Dance Upon the Air (10 page)

Holiday nomads. The Bedouins of summer.

Leaving them to it, she headed up to the village. She carried nothing but her police issue, a Swiss Army knife, and a few dollars. Life was simpler that way.

She turned on High Street, intending to spend those few dollars on a quick meal. She was off duty, as much as either she or Zack was ever off duty, and was looking forward to a cold beer and a hot pizza.

When she spotted Nell standing in front of the hotel, looking dazed, she hesitated. It was as good a
time as any, she supposed, to make that friendly overture.

“Hey, Nell.”

“What? Oh. Hello, Ripley.”

“You look a little lost.”

“No.” She knew just where she was, Nell thought. At the moment, it was the only thing she was absolutely sure of. “Just a little distracted.”

“Long day, huh? Listen, I'm about to grab some dinner. A little early, but I'm starved. Why don't we split a pizza? My treat.”

“Oh.” She continued to blink, like someone coming out of a dream.

“The Surfside makes the best pizza on the island. Well, it's the only pizza place on the island, but still . . . How're things going at the café?”

“Good.” There was really nothing to do but fall into step. She couldn't think clearly and would have sworn that her fingers still tingled. “I love working there.”

“You've classed up the place,” Ripley commented, and angled her head to get a look at the book Nell carried. “Reading up on island voodoo?”

“Voodoo? Oh.” With a nervous laugh, Nell tucked the book under her arm. “I guess if I'm living here, I ought to know . . . things.”

“Sure.” Ripley pulled open the door of the pizzeria. “The tourists love all that island mystique crap. When we hit the solstice, we'll be flooded with New Agers. Hey, Bart!”

Ripley gave the man behind the counter a salute and grabbed an empty booth.

It may have been early, but the place was jammed.
The jukebox was blaring, and the two video games tucked back in a small alcove shot out noise and light.

“Bart and his wife, Terry, run the place.” Ripley shifted, stretched her legs out on the bench. “They've got your calzones, your pasta, and yadda yadda,” she said, tossing Nell a laminated menu. “But it's really all about the pizza. You up for that?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Anything you don't like on it?”

Nell scanned the menu. Why couldn't she
think
? “No.”

“Even better. We'll get a large, loaded. What we don't eat, I'll take home to Zack. He'll pick off the mushrooms and onions and be grateful.”

She slid out of the booth again. “Want a beer?”

“No. No, thanks. Just water.”

“Coming up.”

Seeing no point in waiting for table service, Ripley walked up to the counter, placed the order. Nell watched the way she joked with the long, thin man behind the counter. The way she hooked her sunglasses in the collar of her shirt. The way she stretched gorgeously toned and tanned arms out for the drinks. The way her dark hair bobbed as she turned to walk back to the booth.

The noise receded, like echoes in a dream, until it was a wash of white sound under a rising roar. Like waves cresting. As Ripley sat across from her again, Nell saw her mouth moving, but heard nothing. Nothing at all.

Then, like a door flung open, it all swarmed back.

“. . . right up through Labor Day,” Ripley finished, and reached for her beer.

“You're the third.” Nell gripped her tingling hands together on the table.

“Huh?”

“The third. You're the third sister.”

Ripley opened her mouth, then closed it again in a long, thin line. “Mia.” She ground the two syllables together, then gulped down half her beer. “Don't start with me.”

“I don't understand.”

“There's nothing
to
understand. Just drop it.” She slapped the glass back on the table, leaned forward. “Here's the deal. Mia can think, believe, whatever she wants. She can behave however she wants as long as she doesn't break the law. I don't have to buy into it. If you want to, that's your business. But I'm here for pizza and a beer.”

“I don't know what I buy into. It makes you angry. It just confuses me.”

“Look, you strike me as a sensible woman. Sensible women don't go around claiming to be witches descended from a trio of witches who carved an island out of a chunk of Massachusetts.”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. There's reality and there's fantasy. Let's stick with reality, because anything else is going to put me off my pizza. So, are you going to go out with my brother?”

“Go . . .” Confused, Nell pushed a hand through her hair. “Could you rewind that question?”

“Zack's working up to asking you out. You interested? Before you answer, let me say he's had all his shots, practices good personal hygiene, and though he
has some annoying habits, he's reasonably well adjusted. So, think about that. I'll get the pizza.”

Nell blew out a breath, sat back. She had, she decided, entirely too much to think about in one short evening.

R
ipley was right
about the solstice. Café Book was so busy Mia had taken on two part-time clerks for the shop and added another behind the café counter.

The run on the vegetarian dishes over a two-day period kept Nell in a constant state of panic.

“We're running low on eggplant and alfalfa,” she said as Peg came on shift. “I thought I'd calculated . . . Hell.” She yanked off her apron. “I'm going to run down to the market, get what I can. I may have to substitute, change the menu for the rest of the day.”

