Sea Glass Summer (41 page)

‘I'll have to remember to keep this straight when I tell Evan,' Sarah laughed. ‘You, Brian, are Captain B. Curdle and Oliver is Walker Plank. That should set him quaking. I'm OK; I can fight you off with my knitting needles.'

During the meal they filled her in on other prime examples of their exploits over the years. Oliver brimmed with happiness that Sarah and Brian had taken to each other big time. Before leaving the restaurant plans had been outlined for activities during his visits to Bramble Cottage and Brian asked her if she'd teach him to knit along with Oliver – and Evan, when he was there. It was when they dropped Brian back at his house that he brought up the hoped-for overnight stay at the Cully Mansion.

‘I'm going to make it happen soon, Bri. Promise.'

‘What a nice kid. I can see why the two of you are such great friends,' said Sarah on the drive to Pleasant Meadows.

‘He's like a brother. Although,' Oliver paused, ‘that doesn't always mean as much as it should. Gerard could have stood by my Dad when he married Mom.'

‘Perhaps he wanted to, but was afraid to stand up to his parents.'

‘I'd rather think it was that, rather than liking the idea of being the only one to get their money.'

Sarah pulled into the parking area. ‘I'm with you; I'd prefer to believe gain didn't come into it. If so what bitter irony if there wasn't anything like what was expected by way of an inheritance? There are people who talk and spend big without a thought for the future and it could be your paternal grandparents were in that category.'

Mr Braddock came out of his office to walk them down the hall to Grandpa's room and then tactfully retreated. Grandpa lay in his bed by the window with his eyes closed. Willie Watkins was seated on his bed jabbering to himself.

‘Listen here, Robin Polly, you great tree trunk! No daughter to me, you ain't, sending the cops in to drag me out of the home I made for myself. What harm was I doing no one in that cellar? Done with you is what I am. You keep your rotten fangs off your poor old dad, or I'll be the one putting the law on you.' He turned his unshaven, bleary-eyed face to Sarah and Oliver. ‘That's what I see when I take a look – fangs in that greasy slop.'

‘Do you mean her soup, Mr Watkins?' Oliver asked as if this were a quite ordinary conversation.

‘Greasy slop's what it was.' Willie turned away as if losing interest; either that or he was tired, because he flopped back on his blanket and pillow and several moments passed before he muttered anything else. ‘Never rated Robin as a cook – too cheap to buy her old dad a steak. Stuck to her story I couldn't chew it.' Oliver wondered if seeing him would be a wakeup call for Gerard. His eyes closed as Grandpa's opened – followed by a smile.

‘Dreaming you were here,' his tremulous hand shifted sideways, ‘both of you. Chairs . . . bring cl-close . . . been wai . . . waiting.'

Oliver kissed his cheek and Sarah did the same before they drew two chairs up to the bed. ‘Love you, Grandpa, always and forever.'

‘Know. You've been ev-every thing . . . man could ask of . . . grandson and . . . more. Same as your moth . . . mother.' The devotion was visible in every worn, weary line of the immeasurably dear face. ‘Couldn't rest,' his eyes went to Sarah, ‘af-afraid . . . leaving him with . . . out those who'll love him like he des . . . erves.' He went silent, re-gathering his strength. ‘Twyla worried about her age, but says best thi . . . this way. Trust her judge . . . ment. Good woman. Gr-great friend. Certain you and . . . your gentleman friend . . . liked him, like you – kind faces, will do right by our boy.'

Sarah laid her hand over his blue-veined hand. ‘We love him more than can be fully expressed.' Her voice broke. ‘You have my solemn word Evan and I will let nothing stop us from being an ongoing presence – more if possible – in his life.'

‘They're who I want to be with, Grandpa,' Oliver choked up, fighting back the tears. ‘They know I'll want Twyla to be part of us.'

‘Trust. God is g-good. Not true that busin . . . ess about blood thick . . . er than water.' The obviously tiring eyes returned to Sarah. ‘Adop . . . ted Clare. Blessing till last for her mo . . . ther and me. Know she and Max smi . . . ling.' His eyelids flickered and closed.

Oliver sat with his hand in Sarah's. They stayed by the bed another half hour, not just in case Grandpa woke, but from the need to be near him. It was there for Sarah too, and Oliver was aware that the bond between them was being forged into one that was sacred. He knew, without any of the doubts that had come about whether or not Nat was real, that his Mom and Dad and Grandma Olive were in that room.

