The Lucky Ones (12 page)

“You get to go out. And I won’t be alone. Other people will be there.”

“Stop it.” Her mother was done talking. “You can go another night, unless you keep at it, and then you can’t go at all.”

“There may not
be
another night!”

It could have been Natalie speaking; her mother was as shocked as Cecile. If it hadn’t been for Granddad coming onto the terrace, Cecile didn’t know what either one of them would have said next.

“Well, well, well…what have we here?” Granddad said as he came toward them, resplendent in a madras jacket, white pants, and red bow tie, and rested his hand on the top of Cecile’s head. “Am I interrupting something?” he asked, looking into his daughter’s dissatisfied face.

“Of course not, Dad. Everything’s fine.” Her mother’s face cleared; she smiled up at him. “Cecile was asking if she could go to the club tonight and I told her we’re going out to dinner, so she can’t. Cecile understands she’ll have to go another night, right, Cecile?”

Cecile returned her mother’s level look. “Right,” she said.

Her mother’s brow became as smooth and clear as a baby’s. “Run and tell Sheba we’re ready for cocktails, that’s a good girl,” she said. She put her hand over her father’s where he’d rested it on her shoulder and nuzzled it with her chin. “You might want to help her by bringing out the ice bucket,” she called as Cecile opened the screen door.

And I might not. Cecile let the door swing noisily shut. Everything wasn’t fine, either. Just because her mother wanted it to be that way didn’t mean that it was. Not this time, she thought as she went past the kitchen and up the stairs to her room. Maybe never again.

T
he movie she was watching ended. Cecile got up from the couch, turned off the TV, and walked into the front hall. “I’m going to the dock!” she called in a hushed voice.

The door of the upstairs study opened quietly. Sheba leaned over the banister and looked down.

“You are, huh?”

Cecile couldn’t read the expression on Sheba’s dark face. “It’s only nine o’clock,” she said. “The
Rammer
came in before dinner. There’ll be plenty of people there, maybe even King. I want to see what’s going on.”

“You’ve been seeing what’s going on all day long.”

Sheba’s quiet watchfulness grated on Cecile’s
nerves. “Mom would let me,” she said defensively. “I won’t go anywhere else.”

“I never thought you would, but I’m gonna hold you to that.” Sheba straightened up and turned back toward the study where she was reading a book to Jack.

What’s the big deal? Cecile thought, challenging her reflection in the mirror over the table. All I’m doing is going to the dock.

Two limousines were waiting in the parking area. The dock was lit up for a party, tiny lights on wires, looped between the pilings. Music from the
Rammer
floated over the water. Cecile climbed onto a piling near the boathouse to watch.

Everyone was at a party except her. And Lucy and Jack, and they were babies. Cecile took a strand of hair and chewed on the end, watching as women in colorful summer dresses threw back their heads and laughed and men with tanned faces slouched as they talked, their drinks conveniently replenished by a bartender who came up from the cabin, again and again.

It was too much to expect that she would be content to sit, all night, and do nothing. Not when the music was making her blood dance in time to the reflection of the lights sparkling on the water. I may not be fourteen, Cecile told herself as she jumped back off the piling, but I’m not a baby, either.

At the sound of footsteps, she turned. Stefan was coming toward her carrying a tray. He wore a white shirt, black pants, and a black bow tie. His long hair shone under the lanterns that had been placed on top of the tall poles lining the dock.

“Hello,
Ste
fan,” Cecile said, leaning on his name, daring and reckless.

He looked at her without a spark of recognition. Insulted, she refused to back down. He
had
to say something to her—they were the only two people here, and Cecile lived on the Island while he worked for King. The bare truth of it shocked her. She lifted her chin, defiant and proud.

Then another voice called out from near the cabanas, another imperious voice, and Cecile felt ashamed.

“Where have you
been
? I’ve been looking all over for you.” A tall, large-boned blond woman wearing very high heels teetered toward them. Sparkling earrings drooped from her ears; her mouth was scarlet, her teeth white, her dress cut so low, Cecile saw the white line of her tan across generous cleavage.

“I’d about given up on you,” the woman said as she came up to Stefan. “As soon as we finish our cocktails, we’re going into town. Mmm…these look luscious.” Putting a hand on Stefan’s shoulder, she moved her other hand in the air above the hors d’oeuvres, trying to make up her mind. Her hand dropped and two perfectly manicured fingers, like the talons of a hawk, closed around a stuffed clam. She bit into it, smiling into Stefan’s face as she chewed.

