Tighter (10 page)

“But I don’t want anything.” I shook my head, my voice suddenly thinning on me as I entreated her. “I’m trying to understand what’s going on in this house, too, that’s all. I’m … I’m on your side.” Was that true? It seemed true.

Connie’s hands were vein-corded and liver-spotted; they made me feel sorry for her in a way that the rest of her didn’t. And I could see that my last words had hit their mark. She paused. Then seemed to decide something as she stopped playing with her napkin and brought her hands under her chin, her eyes unfocused. “I go over it in my head, over and over, but I jutht don’t know why he did it. Like the way thome people pull a dog’th tail or pinch a baby. Peter liked to pick at Thkylark. I didn’t thee the half of it until he wath gone. Even now. Theemth like I’m alwayth dithcovering thomething new.”

“Connie”—I spoke carefully—“that’s because he’s still doing it.”

Abruptly, she shoved up from the table. “
Now
you’re talking blathphemy.” She angled a finger at me, all trace of her earlier good humor collapsed. “I don’t need any more from you, Jamie. With my own eyeth, I thaw that boy’th cathket laid in at Thaint Bartholomew latht Augutht, not five mileth up the road. With my own eyeth!” She bugged them out, turning herself grotesque, and then snatched up my unfinished dish and whisked past me to the kitchen sink.

“There’s a presence here,” I insisted. “His, mostly. If she’s here, it’s only through what she meant to him. But he’s angry and I can feel him. From the very first night, I could.”

Connie was jerking her head like a bee was circling it. “Enough, enough. I’m a woman of faith. I don’t believe in anybody come up from the earth to haunt it. You’re talking pure nonthenth.” Then she yanked on her rubber gloves with all the grandeur of heading to the opera, and made an equal production of turning on the faucet taps.

But if I’d been talking
pure nonthenth
, then Connie wouldn’t have reacted so strongly. Instead, she was attacking the dishes as if they needed to be purged of their sins. As if she could scrub off our conversation with her bristles and detergent.

“It would be better if we were together on all this,” I said. “You sense it, too, Connie. It’s not fair to me to pretend that you don’t.”

But now she’d morphed into full-on madwoman, muttering and shaking her head at her soap bubbles. Evidently, she wasn’t speaking to me anymore. Not about this, anyhow. Yet I’d flustered her because I’d hit a nerve. Her reaction was her confession. Maybe she couldn’t detect Peter and Jessie like I could, but she knew. Meantime, I was faced with her thorny mood and the slap of the dishwater.

So I left her, scooting downstairs to my refuge: the family room, where the babble of the television always seemed to temporarily banish whatever else was trapped inside these walls.

TWELVE

Awful as it would have been to admit it to him, I heeded Milo’s advice. I took care of Isa, and tried to forget his and my harsh exchange. And Isa by herself—as in, Isa not working to impress her big brother—could be a delight. Soon I’d stopped worrying about whether or not I was sinking too deep into her world of corny “what if” games. They all seemed pretty harmless to me.

But Dr. Hugh probably would have invoiced a different diagnosis, so we made a point to duck Connie’s watch. I was sure Mags would have died laughing to see me paddling around in the pool or ocean pretending to be an Olympic swimmer, or instructing a “studio audience” how to make honeydew-melon sorbet. But Mags wasn’t here. Just Isa and me and an endless radiance of sunny days—and it wasn’t all that bad.

Except that even Isa had friends her own age. And as the drift and spin of days made weeks, I was getting downright desperate for some of my own. Blyers had proven to be way less “kick-back” than Miles McRae’s email suggested. Most other au pairs were swanky summer kids, like Jessie. The more I looked around, the more apparent it became that I was a rare breed here: the unknown import.

One of the Green Hill Beach Club lifeguards that everyone called Noogie had been nicest to me. Since Isa had signed up for advanced diving lessons, I saw Noogie every day. We’d say hello, and then I’d study her from behind my book. There was something about her. She was pretty in an athletic way, like Mags, and she was unsuckuppy with parents. Everyone, myself included, liked to be around Noogie, just listening to her laugh and joke and banter with the kids. She reminded me a lot of Tess and Teddy, themselves both extroverts. Watching Noogie, I missed the twins, and dreaded thinking of next year: the empty rooms, the quiet threesome of me and my parents. I’d already experienced a taste of it this past spring since Tess and Teddy had never been home, wrapped up in senior week and prom and graduation.