“Hey, whatever. Don't sweat it.”

Easy for you to say, Nell thought as she rushed downstairs. She'd run out of hazelnut muffins by noon, and there was no way the chocolate chunk cookies were going to last the day at the rate they were disappearing. It was her responsibility to make certain everything in the café ran as Mia expected it to run. If she made a mistake—

In her rush to the back door, she all but ran over Lulu.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot. Are you all right?”

“I'll live.” Lulu brushed fussily at her shirt. The girl had put in a good three weeks' work, but that didn't mean Lulu was ready to trust her. “Slow down. Just because you're off shift doesn't mean you have to run out of the place like it's on fire.”

“No, I'm sorry. Is Mia—would you tell Mia I'm sorry, and that I'll be right back?”

She bolted out the door and didn't stop running until she was in the produce section of Island Market. Panic and dread churned in her stomach. How could she have been so
stupid
? Buying supplies was an essential part of her job. Hadn't she been told to expect larger crowds over the solstice weekend? A moron could have done a better job planning for it.

The pressure in her chest was making her head light, but she forced herself to think, to study her choices, to select. She filled her basket quickly, waiting in agony in the checkout line as the minutes ticked away.

Dorcas chatted at her, and Nell managed to make some responses while all the while her brain was screaming: Hurry!

She gathered the three heavy bags and, cursing herself for not thinking to bring her car, began to carry them as quickly as she could manage back to the shop.

“Nell! Nell, wait a minute.” Shaking his head when she didn't respond, Zack jogged across the street. “Let me give you a hand with those.”

It amazed her she didn't jump straight out of her
sneakers as he reached out, took two of the bags. “I can get them. I can do it. I'm in a hurry.”

“You'll move faster if you're not weighed down. Supplies for the café?”

“Yes. Yes.” She was nearly running again. She could get another salad put together. Ten minutes, fifteen tops. And prep the ingredients for sandwiches. Then she could deal with the sweets. If she could get started right away, there might not be any gap.

“I guess you're pretty busy.” He didn't like the look on her face. It was so grim, so set. Like someone about to go to war.

“I should've anticipated. There's no excuse for it.”

She shoved through the back door of the shop, bolted up the stairs. By the time he got to the kitchen, she was already unbagging.

“Thank you. I can take care of it now. I know what to do.”

She moved like a dervish, Zack thought, her eyes glassy and face pale.

“I thought you got off at two, Nell.”

“Two?” She didn't bother to look up, but continued to chop, grate, mix. “No. I made a mistake. I have to fix it. Everything's going to be all right. It's going to be fine. No one's going to be upset or inconvenienced. I should have planned better. I will next time. I promise.”

“Need two sandwich specials and a veggie pita—Jeez, Nell,” Peg murmured as she stepped to the doorway.

Zack put a hand on her arm. “Get Mia,” he said quietly.

“Two specials and a veggie. Okay. Okay.” Nell set
the bean-and-cucumber salad aside, hauled out the sandwich ingredients. “I bought some more eggplant, so we'll be fine. Just fine.”

“No one's upset, Nell. You don't need to worry. Why don't you sit down a minute?”

“I only need a half hour. Twenty minutes. None of the guests will be disturbed.” She picked up the orders, spun around, then jerked to a halt as Mia came in. “It's all right. Really, it's all right. We'll have plenty of everything.”

“I'll take those.” Peg eased by, slipped the orders out of Nell's hand. “They look great.”

“I'm just putting together a new salad.” There were bands around her chest, around her head. Tightening, tightening. “It won't take any time at all. Then I'll take care of the rest. I'll take care of it. Don't be angry.”

“No one's angry, Nell. I think you should take a break now.”

“I don't need one. I'll just finish.” In desperation, she grabbed a bag of nuts. “I know I should've planned better, and I'm terribly sorry, but I'll make sure everything's perfect.”

He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see her standing there, trembling now, her face white. “Hell with this,” Zack spat, and stepped toward her.

“Don't!” She stumbled back, dropping the bag, flinging her arms up as if to guard her face from a blow. The moment she did, shame smothered panic.

“Oh, baby.” Zack's voice was ripe with sympathy. She could do nothing but turn away from it.

“I want you to come with me now.” Mia moved to her, took her hand. “All right? Come with me now.”

Miserably embarrassed, helplessly shaken, Nell let herself be led away. Zack jammed his hands in his pockets and felt useless.

“I don't know
what got into me.” The fact was, the last hour was largely a blur.

“I'd say you had a big, whopping panic attack. Now sit down.” Mia walked across her office, opened what Nell had taken to be a file drawer. Instead she saw a mini-fridge stocked with small bottles of water and juice.

“You don't have to talk to me,” Mia said as she stepped over, gave Nell an opened bottle of water. “But you should think about talking to someone.”

