The Islanders (9 page)

“Benjamin—” Zoey stopped herself from saying something kind. Benjamin was always laying out these little traps, looking for some sign of pity that he would pounce on unmercifully. “Actually, you just looked like you were very interested in my left ear.”

“Roger.” He gave a little salute. “Adjust three points to starboard. Nice day, huh? Partly cloudy?”

“Yeah. Although the sun is getting lower on the horizon every day.”

“It will do that. So, aren't you worried Jake will have a hissy
fit if he finds out you're talking to Lucas? You're crazy if you think he won't hear about it.”

“He already has. He and Claire came over this morning. Nina told Claire—you remember her, your girlfriend?—Well, Nina told her I spoke to Lucas the other day. We exchanged about a dozen words at the time, so naturally it called for a major inquisition.” She related the events of that morning to her brother, leaving out all mention of certain things Lucas had said and done.

“Claire, huh?” He nodded thoughtfully.

“Don't worry,” Zoey said. “I don't think it's like she's interested in Jake or anything. I think it's just that they both are all hot about this whole Lucas thing.”

“If Claire decides it's to her advantage, she'll find a way to get interested in Jake real fast,” Benjamin said. “You know how she is. Or maybe you don't.”

“You make it sound like she's the one behind all this,” Zoey said impatiently. “It was Jake's brother who died. He's the one who's most involved. He's the one I'm worried about hurting.”

“Then why is Claire getting in the middle of it all?”

“She was hurt in the accident. I guess she figures she could have been killed, too.”

“But she wasn't.”

“No.”

“So why the big push from Claire?”

She looked at him quizzically. He must have felt her gaze because he smiled at her. “Are you trying to tell me something?” she asked.

He pursed his lips. “I can't tell you anything, little sister. Only . . . you remember that first time we went whale watching? Maybe not, you were pretty young. But it's one of those memories I hold on to from when I could see.” He made a wry face. “Like I remember your face, except you'll always look about ten years old. Anyway, I remember the way you could watch the surface of the water, the way it would seem to bulge, almost imperceptibly, and you'd know the whale was right there, just below the surface. You couldn't see him yet, but you knew he was coming up.”

“I do remember that. Like a bubble.”

He nodded. “That's what we have here. Something big, just below the surface. You can hear it in Claire's voice since Lucas came back. You can feel its outlines in strange things like the two of them coming to see you this morning. And then there are all the little things that don't quite fit in.”

Zoey looked at him sharply. “What little things?”

“I'll give you one.” He held up his index finger. “The car they were all in that night was an old VW bug, right? Two seats in front and no way a third person fits in.”

“Okay.”

“So one person's in the backseat. Wade. Lucas. Claire.”

“Either Claire or Wade,” Zoey said, but the little hairs on the back of her neck were standing up.

“Yep. Only . . . only you'd figure the two in the front would be the two who were most badly injured in a head-on crash into a tree.” He shrugged. “Wouldn't you figure that?”

“Have you ever mentioned that to Claire?” Zoey asked.

He shook his head. Then he grinned. “But you'll mention it to Nina, which is almost as good.”

“So . . . So what are you saying?”

Benjamin made a “who knows?” face. “You know me,” he said, waving his hand dismissively, “always picking at details.”

 

My mother died when I was thirteen. She had breast cancer.

Naturally, I was overwhelmed. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep without having horribly sad dreams. My dad was great, doing his best to take care of me, sending me to counseling, even asking if I wanted to start going to church.

We'd always been close, my dad and I. Just like Nina had always been closer to my mom. Everyone said they were so alike, not just in looks but in personality. Nina went away to stay with our aunt and uncle for a couple of months, so I didn't see much of her during this time. And when she came back, she seemed so changed. Maybe I was, too.

I know that from then on, things were different between Nina and me. Maybe she resented being sent to stay with my aunt, but I know my dad did what he thought was right. He said that as close as Nina was to my mother, she needed a change of scene.

After the crash that killed Wade McRoyan, my father never left my hospital room, even though the doctors told him it really wasn't a big deal, just some minor injuries. He asked me who was driving, and that's when I realized I didn't remember anymore, which was kind of frightening.

He said he'd get to the bottom of it. I shouldn't worry. One way or the other he would protect me. He believed in me. He trusted me. He knew I was going to be just fine, because he would never again let anyone or anything hurt me.

It was what I needed to hear right then, with my mind a scrambled mess of half-memories and confusion. At a time like that, you need to hear that it's all going to be okay. You know?

And it was. I healed right up. Lucas confessed. Over time my confusion diminished. Life went on.

“IT'S FINE BY ME,” NINA
said. “I hate to be responsible for their deaths, anyway. Screaming as they hit the boiling water, crying out to their lobster gods for mercy.”

Claire laughed. From time to time, amid the general weirdness, Nina could actually be funny. “Lobster gods?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Nina said solemnly. “Lobsters are quite devout. I've never seen a lobster covet or bear false witness.”

