Summer's Child (27 page)

D
ARIA WALKED OUT OF THE TREATMENT ROOM IN THE NEARLY
empty ER. Rory, who had been waiting on one of the chairs in the hallway, stood when he saw her.

“They’re going to be all right,” Daria said, walking toward him.

“Both of them?” Rory asked.

Daria nodded. The woman had not looked good in the ambulance, but after two hours in the treatment room she was breathing on her own and alert enough to ask about her son.

“Thank God,” Rory said, and he drew her into a hug. Daria closed her eyes, resting her cheek against his shoulder for a moment before pulling away.

“You’re soaking wet.” She brushed her hand over the damp front of his shirt.

“How can you tell?” he asked. “So are you.”

Her wet clothes clung to her body, but she had not given them a thought until this moment. Suddenly, she felt cold.

“There’s nothing more we can do here,” she said. “Woody—the EMT—said he can give us a ride home.”

She sat in the passenger seat of Woody’s car, barely noticing how the wind pushed them around on the deserted roads. Shingles and twigs flew against the car’s windows, and she
didn’t even blink when they hit the glass in front of her face. Woody and Rory were talking, about the storm or the hospital; Daria didn’t know or care. She felt shaky and strange. She still hadn’t absorbed all that Chloe had told them earlier that evening—that conversation seemed like a bad dream from weeks ago. And then there was the revelation about Shelly and Andy. She did not truly know either of her sisters.

Woody let them out in front of the Sea Shanty. At least two of the porch screens were torn, flapping wildly in the wind like a trapped bird.

Rory leaned close to her ear. “I should check on Poll-Rory while I’m out here,” he said.

Daria stared at the front door of the dark Sea Shanty, not wanting to go inside, not ready to explain the past few hours to Chloe, if she happened to be up. “I’ll go with you,” she said, shouting above the wind.

Rory nodded. He put his arm around her and they plowed their way across the cul-de-sac.

Inside Poll-Rory, the darkness was disorienting, and the wind groaned and whistled. Daria stood in the living room, feeling lost and cold. The storm had brought frigid air with it, and she shivered in her wet clothes. Her sore finger throbbed. Rory tried the switch for the overhead light, but the power was, of course, still out.

He shined his flashlight toward a cupboard at the rear of the room. “I have a lantern in that closet,” he said. “And matches in the drawer in the kitchen. Why don’t you take care of that, and I’ll find us some dry clothes to change into.”

He disappeared into one of the bedrooms, and, by the weak, yellow beam of her own flashlight, Daria found the lantern, checked the oil and lit the wick. In a moment, Rory reappeared. He handed her a bundle of soft fabric and pointed
toward another bedroom. “Why don’t you change in there. There are towels in the bathroom.”

The wet clothes stuck to her body like a thin layer of cold plaster. She peeled them off, underwear and all, and hung them over the shower rod in the bathroom. Rory had given her one of his sweatshirts, either navy blue or black, she couldn’t tell which in the fading glow from her flashlight, along with gray sweatpants that were way too large for her. She put the clothes on over her bare skin, tried unsuccessfully to run her fingers through her wet hair and walked into the living room.

Rory, too, was in sweatpants and sweatshirt, standing in the middle of the room, holding the lantern. He smiled at her. “Feel better?” he asked.

“Physically,” she said, sitting down on the sofa. “But I’m…still pretty shaken up by everything that happened tonight.”

“How about something to drink?” he asked. “Power’s out, so I can’t make anything hot. There’s iced tea. Wine. Beer.”

“Wine.” She rested her head against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes while he carried the lantern into the kitchen. A moment later, he handed her a glass of wine, and she took several sips from it before placing it on the coffee table.

Setting the hurricane lantern next to her glass, Rory sat down near Daria on the sofa. He looked toward the boarded windows, which rattled in the wind. “I have a feeling there’s still more to come,” he said. “I wonder what part of the storm is over us now?”

“We’ve been spared, so far,” Daria said. “Let’s hope it continues that way. I wish Shelly weren’t right there on the sound, though.” She looked at Rory. “Why have my sisters kept their lives secret from me?” she asked, hoping Rory didn’t hear the catch in her voice. “I thought I knew both of them so well.
I thought I knew everything about them, that they loved me and trusted me and knew I’d be there for them, no matter what. I failed them somehow. And I feel…betrayed and hurt and just plain confused.”

