The Best of Us (36 page)

“What do you think Pauline would like?” Allie asked once they reached the kitchen. “Maybe toast? Oh, wait, we can’t toast the bread without electricity. Plain bread?” She wrinkled her nose. “That doesn’t sound so appetizing.”

“Probably just water,” Savannah said. “And maybe one of those bananas. I’ll ask her if she wants something else.”

“Should we all take it in there?” Tina asked.

“Nah,” Savannah said, tucking the bottle of water under her arm as she reached for the banana. “I’ve got this one.”

*   *   *

“Well, that was odd,” Tina said as Savannah’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. “She’s not usually the Florence Nightingale type.”

“Maybe she’s just grateful for everything Pauline has done this week,” Allie said. “Being here made it possible for Gary to make a grand gesture. It wouldn’t have been so effective if he’d just driven a few blocks across town.”

Tina laughed and slung her arm around Allie’s shoulder to give her a minihug. “I can’t stop thinking about what Debby told you,” she said. She’d been struck speechless at the news, and she’d made Allie repeat it twice. She hadn’t even begun to wrap her mind around the fact that Allie might be diagnosed with ALS at some point, and now here was a possible reprieve.

“I know,” Allie said. “Me, too. I keep hearing her voice in my mind, telling me another man might be my father.”

“Does it . . . change anything?” Tina asked. “In terms of what you’re going to do?”

Allie nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “It does. I’ve made a decision. I’m not going to try to find out.”

“You mean which one’s your biological father?”

“Any of it,” Allie said. She leaned back against the counter, and Tina was struck by the fact that for the first time on this vacation, Allie looked at peace.

“I’d have to track down Jason, and convince him to take a paternity test, then wait for the results . . . then if I wasn’t his, I’d have to see if Hank got genetic testing, then maybe go through testing myself . . . Tina, it would consume my life. And I might not even get any answers.”

“So you’re just going to hope you don’t have it?” Tina asked.

Allie nodded. “The counselor said something to me that sounded crazy at the time, but now it kind of makes sense. She said I should choose to believe I don’t have ALS. That’s what I’m going to do, Tina. I don’t have it. I really feel like I don’t.”

“I
know
you don’t,” Tina said.

“And as for Ryan . . .” Allie took in a deep breath. “I can’t tell him about Dwight. I won’t do that to him, to either of them. I’m going to talk to him about the ALS possibility, of course, but I can’t lay all of this on him.”

“I don’t think you should, either,” Tina said. “You might feel less guilty, but he’d be devastated.”

“I’m going to live with the guilt, every single day,” Allie said. “That’s my punishment. I’m going to know every time I look at Ryan that he risked his life to save me and that I don’t deserve him.”

“Please stop saying that,” Tina said. “Look, Gio and I have done stuff to each other—not this, but we’ve hurt one another. Said awful things. There have been times I’ve almost hated him. No marriage is perfect, Al.”

Allie knew Tina was trying to help, but she didn’t want to be absolved. She welcomed the guilt, even though she knew it would haunt her every time she heard the word
vacation,
or listened to one of their college songs, or tasted a piece of candy. It
would torment her in all of the spaces between those times, too. Maybe she was making a kind of unconscious trade-off—she’d wear a heavy, lonely cloak of guilt, just so long as she didn’t get ALS—but it didn’t matter.

“Should we go back to the guys?” Tina asked. She grabbed one of the lanterns from the kitchen counter and handed Allie a flashlight.

“You’re forgetting something,” Allie said. She smiled, opened the pantry door, and reached inside. “Look what I found,” she said, holding up a full bag of marshmallows.

“See?” Tina said. “You’re lucky. I told you so.”

They stepped outside, pausing to admire the setting sun. Allie glanced over at the tree she’d clung to during the hurricane and shuddered. It was just steps away from where she and Dwight had had their awful, rushed bout of sex. She remembered Tina’s earlier words about the close link between death and sex. Here was physical proof of that.

“Marriages are so complicated, aren’t they?” Tina said. “I mean, look at Savannah and Gary.”

“Do you think she’s going to take him back?” Allie asked.

“Yup,” Tina said. “I kind of knew it the first night, when she didn’t send him away like she’d talked about. Don’t you think?”