“What's the holdup?”

They turned and looked at their father. Burke Geiger came up to the seafood counter, pushing a grocery cart that held a bottle of white wine and a loaf of French bread.

“No lobsters,” Claire said.

“No lobsters?” her father echoed disbelievingly.

“We're too late,” Nina said. “Labor Day's a big day for lobsters, I guess.”

“We have to have lobsters,” Mr. Geiger said flatly.

“They have no lobsters,” both girls said at once.

Mr. Geiger made a face, wrinkling the tan brow that contrasted so sharply with his prematurely white hair. “Let's walk down to the dock and see Roy Cabral.”

“If he had any lobsters, he's probably sold them,” Nina said, sounding hopeful.

“He'll take care of us,” Mr. Geiger said easily, abandoning the basket and leading them toward the door. “Hell, I own half his boat.”

Claire hurried to keep up with him. Her father habitually walked as if he were late for a meeting with the president, even when, like now, he was not at work. “Since when do you own part of Mr. Cabral's boat?” Claire asked. She always tried to show an interest in her father's business. He had no one else to talk to.

“And which part?” Nina mumbled, bringing up the rear.

Mr. Geiger shrugged. “You remember a couple of years back, the price of lobster was way down—”

“Sure,” Nina said ironically. “You know how I keep up with seafood prices.”

Mr. Geiger ignored her. “He was hurting for cash, so I helped out a little. No big deal.”

They reached the dock and veered across to the spot where Mr. Cabral's boat was tied up. He was on the boat, hosing down his deck, wearing high rubber boots over dirty overalls. His face
had little in common with his son's, Claire reflected, at least as she remembered Lucas's face. Maybe the mouth was the same, but the rest was as hard as chiseled stone, weathered a deep chestnut color.

“Hi, Roy,” her father called out.

“Mr. Geiger,” Mr. Cabral said, nodding. He turned off the hose and wiped his hands on a rag.

“Roy, I'm in a bind. No lobsters, and my housekeeper is set on cooking up some lobster tonight.”

Mr. Cabral nodded again, as if this were indeed a terrible tragedy. “I have lobster. Not all sold yet. Only maybe not so big.” He shrugged.

“I'll take whatever size you have, Roy, and thanks.”

Mr. Cabral walked back to the hold and began banding and boxing lobsters.

“Smaller are better, anyway,” Mr. Geiger said to Claire. “People think you need a lobster the size of a Volkswagen, but the smaller ones are so much more tender.”

“Volkswagen,” Nina echoed, looking puzzled.

“Yes?” Claire said, batting her eyes condescendingly at her sister.

Nina shrugged. “Nothing. Zoey was talking about Volkswagens today. Wasn't that the car—you know, the big crash, wasn't that a Volkswagen?”

“I don't know one car from the next,” Claire said dismissively. “It was small. Are Volkswagens small?”

Nina shrugged again.

“What was she asking about the car for?” Mr. Geiger said, sounding casual and keeping his gaze fixed on Mr. Cabral.

“I don't know,” Nina said. “I was trying to get her to loan me this pair of shorts she just bought. She said she and Ben were talking about it on the ferry this morning. Volkswagens and whether they were small. Ben said he thought it was strange that everyone didn't get crushed.”

“That's a little morbid,” Claire said disapprovingly.

“He's
your
boyfriend,” Nina said. “If you don't like him, maybe you should—”

“Here you have,” Mr. Cabral said, lifting a box of sluggishly moving lobsters onto the pier.

“How many?” Mr. Geiger asked.

“Six, half-dozen,” Mr. Cabral said. “Two each because so small.”

“Could you add a couple more?” Mr. Geiger asked. He turned to Claire. “I thought maybe we'd invite Benjamin over tonight. It's been a while since we've had him to dinner.”

Claire leaned against the railing of the widow's walk and watched him approach. He had his cane out, swinging it back
and forth in a short arc that was more a formality than a necessity. It wasn't the cane that told him precisely when to stop, stretch out his left hand and place it within three inches of the latch to her gate.

There was always something a little amazing in the way Benjamin managed to find his way through the narrow streets of North Harbor, going the length of Camden, crossing four other streets, taking the right turn on Lighthouse, crossing yet another street, finding her gate among the others on the block, finding the door and the knocker, and ending up there under the porch light, looking as if it were nothing.

He had explained it to her before: seventy-one steps from his house to the first street, and eleven steps to the other curb. Then a hundred eight steps, and ninety-seven steps more. And with all the counting went the sounds: the barking Labrador retriever, the beeping of the video machine just inside the grocery store, the way the sounds of the dock echoed up the cobblestones of Exchange, the lapping surf when you reached Lighthouse.

It was one of the things that made her like him, the way he paid such close attention to all that went on around him. When she spoke to him, he heard her every nuance, focused his full attention on her. Most guys sent every third glance in the direction of her chest and heard only half of what she said.

