Life Happens (15 page)

“If that’s the kind of guy you find at college, I’m definitely going.”

“I heard he’s making a documentary.”

Cole didn’t say anything, but he looked at Elle. There was something about his smile that reminded her of Dean’s. Tears stung her eyes and it was starting to tick her off. Everything made her feel like weeping these days, and that made her maddest of all.

Amanda fell into step beside Elle. “I hear that you and Oliver have spent some time together. Are you two, you know, an item?”

Girls like Amanda Brown could make Elle go from sad to annoyed in two seconds flat. If she hadn’t been so aware of that lobster boat, she would have thanked the girl for her stupidity because being annoyed was better than feeling sad any day. “No. Be my guest,” she said.

“That’s what I figured,” Amanda said. “What with what you’re facing and all, you know?”

If she said “you know” one more time, Elle was going to push her off the pier. Hoping to give the fishermen time to tie up the boat and vacate the pier before she got there, Elle slowed to a crawl.

The others went on ahead. How lucky for Elle, Amanda decided to keep her company.

“I just want you to know,” the girl said, as if they were best friends suddenly, “I’m rooting for you. Everyone on the island is. My mom says she doesn’t know how your, er, Mya Donahue ever could have given you up. Poor Mr. Laker. Mom says it practically killed him.”

Elle could hear the blood rushing through her head. “It wasn’t a mutual decision?”

“Why, no. He wanted to marry Mya and raise you on the island. I thought you knew.”

Evidently, Elle didn’t know shit. “What difference does it make? What’s done is done.” She felt the lump again, and her fingers shook. She’d assumed Mya and Dean hadn’t been in love, or she’d figured they were too young for that kind of responsibility. They sure acted cozy these days. If they’d been anything like that when they were young, they could have kept her. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t ever actually asked why Mya had given her up.

Dean had wanted her. That meant it had been Mya’s decision. What was she, too big of an inconvenience?

The more she thought about it, the more ticked she got. To make matters worse, Oliver waited until they were almost upon him to climb onto the pier. Some of the other kids spoke to him as they passed.

The other fishermen left. But Oliver stood between her and escape.

He’d looked at her before without smiling. This was different. He must have known she was waiting for him to leave. He lowered to a piling and made himself comfortable. Not about to let him intimidate her, she held his stupid, piercing gaze.

“Hi, Oliver,” Amanda crooned on her way by.

He smiled at
Amanda.
But he spoke to Elle as she passed.

“What did he say?” Amanda whispered before they were even out of hearing range.

“Who cares?” Pushing Kaylie a little faster, Elle didn’t repeat it out loud.

But he’d said, “Write that story yourself. Come what may.”

Mya was carrying her sandals when she entered the kitchen Saturday morning. She was surprised to find Elle and Kaylie awake, too. “You two are early birds,” she said, pouring a cup of coffee.

Elle put Kaylie in the high chair then tried to open the jar of baby food.

“Da.”

“I’m hurrying,” Elle said. But she couldn’t loosen the lid.

“Want some help with that?” Mya opened the jar easily.

Elle mumbled something that might have passed for “thanks.”

“Your Grandma Millie and I are catching the first ferry to Portland this morning. I have to do payroll, or I wouldn’t go.”

“Whatever.”

Mya looked more closely at the stubborn set of Elle’s chin. “Get up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“What difference does it make to you?”

Mya slipped into her sandals and fastened her watch. Elle had been snippy last night, too. “We’re going to miss our ferry if we don’t get going. Where’s your Grandma Millie?”

“Her name is Millie, not Grandma Millie. And how the hell should I know?”

“Okay, Elle. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Kaylie ate solemnly, watching them with serious blue eyes.

Keeping her voice soft and her expression gentle, Mya said, “Are you mad at the world, or just at me?”

“Why would I be mad at you? You haven’t done anything. Except maybe throw me away. I mean, Dean wanted me, but you probably figured I wasn’t worth the trouble.”

She finally looked at Mya, and there was such hatred in those dark brown eyes. “Who told you that?”

Elle laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You’re not denying it. What difference does it make who told me?”

“It wasn’t like that, Elle. Please.”

The girl jumped up, spun around, out of Mya’s reach. “That’s not what Amanda Brown said. Which part isn’t true? The fact that giving me up was your idea? Or the fact that Dean wanted to marry you and keep me?”

Elle looked deathly pale. And Mya didn’t know what to do. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want you. It was never that.”

“Why don’t you tell me what it was then? This I’ve got to hear.”

