Season of Salt and Honey (14 page)

Bella shakes her head. I stare at her pointedly.

“Frankie,” she whispers apologetically. I look away.

Huia looks between us, then shuffles over to her father and climbs onto his knee. Papa and Jack resume their conversation, and Bella leans towards me.

I quickly stand, gesturing to the kitchen. “I'm going to help Merriem and Summer.”

“Come on, Frankie,” Bella pleads. I ignore her.

“Perhaps I can help too,” she adds, trying optimism.

I lean towards her, drop my voice to a nasty hiss so Papa, Jack, and Huia won't hear me. “No, no, you stay here and keep saying stupid things.”

She opens her mouth to protest but I am already turning, already gone.

• • • •

“H
ey, honey,” Merriem says sweetly, immediately passing me a spoon and getting me to stir the risotto. Summer is chopping more parsley. Merriem heads out the door, whistling and carrying wine.

“She's put you to work already,” Summer says.

I slowly stir the creamy, fragrant rice so it doesn't stick. The smell reminds me of being in Aunty Rosa's kitchen. “Better than pretending everything is fine,” I whisper, and am surprised I've said it out loud.

Summer is staring at me.

“I'm not really up for dinner parties,” I apologize, then add, “yet.” Though I'm not sure when I will be.

Summer looks at the kitchen door as if expecting someone to come through it. “You didn't want to come?”

“Not really. My sister arranged it.”

“Does she often do that?”

“Arrange things for me?”

“Yeah.” Summer has stopped chopping, the knife held over the parsley.

“Not really. She's been away for a long time. Living in Portland.”

“Oh.”

“She's not very good with this kind of thing. Grief, I guess. Our mom died . . . and then . . . puberty, I don't know. . . . Anyway, we're really different.”

Summer nods, understanding. “Yes. You seem different.”

I'm surprised. Most people want us to be similar, to be friends.

“Are you close to your brother?” I ask.

Summer tips her head. “Yes and no. He thinks he knows what's best for me.”

“Does he arrange things for you?”

“Yes, he does.”

“Do you do them?”

Summer shakes her head, then laughs as if in spite of herself. “Yes, I do.” She shrugs. “He told me I had to come here—to Edison, I mean—so I came. Now I'm not sure if I'll go back to school.”

“What are you studying?”

“Science. Marine biology. I'll never get a job in it. I just wanted to be in the sea so that's what I chose.”

Alex felt that way too, I think, always wanting to be in the sea. Though he'd never have been brave enough to study something he couldn't get a job doing. His parents would consider that frivolous.

I turn back to the saucepan and stir. The risotto is close to being cooked. Summer chops the last few stalks of parsley.

Alex started surfing in high school, and became more and more enamored of it over the years. I thought it would go the
other way, that he'd become less interested, but as soon as he moved out of his parents' place—as soon as we moved in together—he seemed to go surfing more and more often. I made jokes that once we were finally together properly, in our very own place, he wanted to be away from me. As though the ocean was his mistress. He kept his surfing friends separate from his regular friends, for the most part; both surfing and his surfing friends were a kind of secret, something just for him. I'd tried to understand it; I'd even tried to learn.

“He tried teaching me once,” I tell Summer.

She rinses her hands and leans back against the counter. “To surf?”

I nod. “It was terrible.”

“The first time is—”

“I know. I mean, that's what he said too.”

I stir the risotto one more time, then turn off the gas element.

It had been an overcast day. We went out alone. Alex kept asking me if I was sure, as though he was hoping I might change my mind.

“I thought it was going to be easy,” I say. “Get on the board, stand up . . .”

“Oh, well . . .” Summer's tone is empathetic, supportive.

“It's okay, I know. It takes practice.”

Alex had said that too. “Babe, no one manages it the first time.” Trying to be encouraging, but sounding annoyed. He was impatient, and I was stubborn and petulant.

“Try again,” he'd urged, so I had. Again and again, growing more and more frustrated, getting clumsier.

“You're not concentrating. You're getting mad,” he complained.

I argued that I wasn't, but of course I was. Mad as hell. I was also freezing cold and feeling stupid.