On the drive home neither he nor Sarah spoke about what had been said. Not only was it unnecessary, it would have taken away from what had been. He searched for the word and heard it in Grandpa's own voice – ‘transcendent.' She did tell him when they neared Bramble Cottage that the next day she was going to meet up with her friend in Portland, the one whose wedding had first brought her to Maine, but would return by evening. The cell phone in her purse rang just as they entered the front door. It was Evan, and she talked to him while Oliver went in search of Dusk and found her snuggled down on the bed in his room. When he came downstairs with the cat in his arms, Sarah was in the kitchen and held out the phone to him.

‘Hi, Oliver,' said Evan's voice in his ear, ‘I've been hoping you and Sarah could come to Boston this weekend to take a look at my condo so you can decide together whether to keep it for weekends and vacations when I move to Sea Glass, but I agree with her that might be pushing things with your aunt and uncle.'

‘Right.' Oliver would have loved to have gone, but saw the wisdom of not risking putting Gerard's and Elizabeth's backs up. ‘We can do it another time, can't we?'

‘Of course. It's a must. Another reason I was eager to get you down here is my Aunt Alice; she is chomping at the bit to meet you both. So, how's this for an alternative – I bring her with me when I come on Friday morning? Sarah's all for it, but I have to keep to the rules.' Evan's laugh made everything better than all right. ‘It has to be a three-way decision.'

‘I'm chomping too. From all you've told us about her she sounds super nice.'

‘She likes to sail, so we could try renting a boat for the weekend and see how you take to it.'

‘Cool!'

‘There is one thing I should warn you about Aunt Alice.'

‘What?'

‘She spoiled me rotten as a kid and I've a nasty suspicion that half an hour in your presence will see her starting up her old tricks. Boys who read and love animals are a terrible weakness of hers. So beware!'

They continued talking for a little while before Oliver handed the phone back to Sarah. He tactfully went into the living room but even so he heard her say: ‘Let's hope you and Aunt Alice get lucky at one of the galleries in the next few days. Maybe my going to Portland to show Anne that drawing is pointless, but I'm really interested in getting her opinion of it.' A pause. ‘Thanks for believing we're making progress. I do feel Willie Watkins may have narrowed the search with his talk about fangs.' Oliver's curiosity bubbled to the boiling point, but he wouldn't have dreamed of asking Sarah what she and Evan had been discussing.

When he came back into the kitchen she asked him if he'd like to go to the five o'clock movie. There was a film on about a boy who befriended a stray dog that he'd mentioned he'd like to see, and afterward they could go for pizza, if getting back to the Cully Mansion around eight wouldn't be too late. Oliver said he was sure it would be OK, especially since Elizabeth had said she might not be back from Boston until mid-evening and Gerard had said he could be gone as long as he liked. Even so, Sarah rang his uncle's phone and, getting no answer, left a message on the answering machine.

The movie theater in Sea Glass was tiny. Walking into it Oliver and Sarah dubbed it the Elf Theatre. The film they were going to see was in the basement, making them feel like a pair of Hobbits, which got them laughing so much that Oliver spilled some of his popcorn. They both enjoyed the storyline. The dog who had been labeled savage became, through a boy's love, the hero who saved the town from evildoers. Entirely satisfactory, Oliver and Sarah agreed while eating pizza afterward. It had been for him a very special day, making the thought of returning to the Cully Mansion even more unwelcome than usual. Sarah walked him up to the front door and saw him inside after a final hug. As soon as it closed behind him he was inexplicably seized by a sense of dread; it darkened the already dim hall, cast shadows where they shouldn't have been. All this before Elizabeth appeared in the living-room doorway.

‘So you again grace us with your presence! Well, I hope you've enjoyed your outing!' She hurled the words at him, eyes blazing, face so contorted he could have been looking at someone he'd never seen before. ‘It's all about you, Oliver, isn't it? And how hard done by you feel unless surrounded by those prepared to pander to your every whim. More the fools they are to be taken in!'

‘What have I done?' He was bewildered, his legs about to crumble under him. He grabbed hold of a piece of furniture.

‘Done? Exactly nothing when it comes to showing an ounce of appreciation for Gerard's and my attempts to make you happy. It's been all about what we didn't do. Didn't get you a dog. Didn't get you a cat. Didn't, didn't, didn't!' Her hands were all over the place twitching, clutching, and slashing. He braced himself for her to come at him, but was too numb to shrink. ‘And now you've got even, haven't you?'

‘How?' The word squeezed itself out.

‘By killing the bird we gave you.'

‘Feathers?' The shadows in the hall thickened and began to swirl.