Rory rested his arm across the back of the sofa and touched her shoulder with his fingertips. “Well, Chloe could hardly tell anyone what was going on with her and Sean Macy,” he said. “And Shelly…” He looked away from her, toward the dark ceiling, as if this was difficult for him to say. “I remember you telling me that you were pleased she wasn’t involved with anyone. And you told me you put an end to a couple of relationships she’d had. So, I don’t think it’s surprising that she would keep this relationship from you.”

Daria lowered her head. She wasn’t certain what she would have done had she known about Shelly and Andy. While she didn’t think she would have tried to end their relationship, she no doubt would have intervened to make sure that Andy treated her sister well. “I thought Shelly was content with her life,” she said. “I thought she wanted nothing more than long walks on the beach and stringing shells for her necklaces.” How could she have wanted so little for her sister? “I thought I was giving her everything she needed. I didn’t know she needed more than what I could provide. I bet she was actually seeing Andy some of those times she told me she was out walking.”

“Well,” Rory said, “from the little I saw of them together tonight, it seems that Andy is taking good care of her.”

Images from the pier suddenly flashed into her mind: the little boy reaching for her hand from beneath the boat; the woman’s face as the water threatened to pull her under. “I’m glad you went with me tonight,” she said. “That mother and son wouldn’t have survived without your help. I think, somehow, we were meant not to evacuate. If we had, they would be dead.”

“Whew,” Rory said with a shudder. “I hadn’t thought of that.” His fingers touched her shoulder again, lingering there a moment, and she wanted to move closer to him to receive more. “I thought you were incredible,” he said. “I know you must have been afraid, since you haven’t worked as an EMT for a while, but you sure didn’t let it show. I couldn’t believe the way you just dived under that boat to get the little boy. You weren’t even thinking about yourself.
I
was more afraid for you than you were for yourself, I think. Then when the water washed over the woman…” He shook his head. “I thought it was going to drag all of us out into the sound.”

Daria smoothed a tear away from her cheek with her fingertips, and Rory must have known she was crying, because he moved closer, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“Did it remind you of…Grace’s daughter?” he asked. “Seeing the woman go underwater like that, when she was trapped by the boat?”

It touched her deeply that he was thinking of that, that he understood so well. Lowering her face to her hands, she let the tears come.

Rory stroked her hair, letting her cry for a minute, then pulled her into his arms. She felt his warmth and strength, the seductive comfort of his embrace. They were quiet for a moment and, as her tears abated, she became aware of the pressure of his arm against the side of her breast, bare beneath the sweatshirt. The sensation was delicious and provocative, and before she had time to think, she lifted her head from his shoulder and found his mouth with her lips. She felt his surprise; for a second, his body stiffened. Then he reached between their faces with his fingers, drawing back from her to look into her eyes, to touch her lips. In a moment, he was kissing her again, this time with a fever she had not expected. Impulsively, she straddled him, catching her breath when she
felt his erection, already hard, already teasing her, from beneath the layers of soft fabric that separated them. His hands stroked her back through the sweatshirt, and she was the one to pull the shirt over her head and drop it to the floor. But he needed no more invitation than that to take over—to lay her down on the sofa, finish undressing her, cover her body with heated kisses. He slipped inside her and rocked with her in the lantern-lit darkness, until her body burned and the howling of the wind was forgotten.

She lay next to him, naked, afterward, and he reached over her to lift pieces of their clothing from the floor and lay them across their bodies, rubbing her arms and back through the fabric to warm her. Brimming with love for him, she turned her head to press her lips against the warm, quick pulse in his neck.

“Do you realize how long we’ve known each other?” Rory asked. “I think I’ve known you longer than anyone else, outside my family.”

Daria smiled. “Who would have guessed back when we were kids, pulling crabs out of the bay, that we’d be lying here like this right now?” she said.

“I admired you back then, just like I admire you now. You were so strong and self-confident. I always felt as though I was in competition with you, even though you were younger than me. You were the best at everything. You caught more crabs, you could cast your fishing line the farthest, you could wallop anybody at volleyball and build the highest sand castle on the beach. You were something else.” He gave her a squeeze. “You still are.”

She felt his lips press against her temple. “I had an agonizing crush on you back then,” she said.

Rory laughed. “You did?” he asked. “I had no idea.
I
had a crush on Chloe.”

“Chloe?”
Daria repeated in astonishment. “She was so much older than you.”

“Yeah, well, I had big dreams,” Rory said. “And now she’s a nun.”

Daria laughed.

“I have to admit, she was never really my type,” he said. “She was just such a…knockout. It was the yearning of an adolescent male for the best-looking girl on the beach.”

