The Vineyard (25 page)

Olivia had never seen a spread like it. There were fish chowder
and clam chowder, both creamy with beads of butter floating on top. There were lobster salad, lobster Newburg, and lobster tails. There was skewered shrimp. There were grilled steaks and steaming corn on the cob. There were hamburgers and hot dogs, cole slaw and potato salad. There were molasses-heavy Boston baked beans.

Olivia filled her plate and went to check on Tess. The child was eating a hamburger on the dock, at the very edge of the circle of children. She had her back to Olivia, which was probably good. Olivia's heart would have broken in two if she had seen turned-down lips or a woebegone expression.

In that instant, Olivia would have gladly turned back the clock to the time when Tess was a toddler. She might have rescued her then. She couldn't do it now. Tess was too old.

Struggling with the helplessness of that thought, Olivia found a seat on the deck with the Asquonset group, and it was everything she had hoped it would be. She liked these people. She fit right in. Natalie kept her close, making her feel wanted and needed.

But she kept feeling little bits of sadness, like a nagging ache in the back of her mind that she had to actively concentrate on to identify.

The first was the most obvious. It had to do with Tess.

The second was more surprising. It had to do with what Natalie had told her that day. Something about this most recent part of the story had been more real than other parts. It was the fact that death had entered the picture, she supposed. There was nothing at all romantic about death.

She barely knew Brad. He hadn't played a major part in Natalie's teenage years. Olivia had certainly heard more about Carl than she had about Brad. Still, his death stuck with her.

Actually, what stuck with her was Natalie's stricken look. That was what nagged.

The third little bit of sadness was more dismaying. It had to do with Simon, who had lost a good part of his family to the sea and was off somewhere, sitting alone.

Well, that's his choice,
she reminded herself, but it didn't make her feel better.

Nor did Tess's appearance right about the time when people were heading to the buffet for seconds. She leaned against Olivia's chair, appearing to settle in.

“How's it going, honey?” Olivia asked.

Tess shrugged.

“Did you eat?”

The child nodded.

“Where are the kids?”

She moved her head in a way that could have indicated any direction at all, but her eyes settled somewhere else. Following them, Olivia saw Sandy Adelson heading their way. She wore a long flowing dress and had a flower in her hair. She was holding the hand of a boy Olivia hadn't seen before. He was an inch or two taller than Tess, and had straight dark hair and serious eyes.

Tess murmured out of the side of her mouth, “If she's bringing him over here as a consolation prize, I'll never forgive her.”

“Smile,” Olivia whispered and rose from her seat. It was the most natural thing in the world for her to give Sandy a hug. Then she stood back and studied the boy. “This is the most gorgeous guy in this room.” When his cheeks reddened, she held out a hand. “I'm Olivia.”

“This is my grandson Seth,” Sandy said proudly. “We thank you for the compliment.” She tapped the boy's cheek and, when he looked at her, said, “Olivia works at Asquonset, and this is her daughter, Tess. They live in Cambridge. They're here for the summer.”

Nodding his understanding, the boy gave them each a short wave.

“Seth and his parents live in Concord,” Sandy said. “That's not far from Cambridge. They're down for the weekend. I'm hoping Seth will stay on for a while.”

Seth was looking at Tess like he wanted to say something but didn't dare. It was only when he tapped Sandy's arm and signed something that Olivia realized he was deaf.

She didn't dare look at Tess, lest they make something of it.

“Seth wonders if you know the Border Café.”

“I know it,” Tess said.

Seth signed something.

Sandy interpreted. “It's his favorite restaurant.” When the boy looked up at her and signed something else, she signed quickly back. “He's waiting for dessert,” she explained. “I swear, that's the only reason for coming here, as far as Seth is concerned. They do make-your-own sundaes, with a dozen different ice creams and every topping imaginable. Want to make one with us?” she asked Tess.

Tess touched her stomach. “I don't think I can. I'm stuffed.”

“How about later, then? My dad—Seth's great-grandpop—has a beautiful old Chris-Craft. He's taking it out so that we can watch the fireworks from the water.”

Olivia was about to accept the invitation when a ruckus arose from the far side of the deck. A mime was there, balanced on a single foot on the top plank of the deck, looking for all the world as though he was on a thin wire suspended dozens of feet off the ground.

Sandy shot Olivia an excited smile and drew Seth in that direction.

Olivia was about to follow when Tess held her back.

“I'm not going with them,” she said.

“Why not?” Olivia asked. “It sounds like great fun.”

“Yeah? Well, he's deaf.”

Olivia blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I can't talk with him. He's
deaf.”

“Watching fireworks doesn't require talking. This isn't a fix-up, Tess. It's just a boat ride.”

“Yeah, but the only reason she's inviting me is because the other kids didn't ask me to go with them.”

“I don't think that's true. She's simply inviting us to do something that sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It doesn't sound like it to me. It sounds like she's putting the dyslexic one with the deaf one. I'm not
that
desperate.”

Olivia stared at her daughter. “I can't believe you said that.”

Tess didn't take it back.

Olivia put a hand to her chest. “I can't
believe
you said that.” Suddenly, she was rip-roaring mad. She had the good sense to take Tess by the hand and pull her outside to the parking lot, but that was where her consideration ended. Rounding on her, she said, “I am appalled at you, Tess.
Appalled.
What's wrong with that boy?”

Tess pushed up her glasses. “He's deaf.”