It also made her uncomfortable at times, the way he always seemed to be paying unnatural attention to details no one else even noticed.

“Hi,” she said, panting a little from the hurried descent from her room.

“Yes, I'd like some fudge, please? With walnuts.”

“Come on in,” Claire said.

“You mean this isn't Mrs. Laskin's sweet shop?”

Claire slipped her hand around the back of his neck, drew him toward her, and kissed him on the lips.

“Why, Mrs. Laskin. I didn't know you cared.” He folded the collapsible cane and set it on the small table at the base of the stairs.

Claire's father came out of his study and clapped a hand on Benjamin's shoulder. “Ben, good to see you.”

“Evening, Mr. Geiger. How's business? Foreclosed on any widows or orphans lately?”

Mr. Geiger managed a pained but tolerant smile. “Mid-Maine Bank never forecloses on widows or orphans, Ben, you know that. We don't give them loans in the first place.”

Benjamin laughed, which delighted Claire's father. Mr. Geiger had made it clear he was somewhat uncertain of Benjamin's prospects, but at the same time he clearly liked him, which was an improvement over Claire's previous boyfriends.
In fact, he'd seemed almost eager that Benjamin come for dinner tonight.

“I think Janelle has dinner just about ready, so we can go on into the dining room,” Mr. Geiger announced. “Nina!” he shouted up the stairs.

“I'm here, I'm here,” Nina said, appearing at the top of the stairs and trotting down them loudly.

“You might try wearing something decent when we're having someone over for dinner,” Mr. Geiger said disapprovingly. Nina was wearing bib overalls under an unbuttoned red plaid flannel shirt.

“Really, Nina,” Benjamin chided. “Where's your sense of style?”

Dinner was served in the formal dining room, patterned china and lead crystal glittering brightly beneath a brass chandelier. Janelle, the live-in housekeeper Claire's father had hired soon after the death of Mrs. Geiger, served in courses of a cold scallop appetizer, a salad, then the lobsters for everyone except Nina, who had decided in the end that she couldn't cause any more lobster suffering. She had broiled cod instead.

“So, are you looking forward to school starting tomorrow?” Mr. Geiger asked as Janelle poured coffee.

Benjamin shrugged. “It will be my senior year. I guess I'm looking forward to getting it over with.”

“And then?”

“You mean after I graduate?”

“It's not a million years in the future, is it?” Mr. Geiger asked.

“He's sizing you up as a marriage prospect,” Nina said darkly, stirring sugar into a cup of coffee.

“Me?” Benjamin asked in astonishment. “Marry your father? Well, naturally I'm flattered, but—”

Claire reached across the table and put her hand on Benjamin's. “Don't pay any attention to my annoying sister.”

“He never has,” Nina muttered.

“I was just curious,” Mr. Geiger said. “You're obviously too bright to miss out on college. But at the same time I know your folks have to send both you and Zoey at the same time. Quite an expense.”

“Daddy,” Claire chided. Her father had a tendency to be rather blunt where money was concerned.

“Oh, Benjamin's a big boy. He knows I hold the loans on Passmores' Restaurant. There's nothing sinister in it. I'm the president of the bank; I'm supposed to know how much money everyone has.” He made a deprecating face. “Ben's dad knows what everyone likes to eat, his mom knows how much of what poison everyone on the island drinks, and I know how much money people have.”

“Like a dentist knows how many teeth everyone has,” Benjamin said. “Or a proctologist knows how big—”

Claire squeezed his hand sharply.

“Thank you, Ben,” Mr. Geiger said, shooting Claire a look that was half-amused, half-annoyed. Claire kept her expression innocent. “What I was getting around to was reassuring you that if you need a little boost with the old college funding, I'm sure we at the bank can work something out.”

Claire felt the sudden tension in Benjamin's hand. Or perhaps he was just responding to her own surprised reaction. Her father was volunteering to help pay Benjamin's way through college? What was this all about? She stared closely at her father's face, but he was blandly spooning up the ice cream Janelle had put in front of him.

“That's very nice of you,” Benjamin said guardedly.

“See?” Mr. Geiger said. “It's not all foreclosing on widows and orphans. Sometimes being a banker you get to help someone out.”

Benjamin smiled. Her father smiled. Even Nina smiled, in a sort of perplexed way.

Claire pushed away her dessert. No, this was not what it seemed. Not that her father was incapable of being generous; he was. But Claire knew him too well. They were two of a kind in many ways. Her father had some motive for this sudden
display of openhandedness.

As usual, Benjamin went with unerring accuracy right to the point. “So, if I end up taking out a loan, Mr. Geiger, what do I have to sign over to Mid-Maine Bank? This isn't one of those deals where I have to sell my soul, is it?”

“Dad doesn't believe in souls,” Nina said.

“Of course I do,” Mr. Geiger said. “I'm not just a materialist—I believe in patriotism, honor, right and wrong.” He paused to take a sip of his coffee. “And of course, loyalty. Loyalty is especially important to me.”