Millie entered the kitchen just as Mya opened her mouth to speak, only to close it, the words dying on her tongue. Dressed in red and white, Millicent looked from her daughter to her granddaughter. “What’s going on?”

Kaylie whimpered. And Elle sat back down. “I didn’t mean to get into this. Nothing’s going on. You’re going to miss the ferry.”

“I’ll catch the next ferry.”

Elle dodged Mya’s outstretched hand.

And Mya was bereft.

“It came as a shock, is all,” Elle said, without looking at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Elle.”

“I mean it. I could use a little space today.”

Mya felt her mother looking at her. But Mya’s attention was trained on Elle. “I thought you and Kaylie were going to spend the day with Sylvia and Gretchen,” Mya said.

“We are.”

Meaning she needed a little space from
Mya.

A dozen explanations tore through her mind. And she couldn’t voice any of them.

“Time’s a-wasting,” Elle said, snide even now.

“You’re sure you’ll be okay today?”

“I’m peachy, didn’t you know?” Elle looked at Mya and Millie for only a moment. “Just go. Please.”

That
please
did it. Although Millicent protested, she and Mya left the summer cottage. Mya’s stomach pitched, and tears wet her face.

It wasn’t fair.

But then, when had life ever been fair?

I
t was almost a typical Saturday night on Keepers Island. More than a dozen people, most related to Dean in one way or another, were gathered at Grady and Gretchen’s house on Waterwheel Road. Three dogs barked, five boys scuffled and Grady and Reed ignored them the way they always did unless something was broken or someone was bleeding.

Mya and Millie were here tonight, along with Elle and Kaylie. A few weeks ago, Dean wouldn’t have believed it was possible, let alone that it could feel so normal. So right.

Michael and Brad had finally enticed Elle to toss a football with them, and were ribbing her because she threw like a girl. Elle took the ribbing without comment, which wasn’t like her at all. Something was wrong. Whatever it was had kept Mya quiet all evening, too. Mya didn’t get quiet. When she was pushed into a corner, she came out swinging. Either she and Elle had argued, or they needed to. He hadn’t decided which it was.

“Dean? Yo. Dean.”

He grunted something that meant what.

And Reed said, “You didn’t hear a word I said.”

“I heard every word you said.” He just couldn’t remember any of them. His gaze wandered back to Mya and Elle.

“You must be feeling pretty good,” Grady said, slapping him on the back. “Elle and Kaylie are both wearing Red Sox caps tonight. Isn’t that something?”

It was something, all right.

Earlier, he’d overheard Elle talking to Cole. “A few hundred years ago the Atlantic was so full of lobsters,” she’d said, “they used to wash up on shore, and the people simply picked them up by the bushelful.” She’d paused. “My father told me that.”

Her father. Not her
birth
father. That term always made him feel like a sperm donor. She didn’t call him
Dad.
That title was reserved for a dignified though obscure man back in Pennsylvania. She’d said
her father.
The simple distinction had brought a sense of pride and honor, followed by the most humbling sensation.

Across the yard, Gretchen jumped up and hurried into the house, leaving Mya sitting by herself. Dean ambled away from Grady and Reed in the middle of whatever they were talking about.

Mya saw Dean approaching.

He might have been able to fool everyone else with that
slow, lazy gait, but he didn’t fool her. His step was deliberate, his gaze very direct.

He lowered his lanky frame into the wicker chair adjacent to hers. Leaning back, knees apart, he asked, “Why so quiet?”

Dean Laker never had been one to beat around the bush. Usually, she appreciated it. Tonight, she didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing. She couldn’t seem to keep her eyes off Elle. Looking at the girl brought a stirring deep inside, not unlike the flutter kick of her unborn child.

Her child.

Elle’s parting words haunted Mya. She’d done what bookkeeping was necessary to keep Brynn’s functioning for another week. She’d passed out paychecks and straightened summer sweaters and trendy tanks and dresses. But she was heartsick. Confiding in Suzette and Claire had been a relief, but it hadn’t lasted.

“It isn’t fair,” Suzette had wailed. She’d consulted Mya’s personal tides of the moon chart, only to put it away without comment, not a good sign or omen. Mya hadn’t needed the stars and moon to know that this was an impossible situation.

“Did you and Elle have an argument?” Dean asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What, exactly?”

In the background, dogs barked and boys laughed; waves broke and seagulls fought over something floating
in shallow water. The loudest and most aggressive bird won. It was the survival of the fittest. There was no reasoning with instinct, no logic in nature, no gray areas, no looking back or wondering. She envied animals that.