Daria was quiet, thinking that some things never changed. Rory was still attracted to the best-looking girl on the beach: Grace. But she didn’t want to think about Grace just then. Surely what Rory now knew about Grace, not to mention what had just passed between him and Daria, had changed his feelings.

Rory suddenly squeezed her tight, letting out a long sigh. “I hope what we just did wasn’t a mistake,” he said.

The comfortable warmth she’d been feeling turned suddenly to ice. What did he mean? It was anything but a mistake to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not sure what got into me.”

“I kissed you first,” Daria said. “Remember?”

“Well, I’m sure that we were both just responding to what an emotional night it’s been. Let’s not let it harm our friendship. Okay?”

The pain she felt was physical, in her throat, in her chest. He didn’t have a clue what this had meant to her. He could rationalize it all away. She sat up and pulled on the sweatshirt and pants, feeling his eyes on her, his hand on her back, and she wondered if he felt the icy tension coursing through her muscles.

“Well, Rory,” she said, standing up. “This may have been nothing more than a response to an emotional evening for
you
, but for me it was something much more. I’m in
love
with you.
Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Without waiting for his response, she turned and left the cottage, running as fast as the wind would let her across the cul-de-sac to the Sea Shanty.

G
RACE STARED OUT THE MOTEL WINDOW, AND HER EYES ACHED
from trying to pierce the darkness and the rain. Where was Rory? Where was
Shelly?
She was certain she’d heard Rory correctly when he’d told her the name of the motel where they were planning to wait out the storm. She’d checked and rechecked the name and number. Every time a new car pulled into the motel parking lot, she followed it with her eyes, hoping, hoping. She wondered if somehow she had missed them, and they were in the motel, after all, maybe just down the hall from her. She would have loved to call the front desk and ask if Rory Taylor had kept his reservation, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t alone in the room.

“Do you want any of this?” Eddie’s voice came from behind her, where he was sitting on the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was eating chow mein from a carton.

“No, thanks.” She returned her gaze to the window, although by now she knew her vigilance was futile. For one reason or another, they weren’t coming.
Dear God, let Shelly be all right.

Eddie finished the chow mein and put the empty carton on the nightstand.

“Grace,” he said, “you’ve been standing at that window all night. Who are you waiting for?” He spoke so softly that she barely heard him above the sound of the storm. There was no accusation in his voice, only the gentle question.

“No one.” She walked over to the chair at the side of the room and sat down, giving up. “Just watching the storm,” she said. It had shocked her to discover that Eddie had followed her all the way from Rodanthe. She’d been angry at first to find him at her motel-room door, but now that she realized Shelly and Rory weren’t coming, she was glad she was not alone. Eddie had said nothing about why she had picked a motel so far from Rodanthe, and she’d offered no explanation. Now he shifted his position on the bed, and she knew that he wanted to talk.

He leaned toward her. “I love you, Grace,” he said. “And I need to know what’s going on. I’m worried about you. If it’s another medical problem, we’ll work it out. Please let me in on what’s troubling you.” He was pleading with her, and she felt cruel. “It’s more than Pam,” Eddie said. “It
has
to be. Why are you so secretive these days? Where are you spending so much of your time?”

Most men might guess that a woman so preoccupied, so absent from home, was having an affair; but Eddie knew better. He knew she had nothing to give anyone right now.

“I’m all right, Eddie,” she said. “I don’t want to talk about…me, or about anything, really. I just want to go to sleep. And I can’t sleep with you.” Her voice broke on the last word. The thought of lying next to her husband in bed was unbearable. Because she hated him. And because she loved him.

“I’ll ask them to bring in a cot,” he said, reaching for the phone.

After a silence-filled half hour, a housekeeper rolled a cot into the room. Grace undressed in the bathroom, and when she returned to the room, Eddie was already beneath the covers on the cot and had turned out the light.

“I love you,” he said once she’d gotten into bed, and Grace squeezed her eyes shut, pretending the clamor of the storm had swallowed his words before she’d had a chance to hear them.

She tried not to think about anything—not about Shelly or the storm or about Eddie lying nearby. Yet her mind would not cooperate, and the memory of the modeling job in Maui came to her, quick, sharp and unbidden.

She remembered every miserable detail, even the sunburn. In the mirror above the marble-topped vanity, her shoulders glowed a fiery red. It was a good thing that day had been the final shoot, because her skin would not hold up to another day of Hawaii’s burning sun. But that was not the only reason she was anxious for this job to be over.

