Summer with My Sisters (26 page)

“B
ut you said you weren’t coming back until the end of August.” Evie knew her voice was shaking. “That’s almost three weeks from now.”

Nico sighed. “I know what I said, but things changed. Tangiers was a bore. I just had to leave and return to the beauty of home.”

Evie didn’t know much about Tangiers, but she knew enough to decide that anyone who said he found it a bore was probably lying. And she thought that Nico’s home was anything but beautiful (except in tiny bits and pieces). But there was no point in pursuing that part of the conversation.

Evie stared at the man before her. The one and only other time she had seen him had been the day she knocked on his door to ask for the job of house sitter. He had opened the door little more than an inch or two, enough for Evie to see a bit of a figure swamped by a huge white terrycloth robe, with a white terrycloth towel wrapped around his head.

“You’re the one Billy sent,” he had said.

“Yes. I—”

“What Billy wants, Billy gets. You have the job. I’m leaving tonight. Come back in the morning and the lady in the house to the left will let you in.”

Evie had been about to ask if there was any way she might stay at the house that night—he would be gone, after all—when he closed the door.

Now she had the opportunity to study her absentee employer. He was a small man, barely as tall as Evie, and skinny. His hair was very dark and very thick and he wore it pulled severely back from his face. Evie suspected he was wearing eyeliner, but she couldn’t be sure; his eyes, actually, were very nice. In fact, if it weren’t for the expression of intense weariness or martyrdom on his face, he would be a handsome man. But Evie couldn’t get past the expression. Or her sense that he was probably about to throw her out.

“So . . .” she began, but didn’t quite know how to ask the all-important question.
What about me?

“So, I’m afraid you’ll have to be on your way, the sooner the better.”

“But can’t . . . Do you think I could stay on for just a bit? I won’t be a problem. I’m quiet. I could do some cleaning and . . .”

Nico sighed again. “Impossible, my dear. I must be alone to work. I must be alone to
live
.”

“But—”

“No buts. Anyway, I’ve already invited a few dear friends to join me here tomorrow. There’ll simply be no room for one more. Here.” Nico dug into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out his wallet. He extracted three twenty-dollar bills from it and thrust them at Evie. “This should . . . Well, it should do something.”

Pride warred with reason. Evie wanted nothing more than to throw the money back at Nico and tell him he was a skinny idiot jerk. And how did he reconcile the need to be alone with a house full of guests? A skinny idiot lying jerk! But reason prevailed. Sixty dollars wasn’t much, but it would buy her a new T-shirt at the thrift store in town and a new pair of socks, which she badly needed as the heels on one of the two pairs she owned were pretty much threadbare and she had gotten a bad blister the other day, and also, she hoped, a new hoodie to replace the stained one she was always embarrassed to be seen in.

“Thanks,” she said, hating the word and the false intent behind it. “I’ll go pack my stuff.”

“And I’ll go lie down for a while. This encounter has exhausted me.”

And off Nico went to his bedroom.

V
iolet was watering the plants in the sunroom when Ian wandered in. Grimace, from his perch atop the breakfast table, growled.

“That beast has pretty strong opinions about people, doesn’t he?” Ian moved back toward the door a bit.

“Yes,” Violet said.
As do all discriminating creatures.
And then she pointed at his right arm; the sleeves of his plaid shirt were partly rolled up. “I’ve been meaning to ask you what that’s supposed to be.”

Ian laughed. Violet thought it sounded like a condescending laugh. “It’s a skull, of course.”

“It doesn’t look like a skull. What’s it a skull of?”

“A human. It’s the skull of a human.” He said this as if he were talking to someone very stupid, which Violet was not.

“Nope,” she said. “Can’t be.”

“Yes,” Ian said—now he sounded annoyed—“it can be and it is. I designed it myself.”

“You should probably take some drawing classes. I mean that as constructive criticism. What’s that other one?”

Ian pushed up his left sleeve to reveal a series of Chinese characters winding their way down his forearm. “Just a bit of ancient wisdom,” he said.

“What bit?” Violet asked.

Ian quoted sententiously. “A wise man makes his own decisions. An ignorant man follows public opinion.”

“That’s not what it says.” Violet had never considered herself a mean or nasty person, but at that moment she was having a very hard time maintaining her composure when what she wanted very badly to do was burst out in derisive laughter.

“Yes, it is. The guy who did the inking told me. He had a book of quotes from the ancient Chinese. The real stuff.”

“The book,” Violet explained, “was wrong. I don’t know what your tattoo really says, but it’s not what you think it is.”

Ian sneered. “You’re lying.”

“I never lie. I’ve been told that I should learn. I hurt people’s feelings sometimes.”