Cecile could have reached out and touched them, she was so close; the woman never even looked at her. The woman licked one finger and then the other before she said, “We’d better go before I eat them all,” and she and Stefan turned and walked toward the
Rammer,
the woman keeping her hand on Stefan’s
shoulder as they walked. Cecile willed Stefan to turn around and look at her, but he didn’t.

Luscious,
she mouthed cattily; she stuck out her tongue. And you, Stefan, letting a woman make eyes at you when she’s old enough to be your mother. Fine. Cecile’s mind was made up with a toss of her head. Since no one cares that I’m here, I’ll go someplace where they do care.

The idea must have been lurking in the back of her mind all night. It burst into flame and blazed as bright and clear as a bonfire as she ran up the steps. She knew the way, she would walk. Down the driveway, turn right, along the road half a mile, turn left at the pillared entrance. So what if there were no street lights? She’d driven the road a million times.

She flitted past Granddad’s house with its front porch lit up by huge lanterns, skimmed past the driveways to the cottage and the caretaker’s house, and arrived at the straightaway to the bridge. It stretched ahead of her like a shiny ribbon in the light of the half moon, calling, Follow me, follow me! Cecile was surprised to discover she was breathing heavily.

She walked along the bridge slowly until she got to the middle and leaned over the railing. The breeze was warm on her face. Sparks ricocheted off the surface of the water as it gurgled under her feet. The sharp smell of salt water seemed thick enough to eat.

How strange, to be in this spot, by herself, at night. It had never happened to her before. There were no streetlights lining the road, no other houses showing their lights through the trees. No human sounds disturbed the silence, not even those she knew were being made at the dock. There was only the wind in her ears and the ripple of the water under the bridge.

The road to the club was dark. Cecile imagined the feel of it under her bare feet; the grass on the golf course would be damp and cold. How amazing it would be, to slip onto the green without the boys seeing her and join in the game, unannounced. Imagine the shock for the first boy who put his hands on her.

The breeze was suddenly cool. Cecile shivered and
rubbed her arms, thinking about the long walk back. The dark road would be black by then; the driveway, silent and lonely. What if her parents were waiting for her, stony-faced, in the front hall? What then? Or even worse, what if the house itself was dark, the doors securely locked, everyone blissfully asleep in their beds, believing that Cecile was asleep, too, safe and warm.

Cecile looked back. The flag was still up in front of the house. The spotlight on the pole in front of Granddad’s house showed it drooping by itself in the night. Forgotten.

That never would have happened when they were little. They’d all begged to be the one to take it down every night. Granddad had had to make a rule that they’d rotate in order from the oldest to the youngest. Now nobody seemed to care except for Jack, who needed help to do it. Even Cecile had only taken it down once in all the days they’d been here.

She still cared, even if no one else did. She’d go back and take the flag down, fold it the proper way, and then go into the house and find something
good to eat. Maybe she’d curl up on the couch and watch TV until Natalie came home. “Marco! Polo!” she called softly as she walked back up the drive. “Marco!”

A car coming around the corner on the bay road made a wet swishing sound. It slowed as it approached the island and suddenly turned, its headlights sweeping across the drive to light up the bridge. Cecile leaped into the grass and ducked down as the car’s tires rumbled on the wooden slats. When it rolled slowly past, she saw Natalie in the front seat, looking straight ahead. She heard the rhythmic thump of music.

Cecile stayed crouched until the car disappeared around the curve and then stood up slowly. She couldn’t go right back now—she’d have to give William time to walk Natalie to the door and give her a good-night kiss—yuck—before he’d finally, finally go home. Forever, she thought. Tomorrow, they’d have the Island back to themselves, at last! She could wait.

She took her time, identifying constellations, as she wandered up the drive, receiving a small shock as
she rounded the corner—the Cahoons’ car was parked in Mr. Peabody’s driveway. Its engine and lights were turned off; the murmur of voices came from inside.

Tense as a wild animal who suddenly encounters humans, wary to think what Natalie and William might be doing inside, Cecile started to walk skit-tishly past when the car abruptly shook. Cecile couldn’t see their heads, but she heard Natalie’s laugh and William’s low voice. Then all was quiet again.

When headlights coming from the dock suddenly lit up the drive, Cecile was caught once again. She darted onto the grass, but not before she saw William’s and Natalie’s heads pop up in the back-seat, the headlights of the limousines lighting up their startled faces as the cars slid past.

Then the limousines disappeared around the corner and the world was plunged back into dark. “William, no!” she heard Natalie cry. Then a growl from William and Natalie’s laugh.

How she hated them. William, sounding like an animal, and her own sister willing to lie on the seat
of a car and kiss a boy she didn’t even care about, as if she was anybody; any silly girl in the world who kissed a boy, no matter how disgusting, just so she could say she’d made out.