“And you're dyslexic. And I'm a slow writer. And Sandy is free spirited. And Natalie is seventy-six. There's nothing wrong with that boy that lip-reading and signing don't fix. He's not
inferior
any more than
you
are. Isn't that what I've been trying to teach you all these months, all these
years?
You're not inferior. You learn in a different way from most kids, but there's nothing inferior about it. The end result will be the same. You'll grow up just like they will and go to college and have a career. So that boy speaks in a different way from
most kids. He'll grow up doing the same things as you. My God, Tess. You, of
all
people, should know better than to look down your nose at someone who isn't quite like you.”

Tess didn't seem quite so cocky. Her arms were pressed to her sides. Her chin was lower.

“And what about compassion?” Olivia cried. “That little boy can't
hear
. He can't hear songs. He can't hear words. He can't hear the chirps of those baby birds in the vineyard. He can't hear Henri purring. He wakes up in the dark of night and has to rely on his eyes to tell him if there's someone in his room. He has to work twice as hard to get the same thing out of life that you do.”

Tess's chin sank even lower. Her eyes were woeful through her glasses. “I wanted to be with the other kids.”

“Because they're popular? That's not a good reason. Popularity is skin deep, Tess. It's substance that counts.”

“Not at my age,” Tess muttered.

“At
any
age!” Olivia argued. She pushed a hand through her hair, started to turn away, then came back and leaned into the argument. “Compared to that child, you're pretty lucky. Can't you see that? No, you can't, because you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself.” She straightened. “Well, listen up, Tess. You have a choice. You can sit around feeling sorry for yourself and blaming every little problem you have on being a slow reader, or you can move on. It isn't the dyslexia that's causing you the trouble with these kids. They don't
know
you're dyslexic. What they
do
know is that you have a chip on your shoulder a mile wide.”

She was suddenly exhausted. Taking a tired breath, she let her hands fall to her sides. “I love you, Tess. I love you with all my heart. If you were to tell me you don't like Seth because he's snobby or self-centered or … or even
geeky,
I could accept it. But to tell me you don't like him because he's deaf?” She shook her head slowly and definitively.

Then she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. When she looked at Tess again, the child seemed contrite. “Does what I've said make any sense?”

She waited, staring, until Tess said a quiet “yes.”

The victory was empty. Olivia felt drained. She inhaled again. Quietly, she said, “I think I've about had it. How about we go back?” She gestured for Tess to come. “Let's thank Natalie.”

They had barely reached the clubhouse door when Jill appeared. She looked relieved to see them. “I was worried you'd left.”

“We're about to. I was just going to let Natalie know. You look beat.”

“Slightly,” she said, easing down onto a wood bench. “I'll wait here.”

“We won't be long.”

Olivia went searching for Natalie. She was still upset enough with Tess not even to look at the child when they passed the lines of people waiting to make their own sundaes. Tess would have loved that. She deserved to miss it.

Natalie and Carl were sitting with friends on the outside deck. The sun spilled lower over the water now, but it would be another hour yet before dusk.

Olivia squatted beside Natalie's chair. “We're heading back,” she said softly. “I just wanted to thank you. This has been lovely.”

“Aren't you staying for the fireworks?”

Smiling, Olivia shook her head. “I'm tired. I'm taking Jill back with me. I guess it's been a long day for her.”

“Want to drop her off and come back?” Natalie asked hopefully.

Olivia loved her for the genuine enthusiasm. It was so
nice
to feel wanted—so nice that she was tempted to change her mind. But Natalie was with her friends, and the others from the vineyard were with
their
friends, and maybe, just maybe, Olivia was still feeling a little like the outsider.

“Thanks, but no,” she said gently and was rising when Sandy Adelson materialized.

“There you are,” Sandy said. “Tess says you're heading home. Do you mind if she comes with us? I'll be glad to drop her home afterward.”

Sure enough, there was Tess, standing on one side of Sandy. Seth was on the other.

Olivia's first instinct was to decline the invitation on behalf of her daughter. Tess didn't deserve to see the fireworks, much less from the deck of a boat belonging to these good people, not after what she had said.

But she did look contrite—a little shamefaced as she looked up at Olivia—not to mention unsure. And Seth had a hopeful look on his handsome face.

“I really want to go on the boat,” Tess said, sounding as though she meant every word.

It did cross Olivia's mind, in a moment of cynicism, that given a choice between the boat and a furious mother, Tess was choosing the lesser of the evils. The bottom line, though, was that Olivia wanted Tess to go on that boat.

To Sandy, she said, “Will it be much out of your way to drop her at the house?”

“Nope.” Grinning, Sandy hooked an elbow around each child's neck. “We're off.”

Fifteen
 

“S
O, WHAT DO YOU THINK
about Natalie and Carl?” Olivia asked Jill as they drove back to the vineyard.

Jill's head lay against the headrest. “I think it's fine,” she said, sounding exhausted. “It's not like she's cheating on Al. He died. She's free to remarry.” She snorted. “Easy for me to say. He wasn't my father.”

“What was he like?”

“He was fun, very social. A schmoozer, if you know what I mean. Had things been different, he might have been a politician.” She spoke fondly. “He was good with names and faces. He could forget his own wedding anniversary, but if he had met a man five years before, he would go right up, call him by name, and shake hands.”

“That's a remarkable skill.”

“I saw him do it more than once. He used to visit Greg and me in Washington. We'd be at a restaurant; he'd see a familiar face across the room and leave us and go visit. If the man was a veteran, so much the better. Al could stand for hours talking about the war. Mind you, it'd be a one-way conversation. Most men who fought in the trenches didn't want to relive it. For Al, it was a thing of great pride. Not that he was in the trenches.”