Seashell Season (31 page)

Chapter 88

Y
et another unsatisfactory call from my father. That's a nice way of saying I wanted to strangle him, and if I could have managed that long-distance, I would have. I swear.

This time he went on about how in the past week he'd noticed that “everyone” was giving him “odd” looks. “It's like they know something about me, about something bad that's going to happen to me,” he said in a breathless whisper, probably so that the guard couldn't hear what he was saying. “Like someone's planning to get me.”

It was all sufficiently vague not to worry me. I mean, no one had laid a finger on him—I asked. And no one had said anything to him—I asked about that, too. In the end, I don't know why I'd wasted my time trying to find some sense in his tale of persecution. In his tale of suspected, imagined persecution.

I wonder if Alan is genuinely paranoid, I mean, certifiably so. Maybe he's always been paranoid. Maybe that partly explains why he took me in the first place, if he thought that the reason Verity had left was because she was out to persecute him. Whatever. Anyway, I didn't tell him what Marion had told me about his father and his own bad behavior. What would be the point? He'd deny everything or blame it all on someone else. And I didn't tell him about Ellen and Richard's offer of a free education. Since he doesn't even know that his cousin is currently in my life, why would I? Again, he'd only take the information and twist it to fit his own weird psychological needs. He'd say Ellen was only showing an interest in me to one-up him, to hurt him.

And maybe he'd be right, that one time. I just don't know.

I've been thinking. None of those kids on the Greyson Academy's website look anything like me. What I mean is, Cathy and Hildy and Becca and Melissa would fit in far more easily than I would, with all their accomplishments and hobbies and, I'm guessing, good grades. I stick out enough here, or I think I do. In a school like that, I'd be notorious in about a second. From the minute I opened my mouth, everyone would know I didn't belong in that world. And if the truth about Alan and my past ever came out, which it probably would, I might be ostracized or bullied or worse, pitied. Why would I want to put myself through that when it's been hard enough fitting in here, where at least I've got Verity in my corner? And the Strawberries, too, I guess. Maybe even David and Marion.

I've always thought I was smart. What if I get to Greyson and find out I'm stupid? What if I can't hack getting good grades in a good school?

But there would be a car and an allowance, and I'd get to travel.

But maybe not if I flunk out. Maybe then Ellen and Richard would send me home, and I wouldn't get to see Paris.

Am I totally shallow after all?

I don't know why exactly I felt like visiting Cathy's house—maybe I should say I felt like seeing Cathy—but I did, so I got on my bike (not the one Ellen had bought for me; that's in the garage, and I'm thinking maybe I could donate it to Goodwill or something, as long as Ellen doesn't find out, not that I'm afraid of her) and cycled off to Maple Street. I found Cathy watering the flowerbed along the side of the house with a long green hose.

“Hey,” I said, after I'd propped my bike against one of the white birch trees in their yard. As I did, I noticed how interesting the bark was and thought I'd like to try to draw that sometime and get right all the subtle colors as well as the lines and textures.

Cathy turned off the hose and began to coil it. “Hey, yourself.”

“Did your mom tell you about Ellen and Richard's offer to send me to that expensive school?”

I hadn't really planned on talking about it, but the words were out before I could stop them.

“Yeah, she did.”

“And?”

Cathy shrugged. “And what?”

Sometimes she can be so freakin' annoying. “And what do you think about it?”

Cathy hung the coiled hose on a peg attached to the house. “I think,” she said, “that it's a bit weird. I mean, they hardly even know you, and they want you to live with them? Of course, I guess it's a generous offer in some ways. I mean, offering all that money. Mom said the tuition is, like, out of control. But . . .”

“But you wouldn't accept.”

Cathy laughed. “First of all, you and I are in totally different situations. But if some long-lost relative of mine suddenly showed up and asked me to move away with them, I'd say no, and for all sorts of reasons. Number one, I'm happy where I am. Why would I leave?”

Happy where I am.
I thought about that. Was I ever happy being where I was with my father? Yeah. A long time ago.

Am I happy being where I am now? What does
happy
mean, anyway?

“It's probably what Verity wants,” I said, “for me to go away. I'd be doing her a favor if I go to live with Ellen and Richard. Face it, I got dumped on her. She didn't ask for me.”