“Mya?”

She finally looked at Dean. His hair was a deep, dark brown, but instead of appearing almost black in the encroaching twilight, the setting sun brought out auburn highlights. There was no reproach in his steady blue eyes, but there was warmth and concern. It reminded her of how he’d looked all those years ago when she told him she was late. She’d been emotional and tearful and so nervous. After about five seconds, he’d said, “It’s not the end of the world.”

The end of the world had come seven months later.

It felt that way again. Watching Kaylie crawl across the grass toward her, Mya said, “Doesn’t she look like a living advertisement for BabyGap?”

Dean spared a glance at the baby, but he was far more intent upon what was going on in the rest of the yard. Elle was quiet. Mya was downright evasive. And across the patio, Millicent was wringing her hands, deep in conversation with his mother.

What the hell had happened between yesterday and today?

“What are we going to do about our kids, Ruth?” Millicent kept her voice quiet so no one else would hear.

Her heart had been breaking for Mya all day. Her daughter had been quiet during the drive to the ferry dock, and had kept her silence nearly all the way to Portland. She rode on the top deck, her hands gripping the railing, the ocean wind in her expressionless face. Millicent stood beside her, wanting so desperately to help.

“You were right, Mom,” Mya had finally said when the mainland came into view. “I should have kept her.”

Millie had been waiting all her life to hear Mya say she was right about something. And when it finally happened, Millicent couldn’t gloat. She couldn’t even agree.

“You did the right thing and you know it!” she’d said.

Mya had taken a shuddering breath. “Did I?”

Millicent had spent the entire day cutting and curling hair for old ladies she’d known since she’d opened her beauty parlor on the mainland. Every one of them asked her what was wrong. Mya didn’t believe she could keep a secret, but she hadn’t told them. It wasn’t until she’d stolen this moment alone with Ruth that she could voice the same question she’d asked nineteen years ago. “What are we going to do about our kids? Dear God, what?”

Ruth Laker sighed. “What can we do, Millie, except love them?”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said that, either.

“Parenthood,” Millicent said, her heart nearly bursting with love and worry. “It’s the best thing and the hardest thing anyone will ever do.”

“And just think,” Ruth said sagely. “It never ends. Now, tell me what it is that has you, Mya and Elle all tied up in knots.”

For a blind woman, Ruth Laker saw an awful lot.

As Millicent opened her mouth, the floodgates opened, too, and everything came tumbling out.

It was dark outside when the knock sounded on Mya’s side door. The house was quiet except for an old clock ticking on the kitchen wall. Far in the distance, a foghorn called a lonely warning. Rubbing at the knot between her shoulder blades, Mya took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Dean had donned a jacket since she’d seen him. It was nearly as old and well-worn as the look he gave her as he entered. “You could have told me. You should have told me.”

She shook her head. “Let me guess. Our mothers commiserated.”

“You should have told Elle the truth.”

Again, she shook her head.

“You should have told her I’m the reason you gave her up.”

Mya would have staked her life on the belief that this was the first time he’d uttered those words out loud.

“Mya.”

Her name was an ache, a whispered plea, a lonesome need filled with past hurt and present acceptance. It knot
ted Mya’s vocal cords and stilled a place deep inside her. “She loves you, Dean. Let’s leave it at that.”

“The hell I will.”

Dean had surprised her. Hell, he’d surprised himself. All those years he’d blamed her because it had been easier than blaming himself. He’d hurt her enough. More than she’d ever deserved. It didn’t matter that he’d been hurting just as much, or that he couldn’t help it at the time. What mattered was that he didn’t hurt her anymore.

“Where’s Elle?”

“She’s sleeping. Where are you going?”

She followed him into the sleeping porch, switching off the light he flicked on. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

Once his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see the crib where Kaylie slept, could hear the baby hum in her sleep. By the light of the moon shining through ribbons of fog, he made his way to the daybed beneath the window where Elle lay sleeping.

Placing a hand on her slender shoulder, he shook her gently. “Elle. Wake up.”

“Dean,” Mya cautioned.

He shook Elle again. These past few weeks, he’d been on the brink of understanding, but it wasn’t until tonight that he finally realized just how great a sacrifice Mya had made all those years ago.

“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered.

“It’s either this or take her over my knee.”

Elle opened her eyes. “What the hell?”

“Come on.” He hauled the girl out of bed.

“What are you doing?” Elle said, cranky.

“You’re going to need slippers or shoes, and a coat. I can carry you or you can walk. Either way, you’re coming with me.”