Allie nodded. “I can see her softening toward him. Earlier on the beach he whispered something to her, and I saw her laughing. But I’m worried.”

“You mean that it might happen again?” Tina asked.

Allie nodded. “I hate to say it. But I’ve never trusted Gary. I still don’t.”

“Me, too. I’ve never liked him, either, even though it was pretty cool of him to stand up for us with the cop,” Tina said. “But Savannah can take care of herself. I doubt she’d give him another chance if he messed up again.”

“Do you think Gary knows that?”

Tina thought for a long moment. “I have no idea,” she finally said. “I hope so, though, for Van’s sake. I really do.”

*   *   *

Savannah knocked and waited for Pauline’s voice to grant her entrance, but instead, the door swung open.

“Hi,” Savannah said. The windows’ gauzy white curtains were pulled back, and just enough light came into the room for her to see that Pauline had returned to normal. Her hair was in a sleek ponytail, and she wore designer jeans and a midnight-blue, silky halter top. Savannah knew none of them had been able to shower because the water supply was tainted, but you’d never guess it by looking at Pauline. She couldn’t possibly have washed her hair with Evian, could she? Savannah wondered.

“I brought you water and a banana,” she said, holding up her offerings and suddenly feeling ridiculous.

“Thanks,” Pauline replied. She accepted the water, but not the fruit.

“So, if your headache’s gone, we’re all hanging out down on the beach,” Savannah said. She leaned closer and lifted her eyebrows. “And I’ve got one more joint, just in case you’re interested.”

Pauline nodded. “Dwight’s there? And . . . everyone else? Allie, too?”

“Actually, Allie and Tina were in the kitchen a minute ago,” Savannah said. “They may have gone back down. I’m not sure.”

“I’m going to stay here,” Pauline said. “But thank you for the invitation.”

She started to close the door, but at the last second, Savannah reached out to stop her. Unfortunately, she reached out with the hand holding the banana, which got squished between the door and the frame.

“I guess you really don’t want this now,” Savannah said, looking down at it. “You know, this reminds me of a guy I once dated.” She couldn’t help laughing, but Pauline didn’t join in.

“Was there something else?” Pauline asked.

This was the hostess Savannah remembered—Ms. Stick Up Her Butt. Still, Savannah wanted to say what she’d come to tell Pauline.

“Just, thank you,” Savannah said.

Savannah knew she’d gotten on Pauline’s nerves a few times, like during that dinner when she’d said she only turned her phone off during sex. She’d done it deliberately; passive-aggressive, repressed people like Pauline drove her crazy. She’d been trying to get a rise out of Pauline—some genuine show of emotion. Today, though, she was feeling magnanimous and wanted to end things on a positive note.

“It’s been a great vacation,” Savannah said. She sighed. “I really needed one, too.”

“It’s been our pleasure,” Pauline said, a clear note of dismissal in her voice.

“Okay then,” Savannah said, stung. Her good intentions evaporated; this was the real Pauline, not the woman who’d shared a joint with them two nights earlier.

“We’ll certainly miss you tonight,” Savannah said, her voice ringing with a deliberate falseness.

*   *   *

Did that bitch really just mock her?

Pauline watched Savannah disappear down the hallway with her mangled banana. That did it; she was sick of this selfish, ungrateful group. They ate the dinners she’d so thoughtfully arranged and belched at her table. They insulted her. And one of them had screwed her husband!

Pauline threw the bottle of water on the floor and stormed
out of the room. Allie was in the kitchen, Savannah had said.
Good,
Pauline thought as she hurried in that direction. But when she arrived, it was empty. She stepped into the living room, but no one was there, either, so she went out onto the stone patio. She could hear laughter filtering up from the beach.

Glad you’re all having fun,
Pauline thought as her fingernails bit into her palms. If she saw Allie right now, she’d walk up to her and slap her. Spit on her. Demand that she leave.

Then a traitorous thought wormed into Pauline’s brain: And if Dwight came to Allie’s defense?

Pauline’s rage was instantly erased, leaving in its place a sorrow so deep and raw that she felt gutted. She fell into a lounge chair and stared out at the dusky purple sky.

