Tides (2 page)

His eyes settled on the photos that almost entirely covered the far wall. Their gold-painted frames glowed against the drab whitewash. A picture of Noah on the day he was born hung there, as well as the blurry photo of Lo that the Chinese orphanage had sent over a few months before her adoption. A formal portrait from their parents’ wedding held a prominent spot, too. There were a few bigger frames around the edges that displayed yellowing pages cut from old magazines. They were clothing advertisements featuring a much younger Gemm. Noah had forgotten that she used to be a model.

Gemm looked beautiful in every one, but blank somehow, as if she’d been whitewashed too. There was something hollow in her brightest smiles. Noah thought about how she looked now: strong and weathered, present, happy. He preferred this Gemm, the Gemm he knew.

Noah turned back when he heard the squeak of Maebh’s chair.

“I must leave now,” she said in her faint, unplaceable accent. “It was wonderful to meet you, children. Goodbye.”

Noah nodded at her politely and returned her goodbye. “It was nice to meet you, too,” he said, even though he really thought she was a little strange to sit so quietly all evening and then cry at a fairy tale.

“Goodbye, Maebh,” Lo said, rising from her chair. She shook the older woman’s hand, and just for that moment, Noah thought she looked like a grown woman too.

Then Lo turned to Gemm and asked, “You are going to finish the story, aren’t you?” Maebh winced a little, and the grown-up spell was broken. Lo was his bumbling little sister again.

Gemm glanced at her friend and smiled sadly. “It’s getting late,” she said. “I’ll just show Maebh out.”

Arm in arm, they walked outside.

A gust of wind rushed through the open door and whistled over Noah and Lo. They found a warmer spot on the old pink couch by the stairs.

“How can it still be cold in June?” Lo asked.

Noah laughed and tossed her the nubby blanket that hung over the couch’s worn armrest. Their dad probably would have made a crack about Lo being insulated against the cold. She had been such a skinny baby, he’d say. Was New Hampshire really so much colder than China that she had to get fat just to keep warm?

Noah tried to push down the anger that rose in his chest whenever he thought about his father and Lo. It was one more reason he was glad he could take them both away from their parents for the summer.

Lo had a still, sad look on her face, and Noah guessed she was remembering their dad’s “jokes” too.

He cleared his throat. “I’m hungry.” His back popped as he stood and stretched. He heard the door open again.

“I’ve got just the remedy,” Gemm said, pushing the door closed behind her. She didn’t lock it—but then, thought Noah, why would she need to? Hers was the only house on the island.

She pulled a bag of chocolate chip cookies from the cupboard. Noah pretended he didn’t see Lo close her eyes.

Gemm opened the bag, and a sweet pastry smell puffed into the air. “I ordered these special from the mainland,” she said. “They’re from my favorite bakery.” She pulled a large, golden, chocolate-studded cookie out of the bag and offered it to Lo.

Lo sighed. She took the cookie and stuffed it in her mouth, already looking guilty.

“Not like that, sweetie,” said Gemm. “These are special. Savor them.” She took a small bite. “Delicious.”

Lo’s tears didn’t quite come, but they shivered over her eyes like a rising tide. She wrapped the heavy wool blanket around her body and shuffled up the stairs.

Gemm opened her mouth to call after her, then closed it again. She looked at Noah, and he shook his head. Gemm raised her eyebrows but turned away, saying nothing.

Great,
he thought.
This summer is off to a perfect start.

two

S
UMMER
was coming, and the islands were filling again.

Mara’s shirttails spun in the wind, exposing, now and again, the strong muscles of her thighs. She tightened the knot on the length of frayed rope around her waist.

There were maybe fifty people on the lawn in front of the Oceanic Hotel, more than there had been this time last year, she was sure. For at least the tenth time since she’d arrived on Star Island that afternoon, Mara wished she could join them. But it was a stupid idea—what would she have to say? Besides, her family didn’t like her to draw attention to herself.

She wrapped her arms around her waist to ward off the June breezes, still cold when they really got going. The Isles of Shoals were rocky and sparse, without even a grove of trees to soften the wind. She could see nearly all of Star Island and the eight other isles around it: the hotel, the fishermen’s houses, the science center on Appledore, the lighthouse on White.

