Home Fires (13 page)

Maggie couldn't help herself. Some of the old feelings trickled back, and she touched his knee. Her finger poked through the hole in his jeans, rubbing his skin.

“It's not a head trip,” she said. “I want to pull my grades up. This has nothing to do with you. Or my aunt.”

“Yeah, well. I miss you, that's all.”

“I miss you, too.” There. She'd said it. Maggie glanced at the school and saw Vanessa standing by the door. She was watching Maggie and Kurt with a really sad look on her face.

“Please, give me another chance,” Kurt whispered. “Let me prove how much I love you.”

He had never said he loved her before. Maggie felt the color rise in her cheeks. All her plans, her resolutions to be a better person, her vow to stop seeing her old friends suddenly seemed ridiculous. Kurt stroked the side of her face with the back of his hand. Now he was leaning closer, kissing her ear, nibbling her neck.

“Let me prove it,” he whispered.

“Okay,” Maggie said.

Kurt shifted into first and peeled out right in front of Mr. Jephson, the boys' gym teacher. By the time they hit Orion Road, he'd lit the joint and handed it to Maggie. She let it burn for a few seconds, and then she took a hit. It was good pot, she realized as her head went cold. They were heading toward the lighthouse. She leaned against Kurt and trembled with the pleasure of being told he loved her.

Chapter 11

I
t had become a tradition that one Saturday every spring Gabrielle and Maggie Vincent would take a shopping trip to the mainland. They'd drive to Boston or Providence or one of the malls, have lunch, and shop. Sometimes they didn't buy much. New clothes weren't really the point. Going off-island was the important thing: being together, seeing the new styles, getting away from their neighbors.

This year Anne joined them.

She'd been happy to be invited along, but she'd hesitated before accepting. She wasn't sure she should intrude on their mother-daughter day. But Gabrielle had insisted, and Maggie had followed up with a second phone call, for good measure, and finally Anne said yes.

The ride over was typical for the early boat on an off-season Saturday: hardly any cars, even fewer trucks, people sleeping in their vehicles. Anne went into the cabin for coffee while Gabrielle and Maggie dozed. Was it her imagination, or did conversation stop dead when she approached the snack bar?

“Black coffee, please,” she said to the girl behind the counter. Probably one of Maggie's classmates, she was about sixteen. Handing Anne the steaming Styrofoam cup, she looked fearful and apprehensive, as if she were serving a witch.

“Thank you,” Anne said pleasantly. “Hi, Arnie. Hi, Mike,” she said to two men standing together. Mike was a lifelong islander; Arnie had married one of Steve's cousins. The two men nodded at Anne, friendly enough.

“How're you doing, Anne? Been a long time since you made it through an island winter,” Mike said.

“It wasn't too bad,” Anne said.

“Sorry about your house,” Mike said, and Arnie joined in, nodding solemnly. But from their discomfort, the way they shuffled their feet and looked quickly away, Anne had the feeling what they were really sorry about was Karen.

“Thank you,” she said. “Thanks a lot.”

Taking a seat, she turned to look out the window and distinctly heard one of them say “Dev.” Anne sipped her coffee, not particularly bothered. As a matter of fact, it kind of pleased her, people knowing about her and Thomas. It was better than before, when she'd pass by and imagine she heard people whispering about Karen.

When she returned to the car, Gabrielle and Maggie were awake, discussing the shopping options.

“Boston, please? Please, Mom?”

“It's so far,” Gabrielle said. “I was thinking the War-wick Mall.”

“Anne, you're the deciding vote,” Maggie said. Sitting in back, she leaned forward, her head between the two front seats.

“No thanks,” Anne said. “I'm just along for the ride. Whatever you two want to do.”

“Chicken,” Gabrielle said. “Go for it.”

“Honestly?” Anne said. “I'd rather go to Boston.”

“Me and my big mouth,” Gabrielle said cheerfully.

The ride up I-95 was fun. They tuned in to a radio station that Maggie loved and couldn't get on the island, Q-105 or something, and listened to the morning-show hosts tear each other up.

It did Anne's heart good to see Maggie enjoying herself. She had really noticed a difference in her niece since the truck incident. Most of the time she seemed brighter, more alive. When they drove past the Wakefield exit, where Anne had found her at the Quality Inn, Maggie reached alongside Anne's seat and gave her hand a secret squeeze.

“Enough of this new-wave grunge rock,” Gabrielle said after an hour on the road. “I want to hear love songs.”

“You're not changing the station,” Maggie said, gripping Gabrielle's seat back with great drama. “Tell me you're just kidding.”