“How would you know what this says?” Ian demanded. “You don’t know Chinese.”

“I can recognize a little from a book my dad had. I have a very good visual memory, you see. It’s partly why I do really well on tests. The book is just over there, on that bottom shelf. I can show it to you if you want. The phrase you think is on your arm is on page twenty-three. No, twenty-four. But you shouldn’t be too upset. The man who did the inking probably didn’t know his source was wrong.”

Ian pushed down his sleeve. “I don’t need to see the book,” he said, and stalked out of the sunroom.

Violet put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Maybe, she thought, Ian’s tattoo meant, “The naive man is often made a fool.” Whatever it said, Ian and his awful tattoos had given Violet the first really silly, lighthearted moment she had had in weeks. She looked to Grimace. “It’s funny,” she said to him, “the way that life works.”

“E
vie! Hey. Come in.” Daisy stepped back from the door and gestured for Evie to follow her inside.

“I’m sorry for just showing up,” Evie said. “I remembered you told me where you lived, so . . .”

“You don’t have to apologize.” Daisy laughed. “This place is like a train station, people always coming and going. So, what’s up? You looked stressed.”

“The thing is . . . Nico showed up this morning. He wasn’t due back until the end of the summer, but he cut his trip short. And he said I can’t stay at his house any longer.”

Daisy frowned. “What are you going to do?”

Evie fiddled with the hem of her T-shirt. “Well, that’s a bit of a problem. See, I don’t really have money for rent.... The rents are so high in summer. . . . I told you I haven’t been working long enough to save much. I had figured that in the fall, when the tourists are gone, it might be easier to find an apartment I could afford.... But now . . .”

“Why don’t you stay here?” Daisy suggested promptly. “We’ve got plenty of room.”

“Really? It would only be for a little while. I’m . . . I’m expecting a check from my mother’s estate and once that finds me, I’ll have plenty of money for rent somewhere downtown.”

Daisy immediately wondered how a check would find Evie if she was on the run and using a false name, but she didn’t push the point. She
wanted
Evie to stay with them. Being friends with Evie, keeping her secret and helping her in small practical ways, had given her a sense of purpose, a sense she had lost when she lost her beloved father. After her mother’s death she had taken on her father’s happiness as a sort of cause, a reason to get up in the morning. When he had died and Poppy had come home to be guardian, well, things had changed.

“Of course you can stay,” Daisy said, putting a hand on Evie’s shoulder. “For as long as you like. I mean, well, I’ll have to ask Poppy, but I’m sure she’ll say yes. Wait here. She’s in the kitchen. I’ll go ask her now.”

Daisy dashed off to find Poppy. If idiot Ian were welcome, why wouldn’t Evie, who was perfectly nice, be welcome, too?

Poppy was chopping onions; a pile of cut green peppers sat in a bowl nearby. “I’m getting pretty good at the sous-chef stuff,” she announced. “I haven’t sliced off the tip of a nail in days.”

“Good. Poppy? I have a big favor to ask. An important one.”

Poppy put down her knife. “That sounds ominous.”

“No, I don’t mean it’s anything bad. It’s about my friend Evie, the one staying at Nico’s house for the summer. The thing is he came home unexpectedly and basically threw her out.”

“That wasn’t very nice of him.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Daisy agreed. “Anyway, I told—I mean, I was thinking that she could stay here with us for a while, until the tourists leave and rents drop. I know you’ve never met her,” Daisy went on hurriedly, “but that’s only because she works so many hours at The Clamshell, but she’s really nice. Joel can tell you, she won’t be any trouble.”

Poppy shrugged. “Sure. I don’t see why not. Why don’t you get my old bedroom ready for her?”

Daisy laughed with relief. “Thanks, Poppy, really. She’ll help out around the house. She won’t be a burden at all.”

“I’m not really worried about that. No one could be a worse houseguest than Ian.”

“That’s the truth!”

Poppy picked up her knife again. “Evie can be an honorary Higgins. The more the merrier. Plus, it’s what Mom and Dad would have done.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you remember the time one of Mom’s old friends from high school stayed with us for an entire summer?” Poppy asked. “Well, you were pretty young then.”

“No, I vaguely remember . . . Yeah, what was her name? Her marriage had just broken up or something.... She had the most amazing red hair.”

“Stacy. Stacy Street. She sent a card when Mom died.”

“She wasn’t at the funeral?” Daisy asked.

“She lives in Hong Kong now,” Poppy explained. “With her second husband. Anyway, she was in a bad way that summer, totally at a loss. Mom and Dad took her in without question. It must have been difficult for them in some ways. I remember Stacy always seemed to be crying or about to cry. But they were so good to her. They really helped her get on her feet again.”

