The Lace Reader (25 page)

Everyone knew that Jack had a crush on Lyndley. She was sixteen that summer, and I think Jack was seventeen, although he looked older. Lyndley said it was because he spent so much time in the sun working on his father’s boat. He was gorgeous. We’d seen him before—some of the LaLiberties’ traps were near Back Beach, and Jack had taken them over after his father got in trouble for shooting a poacher, which was still legal in Massachusetts at the time but was still sort of frowned upon. He’d smiled at us once when Lyndley and I were spying on him from shore, and we both almost fell over.

Cal’s drinking was out of control that summer, so we’d taken to playing the game “weather permitting.” What we really meant was

“Cal permitting,” meaning that we played only when Cal was gone, which he was most of the time anyway. He had a room at the Eastern Yacht Club, and he stayed there most nights, because they comped his drinks as long as he was winning for them. They encouraged him to stay at the club, since that way they had some control over him and knew he’d at least show up for the next day’s race. Also, that way they could dilute his drinks if he got too bad. Or that’s what Lyndley told me. I’m not sure how she knew.

So “weather permitting” came to mean if and when the ramp was down, which the kids figured out pretty quickly. I don’t know if they made the connection that the ramp was down only when Cal’s boat wasn’t tied up at our float. If they did, no one ever mentioned it, at least not to me.

As it turned out, we played the game most nights that July. The last time we played, we had sixteen kids, including a girl from another of the border islands, a sailor Beezer had met at Pleon, the children’s yacht club. She was really too young to play, but we let her in anyway, just to have another girl to round things out. When there were two new kids, we usually tossed a coin to see who would be left standing, but this year it was understood that it would be Willie 228 Brunonia

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Mays, because the girl was too young and we would have felt bad leaving her standing all alone like that in the dark. Jay-Jay and Beezer were fast friends. So much so that Beezer showed Jay-Jay some of his hiding places, which was totally against the rules, but we let him get away with it; we always let Beezer get away with everything. Besides, they weren’t such great hiding places, because Lyndley and I had all of those tied up. Unless we hid together, which we often did, Lyndley and I had different territories. She had the west side of the island, by the baseball diamond, and I had everything from the salt pond over. She did better, since her spots were farther away, and usually the person who was “it” would not go that far from home in case people started to run in. I had less square footage, but my hiding places were better. I had one tree limb I used to climb into where no one ever caught me, not even Lyndley. She used to walk back and forth under it looking for me, never even bothering to look up, even though I was sitting just a few feet above her head.

That night we’d already played six rounds, which was a lot for us, because we had so many players and it took a long time for them to run in. Although we had already decided that Willie Mays would be the one left standing, he was almost impossible to catch, so Jack let himself get caught so he could set Willie up. Jack instructed each of us to stay hidden until Willie Mays ran in. Then Jack counted to a hundred, turned off the light, then sat there by the tree waiting for Willie. It took a while, but he finally made a run for it, and when he did, Jack, who’d heard him coming, simply stood up right next to the tree, turned the light back on, and tagged him. Then, before Willie had time to protest, Jack called, “Olly, Olly, all in free,” and we all stood up from our hiding places and walked in.

If Willie knew he was being set up, he never let on. Like the good sport he was, he just went to the tree and started counting. When he did, the rest of us exchanged looks that said, “This is it, the game is The Lace Reader 229

over,” and we all just went home. The townie kids and the kids from the other islands headed for their boats. It was understood by the whole group that they had to row them out past the little island and into the channel before they could start their motors, because sound carries over water and we didn’t want Willie Mays to catch on to our trick.

Beezer and I walked to the house without saying a word, but when we got there, May’s light was on in her room, and I didn’t want to go in.

“You go,” I said.

“Where are you going?” I could tell that Beezer was worried. That was his MO this summer. Worry and frustration about me and everything I was doing.

“I just don’t want to go inside the house yet.”

“You can’t go and take off, you know she hates that.”

“She won’t know.”

“Her light is still on. She hasn’t gone to sleep.”

“She won’t come out of her room, though.”

“Yeah, but what if she does?”

“Tell her you came home early. Tell her I’m still out playing the game.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “You’re supposed to be staying here.”