Gabrielle hit the seek-mode button, and selected a station playing Michael Bolton.

“There now,” Gabrielle said.

Anne gave Maggie a sympathetic look.

“Love,” Gabrielle said.

Anne looked out the window, trying to remember the last time she'd been to Boston. Karen had been a baby; Anne remembered carrying her down Newbury Street in a Snugli.

“I'm trying to set a mood,” Gabrielle said. When Anne didn't reply, Gabrielle tapped her thigh. “I'm trying to set a mood. A romantic mood,” she said.

“Really?” Anne said. “Too bad Steve's not here.”

“Mom!” Maggie said sharply, as if she knew what Gabrielle was up to.

“What?”

“Don't be a jerk!”

Anne waited for Gabrielle to reprimand Maggie, for talking to her like that, but Gabrielle's attention was on Anne.

“I'm all ears,” Gabrielle said, and suddenly Anne knew what she was after. Confessions about Thomas.

“Oh,” Anne said. “I'm seeing someone.”

“I'm glad you finally got around to telling me,” Gabrielle said. “Too bad half the island beat you to it.”

The words were lighthearted, but Anne heard hurt in the tone. She didn't really want to talk about Thomas; what went on between them felt so sweet and private, she couldn't imagine discussing him with her sister; with anyone. She didn't mind people knowing. Hiding their relationship seemed pointless, but she didn't want to explain it either. Still, she didn't want Gabrielle to feel bad.

“When did it start?” Gabrielle asked.

“I'm not sure, exactly,” Anne said. How did you define “start”? Was it that night at the coffee shop? The first time they'd made love? Or, as Thomas said, when they'd first seen each other at the fire?

“First of all, I have nothing against Thomas Devlin,” Gabrielle said.

“Good.”

“But I'm worried about you.”

“Gabrielle . . .” Anne said, the warning ringing in her voice.

“Mom!” Maggie barked.

“Just hear me out,” Gabrielle said. “You listen, too, Maggie. Sometimes we're vulnerable to other people. To men. I'm lucky—I've been married to the same man forever, and he's a known commodity.”

“You call that lucky?” Maggie asked in a stage whisper that made Anne smile in spite of herself.

“That's enough, Maggie! Anyway, Anne, Thomas is a good man. He raised a very nice boy all by himself, so he must be decent, and I've never heard otherwise. But look what you've been through! All you've lost this year.”

“That's why I'm with Thomas,” Anne said, feeling steady and secure and missing him.

“What about Matt? You are still married to him.”

“Yes, but so what?”

“Don't you have feelings for him?”

Feelings? Anne couldn't begin to explain to Gabrielle the complicated swirl of emotions she felt for Matt. She had loved him with all her heart. She had borne his child. Together they had stood at the grave while that child was lowered into the ground.

“He left you, yes,” Gabrielle said. “We all know that. But isn't it time to forgive and forget? Can't you give him another chance?”

Anne couldn't help it: rage boiled up from deep inside, and she lashed out, slamming the dashboard with the heel of her hand.

“Gabrielle, I lost my baby,” Anne said, tears spilling out of her eyes. “I don't give a shit about Matt's feelings.”

“But—” Gabrielle said.

“No. I don't want to talk about it anymore.” But she took a deep breath and forced the words out. “Matt and I have been apart since . . . since Karen fell. It's been hell for him, I don't doubt that. But we've gone our separate ways, so we've been in separate hells. There's no going back now. Don't you see how impossible it would be?”

Maggie reached forward to clutch Anne's shoulder. When Anne reached for Maggie's hand, she found that it was wet. As if Maggie had been wiping away tears. Now she looked at Gabrielle and saw her crying.

“I'm so sorry,” Gabrielle said, sniffling. “I can't imagine how it's been for you.”

“Look,” Anne said, composing herself. “I love you both. We all lost her, not just me.”

“Isn't that the truth?” Gabrielle wept. “That little monkey. As pretty and smart as her mother. Sometimes I just can't believe it. I can't get it through my head. Here we are, the girls on a shopping trip, and she should be with us.”

“I'm going to get her a present,” Maggie whispered. When Anne turned, she saw Maggie staring at the back of her mother's head, tears streaming down her face. Anne had meant to tell Maggie to save her money, to say that Karen would want her to spend it on something for herself. But the sight of Maggie's face made her hold her tongue.

“Oh, honey,” Gabrielle said, glancing over at Anne. She snuffled, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. Anne reached into the glove compartment and pulled out tissues. She passed them around.

