebastian married,” Elly said. “Did I ever meet her?”

“Probably not. You were in California by then, I think, and she
wasn't from around here,” Paige said. “Her name was Jenny O'Donnell. Sebastian met her while they were both in the Peace Corps in El Salvador. They got married there, actually, so they could avoid all the fuss of a big wedding here. Sebastian's idea, I'm sure. You know how my family does weddings.”

“Like the Kennedys,” Elly said. “Not that my mom's ever going to complain about that.”

She was rewarded by a slight smile. “Anyway,” Paige went on, “I flew to El Salvador with my parents and sisters for the wedding. Jenny was pretty—that kind of tall, skinny brunette who always looks like she should have a cigarette in one hand and a martini in the other—and she and Sebastian had a lot in common: Ivy League, liberal politics, Good Samaritan ideals.”

“Sounds like a good match.”

Paige nodded. “My parents were relieved because Jenny was the ‘right' sort of girl. They were convinced the Peace Corps was just a phase with Sebastian, that eventually he'd go into finance like my dad. And I was just glad Jenny wasn't visibly unhinged. Sebastian had a habit of collecting crazies and strays.”

Paige paused while the waiter set down two more glasses of wine and removed the empty glasses, then said, “Man, this is hard, telling you this.”

“Don't tell me if it's upsetting.”

“I want to, though. It might be good for you to know this if Anne starts getting close to Sebastian. You might have to warn her.”

“About what?” Elly said, alarmed.

“That Sebastian might seem functional on the outside, but inside he's a complete mess,” Paige said. “When he and Jenny came back from the Peace Corps, Sebastian went to grad school in forestry and threw himself into research. He seemed happy. But Jenny was floundering. She couldn't find a job that made her happy and had trouble making friends. She didn't even want to come to family dinners. Eventually, she stopped leaving their apartment at all.”

“Anxiety?” Elly guessed.

“Yes,” Paige said. “And depression. Jenny finally saw a psychiatrist,
who put her on medication. After a while, she seemed better. Then she got pregnant and went off the drugs. Everything spiraled downhill fast after that.”

“Why did she go off the meds? Because of her pregnancy?”

“No,” Paige said. “As I understand it, the psychiatrist was in favor of her continuing the medication. But Jenny was one of those health zealots, always claiming she wanted to cleanse her body of toxins. Pretty soon, her anxiety came roaring back and was worse than ever. She stopped sleeping and started cutting herself.”

“God. And the doctor couldn't do anything?”

“Nobody could. Jenny went haywire.” Paige smiled slightly. “Sorry. That's a terrible word. And so inadequate to describe what happened to her. But it was like all of Jenny's circuits started firing at once. Her brain was on overdrive. She began having panic attacks and had to be taken to the ER a couple of times because she couldn't breathe. Finally, Sebastian got the call he'd been dreading: Jenny deliberately drove their car off a bridge. She was seven months pregnant.”

Elly's eyes stung, imagining the woman at the wheel, the desperation this act must have taken, Sebastian's shock and grief. “Are they sure it wasn't an accident?”

“Oh yes. There was no reason for her to go off that road otherwise. Nothing wrong with her car or the bridge. And it was a dry night. The conclusion of the accident report was suicide.” Paige swabbed at her eyes with a cocktail napkin. “I felt sorry for Jenny. And for her family. But I feel sorrier for Sebastian. He was so excited about being a dad! Now he'll never be the same. That's why you need to warn Anne.”

Elly pictured Anne in her little cottage by the sea, lying on the floor to play with Lucy or holding the baby on one hip to watch the surf break on the rocky beach below. Anne was so alone. She might seek out Sebastian for comfort, just as he might be drawn to her. Was that a bad thing?

Life was difficult. And complicated. Maybe it was important to seek solace where you could find it and to give it generously when you could. Still, Paige was right: Anne should know Sebastian's history, if she didn't already, in case she was considering a relationship with him.
Especially since whatever Anne went through from now on would impact Lucy.

“I'll talk to Anne,” Elly said. Then, desperate to cheer Paige up, she said, “Hey. Want to have some fun tonight?”

Paige gave her a suspicious look. “I'm married.”

Elly laughed. “Not that kind of fun. I'm inviting you on a spy mission.”

“Who are you spying on?”

“Laura's husband.”

“What are you planning to do, a stakeout?”

“Exactly,” Elly said. “I'm going to park near his office and follow him when he leaves work.”

“Wow. Very double-oh seven! But why?”

“To see where he goes! Jake has been getting home late every night, like nine o'clock. But when I stopped by his office today, the receptionist told me they're only open two nights a week.”

“Does Laura think Jake's having an affair? Is that why you're doing this?”

“She doesn't know I'm doing it.” Elly bit her lip, wondering how much to tell Paige, then decided she'd say nothing about Jake and Anne or Laura's suspicions. That could only lead to more rumors. “Come with me.”

Paige glanced at her watch. “Can't. Sorry. I'm holding a talk for parents about college financial aid tonight.”

“A thrill a minute.”

“Hey,” Paige said with a laugh. “If I can figure out how other people pay for college, maybe I'll be able to do it for my own kids. That's enough thrills for me.” She stood up and gathered her things. “Good luck. Though I don't know whether to hope you find something out about Jake or not. Marriage is a tricky business.”