And then, just like that, it happened. One afternoon, Noogie, on break and ambling back from the Mud Hut, dropped down to the empty lounge chair beside me.

“Why are you always staring at me?”

Humiliated, I blinked down at my book. “I’m not.”

“Is it payback because we always stare at you?”

When I looked up, she was smiling ruefully. “I’m sure you know by now how much you look like her.”

“And that is so not my fault.”

Noogie’s laugh was more like a bark.
Arf, arf.
Her trademark, husky laugh that was part of her coolness. “Fair enough. But did Miles hold a contest and you won it? The ‘who looks the most like Jessie Feathering to scare the bejesus out of everyone at Green Hill’ contest?”

I straightened. “Listen, this whole situation was news to me, too. Until a month ago, I didn’t know Little Bly existed. And I was totally ignorant that certain beaches in the USA came equipped with valet parking and personal cabanas.”

Which made Noogie bark-laugh
rough, rough, rough
all over again. “Green Hill’s not bad, if you don’t happen to resemble the girl who had your job last year. If Jessie were here today, she’d have thought it was hysterical.”

“Except it’s not.”

“True.” Noogie grew instantly sober. “And Miles McRae is no father of the year.” Then she lowered her voice, though Isa was all the way on the other side of the pool, practicing her jackknife. “He’s so checked out, he probably thought he was doing something nice, finding a … doppelganger—to take Jessie’s place. Uh-oh—hang on.”

I looked around. Out of the corner of her eye, Noogie’d caught a splash fight. Her lifeguard’s whistle pierced the air. “Molly! Jonas! Out of the pool.”

As they climbed out, culpable and defiant, Noogie returned her attention to me. “So, tell me. How’s it been so far?”

“The job? It’s okay. I get to sleep in. And Isa’s a snap.”

“Yeah, but Isa’s also, like, eleven. Why don’t you come party with us tonight?”

“Sure.” I said it too quickly. Loserishly.

Noogie didn’t seem to mind or care. “Sweet. My brother, Aidan, will get you when he picks up his girlfriend, Emory—she lives close by you. Say, sevenish. Mrs. Hubbard can babysit.
Connie
,” she clarified, seeing my puzzlement. “But to all us lifers, she’s Mrs. Hubbard.”

“What’s a lifer?”

“Someone who’s been coming here every summer since forever. But don’t confuse us with the locals who live at Bly year round. Or tourists, who are just trying on the island for size. Not that a pureblood local like Mrs. Hubbard splits hairs between lifers and tourists.”

“Now that I think about it, asking Connie, I don’t know …”

“Oh, come on, that’s what she’s there for. Jessie only worked days—and it’s not like you’re interfering with Mrs. Hubbard’s nightly tango practice down at the dance hall. She’s just sitting around; she can keep one eye on Isa and the other on her wine—no problem.”

Which made me smile, since one glass of wine was Connie’s drink of choice. I could never get over how Little Blyers all knew one another’s business. But still I held out, imagining Connie’s miffed reaction as I asked her to babysit Isa while I went off to have fun at a party.

Noogie gave my arm a small pinch. “What are you supposed to do? Keep a little girl and an old lady company every single night? Watching sitcoms and helping out with the newspaper word jumble?”

Again, it was so exactly what had been happening—except that Isa watched nature programs, and Connie did sudoku, not the jumble—that now I laughed outright. “Okay, okay. You obviously know exactly how my summer’s working out so far.”

Noogie dropped her sunglasses over her eyes and stood up. “But that’s about to change. I guess I’m your fairy godmother. See you tonight.”

“Yep.” And she left, stopping half a dozen more times to chat with other kids and moms and friends before climbing up onto her lifeguard chair. Noogie really did seem to have almost magical properties. At least, she’d made one of my wishes come true. I’d get to leave the house tonight. Finally. Hooray.

THIRTEEN

For the first time since I’d arrived at Bly, I dipped into some of my cuter clothes, the ones I’d hung up in the closet rather than tossed into drawers. Did Little Bly kids get done up, or did they keep it basic? Jeans or the capris? Finally, I went simple, a washed-to-eggshell-blue cotton sundress with a boat neck and spaghetti straps. A dress, not dressy.

“I could always tell when Jessie’d been out late the night before.” Milo had startled me. He was slouched in my bedroom windowsill, a resigned smirk playing on his lips, like when Sean Ryan had been about to give us the results of a chem test we’d all failed.