She pulled on the hem of the buttoned men’s shirt she wore as a dress, wiggling her toes in her too-small sandals. She envied the tourist children their perfectly fitted clothes and shoes. Mara had only one outfit—she contemplated the word with amusement—that fit right, and it wasn’t much use on land.

Smoke rose from a barbecue pit near the hotel kitchen. Curls of scent, bitter and fleshy and sweet, wafted over to her. She wished she could stay for dinner.

She scanned the groups of people that wandered over the island. The youngest children toddled between cooing guardians with outstretched arms, and their older siblings played soccer or lounged on the grass with stacks of summer reading. Teenagers milled around the edges of things, laughing and whispering to one another.

Mara took three steps toward them before she managed to stop herself. She knew the pleasure of a new friend wouldn’t be worth the risk it involved. Tourists tended to find her a little too charming, a little too “local color.” Her accent caused trouble, too. Better just to stay out of it.

The salt was dry on her skin now, and the sky was almost dark. Mara told herself it was time to go. She wanted a swim before she went home, and her brother would be cross if she didn’t return soon to help him with the younglings.

She crept to Miss Underhill’s Chair, the rocky outcropping on the northeast side of Star. She watched a fishing boat come around the side of the island, trailing a large net. As it crossed in front of her, the man at the wheel met her eyes. She waited for him to pass.

Once she made sure she was alone, she climbed down the steep rocks, into the shadows.

She tucked her shirt, sandals, and belt into the crevice she found there, the one she always used. She wished she had something better to wear, but there hadn’t been much left behind at the end of last summer, and Mara hated to steal outright. She’d just have to hope someone would leave behind a pair of shorts or a sundress when the hotel closed in the autumn.

Autumn.
Mara wrinkled her nose. The islands were safer when summer ended, when most people were gone, but they were boring.

She sat on a rock and shrugged her body down into the water. It felt light and sweet against her skin, like kisses, or what she thought kisses must feel like. There wasn’t much opportunity for kissing when she couldn’t talk to people outside her family.

Mara slipped the rest of the way under, letting the cold water stop her thoughts.

She pushed off from the rocks and swam away.

three

L
O
woke up early.

Her phone whined at her from the dresser across the room, where she’d put it so she couldn’t just turn it off and keep sleeping. She sighed into her pillow.

She heard Noah groan from behind the folding screen that divided the guest room. Guilt got her up then—she didn’t want to wake him up at this ungodly hour just because she had work to do. Let him sleep a little longer.

She pulled herself out of bed, shuffled over to her dresser, and picked up the phone. It took a few moments to find the right button, her eyes still bleary with sleep. When the electric bleating finally stopped, the silence filled the room.

Then Noah let out a great rattling snore. Lo smiled. She didn’t need to worry about waking him up—he’d once slept through the smoke detector alarm when they were kids.

Lo pulled a shirt out of the second drawer and laid it, still folded, on her bed. She repeated the process with every other item of clothing she needed until she had a neat pile of fabric stacked on the blankets, a Cubist version of her outfit for the day. She closed her eyes when she put on her clothes, tugging them up her legs or over her head and trying not to think about it. She could feel the rough edge against her neck where she’d cut the size tag off her shirt. She wiggled her shoulders to get rid of the itch, but it didn’t help.

Lo really meant to walk downstairs right then, but there was a mirror hanging on the door, and her reflection caught her as she tried to leave. She saw a glimpse of double chin and round cheeks before she tore herself away. She started to slam the door shut, then remembered her still-sleeping brother and grandmother. She could hear the mirror laughing at her as she gently closed the door.

The sunrise glow coming in downstairs made her feel a little better. She looked out the north window, and her breath caught.

From here the isles seemed set in a circle, like a crown. The air was so clear that everything—the buildings, the grass, the rocks—looked closer and farther away at the same time. The rising sun turned it all golden or shadow blue. Only the water was solid, impenetrable, and it sparkled like metal under the sky.

Lo opened the window, and the kitchen breathed in air and light. She smiled.

She thought about eating breakfast, then told herself she wasn’t that hungry. She put a kettle on the stove for tea instead.