She had made great strides in her modeling career, garnering enough attention and positive commentary at the age of seventeen that she’d been hired for this photo shoot in Hawaii, along with three other models from Brad’s agency. It was her big chance, and she’d been thrilled with the opportunity. Right from the start of the trip, though, she knew she was in trouble.

She’d sat with Brad on the plane. It was always that way. The other models would hang out together, while she would be with Brad. The girls were jealous of her relationship with the head of the modeling agency, and they treated her coolly. She’d learned to stick close to the only person who cared about her—Brad. He was kind and tender, and although he told her repeatedly that he was in love with her, he never pressed her for anything more intimate then a warm embrace. Although his restraint confused her, she was grateful for it. She didn’t know how she would refuse someone who had done so much for her.

They had flown first class, of course, and the other models sat near them in the plane. The girls had bantered among themselves, talking openly and loudly about binging on sweets and throwing up, about sex and drugs. But the thing that had disturbed Grace most was that Brad had joined in the conversation. She was shocked to realize that he, too, used cocaine and popped pills. Somehow, he had kept that sickening fact hidden from her, but it was obvious that with these three more experienced models, all of whom seemed to know him well, he felt comfortable showing that side of himself. She’d felt small, scared and alone on the plane, and that feeling had only worsened during the five days in Maui. The only time she’d felt comfortable and confident was in front of the camera’s lens.

She slathered moisturizer over her sunburn and slipped into a short black dress with spaghetti straps for the party Brad was throwing in his suite that evening. She would have preferred to stay in her sumptuous hotel room and read for her last night in Maui, but she knew that part of her success as a model was dependent on her making an appearance at events like this one. She would cut out first chance she got.

By the time she got to Brad’s suite, it seemed that everyone was already high on something, and she felt nearly overcome by her social awkwardness.

“There she is!” Brad said as he moved through the crowd toward her. He held her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek, and she smelled the alcohol on his breath, although she guessed that alcohol was not all he had ingested.

She plastered a smile on her face as Brad moved her through the crowd, his arm around her waist. He introduced her to people and poured her a drink she knew she wouldn’t touch. She interpreted the gaze of the other models as envy and disdain and the stares of the photographers and makeup artists
as critical. The suite was smoke-filled; the music was too loud. She wondered how long she would have to stay.

“Come here,” Brad said, guiding her over to the side of the room. Joey, one of the photographers, was there.

“How’s my favorite model?” Joey asked. His eyes were glassy.

“Okay,” Grace said. She had thought that Joey was kind of cute. He had long, curly blond hair and pale blue eyes, and she’d felt some attraction to him the day before when he’d taken pictures of her on the beach. But now the glassy-eyed look, the small white speck of chip dip at the corner of his lips, turned her off.

Brad suddenly flattened his hand against her stomach. The pressure was not intense, but the gesture was intimate and took her off guard. She tried to gently remove his hand, but he only laced his fingers between hers and pressed closer to her, kissing her cheek.

“Brad,”
she said, feigning a laugh as she tried to pull away. She couldn’t budge, though, because Joey was pressing against her from the other side. He leaned over to nuzzle her neck, his blond hair tickling her chin. She was sandwiched between them, unsure how to extricate herself.

“Guys.”
She managed another weak laugh, as though amused by their attention. The truth was, she felt trapped. She was pinned against the wall by two men who were slobbering on her. Her head throbbed with the loud music and her throat burned from the smoke. She felt betrayed by Brad, who until this moment, had treated her with nothing but respect, but she tolerated their antics until Joey raised his hand to her breast. Instinctively, she flailed against their arms and stepped away from the wall.

Brad quickly took her hand. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he said, slipping his arm around her waist again. “Come here,” he said. “Come with me.”

He walked with her into his bedroom, which was shut off from the party, and she pulled in a breath of clean air.

“It’s better in here, huh?” he asked. “I’m so out of it tonight, I didn’t realize how bad it was out there.” He took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes. “Grace,” he said, “you know I love you, don’t you?” The scent of alcohol on his breath was nauseating.

“Yes, I know.” It came out as a whisper. She had a terrible feeling that he was finally going to ask her to sleep with him.

“Listen to what I’m going to tell you. Please. I’m on some medication, for a condition I have,” he said. “And it makes me…impotent. Do you know what that means?”

“You can’t have sex,” she said.