And on Gull Island, too.

Cecile picked up a handful of shells and gravel and hurled it. The sound of the pieces rattling against the roof and the windows of the car sounded in her ears as she ran up the drive. Her mother had called her a prude. Fine. She’d rather be a prude than be like Natalie. Or even her mother, flirting to make her own husband mad. Cecile’s stomach and lungs felt as if they were on fire as she ran, but her mind was as cold as ice. It was a good cold; it made it easier for her brain to think.

So what if Natalie and her mother were pretty? That didn’t make them more special than every other girl in the world, did it? Any girl could get a boy to pay attention to her. Cecile could herself. It all depended on what the boy wanted.

No. Not what the boy wanted, what the girl wanted. What she, Cecile, wanted. What she wanted
right now, here, this very instant, was to show the world what she thought of it. She didn’t know what she was going to do, or how she was going to do it, but she was confident it would come to her.

A deep quiet and total darkness, except for a single strand of lights still sparkling on the bow of the
Rammer,
greeted her when she reached the steps. The dim security lights set low on the pilings were the only other light. They cast eerie shadows the length of the dock.

Cecile walked slowly down to the dock, letting her hand drag along the railing until she heard a low cough, and then she stopped. Stefan was perched on the stern of the
Rammer,
watching her. His legs dangled over the edge of the boat, his bow tie was stuffed into the pocket of his shirt. He was smoking; the tip of his cigarette lit up his face when he inhaled. He paused, then let a thin curl of smoke escape his mouth to drift up in front of his face.

Maybe because it was dark, or maybe because it was just the two of them, but Cecile wasn’t afraid. She walked to the middle of the dock, in front of
the cabanas, and put her hands on her hips. She stared at him, good and hard for a minute, so he would know she saw him.

Then she began.

“Go back…go back…go back into the woods,” she said quietly. She crossed her arms in front of her body and took a step back. “’Cause you haven’t”—a slow slash with her arms—“you haven’t”—another slash—“you haven’t got the goods,” she said louder.

Stefan was still, the cigarette held frozen between his thumb and forefinger in front of his mouth as he watched her.

“Now you may have the spirit and you may have the
pep
,” Cecile said in a loud voice, “but you haven’t got the team that the blue team’s got!” She was shouting by the last words, feeling them in her gut, and then she was finished and her heart was racing and her spirits were soaring because Stefan had laughed, and inside, she was laughing, too, and then she ran. Up the steps, over the gravel, along the hedge and across the stinging grass, past the sleeping
flag, and into the front hall, pausing only to catch the screen door so it would close silently behind her.

She flew up the stairs and opened the door to her room. She shut it softly behind her and threw herself on her bed. Her chest was heaving as she stared up at the ceiling, her face was split by a wide grin. I can’t believe you did that! her heart sang. That was so ridiculous!

Maybe so, her head said calmly when her pulse had slowed enough so that it could be heard. At least now, Stefan had seen her, really seen her, enough to be able to pick her out of a crowd of rich children on the beach.

Cecile woke to the sound of someone being sick in their bathroom. A sliver of light gleamed under the door.

“Natalie?” Cecile whispered, resting her forehead against the door. “Are you all right?”

When Natalie moaned, Cecile pushed the door open. Natalie knelt in front of the toilet with her forearms resting on the rim, her face bent over the
bowl. Her hair fell around her face, dank and damp. Her body heaved, she gagged.

“What happened? What’d you do?” Cecile grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water. Crouching down, she held it to Natalie’s forehead the way her mother did when she was sick. Natalie put her hand to it to hold it and moaned. Cecile smelled a heavy, medicinal smell and stood up.

“So much for being drunk,” she said. “Sob, sob.”

“Cecile, don’t,” Natalie groaned. She dropped the washcloth onto the floor and rose up on her knees to put her face over the bowl again. Cecile picked up the cloth and rinsed it under cold water slowly and carefully, listening to her sister being sick.

When Natalie finally sat back and looked up, tears were running along her nose; her damp hair was plastered to her face. “Oh, Natalie,” Cecile said, and sank to her knees. She wiped Natalie’s hair away from her forehead and cheeks and neck. When Natalie rose up to be sick again, Cecile rinsed the cloth for a third time and stood waiting.

“Oh, God,” Natalie moaned as she sagged against
the bathroom wall. “You have no idea how horrible I feel.”

“I thought it was what you wanted.”

“Don’t be mean.” Natalie’s face when she looked up was so pale, the dark circles under her dull eyes so dark.