“Right. That's why sisters need to help sisters,” Elly said.

•   •   •

Laura knocked on Kennedy's door after finishing her last lesson of the day. “Hey, how's your poor mouth since the orthodontist?” she called.

The door remained closed and there was no answer. Laura knocked again. She tried to respect her daughter's privacy, seldom entering the
bedroom unless she was invited. Many of the other moms she knew disagreed with this.

“How will you ever know when they're in trouble if you don't snoop?” Meredith had asked at the last school fund-raiser. “I found condoms in Luke's bedside table! And a joint!” She'd sounded nearly triumphant.

But Laura had grown up with a mother who was militant about clean bedrooms. She and her sisters were expected to make their beds every morning and keep their rooms as tidy as the guest rooms in the inn, “just in case we ever need to rent out your rooms, too.”

Her mother had tried to joke with them about this. At the same time, Sarah had made it clear that where they lived was a business, an income property. If there ever came a time when Sarah needed to use those rooms to make money, her daughters knew they'd better be prepared to make sacrifices. Their bedrooms did not belong to them: they belonged to the inn.

For this reason, Laura had always told her own daughter that her bedroom was a sanctuary, a room she could keep exactly how she pleased. Her private space.

“Kennedy?” she called again. “Are you in there?”

She nudged the door open with her knee. Kennedy wasn't in the room. She must be in the basement watching a movie.

It had been a while since Laura had stepped foot in her daughter's bedroom with the lights on; lately, whenever she stopped by to kiss Kennedy good night on her way up to bed, there would be no light other than the glow of Kennedy's iPod. Now Laura noticed that her daughter had gotten rid of her stuffed animals. When did that happen? Where were they?

Probably stuffed in the closet. She glanced around, noticing more changes: a red scarf draped over the bedside lamp. Tubes of lipstick on the dresser. A new pair of black leather motorcycle boots stood next to the desk.

Overnight, this had become a teenager's room.

Laura swallowed hard. Somehow, she'd missed her daughter's metamorphosis from chubby child to blossoming young woman.

She walked over to the bed and smelled something like incense as
she got closer. Wait: it
was
incense, a stick of it jammed into a holder shaped like a Buddha. Patchouli! Oh God. Shades of Aunt Flossie. She was so ill equipped to be the mother of an adolescent.

Laura stretched out on the bed. Maybe she'd close her eyes just for a minute, then go downstairs and find her daughter, see what she felt like eating for dinner. She turned onto her side to face the wall, keeping the filthy cuffs of her jeans off the bed. She was still in her stable clothes. She'd taught four lessons this afternoon, then fed and watered the horses and brought them in for the night.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to the sound of someone singing. A beautiful voice and an old song she recognized: “I Got Rhythm.”

She turned back over and watched in astonishment as Kennedy—her own Kennedy, in jeans and a T-shirt—tap-danced in front of the mirror, imitating a few of Gene Kelly's moves. The movie was playing on Kennedy's laptop, which she'd set up on the dresser. Kennedy's gentle, lilting alto was surprisingly pure in tone.

When had Kennedy started singing? And
dancing
? Who had taught her?

Elly, of course! They must have been watching the movie and practicing steps whenever they weren't shopping for her mother's birthday party. Now Laura remembered how Elly had hinted at something like this.

“Mom would love to see her daughters reunited onstage,” she'd said at dinner a few nights ago.

“Count me out,” Laura had said. “If I had to stand next to Anne, I'd probably end up spitting on her. And I don't sing. Not anymore.”

Watching Kennedy, though, made Laura remember how it had felt when the three of them sang together. Their voices had blended so naturally that they were always harmonizing. She and her sisters sang while cleaning rooms at the inn, polishing silver, or doing any of the other millions of mindless tasks their mother assigned.

Their reward, sometimes, would be to have Sarah join them with her powerful alto and jazz licks. Her mother's voice was smoky and lusty; as she got older, Laura understood it was the sort of voice that would cause men to want to buy Sarah drinks and take her to bed.

Laura waited, forcing herself to lie still until Kennedy finished the song. “Hey,” she said then. “That sounded really good. You have a lovely voice, honey. I don't think I've heard you sing since you were in elementary school. Remember that musical you did?
Annie?
”

Kennedy visibly winced. “I wanted to be Annie or any of the other orphan girls. Instead they made me play the orphanage lady. They said I was too big to be a girl. But I
was
a girl!” She turned around, plaiting her hair in a braid as she walked over to the bed and sat down. “I tried to quit before the show, but you wouldn't let me.”

“Why did you want to quit? Because you didn't get the part you wanted?” Laura sat up and gently pushed Kennedy's hands down. She began doing her hair in a French braid.

“No. Because a boy said my boobs looked like balloons.”

Laura inhaled sharply. So many things a mother didn't know: the hurts, the taunts, the times when your child hid in a bathroom and cried. “I'm sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing? It wasn't your fault. That kid was a moron.”

Laura was about to correct her, to tell her not to use the word “moron,” then bit her lip and finished braiding Kennedy's hair instead. That boy
was
a moron. “So are you going to sing for Grandma at her birthday party?”