Elle’s eyes were large when she looked at Mya.

And Dean whispered, “Don’t worry, honey. I wouldn’t hurt you for anything. But there’s something I have to show you, and I’m not in the mood for any of your lip.”

Next, Dean turned to Mya. “Stay with Kaylie.”

“If you were always this bossy, it’s no wonder she didn’t want to marry you,” Elle sputtered.

He shot his daughter a quelling look. She said no more as he took her by the shoulders and steered her toward the living room. Plucking her Red Sox cap from the hook near the door, he didn’t say another word, either.

Mya followed them as far as the porch and watched while he deposited Elle in the passenger seat. “Dean? Be careful.”

The look she gave him could have been a valiant effort gone bad, or it could have been the rawest expression he’d ever seen. “Don’t worry, Mya. I’ve got her.”

Elle sat stone still in the passenger seat as Dean’s Jeep bounced through potholes and spun through sand. Lame
music played in the background. He didn’t say anything. He probably figured she was ticked.

She had been at first. Who did he think he was, barging into her room and waking her from a deep sleep? But she’d gotten over that almost instantly. What she felt now was different.

They’d been on this road before. She recognized the dips and potholes, and the curves winding up the hill, but it all looked so different with the fog moving in, turning the darkness creamy white. Every so often, eyes glowed in Dean’s headlights, some low to the ground, some not. There had always been something about nighttime that she’d liked, something subdued and mysterious and exciting and unknown.

She opened her own door when he stopped in his driveway. He waited for her at the front of the Jeep, falling into step beside her, between her and the incessant ocean wind, as if he wanted to shield her from the cold.

As if he could.

“Okay,” she said, unable to contain herself another moment. “What did you want to tell me?”

He opened his door loudly, then held it for her like a gentleman. It occurred to her that he was a study in contrasts. She must have gotten that from him.

Switching on lights as he went, he didn’t release her hand until they stood before a tall, antique cupboard in the kitchen. He had to stretch in order to reach the old
clasp. The cupboard door creaked as it opened. He pushed things around on the shelf. And then he brought a bottle out of hiding, and placed it on the counter.

It was a bottle of Scotch. Slightly more than half full, it was dusty, as if it hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

“You wanted to show me your stash?”

He ran his fingertips over the neck of the bottle reverently, almost like a caress. “I wanted you to look at the reason Mya didn’t marry me.”

There was a heavy feeling in Elle’s stomach. “You drank?” she whispered.

“I haven’t had a drink in eleven years, ten months, and four days.”

He carried the bottle to his kitchen table. Pulling out a chair for both of them, he placed the bottle between them, and had a seat.

A foghorn sounded sorrowfully somewhere far, far away. And Elle shivered beneath her jacket. Without saying a word, Dean went to the fireplace where he struck a match. Bending at the waist, he touched it to dry kindling.

The fire was just a lick of flames at first, but then it whooshed up, enveloping the logs. Bark crackled, popped. Staring at the flames, he said, “I started drinking when I was fifteen. The guys and I would go down to the wharf, or out to McCaffrey’s Cove and pass a bottle. It was all great fun. My brothers tried it. Most kids do.”

He returned to the table.

“I told myself I could stop anytime I wanted to. Sometimes I believed my own lies. Back then I was hopelessly angry and too young to know it was normal. I had no reason to drink. My parents didn’t beat me or each other. My father hardly drank at all. My girlfriend didn’t like it.”

He met Elle’s gaze in the flickering firelight.

“I had no reason to drink. I had two brothers, a dog, the island and Mya. And a taste for cheap Scotch. I told myself all kids drank. But when the haze cleared, I was the only one who wasn’t standing. And then Mya told me she was pregnant with you. And God, I didn’t even mind. I felt like such a man, Elle. I mean, I loved her. And she loved me. I promised her I would quit.”

His gaze went to the bottle. His mouth watered, even now.

“But you didn’t quit?” Elle asked quietly.

“Oh, I quit. Over and over. But never for very long. I broke my promise to Mya time and again. She told me she would give you up for adoption if I didn’t get help.”

From his jacket pocket, he brought out the Red Sox cap he’d given Elle the first time he’d met her. “I didn’t need help. Only losers needed help. Addicts. Alcoholics.” Touching the cap’s bill, he said, “We were barely seventeen. I wonder what the future looked like to Mya back then.”

Elle took the cap with shaking fingers, the only sounds
the crackle of the fire, the sigh of the ocean and the beat of her own heart. “Great,” she said after a long silence. “Now I’m going to have to apologize to her.”