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said. “Listen. If Thomas Devlin makes you happy, you have my blessing. Just . . .”

Anne waited, sensing that Gabrielle was getting up her nerve to deliver her older-sisterly last word.

“Just don't move too fast. And don't count Matt out yet. No matter what you say now, when Steve and I walked you down the aisle, we knew we were giving you to the right man. We knew it was going to be forever.”

“You don't just give someone to a man,” Maggie said, so scoffingly that Anne knew that the moment of grief had abated.

“Never mind,” Gabrielle said. “You weren't there. You didn't see the look in Matt's eye when he took your aunt's hand. And I happen to believe that the look is still there.”

Anne wondered what Gabrielle meant by that, but she didn't ask. She had to admit to herself that she didn't really want to know.

B
ROWSING
through a toy store in Back Bay, Maggie felt depressed. She had thought toy shopping would cheer her up, but she couldn't stop thinking of Kurt. She hated herself for getting high. For breaking her promise to herself. After having sex with him at the lighthouse, she hadn't heard any more words about love. It was back to the same old thing.

She almost wondered whether he had reeled her back in just to prove he could catch her. That she wasn't as good as she thought. It didn't matter. Vanessa and Kurt and Eugene were her friends, and that was that. After skipping school with Kurt, it seemed stupid to keep avoiding them. So everything was pretty much back to normal.

It wasn't as if her parents had even noticed her trying to change. She could get pregnant and become a crack addict or run for president or become a famous movie star: would it all be the same to her father? He'd walk Maggie down the aisle and just as happily give her away to Kurt as to anyone else. So who cared?

Suddenly Maggie saw the perfect toy. God, it was too cute to resist: a tiny white baby seal with coal-black eyes and a pink nose. It reminded her of the one she had once wanted to buy on the island, but it was nicer. The fur felt real.

Maggie had the awful thought that maybe it was made of real baby-seal fur. Back Bay was full of fancy fur stores and ladies wearing minks and sables, and she wouldn't put it past some store owner to stock the shelves with baby-seal toys made of fur from real baby seals who'd been clubbed to death on ice floes by poachers.

“Excuse me?” Maggie asked the salesclerk. “Is this, um, made of real seal fur?”

The salesclerk, who was twenty-two or so, gave Maggie a completely grossed-out you-are-garbage-look and said as snootily as possible, “Taking seal fur is against the law. A percentage of the proceeds from every single toy we kill goes to Save the Seals Foundation.”

“Um, you said ‘kill,'” Maggie said.

“Excuse me?”

“I think you meant to say ‘sell,' but you said ‘kill.'”

The salesclerk just shook her blond hair in bored disbelief and asked Maggie if she wanted the toy.

“Yes, please,” Maggie said. “Wrapped.”

She enjoyed watching the clerk, dressed to perfection in her Laura Ashley flowered dress, her pink Sam & Libbys, and gold charm bracelet, perform the menial task.

“Thank you,” Maggie said, handing over her $24.50, smiling brilliantly, wishing she had worn full dress today: all her earrings, her nose ring, her Harley-Davidson belt buckle, and anything leather. Girls like the clerk gave her cramps.

She stuck the package in her knapsack. She was glad she'd bought the toy for Karen, but she wished she hadn't announced the idea to her mother and Anne. It called attention to herself in a way she hated. It reminded her of what a waif would do: embrace the tragic, waste away to nothing, and go around making people say poor-whatever-the-waif's name is.

That's not why Maggie had gotten Karen a present. She'd done it because buying the toy made Karen feel not so dead. Just the way that looking at Karen's drawing made Anne feel close to her. Maggie didn't really know what she was going to do with the seal toy. Keep it for a while. Maybe unwrap it and put it on her bed. Maybe leave it at Karen's grave the next time they visited it. Maybe throw it off the ferry.

She did know one thing. Somehow she was going to get her hands on the picture Anne called
Paradise
and have it framed. Maybe when she did, she'd get up the nerve to explain the white boxes.

Maggie had spent the morning shopping with her mother and Anne. They'd gone into every boutique on Newbury Street, trying on clothes they would never buy. Maggie had completely fallen in love with Betsey Johnson, but the price tags were a little out of her reach.

They'd had lunch at a pizza place that her mother kept calling a trattoria, just to remind Maggie and Anne that she'd once gone to Italy. Maggie could see right through the woman. She loved her, but sometimes she wondered whether she should point little pretensions like that out. She didn't want her mother to look like a fool to Anne.