She knew why she’d married Dwight. His money had sparked the initial appeal, true, but she’d also grown to love him in a comfortable, steady way. She’d imagined being with Dwight forever; he was a constant whenever she envisioned the future.

She wondered why Dwight had married her, though. Was it because Allie was already taken, and Pauline happened to be there, like the last, dusty bottle of soda in a vending machine?

She considered her options. She could still storm down to the beach and confront Allie, letting everyone know Allie’s sweet, innocent exterior was fake. Or she could start walking the ten miles to the airstrip where Dwight’s plane waited. Maybe that’s what she should do. She never should have returned to Jamaica after Therese’s death. She should have stayed with her mother and helped arrange for the funeral. She didn’t belong with this group.

Maybe she didn’t belong with Dwight, either.

She laid her head back on the soft white cushion, listening to the high, sweet chirping of insects, feeling a profound heaviness in her limbs.

She’d replayed Dwight’s and Allie’s words a hundred times in
her mind.
How did it happen?
Allie had asked. That didn’t sound as if the affair had been going on a long time, and the pain in Allie’s voice hinted she wanted it over. Pauline had needed to get away, to amass distance between herself and the horror of her discovery, but now she wished she’d stayed to overhear Dwight’s answer. If their dalliance was brief, and it had already ended . . . well, then she might be able to ignore what had happened, and never bring it up to Dwight. She could learn to live with being second best, even if it broke her heart.

The only other option she could think of was to try talking to Dwight.

She’d come so close to telling him about Therese’s death on his birthday. To telling him everything. She had no idea what his response would have been, which was precisely why she hadn’t tried to bring it up again. She’d always stepped so carefully with Dwight—with everyone! She’d tried her hardest to make this trip flawless, but her efforts had exploded: The chef had left, the hurricane had struck, her husband had cheated . . .

Damn it,
she thought, remembering how she’d agonized over the menus, planned the helicopter tour, even brought along extra sunscreen in case someone had forgotten it. What had been the point?

Something caught the corner of her eye, and she looked to her right to see a black and white butterfly land on a flower in the giant concrete pot next to her. She watched its wings flutter once, twice, and then the butterfly took off again. Pauline reached over and touched the petals of the pink flower it had alighted upon, then dug her fingers into the soil, patting it more securely around the plants that had been wrenched askew by Betty. The dirt was still damp from the storm. She lifted a pinch to her nose and inhaled the wonderful, rich scent. She never gardened; she hired people to do one of the things she loved most in this world. In college Pauline had thought, briefly,
about a career as a landscape architect, but then she’d dismissed it. It didn’t fit in with her life plan.

Her life suddenly seemed full of such missed opportunities. She could trace the points where she’d veered in the safest directions, away from risks and possibilities; they stood out as sharply as the angles of the constellations in the clear sky above her head.

Once a young artist had come into the Georgetown gallery where Pauline had worked until she met Dwight. Pauline had been transfixed by the woman’s art; her paintings were bold and original and reminded Pauline a bit of Georgia O’Keeffe, except they featured eyes instead of flowers. All different eyes, with different expressions . . . Pauline never knew eyes
could
have so many expressions. But the gallery owner didn’t consider walk-ins, and Pauline had turned the young woman away, watching as she zipped up her portfolio and headed back onto the street. What she wouldn’t give for a painting of those eyes now; they’d haunted her for more than a decade. She should have bought one, and maybe helped the woman get a show, become her mentor . . .

Pauline let the soil slip through her fingers as the day’s last bit of light disappeared. Still she didn’t move. Indecision weighted her down so heavily that she felt as if she could’ve stayed on the lounge chair forever, until she crumbled into nothingness.

She heard a noise and turned in its direction.

If she’d needed a sign about what to do, maybe one had arrived: Dwight was walking toward her.

“Hey,” he said. He put his lantern on the side table and sat down in the chair next to hers. “I was just coming to find you, to see if you were feeling any better.”

She looked at him steadily, wondering if he’d really left because it was too painful for him to be around Allie and Ryan together.

“How’s your headache?” Dwight asked.

Pauline kept looking at him instead of answering.

“I hate escargots,” she finally said. “I always have. They’re horrible. Slimy. Repulsive little creatures.”