But even as I was saying those words, I knew it wasn't at all true, that Verity would want me to leave. I had ample proof of that, even if I discounted the now shut-down website. Verity is happy I'm where I am. That much I know.

“That's not fair,” Cathy argued, echoing my thoughts. “I know Verity. She does want you. She's always wanted you.”

And then I snapped. Blame it on that stupid call from Alan.

“
You
know her? You're not her daughter, her flesh and blood. I might only have met her a few weeks ago, but trust me, I can tell about her.”

Cathy didn't say anything for a moment but looked at me intently. It made me nervous.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing. Look, are you really seriously considering saying yes to Ellen?”

Now it was my turn to shrug.

Only later, after I'd been home for a while, did I realize what had really been behind my snapping at Cathy when she'd claimed to know Verity. My attitude toward Verity has changed. I no longer consider her the enemy. I'm not saying I love her or anything, but if I'm honest with myself I can say I like her. I believe her to be a good person. I believe she cares for me, even if I can't yet—maybe ever?—care for her back to the same extent.

Things seemed to have been straightening out for a while, but now, since Ellen and Richard came to Yorktide intent on being, in Ellen's words, Fairy Godparents, things are feeling seriously confused again.

After the life I've had, I'm not a big fan of confusion.

Chapter 89

V
erity was invited to my Phony Birthday dinner at some new restaurant in Ogunquit called Aquamarine, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that. On the one hand, I guess it was nice of Ellen and Richard to ask her along. But on the other . . . I know Verity doesn't like or even trust Ellen and Richard—and I'm not sure I do, either, at least, not much—and I imagined a seriously uncomfortable time with the three of them, me being the only common link. And with the question of Greyson Academy hanging over us . . .

As it turns out, David had gotten two tickets to hear a jazz trio play at a little club up in Portland that night. The night of my Phony Birthday. When I told Verity about the invitation to dinner, she immediately offered to cancel on David, but I convinced her (it took some doing) that she should go and have fun. I don't know what she thinks Ellen and Richard are going to do when they get me alone. Whisk me off to . . . Oh. I'm almost laughing right now. Verity has a reason to worry about people stealing me. Sorry.

I didn't enjoy myself much, though the food was okay, but the waiters were stiff and they hovered over us, replacing silverware for no reason I could see and refilling the water glasses every time one of us took a sip. Give me The Friendly Lobsterman any day. At one point Ellen asked me if I'd given more thought to their offer to live with them and go to that fancy school. I said that yeah, I had.

“And?” she asked, leaning toward me.

An eager beaver,
I thought. I shrugged. “That's it.”

Richard spoke up then. “Now, Ellen,” he said, “Gemma has a very big decision to make. She needs time.”

“But—”

“Ellen.”

I was grateful to Richard for controlling his wife—is that a bad term to use about a husband and wife,
controlling?
—and then he started a conversation about who was running for president in the next election. I listened closely, though I've never really paid much attention to politics. It was interesting. Richard is like the exact opposite of Alan, in that he seems to care about what goes on beyond the walls of his own home. I thought then of David, too. David is more like Richard than like Alan—he's not a loser—but he's also different from Richard. David is . . . Well, I don't know what he is, but I like him.

The most annoying parts of the night were the times when Ellen—never Richard—made nasty comments about my father. Not always nasty but definitely critical, like telling me about a time when they were teens (Ellen's a few years older than my father) and he begged her (that was her term) to let him come along with her and her friends to some party and she let him and he got seriously drunk and threw up all over an expensive couch. I wanted to tell her not to talk about him at all if she couldn't say something nice (and clearly, she can't) but like I said, since Marion told me about Alan's violent past, I can't seem to defend him. I'm pretty disgusted with my cowardice, if that's what it is. Or my lack of loyalty. I mean, I'm usually right out there with whatever comes into my mind, and I've always been good at sticking up for me and for Alan.

This is a weird thought, but I wonder if I didn't say anything because Ellen was paying for dinner in that fancy place. Did I allow myself to be bought?

Is that what it would be like if I do for some reason accept the offer of living with Ellen and Richard and going to that private school? Am I going to turn into a wimp?