“I’m coming back, for God’s sake.”

I was starting to get pissed off now, and he knew it. He was looking at Lyndley’s house, figuring that’s where I was headed. “You’re not supposed to go over there at all,” he said.

“Well, I’m going.”

He flashed another worried look.

“He’s not even home,” I say, meaning Cal.

He knew, but it didn’t erase his scowling. “I’ll tell her you’re still playing the game,” he said, as if it were his idea to say it in the first place.

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“That’s a good boy.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” he said. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

I felt really bad then, because I could tell he meant it. I wasn’t afraid of May’s wrath, though. It had been a while now since I’d feared my mother.

He flashed a quick worried look toward the dock, then turned back and went inside, turning off the porch light as if I were already home. He was a smart kid, a good kid. I sat for a while on the porch, just to make sure the coast was clear, and then I decided to walk over to Lyndley’s and see if I could get her to take a ride to the Willows with me. We occasionally did that, when we were both feeling daring enough to sneak out. Sometimes we’d ride the dodgems or win money at the cigarette game, because even though you have to be eighteen to play, the guys who worked there liked us and never checked our IDs.

I decided to take the back path, since I could see the flashlight beam crisscrossing on the trail, and I could tell that Willie Mays was moving around down there already, starting to look for us. When he headed up toward the saltwater pond, I cut across the dunes to the regular path, taking my sneakers off before I reached the Boyntons’ porch. I could see Auntie Emma from there, sitting near the window reading by candlelight. Lyndley must be upstairs, I thought. I could easily have walked up to the door and knocked; my aunt would have been glad to see me. But I wanted Lyndley to sneak out, because Auntie Emma would never allow us to go to town, not this late anyway. Plus, Cal didn’t allow Lyndley to go to the Willows at all. I tiptoed past the window to the back door. The screen door was latched. I looked around for a small stick, slipped it into the crack of the door, and pulled up the latch so smoothly it didn’t even click. I headed up the back stairs. I knew from experience that the third step from the top squeaked, so I skipped over it. By the time I reached the upstairs, I could see that Lyndley’s room was dark. That was no The Lace Reader 231

big surprise. Lyndley never lit her candles—she wanted everybody to think she was already asleep. I walked to her bed. She wasn’t there. I knew she wasn’t downstairs, because I looked in the windows as I passed. I figured she was probably in the bathroom, so I sat down on the bed and waited for her to come back.

I’d been sitting there for about five minutes when I heard someone on the porch. I figured maybe Lyndley had gotten stuck and had to walk down by Back Beach to get around Willie Mays, but she’d given me the high sign and I’d seen her take off in this direction, so it seemed odd. Then I heard Cal’s voice downstairs, and I froze. His voice was loud, pissed off, and very, very drunk. He was ranting about something, and it took me a minute to realize that it was Willie Mays he was yelling about, demanding to know whose boat was tied up at the dock. Auntie Emma swore she didn’t know, which didn’t do anything to calm him down.

“Tell me who he is!” Cal’s voice was raised now, making him sound like the jealous husband he was, one who thinks his wife is hiding a man in the closet or something. I was afraid he was going to hit her, which he had done before on more than one occasion, and I was wishing Lyndley would come back, because I had no idea what to do in this situation. I was thinking about jumping out the window—that’s how much I didn’t want to be here. I could tell what was coming, and I knew it wasn’t going to make things any better if Cal found me here. I could probably make it if I did jump, but it was pretty far down, and there was a big ledge at the bottom. Still, I thought I should at least run and get May; down the back stairs would be best. Then it happened. There was a loud cracking noise and then silence for a minute, and I was waiting for Auntie Emma to cry out, but there was no sound at all. Then some steps and then, real quickly, before I had a chance to figure out what had happened, Cal was upstairs in the hall coming toward this room, looking for Lyndley. I was taken by surprise. It was all so fast. I’d never seen Cal move so 232 Brunonia

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quickly, and I realized that his anger was propelling him. I could feel his fury even from where I stood. I could touch his thoughts with my mind if I wanted to, but that was the last thing I wanted. Even from here I could tell they were dark, horrible thoughts, and they made me feel sick to my stomach.