“I know.” Rather than drinking, Nell rubbed the chilled bottle over her face. It was beyond ridiculous, she thought now, falling to pieces over eggplant. “I thought I was over it. That hasn't happened in a really long time. Months. We were so busy, and supplies were running low. It got bigger and bigger in my mind until I thought if I didn't get some more eggplant, the world was going to end.” She drank now, deeply. “Stupid.”

“Not stupid if you were used to being punished for something just that petty in the past.”

Nell lowered the bottle. “He's not here. He can't hurt me.”

“Can't he? Little sister, he's never stopped hurting you.”

“If that's true, it's my problem. I'm not a dishrag anymore, I'm not a punching bag or a doormat.”

“Good to hear.”

She pressed her fingers to her temple. She had to let something out, she realized. Lift something off, or she'd break again. “We had a party once and ran out of martini olives. It was the first time he hit me.”

Mia's face registered no shock, no judgment. “How long did you stay with him?”

There was no censure in the question, no slick surface of pity or underlying smugness. Because the question was asked in a brisk and practical tone, Nell responded in kind. “Three years. If he finds me, he'll kill me. I knew that when I left. He's an important man. Wealthy, connected.”

“He's looking for you?”

“No, he thinks I'm dead. Nearly nine months now. I'd rather be dead than live the way I was living. That sounds melodramatic, but—”

“No, it doesn't. The employment forms you filled out for me? Are they safe?”

“Yes. My grandmother's maiden name. I broke some laws. Computer hacking, false statement, forged documents to get new identification, a driver's license, Social Security number.”

“Computer hacking?” Lifting a brow, Mia smiled. “Nell, you surprise me.”

“I'm good with computers. I used to—”

“You don't have to tell me.”

“It's all right. I helped run a business, a catering business, with my mother a long time ago. I used a computer for records, invoices, what have you. Since I was going to keep the books, the records, I took some courses. When I started planning to run, I did a lot of research. I knew I'd only get one chance.
God. I've never been able to talk to anyone about it. I never thought I could.”

“Do you want to tell me the rest?”

“I'm not sure. It gets stuck somewhere. Right about here,” she said, tapping a fist on her chest.

“If you decide you want to, come up to the house tonight. I'll show you my gardens. My cliffs. Meanwhile, take a breather, take a walk, take a nap.”

“Mia, I'd like to finish in the café. Not because I'm upset or worried. I'd just like to finish.”

“All right.”

The drive up
the coast was breathtaking. The curving road with its sudden, unexpected twists. The steady roar of the water, the rush of wind. The memories it brought back should have disturbed her, left her shaken. Instead as Nell pushed her poor rust-bucket of a car for speed, she felt exhilarated. As if she were leaving all her excess weight on the twisted road behind her.

Maybe it was the sight of that tall white tower against the summer sky and the broody stone house beside it. They looked like something out of a storybook. Old and sturdy and wonderfully secret.

The painting she'd seen on the mainland hadn't done them justice. Oil and canvas hadn't been able to translate the sweep of the wind, the texture of the rocks, the gnarled humps of trees.

And, she thought as she rounded the last turn, the painting hadn't had Mia, standing between two vivid
flows of flowers in a blue dress with her miles of red hair rioting in the wind.

Nell parked her sad car behind Mia's shiny silver convertible.

“I hope you don't take this the wrong way,” Nell called out.

“I always take things the right way.”

“I was just thinking, if I were a man, I'd promise you anything.”

When Mia only laughed, Nell tipped back her head and tried to take in all the house at once—the dour stone, the fanciful gables, the romance of the widow's walk.

“It's wonderful. It suits you.”

“It certainly does.”

“But so far from everything, everyone. You're not lonely here?”

“I enjoy my own company. Are you afraid of heights?”

“No,” Nell answered. “No, I'm not.”

“Have a look at the headland. It's spectacular.”

Nell walked with her, between the house and the tower, out to the rugged jag of cliffs that jutted over the ocean. Even here there were flowers, tough little blooms that fought their way through cracks or blossomed along the scruffy tufts of wild grass.

Below, the waves thrashed and fumed, hurling themselves against the base of the cliffs, rearing back to slap again. Beyond, the water turned a deep, deep blue and stretched forever.

“When I was a girl I would sit here, and wonder at all this. Sometimes I still do.”

Nell turned her head, studied Mia's profile. “Did you grow up here?”

“Yes. In this house. It's always been mine. My parents were for the sea, and now they sail it. They're currently in the South Pacific, I think. We were always more a couple and a child than a family. They never quite adjusted to me, nor I to them, for that matter. Though we got along well enough.”

With a little shrug, she turned away. “The light's been here nearly three hundred years, sending out its beam to guide ships and seamen. Still, there've been wrecks, and it's said—as one would expect it to be said of such places—that on some nights, when the wind is right, one can hear the desperate calls of the drowned.”

“Not a comforting bedtime story.”