Her real reason for waking up early waited for her by the door. She dug through her backpack, the one bag she hadn’t bothered to bring upstairs when they’d arrived yesterday. Two of Noah’s bags still lay slumped against the wall, half open, his socks and shirts spilling out. She sighed and poked his clothes back into place.

She took out her sketchbook and a few thick sheets of watercolor paper, stacking them neatly on the table. Her pencil set came next, and a small box of paints.

Lo’s fingers lingered over the different pencils, and she chose one of the lightest for her first sketches. She looked around the kitchen, searching for a good subject.

The kettle whistled. She got up to take it off the heat—and Maebh appeared at the top of the stairs, coming out of Gemm’s bedroom.

Lo jumped, and the empty mug in her hands clattered to the floor.

Maebh stepped back, and a worried line deepened between her eyebrows. With one hand, she pulled her green bathrobe tighter around her chest. Lo knew that robe—her mother had sent it to Gemm for Christmas a few years ago. Maebh’s other hand stayed behind her back.

Silence flooded the room.

Maebh cleared her throat. “You’re up early, dear.”

Lo looked down. “You, too.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. Inside, she was remembering things, working things out.

Ever since she could remember, her mother had called Gemm unfeeling, irresponsible, and selfish. Lo figured out a long time ago that that was mostly because Gemm and Gramps got divorced when Mom was in college, and Mom had sided with Gramps. Lo still didn’t know the reasons behind the divorce, and she’d never felt a pressing need to find out.

But now Maebh stood in front of her, wrapped in Gemm’s bathrobe, on the threshold of Gemm’s bedroom. The casual expression Lo was trying to maintain slipped off.

She grinned at Maebh as if the woman were a winning lottery ticket. Finally, she understood. Lo tried to wipe the smile off her face. She couldn’t.

Maebh still trembled in the doorway. Lo thought she saw a chagrined sparkle in her eyes, but it quickly faded.

“Well.” Maebh let out a long breath. “You look to have figured everything out right quickly, Lo.” She tilted her head to one side, a look of pleading on her face. “Dolores was hoping to tell you. She didn’t want to keep secrets. She just thought she would test the waters first, if you will.”

Lo knew Maebh was trying to ask her for something, but she didn’t know what. Her blessing? Forgiveness? She thought for a moment before speaking again. “I thought she must be very lonely, out here by herself. I’m glad she has you.” She offered Maebh a gentle smile and received one in return.

“She is a bit lonely sometimes. I have a family to look after, myself.”

Lo remembered how silently Maebh had appeared. She realized she had been trying to slip out. “Please don’t let me keep you,” she said. Fascinating as this had been, Lo was eager to open her sketchbook and get back to work. It was easier to ignore her hunger when she was drawing.

Maebh walked down the stairs. She paused for a moment at the bottom of the steps, then crossed the rest of the space between them. Lo noticed for the first time how small Maebh was. The top of her head barely came up to Lo’s ears.

“She loves you very much, you know,” said Maebh. “She’s missed you both.” She put a light, soft hand on Lo’s cheek. For a moment, under Maebh’s gaze, Lo felt as if she could do no wrong. It was a strange feeling.

Maebh nodded, as if Lo had passed some test. She turned, silent—still wearing Gemm’s robe—and walked out the door.

Strange, Lo thought, to wear a bathrobe outside—but maybe Maebh was going swimming. Anyway, it certainly wasn’t the strangest thing about that morning. She sat once more and opened her sketchbook—and realized the teakettle was still whistling. She got up and was just filling an infuser with Earl Grey when she heard another creak on the stairs.

It was Noah, still in his pajamas, his sandy hair sticking out in every direction. He hated mornings even more than Lo did. She doubted he even noticed her standing there as he slunk toward the cottage’s one bathroom, towel and shampoo in hand.

Lo heard the click and swish of the shower turning on. The white noise wanted to lull her back to sleep, but she returned to the table and picked up her pencil again.

She was still looking for the right thing to draw when Noah reappeared. He was fully dressed now, with his unruly hair tamed, at least for the time being. He had always been tall and lanky, his arms and legs too long for his frame, but it was starting to suit him. Lo was glad her friends wouldn’t see him this summer. They tended to moon over him a little too much.