“Hospitality is a Higgins family tradition. Oh, Evie’s waiting! Thanks, again, Poppy.”

Daisy dashed back to Evie, still waiting in the front hall. “She said it’s fine!”

Evie smiled, but Daisy saw tears in her eyes, too. “My stuff is still at Nico’s. It’s not much. . . .”

“Wait a minute. How did you get here from Nico’s?”

“I walked.”

“That’s an insanely long walk!” Daisy reached into her pocket for her cell phone. “Look, let me see if Joel can pick us up and take us to Nico’s right now. If he can’t I’ll see if Allie can. We’re having chili for dinner and you definitely don’t want to miss the famous Higgins chili.”

E
vie was safely installed in Poppy’s old bedroom, though how she was going to stand looking at the poster of that stupid boy band still on the wall, Daisy just did not know. Still, it had to be better than sticking around at Nico’s house unwanted until she found a room somewhere she could afford.

Daisy and Joel had waited in his car outside the house while Evie had gone in to grab her things.

“I’m dying to get another glimpse of this guy Nico,” Joel had said when Evie had been gone for a few minutes. “Can you believe I’ve only seen him once?”

“I don’t think he likes to mingle with we townies,” Daisy said. “Just my observation.”

Twenty minutes later Evie came out of the house and climbed into the back seat of Joel’s car.

“Was he there?” Joel asked.

“Taking a beauty nap,” Evie replied, with the ghost of a smile. “I could hear the snoring.”

The ride back to Willow Way was oddly silent. Daisy was pleased that Evie would be staying with her and her family, but the fact remained that the situation couldn’t last forever and what might happen once Evie moved on was kind of scary to think about. Evie, too, must have been thinking much the same thing. The future, what any of them could see of it, was murky.

After Joel had dropped them off, Daisy had introduced Evie to her sisters and to Allie, and had then shown her to what would be her room. She had just left Evie to put away her things, which certainly wouldn’t take long as she had so little with her, just one large backpack. No iPad. Only two pairs of socks and two pairs of jeans. No books. Watching Evie pull her few belongings from the backpack it had occurred to Daisy for the first time that Evie, who wasn’t a permanent resident of Yorktide, might not be eligible for something as ubiquitous as a library card. She had never thought about the fact that someone might be denied a library card. Why should she have? Well, Daisy thought, assuming Evie did want to read, she had come to the right house! They were tripping over books in the Higgins homestead.

Daisy stopped in the upstairs hall outside of what had once been her parents’ bedroom. The door was closed. She hesitated for a moment and then she opened the door and went inside. It was the first time she had been in the room since she had taken her grandfather’s tiepin from the safe. A quick glance around the bedroom and the adjoining bathroom told her that Poppy hadn’t made any major changes. There was a lamp she had brought with her from her Boston apartment, and she seemed to have replaced the bedding—neither Annabelle nor Oliver would have chosen the pattern that Poppy had chosen. Daisy’s parents might walk into the room at any moment and find themselves at home.

It was a disconcerting thought, but Daisy realized that only weeks ago such a notion—her father alive and well and walking into his bedroom—would have sent her spiraling into grief. But now . . . The loss of her father didn’t hurt quite as much as it had. Yes, a melancholic sadness still haunted her, but it wasn’t as sharp and biting as it had been. Her grief had mellowed, probably for several reasons. One of which, Daisy thought, might be her new friendship with Evie, and the sense it brought with it that she was doing good for someone.

Daisy quietly opened her father’s closet. It was a waste, really, all those expensive, beautifully tailored shirts and suits, the cashmere sweaters and silk ties, the leather shoes handmade for him in Italy. All just sitting there, tucked away and unseen. She closed the closet and moved over to his dresser. She opened the top drawer and looked down at the neatly folded linen handkerchiefs, all of which bore his initials in elaborate embroidery. His wallet was there, too. His house keys. And a stack of thin leather bookmarks Daisy had made at summer camp one year. She picked up one of the bookmarks—appropriately enough she had tooled a daisy onto its surface—and thought it might be okay if she took it to her own room to use. Carefully, she closed the drawer again and slipped the bookmark into her back pocket.

Poppy had been given so much responsibility, and with so little warning. Maybe, Daisy thought now, she could offer to be the one to go through their father’s clothes and select what would go to charity. As long as Poppy didn’t take her offer of help as criticism of her own failure to handle the chore . . . Wait, Daisy thought. She would wait a bit before suggesting that she would deal with their father’s clothing. The truth was she wasn’t entirely sure that she was ready, either.

One step at a time. And the next thing on Daisy’s agenda was chili, which with Allie’s coaching, Poppy had really mastered. Daisy left her parents’ old room—Poppy’s room now—careful to close the door behind her.