“That’s right.” His jaw was tight. “One of the shitty cards life dealt me. So this might sound kind of…kinky to you, but the way I get off is…” He winced, and she thought he looked embarrassed. “What I’m trying to say is, I want you to have sex with Joey and let me watch.”

She gasped.
“No,”
she said. “You’re crazy.” She started to walk away from him, but he caught her arm.

“I’m begging you, Grace,” he said.

“I barely know Joey,” she said. “And even if I was in love with him, I still wouldn’t let someone watch.”

“I know, I know. I know you’re not that kind of girl.” He smoothed his hand over her hair. “Sweet Grace,” he said, and she thought she saw tears in his eyes. “Please, Grace. I haven’t asked much of you, have I?”

He hadn’t. Up until now, he’d been nothing but generous and loving toward her.

“And I’ve done a lot for you, Grace,” he said. “I’m asking you to do just this one thing for me.”

She tried to remember how cute Joey had looked on the beach the day before, with the sun in his hair, and the way he’d
grin when she’d strike just the right pose. She closed her eyes, blocking her most recent image of him: the glassy eyes, the sloppy mouth. She was seventeen. Practically no one her age was still a virgin. Even Bonnie had done it a few times. What could it hurt?

She opened her eyes and looked at Brad. “All right,” she said. “But…the lights have to be really dim.”

Brad smiled. “You’re a good egg,” he said. “Wait here.”

She sat down on the bed. Her hands were damp and clammy, and she pressed them against her dress to dry them. What was she doing? She thought of all Brad had done for her. He’d paid for her classes. He’d charmed her mother into accepting her modeling. This was not such a huge favor. It was time she knew what it was like to make love to a man, anyhow. This just wasn’t the place—or the way—she’d expected to do it.

In a few minutes, Brad and Joey walked into the room. Neither of them said a word to her. Brad flipped off the lights, leaving just one dresser lamp burning, then sat in a chair in the corner. Joey instantly began unbuttoning his shirt, walking toward her.

She stood up and reached behind her back to unzip her dress, but Joey turned her around with a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll do that,” he said. He lowered the zipper, then slipped the spaghetti straps from her shoulders. As her dress fell to the floor, Joey pulled back the covers on Brad’s bed. Then he reached behind her back to unfasten her bra, glancing briefly at her bare breasts before lowering her panties.

“Hop in,” he said.

She did as she was told, glad to be covered over. Joey unbuckled his belt, unzipped his pants and lowered them to the floor, along with his shorts. She caught a glimpse of his penis, which looked impossibly huge, as he climbed into the bed next to her. When he kissed her, she shut her eyes, wondering if that speck of dip was still in the corner of his lips.

It lasted only a few minutes. Joey was not rough or mean, but he was mechanical and she felt nothing except fear and humiliation. She yelped when he entered her and gritted her teeth against the pain, praying that he would be quick. He was. When he was finished, he raised himself above her, smiling to the air, not to her. He climbed off her and out of the bed and dressed in silence. As he walked out of the room, Grace turned to look at the chair where Brad had been sitting. It was empty.

She dressed quickly and escaped from the suite without seeing Brad, without even looking for him. Once back in her own room, she took a long bath, too numb even to cry. She was in her robe, ready to get into bed, when someone knocked on her door. She froze.

“Grace?” It was Lucy, one of the other models. Not Brad. Not Joey. Breathing a sigh of relief, she opened the door a crack, and was surprised by the look of concern on Lucy’s face. “Are you all right?” Lucy asked.

Why would she ask her that? Did she know what had happened? Grace felt her cheeks burn. “I’m fine,” she said.

Lucy folded her arms across her chest. “You know, you’re one of us now,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“This is the way Brad pays off his debts,” she said.

“His debts?”

“He owed Joey for the coke. You were the payment.”

“I…don’t understand,” she said, although she was afraid she did.

“Yes, you do, honey,” Lucy said. “And you’d better get used to it.”

Humiliated and enraged, Grace quit the agency the moment she returned home. Facing her mother with that decision was
almost worse than facing Brad. Her mother was furious, and Grace did not dare tell her what had prompted her leaving. Both her mother and Brad tried to coerce her into sticking with her fledgling career, but she ignored their pleas.

Within a few months, she knew she was pregnant with the photographer’s child. Bonnie was the only person she told. She began to dress in loose, sloppy clothes, and everyone wondered what had happened to the beautiful, stylish model. But Grace no longer cared about her modeling career. She had something better: the child who was growing inside her. Finally, someone to love who would love her back, for herself, and who would not want anything more from her than that.