Local Girls : An Island Summer Novel (9781416564171) (29 page)

Suddenly it didn't feel right, knowing what Mona had done with the leaf. It was like looking inside of her, seeing someone she didn't want me to see.

I bent down, picked up the baggie, slipped it back into the pile of sweaters, and went downstairs to meet Henry. Only I didn't make it that far, because Mona was on her way upstairs and saw me before I could turn around.

“Hello, Kendra.” Mona reached for the banister to steady herself on the landing. “Enjoying the party?”

I proceeded down the steps toward Mona, taking my time. “It's really nice. Your mom did a great job.” I looked behind her to see if we were alone. “Are you with anyone?”

Mona moved to the center of the landing so that I couldn't get by her. “No, Kendra, my friends aren't here. Disappointed?”

“Why would I be disappointed?”

“That's why you're here, right? To prove to everyone that you can have what they can't? To show my friends that you're better than they are? To show
me
?”

“You can't be serious, Mona. That's not why I'm here,” I told her. “I actually wanted to talk to you about the other day.”

“What's there to talk about? You did it. Mission accomplished, Kendra.” She threw her hands up in the air and almost knocked herself backward. I'd only seen Mona this drunk once before, but then I'd found it sort of funny. This was entirely different.

“I don't know what you mean, Mona.”

“You did it, you got Henry. You did what none of my friends from Boston could do. You proved you're better than they are, that you could get what they couldn't. So what if he's my brother, right? So what if you know he's the only person who . . .” She didn't finish the sentence but I knew what she would have said. Henry was the only other person who understood about her dad.

“That's not the way it is, Mona. Look, can't we just talk about this?” I reached for her shoulder but she pulled away from me and lost her balance, landing on the bottom step.

“What's there to talk about, Kendra? It's obvious you don't give a rat's ass about me. You want me to be the same person I was a year ago when I left and it kills you that I'm not.”

“No, I don't. I just want you to be
you
.”

“Well,
me
gets to go places and do things I never got to do before. And,” she continued, “even if I didn't move away, I wouldn't have stayed the same person I was last August. And who are you to talk? You're a person I don't even know anymore.”

“That's not true, Mona. I'm still the same person I was when you left.”

“No, you aren't,” she told me. “When I left you weren't
dating my brother
.” I recoiled at the way she spit the last words out.

“What's going on?” Henry appeared holding two glasses of champagne. “Mona?”

“I was just talking with your girlfriend here.”

Henry shook his head at her. “Enough, Mona.”

“No, Henry, it's about time you know.” She turned to me. “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

I didn't even know what Mona was talking about, she wasn't making any sense. This whole night was a mess and I didn't know how to fix it, or if I even could. It was going to always be like this if I was with Henry, the doubt in Mona's mind, her distrust of me. It was becoming glaringly clear that I couldn't have both Henry and Mona. And after Labor Day I wouldn't even have Henry anymore.

“She's drunk, Henry.”

Mona wasn't letting that stop her. “Don't you think it's a little weird that all of a sudden Kendra thinks you're boyfriend material? That after all these years she finally figured out that she wants to be your girlfriend?”

“Mona, don't do this,” I practically pleaded. “You don't have to do this.”

“No, I think he should know.” Mona reached for the banister and pulled herself up so she was facing Henry. “Kendra just wanted to prove that she could get you, Henry. You're nothing more than her way of evening the score.”

“Look, I have to work tomorrow.” I pushed past Mona and ran into the kitchen and out the side door before Henry could stop me.

The crushed stone made its way into my sandals as I ran down the driveway, past the Mercedes and Jaguars toward Lexi's Honda. With each step the stones dug into my feet until they felt like glass slicing into my skin.

“Kendra, come on!” Henry was running after me, and even though I'd had a head start, he was right behind me by the time I reached the car.

“She's had too much champagne. Ignore her.” Henry put his arm around my shoulder but I shook it off.

“Forget it, Henry.” I fumbled for the keys I'd left under the front seat.

“Forget what?”

“Us, Henry. Forget us.”

The next morning it all seemed unreal. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Mona on the stairs, the hatred as she told Henry I'd been using him to even the score. I heard Henry's footsteps as he ran after me, felt the weight of his arm as I shook it off my shoulder. It all happened so fast, one thing after another, until it was over, all of it.

As I lay in bed Sunday morning I clutched my stomach, almost feeling like I was going to throw up. I hadn't planned to tell Henry it was over, but it had just become too difficult. And it wasn't just Mona. It was that I knew Henry wouldn't end it, even though you'd think he'd know better than anyone that what happens during the summer isn't meant to last.

I kept telling myself that, reminding myself that when it came right down to it, there was no good way for us to end. There was just an ending, and whether it happened now or in a few weeks when I waved good-bye at the ferry, it was going to happen. I'd just sped up the inevitable.

But even though it made sense, was completely rational given the situation, it didn't make it hurt any less. It didn't make me stop crying.

I considered calling in sick, but I knew Shelby would kill me. So I got up, got dressed, and headed to the inn.

I hadn't worked a Sunday all summer, but Camille had decided to return to school early, so Wendy had asked me to fill in and help out the rest of the staff. I figured departing guests would be feeling all nostalgic about their Vineyard vacations winding down and that would translate into big tips. Normally Shelby would also be off on a Sunday, but Wendy was in Boston for the weekend, so Shelby had volunteered for breakfast duty. I don't even think she minded working another day in the kitchen.

“You look like crap,” Shelby commented when I walked into the kitchen. “Your eyes are bloodshot. Too much to drink at last night's party?”

“I don't want to talk about it,” I told her, and she must have realized it was way more than a hangover, because she didn't press it. She just reached for my apron, tossed it to me, and let me get to work.