They gave me a watch. (What are they going to give me next, a diamond ring?) I've never worn a watch in my life, and I don't intend to start now. But I took it and said thanks. I even put it on, though I took it off the minute I got home. Verity wasn't back yet from the concert, which was good because I don't want her to see the watch. I don't know what I'm going to do with it. I can't pass it on to Verity, because she won't wear it. And Ellen will probably want to see it on me, so I can't sell it, though Verity and I could use the money. I wonder if I can return it, nicely. Say,
Thanks, but I don't wear a watch
.

I mean, gifts aren't supposed to come with ties, right? You're supposed to give someone a gift because you like her and not because you want her to give you something in return. But of course not everybody thinks that way.

I feel—weird. Maybe it's the raw oyster Ellen convinced me to try.

Chapter 90

T
his morning Ellen called and said she wanted us to go for a massage.

“Full body, with hot stones and soothing oils, the whole works,” she said. “You'll love it.”

I wasn't sure of that at all. The idea of lying naked on a table while some stranger—man or woman—touches me all over gives me the creeps. As nicely as I could, I said no thanks, and then Ellen insisted I at least get a pedicure.

“Every woman should get a pedicure once a month,” she said. “It's essential maintenance.”

What about men?
I wondered.
Don't they need to “maintain” their feet?
But my feet were kind of a mess, so I said sure. I'll get a pedicure.

So we went to a salon in Kennebunkport. The staff spoke in hushed voices, and there was odd but nice music playing really softly. The furniture was in tones of tan and taupe and sand, and there were vases with fat pink flowers. Peonies, I think they're called. I'd never been in a place anything like this salon, and I felt massively out of my element. I mean, people go there to be
pampered
. Pampering isn't something anyone in my old life knows anything about.

My old life. That was a lot about being loud and getting by.

Ellen went off for her massage, and I was led into the room where they do manicures and pedicures. The pedicure was great, actually. Kind of ticklish at times, but the massage part was amazing—they used hot stones on me, too—and my feet have never looked so good. Ellen had paid in advance, but I snuck a look at one of the brochures stacked on the front desk of the salon. The pedicure cost sixty-five bucks. Unbelievable.

Maintenance is expensive. I wonder when Verity last had a pedicure.

After we left the salon, we went to this little Italian-themed café where Ellen drank, like, four glasses of water before ordering a glass of wine—she said you're supposed to drink a lot of water after a massage. We sat there for a while, and Ellen didn't mention one word about Greyson or Paris or living with her and Richard, though I knew we were both thinking about it, so at one point, after I had eaten half of the tiramisu I'd ordered (good stuff; I'd never had it before), I decided to bring it up.

“What I want to know is, why me? I mean, I know I'm a relative, but that doesn't really mean anything. Why are you offering so much to me?”

“You're family,” Ellen said promptly.

“But you have no use for my father,” I pointed out. “And he's family too. I mean, you hate him. So why care about me?”

Ellen shook her head. “You're not your father, Gemma. You have nothing at all to do with him. And he has nothing at all to do with you.”

Except for the fact that we share DNA,
I thought. But I didn't argue. Knowing what I now know about Alan, I'm not in any need of being identified as his flesh and blood.

“I don't mean to sound ungrateful or anything,” I said, “but I—”

Ellen didn't let me finish. “After all you've been through, Gemma,” she said, “you
deserve
this opportunity. You deserve this opportunity to excel, to show the world what you're made of.”

Do I? Does anyone
deserve
good stuff in life? I mean, people who do disgusting things like rape and murder other people deserve to be punished, but life can really suck. And let's say, okay, people
do
deserve good stuff to happen to them, most times it doesn't happen. That's just the way life is.

“I don't think I deserve anything in particular,” I said.

Ellen looked at me so intensely, it kind of weirded me out. “Yes,” she said, and her tone was fierce. “Yes, Gemma, you
do
deserve a way out. A way up.”

The way she said it, like she was determined to convince me no matter what it took that I was worthy of special treatment, of serious attention, kind of shook me.

Maybe, I thought, I am worthy of this life she's holding out to me. This chance.

Maybe.