‘I'm supposed to be grateful you bothered to name it. A nice homecoming for me after my day out to walk in to find it dead in its cage. I imagine that accounts for your timing. Why should I get to escape for even a short while from this mausoleum? Let's plan a surprise for her. You could count on Gerard not noticing. He's always on some other planet.'

‘How am I supposed to have killed him?' There was a drumbeat in Oliver's ears.

‘Squeezed the life out of it, I suppose. It's hard to imagine what sort of twisted mind could . . .' Only her voice now . . . she had faded . . . everything was going dark. Somewhere from a long way off came the pounding roar of what might be Gerard's voice.

‘For God's sake, let him alone, Elizabeth.'

Oliver was spinning downward through the shadows into complete darkness.

What seemed like a long time later he woke to discover that he was in his room; a small lamp was on and someone was sitting beside him on the bed. He wished it could have been Nat, but it was Gerard.

‘Back with us. Good.' He smoothed down his thinning dark hair. ‘Glad I was in time to catch you before you hit the floor. So sorry about Elizabeth losing it like that. Of course she doesn't believe you killed that parakeet. It was probably just sickly from the start. What do these pet shops care what they palm off?' He paused and on receiving no answer continued. ‘Something she won't talk about must have happened today to set her off. I could tell the moment she walked in the door that she was working herself up to lashing out. I got some of it first.'

‘It doesn't matter.' Oliver felt nothing, not even the wish for him to go away. ‘Horrible for her, finding Feathers like that.'

‘Yes, well . . . that's very kind and understanding of you. Is there anything I can get you, or would you like to go back to sleep?'

‘Sleep, please.'

Gerard stood looking down at him as if uncertain whether to make some physical gesture, before turning and going out the door. The clock on the bedside table with the lamp showed that only a half hour had passed since Oliver's return to the house. He closed his eyes and willed himself back to sleep, but the memory of Elizabeth's hate-filled words clamored inside his head. They sped up, faster and faster, vibrating so savagely he was sure he was going to faint again. Maybe he did. Suddenly Nat was on the window seat, but he didn't stay there; he came to stand at the foot of the bed. There was another difference from his previous visits. He appeared less substantial. Not quite, but almost, transparent. And older . . . quite a lot older . . . but still Nat.

‘You can't see me clearly, Oliver,' he said, ‘because of what you've just been through. Cruel, frightening and unjust. Gerard is lost in himself most of the time, but he was right in what he said to you just now. Feathers died because he wasn't strong.'

‘I didn't love him like I should have,' Oliver answered drearily. ‘Knowing that is even harder to take than Elizabeth saying I killed him. I feel so guilty. Trying to pretend would be a lie to try and make myself feel better.'

‘I understand. You'd feel the worst kind of hypocrite. Often it is the people who have the least cause who reproach themselves most. But sometimes even the hardened have an awakening. Today Elizabeth saw herself for the first time in a long while for what she has become; that's what caused her to lose control – the desperate need to make someone else, anyone but her, the enemy. I've grown very fond of you since you came here.' Nat was fading until only his voice remained. ‘Take heart you'll soon be where you belong with those who love you. Face the next and last hurdle; it will lead you where you need to go. You'll want to resist, but don't – the answer is there for you in
Through the Looking-Glass.
The time has come . . .'

‘Will I see you again?'

The thinnest of echoes. ‘Put a smile on Feather's beak.'

‘What?'

There was no reply.

Oliver lay in bed without moving. The numbness he guessed was the result of shock had lifted sufficiently for him to wrestle wearily with what Nat had said about staying on a little longer at the Cully Mansion. Advice from a ghost who could come and go in the blink of an eye! Right! Oliver managed a tremulous smile. At the beginning, when Gerard and Elizabeth had brought him here, he'd been determined to make them dislike him so much they'd beg to get rid of him, but almost immediately he'd seen the distress this would cause Twyla whose focus had to be on Grandpa. So he had behaved, done his very best not to stir up any trouble. But now he had Sarah to go to, and after Elizabeth's frightening outburst how could she or Gerard create a stink? They wouldn't want the police involved. So all he had to do was wait till they went to bed and walk out. But Nat had told him to stay to face the next . . . and last hurdle. And he had to trust him in this, thought Oliver, feeling suddenly dreadfully tired. Not doing so would be telling himself that Nat wasn't real, that nothing depended on taking his advice – when here was the chance to find out. The decision whether or not to leave tonight mattered because tomorrow Sarah would be gone all day in Portland. Perhaps if he slept for an hour or two he'd wake to the right answer.