Sunday mornings had a weird vibe, a totally different feel from the Saturdays I was used to. The inn was still packed, but guests were in no hurry to order breakfast or get up from their tables. And that was fine with me, as long as they weren't expecting me to provide small talk while they finished their coffees.

For most of the morning I worked on autopilot, only listening when taking orders, only talking when telling guests about the specials or when thanking them as they walked out of the dining room. But as I was clearing one of my last tables I overheard the conversation at the table directly behind me.

“The race has only taken place in the rain three times
since I first crewed,” the man at table 3 was telling the woman across from him. “And, it's probably worth noting that those were the three years I couldn't make it back to watch the regatta.”

“Not that you're overestimating your power to control the weather or anything.” The woman laughed and I turned around just in time to see her reaching across the table to take his hand.

His back was to me, but she was smiling at him in a way that made me think he was smiling at her as well. “Are you saying it's just a coincidence?” he joked, and leaned across the table to kiss her.

I couldn't see his face, but she was pretty in a way only naturally beautiful women could be. They both had dark, almost black hair, but the wispy shafts of gray coupled with the fact that he was thinning on top made his hair seem lighter in color.

“I'm not saying that at all,” she answered when he pulled away.

“Because in seventeen years you'd think it would rain on more than three races,” he went on.

Tamara tapped me on the shoulder. “Kendra, Shelby wants to see you in the kitchen.”

“In a minute,” I told her, waiting to catch a glimpse of the man.

“I think she needs you now.”

“What?” I asked Shelby as I pushed through the kitchen door.

“What? What is that you have three Western omelets sitting here getting cold, that's what.”

“So where are they?”

She pointed to the double ovens. “I put them in there to stay warm.”

“Fine.” I grabbed two pot holders and went to get the omelets.

When I returned to the dining room, the couple was gone and the table empty.

“Where'd they go?” I asked Marcus, who was clearing away empty coffee mugs.

“Who?”

“The couple who was here, that guy.”

“They left, and look at this.” He held up a ten-dollar bill. “Not bad.”

“Which way did they go?”

Marcus pointed toward the front foyer.

They couldn't have gone that far, it had only been a few minutes. “Watch my tables, I'll be right back.”

The foyer was empty, and I didn't hear anyone walking around in the upstairs hallway. They were gone.

I turned to head back to the dining room when I saw them out on the porch, the backs of their heads resting against the rocking chairs.

It was probably a coincidence. There was no way that he was the guy. So he had the hair and had crewed in the regatta seventeen years ago. There had to be at least twenty guys working on those twelve-meter boats for the race.

But I had to know, and there was only one way to find out.

“Excuse me.” I tapped him on the arm and when he turned toward me I knew. His hair was shorter and his face was fuller, but it was him. It was the boy in Izzy's painting.

He had Mona's dark hair and her watery blue eyes, shot through with pale gray flashes. And the bump across the bridge of his nose was actually noticeable.

Mona's father was sitting on the deck of the Willow Inn.

“Did you leave your wallet in the dining room?” I improvised.

“I don't think so.” He stood up and reached into his back pocket. “Nope, it's there.”

“Okay, thanks. Our mistake.”

“No problem.” He sat down again.

“Um, one more thing. Did I hear you say you've been coming to the regatta for seventeen years?”

“Every year, except three.”

“It rained those years,” the woman told me, nudging him. “Amazing, huh?”

“And you actually sailed in one?” I asked him.

“Just one.”

“And I'm sure it was sunny,” the woman told me. “All weekend long.”

I didn't know what else to ask him, what other pieces of information would help to make sense of this situation. Mona's father had been coming to the island almost every year since she was born and she never even knew it. How many times had they passed each other on the street, waited behind each other in line? It didn't seem possible.

It wasn't like I could come right out and ask him if he'd met a girl named Izzy, or if he remembered what they did that weekend on the beach. The only thing I could do was say good-bye and try to figure out what I was supposed to do next.

“Okay, well, enjoy the rest of your stay. Sorry to bother you.”

“He's here,” I told Shelby once I reached the kitchen.

“Who?”

It just didn't seem real. How could this be happening now? “Mona's father. He's here.”

“How do you know?”

I had to think and the only way I could think was to pace around the kitchen, to keep moving, because if I stopped for even a second and realized what was happening, I didn't know if I could handle it. “I just know, Shelby. It's him.”

“So what are you going to do?”

I was on my fourth lap around the butcher block island when I finally decided. “I'm going to call her and tell her to come over and meet him.”

“Are you insane?” she blurted, and then grabbed me by the shoulders as I started lap five. “And stop pacing! You're driving me crazy.”

“Look, I owe it to her. I have to tell her.”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Shelby was testing me, but I was sure. One hundred percent.

“It's the only way,” I told Shelby, and walked out of the kitchen to call Mona.

I knew Mona wouldn't be up yet, and even if she was, it was probably only because she was hungover and feeling like crap. Which was why, instead of calling Malcolm's home number, I dialed Mona's cell and hoped it was sitting on her night table.

With each ring I almost hung up, taking it as some divine sign I wasn't supposed to tell her. But then, after the fourth
ring I heard a click and Mona made some incomprehensible noise into the phone. I figured it was probably her attempt at an early-morning hungover hello.

I skipped all of the niceties and got right to the point. There wasn't enough time for me to explain, and the longer I kept her on the phone, the more time she had to hang up on me. “Mona, it's me. Look, I know things haven't been good between us, but you have to come over to the inn. Now.”

“What?” she mumbled. “Kendra, what do you want?”

“Look, you can hate me later, but right now just trust me. And get over here quick.”

I hung up and hoped she'd trust me, even if it was for the last time.