I fought the urge to break and run. It was too late. I couldn’t reach the back stairs now, couldn’t outrun him, but the window was open across the room, the curtains wafting gently in the breeze like on any other peaceful night when nothing unusual was happening. I could see the ocean through the open window, all shimmering black in the moonlight, and it was playing a trick of perspective on me. It looked as if I could just dive through that window into that beautiful water and be out of here, but of course I couldn’t, because of the rocks. Still, I would rather have taken my chances with the ledges than with Cal and with the awful silence below, where Auntie Emma’s voice should have been. For a quick second, I almost dove out that window anyway, I was so panicked, but something told me not to move, to just stand there in the shadows with my back against the wall next to the big old armoire. There was no light for Cal to turn on, no electricity in this house at all. I could see already that he hadn’t brought a flashlight or anything, not even a candle. And I knew then that Lyndley was not in the house. Because if she were, she would be downstairs by now, or getting a knife or something and coming after Cal herself.
Don’t make a sound,
I heard the voice in my head say, and I knew then that it was my only option. I pressed my back against the cool wall, fixing my eyes on the window, wishing I were anywhere but here, when suddenly I felt him in the room.

Cal slammed across the room to Lyndley’s bed and literally tore it apart, flinging blankets, pillows. Obscenities poured out of him, all the worst words I knew—and some I didn’t. “Where the fuck is she?” he half screamed, half growled at my aunt, but no sound came up the stairs.

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He hurled the cut-glass candle stand onto the floor, smashing it to pieces. A shard of glass hit my leg, and it stung for a minute, and then I could feel the wet where it started to bleed. I couldn’t reach down or anything, and I remember hoping that Cal couldn’t smell blood the way dogs could, or smell fear.

“Whore!” he yelled then at the empty bed. “Temptress and whore!”

He reeled around as if he’d felt a presence, and I tried to make my mind blank so I would be invisible. I closed my eyes tight to block out thought.
Don’t move, don’t even breathe,
the voice said, and then my mind did go blank.

It worked. The next thing I remember was Cal running down the stairs and out the front door.

I was down the back stairs and out of the house before he even hit the porch. I looked in the living-room window as I flew by and saw Auntie Emma on the couch, sitting up now but looking dazed. There was blood on the side of her face, and she was trying to stand, but tentatively, holding on to the couch arm for support. I could tell by the look on her face, by the dread in her eyes, that she was thinking about Lyndley and what was going to happen if Cal caught up with her. Even when she was hurt, her maternal instincts were strong. But she wasn’t strong enough for this; she never had been. She made her way to the door, to the porch, yelling after him, telling him to leave Lyndley alone, that it wasn’t what he thought, that she had lied to him before when she told him that Lyndley was staying in tonight. She gave Lyndley permission to go out and play the game, she said, nothing more. “For God’s sake,” she yelled after the figure who was raging up the pathways, “for God’s sake, they are just children!”

But the wind was against her, and her voice was weak anyway. It wouldn’t carry. Besides, Cal was already gone.

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good-bye to each other, and I’d seen her walk toward her house. It didn’t make any sense that she was still playing. Even Willie Mays had given up the game by now. From the porch I could see him making his way down the ramp, the flashlight bobbing as he got into the skiff and started the engine. I saw the running lights as he pulled away from the dock. I briefly wished Lyndley
had
gone with him, so she would be safe from Cal, at least for the moment. But she hadn’t. Lyndley was still hiding someplace out there, and Cal was going to be the one to find her if I didn’t do something fast. I tried all the usual places: the cave at Back Beach, the one where the dogs live. I tried the saltwater pond, which wasn’t even her territory but where she would go sometimes when she felt like cheating, which was most of the time. I even tried the stone kennel and the crawl area under the red schoolhouse, though that was a place I favored more than Lyndley did. All the while I was trying to send her messages with my mind, which usually worked with Lyndley if she was tuned in—but she wasn’t listening, not tonight. Finally I climbed to the top of the rocks by the water tower. I could see the gulls rising away from Cal as he passed by the garbage cans at the top of the pier. Cal headed up the path toward the pine grove, and I prayed then that Lyndley wasn’t cheating for once and was hiding in her own territory.