He tried to show me the basics, but he made it look too simple. Surfing was in his muscle memory, in his blood, in his thoughts. It was like his shadow, simply part of him. Watching his effortlessness made me even more angry, more belligerent.

We got out of the water and Alex showed me with the board on the sand. “Like this,” crouching and holding, “to this,” standing and balancing. I pushed at the sand with my foot, my arms crossed in front of me, my lips numb. “Are you even watching?” he'd asked, and sighed.

We got back into the water one more time, and the sea tugged me under and tossed me around beneath a wave, like a plaything, like it was laughing at me. I came up ready to go home, mouth full of salt, hair full of sand.

“It's not for everyone, right?” I say to Summer.

She gives me that sad, hopeful look that says it can be for everyone, should be for everyone. That surfing is the best thing in the world. Her strange, blue-gray eyes fix on me, like she wants to explain. I imagine her in the sea, like a fish, moving as though made for the water. She would know where to put her feet, how to balance, how to fall without hurting herself, without drowning. She's probably one of those girls who rides the waves as though she's dancing with the whole of the ocean; her and the water taking different roles, moving in different ways. The ocean leads and she simply responds.

Merriem comes into the kitchen. She pushes the risotto with
the spoon I've left resting on the edge of the pan. “All done. Good. Give me a hand, you two.”

*  *  *

Merriem carries the enormous saucepan, a cloud of steam rising from it, into the dining room. “Spring risotto,” she calls it. It's got snipped garlic scapes, tons of parsley, and just-wilted pea greens piled on top.

Summer carries a big glazed terra-cotta saucer full of tiny new potatoes with butter and freshly torn mint, and I bring the asparagus, which Merriem calls “speary-grass,” served with simple seasoning.

Summer helps serve up, while Merriem tops up wineglasses. I take my seat.

Papa compliments Merriem on her risotto, while Huia gleefully pops a potato barely bigger than a coin into her mouth. Jack asks her to please use her cutlery, but Merriem reassures her that she likes using her fingers too.

I bring a spoonful of risotto to my mouth and blow. I glance at Bella who is quietly staring at her plate. Her expression reminds me of her as a young girl. I see her lying in her bed, curls pulled into uneven pigtails. Next to her bed, a window frames the neighbors' side wall and offers a peek into their kitchen. Sometimes, if Bella left the window open at night, she would wake in the morning smelling of the ginger and oil and onion they used in their evening stir-fries.

Once the food is cool enough, I eat as though I'm starving. The potatoes' skins squeak when I bite into them; the risotto tastes of
soft, pungent scapes; the freshly cut asparagus is so crisp and sweet you could almost mistake it for fruit. Merriem smiles at me. We are all holding our stomachs by the time Merriem clears the table and brings out dessert, a bright pink and sticky rhubarb tart dotted with edible flowers. She doles out big scoops of homemade vanilla ice cream with a silver spoon she affectionately refers to as “the shovel,” then adds a chunk of honeycomb to each of our bowls alongside wedges of the tart. Papa's eyes are wide. It's a feast worthy of Caputos. Merriem laughs at our expressions and implores us to leave what we can't eat, but of course it's so delicious we find corners and crevices in our bulging stomachs. Halfway through dessert I notice Jack adjusting the waistband of his pants, and when he catches my eye we smile at each other.

When dinner is finished, and Papa has helped Merriem serve espresso coffees, Jack pulls Huia's chair closer to his and wraps his arm around her. She lays her head against him and stifles a yawn.

Merriem glances at the book on the table. “Huia brought you some reading material?”

“Only to borrow,” I say, using Huia's words. “She's teaching me about the forest.”

“You didn't stay out here often? With . . .”

I shake my head, my gaze falling to the engagement ring on my finger. “A couple times, but not often. Alex did love it out here though. I mean, the cabin was special to him.”

At the mention of Alex's name, Summer rises and starts clearing a few empty glasses. Her eyes look darker blue in this light, and I realize her pale eyelashes are coated with mascara.