“Really, how?” I asked, careful to keep the curiosity from my voice.

“She’d yawn and drink a dozen cups of coffee and ignore Isa.”

“Have some faith.” As I moved through to the bathroom, I rumpled his hair in a way that I hoped was just a touch condescending, and he snapped his head away, then jumped and moved toward the fireplace out of reach. “Aha, so you’re upset?”

“It won’t be any fun.”

“Let me judge that. Who knows, maybe tonight’s the night I find my soul mate.”

“Ha. Not here you won’t, Jersey Girl. Besides, I think Isa really wants you to stay and watch
The Sound of Music
with her.”

“She won’t suffer to watch it with Connie.” I was in the bathroom now, blotting and removing my makeup. Even a tiny amount now seemed way too New Jersey. Score one for Milo; he’d done his job dismantling my confidence.

“You sure you’re ready to handle it?” he called from my room. “Just from my impression, you seem kinda rustic for them. Not to offend you.”

Rustic? My mascara wand stopped in midair. Was that true? Or was he teasing, looking to get a rise out of me? “I’ll try not to pick my teeth with a knife. And by the way, that comment puts you deep in brat turf.”

I could hear him continuing to pace my room. My inclination was to shove him out, but instead, I finished my lashes and moved to gloss. I was debating whether I should pinch a pill for the road when the sound of the car grinding its way up the drive outside made me jump. I whipped my cardigan off the bathroom hook and scampered downstairs.

Half scared that they’d leave without me. I had cabin fever pretty bad.

Milo followed. He didn’t answer when I called out goodbye. Just thudded down the steps, nearly knocking into me in order to join Isa.

Twilight etched a silver luminescence through the trees. I stepped outside at the same moment that Aidan McNabb swung out of a sleek black Lexus convertible. A preppy vision in a golf shirt and madras shorts, he was a thicker, more freckly version of his sister.

“Hey. Jamie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you,” he said. “Glad you’re joining us tonight.” His eye roved me, appraising. I tried not to care, but I didn’t like it.

His girlfriend waved through the passenger window. “Hi, I’m Emory.” She was a stylish beauty with salon-streaked hair and matching chunky gold jewelry, so neatly presented that I kind of wished I’d run Connie’s hot iron over my sundress.

As I slid into the backseat, I saw Connie on the porch. I leaned out. “Thanks for the night off, Connie.” Ever since our dinner together, I felt like she’d taken just as many pains to avoid me as I had to stay off her grid. Obviously, those things I’d said about Peter still upset her. We’d never discussed it again.

But she
was
taking over my babysitting job tonight. So she couldn’t be too mad.

“Bye, Mrs. H.,” chorused Aidan and Emory. I buckled up and closed my eyes. While every particle of my being wanted to push out and away from Skylark, the prospect of this night of all new people gave me jitters. Milo’s undermining hadn’t helped any.

Oops—and I hadn’t remembered a pill. Shite. I hoped my back didn’t spasm and ruin everything.

“Old Mother Hubbard,” Aidan said. “Bet you’re glad to lose her for a while.”

“You said it.” But I didn’t want to come down too hard on Connie. I got a feeling that while the lifers made fun of her, they also liked her. Connie was what people tended to call “local color” and “a character”—which really meant that off this island, she’d be a complete social reject, but as long as she was here, she was landmark protected.

What impelled me to open my eyes just then? To twist around in my seat and look back at the house? Was it the feeling of being watched? That ancient need to confront the watcher?

I knew the kids were both down in the family room. Connie was standing out on the porch. And the figure was exactly where it had been the first time, observing everything from the third floor.

There, then gone, as we bumped down the drive and turned out onto Bush Road, though my heart continued to pound as my restless fingers discovered a pill nestled roly-poly in the corner of my dress pocket. Aha. Fantastic. At least I had that. A pill, any pill, seemed to do wonders in terms of blurring my relationship with everything, including Skylark, turning it irrelevant and shrinking it to pretty-postcard distance. Twenty minutes into almost any pill, I’d feel that numb, dozing, less “me” feeling ease my grip, giving me space to zone out and breathe easy.

But would Isa be okay? The thought hurt as it caught and lassoed me back to reality.

Of course she would. She had Connie, who had probably already taken her newspaper puzzle and her single glass of wine downstairs to settle in for a night of Julie Andrews. And I had to get out of here. Even if this one night out was a total bust, I couldn’t deal with another evening of Skylark lockdown.