“I got out some books for you to take too,” Merriem says,
graciously changing the topic. She points to a little pile on a side table. “Rachel Carson's
Silent Spring
; Jackie Collins's
Lady Boss
.” She winks. “A girl needs a little sizzle.”

“Thank you.” Aunty Rosa is a voracious Jackie Collins reader.

“I've got honey for you too,” Merriem tells Bella, drawing her into the conversation.

“Are they your hives in the yard?” Bella asks.

I hadn't guessed the wooden boxes I'd seen earlier might be beehives.

“You are a beekeeper?” Papa asks.

“Sure am.” Merriem grins. “And a potter. Mainly I'm a potter. But gardening and beekeeping come close runners-up. Hang on, I'll get your honey now.” She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a container that she holds out to me. “See what you think of it.”

I lift the lid and prepare to stick my finger in. “Just like this?”

She nods.

I press my finger into the container, puncturing the wax of the comb and coating it in honey. I pass the container to Papa, who does the same.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, and passes it to Bella.

“Good?” Merriem asks.

“Good,” we say in unison.

She laughs. “Okay, now I know for sure you're father and daughter.”

Papa looks at me warmly and nods. I notice Bella sucking on her finger too, but she doesn't comment.

Papa asks earnestly, “You sell this honey?”

Merriem nods. “But I can give you some, it's no—”

“Oh, no, I couldn't accept it,” Papa says. “Not after tonight's meal you have made for us. I will buy some.”

“Okay,” Merriem replies, smiling.

Jack clears his throat and I notice Huia's eyes blink open quickly. “Sorry, everyone,” he says. “I think we're going to have to make our exit.”

“No, Dad,” Huia protests, her voice groggy.

“You're exhausted,” he says with a laugh.

“I'm not,” she says, yawning. The rest of us join in laughing. “Ohhhh,” she grumbles.

“Thank you for the book,” I say to her. “I'll do my homework.”

“It was lovely to meet you,” Jack says as Papa shakes his hand.

Jack points to his back. “Hop on, kid.” She loops her arms around his neck.

Merriem gives him a kiss on the cheek. “See you soon.”

He looks at me. “I'll swing by, see how you're doing . . . but there's no rush. . . .” He looks awkward again. We both know he's talking about the eviction notice from the Gardners.

“Thanks,” I reply.

Summer comes out from the kitchen and I realize she's been in there for a while. As though she's been hiding.

“Are you going?” she asks. Jack nods. “I'll walk out with you. I'm tired,” she says softly.

“You can stay here the night if you like,” Merriem offers.

Summer shakes her head. “I'm looking after Rocky's boys tomorrow. I should go.”

“Are you sure you're—”

“I'm fine. Just tired,” Summer replies quickly. Then adds, “Thank you so much. Dinner was really lovely.”

“Well, you pretty much made most of it,” Merriem says, smiling.

“That's not true,” Summer says. “Frankie did too.”

“I stirred, that's all,” I say bluntly, without thinking. Then regret it when Summer looks uncomfortable.

“It was really nice to meet you all,” she tells Bella, Papa, and me. “You're a very nice family.”

“Aw, that's a sweet thing to say.” Bella reaches over to give her a hug, but Summer is awkward and it becomes clumsy and lopsided.

She turns and blinks at me.

“Good to see you again,” I say. “Come by the cabin if you're over this way. Anytime.”

Bella glances at me, surprised. I ignore her.

Summer looks between the two of us. “Oh. Okay. Thank you.”

Jack smiles and tips his head. “Right. Say bye to everyone, Huia,” he encourages.

“Bye to everyone,” Huia chirps sleepily.

“We can see our own way out,” Jack tells Merriem, who nods and doesn't stand. The three of them move slowly down the hallway.

Bella has her finger in the honey container again. “It's really yummy,” she says.

It annoys me that she's still using her finger; I want to slap her hand away.

“How many containers would you like, Giuseppe?” Merriem asks. “I can sell it to you for five dollars a square if you like.” She
holds up her fingers to make an imaginary frame, to give him an indication of size.

“Two. No, three,” he says. “I'll give some to Rosaria and Concetta. But I won't take them unless I pay full price.”