Dreadful Sorry (7 page)

The plane circled over Bangor, then touched down smoothly and taxied to a stop at the terminal. Molly reached up into the overhead compartment for her blue backpack. The old man asked her to hand down his carry-on bag, as well. She glanced down at the top of his head with a smile. "Don't get up," she said. "Just tell me which one it is."

"Black leather satchel," he said. He coughed; it sounded like a bark. Molly carefully lifted the black bag down and set it on his lap. "It's got all my medicine inside. I won't make it home without it."

"He'll be fine," said the woman, speaking for the first time. "Likes to make a bit of a fuss, that's all."

The old man winked at Molly. "Somebody meeting you here, my girl?"

"Yes," she told him. "My dad."

The man nodded. She said good-bye and moved down the aisle. It was funny, she thought, how many people you come into contact with in a lifetime—or even a day—who don't matter to you at all. You'll never see them again. They don't have any impact on your life, nor you on theirs. And yet sometimes a random encounter turns out to be one of the most important moments of your life.

It had happened like that for Bill and Paulette—a chance encounter on a plane when Bill was flying home from a business trip to California and Paulette was traveling from her home in California to New York to attend a friend's wedding. Fate had seated them next to each other. Paulette inadvertently splashed her apple juice in Bill's lap when the plane hit turbulence, and he dumped a forkful of chicken Kiev onto her sleeve. They apparently had a marvelous time mopping up and apologizing—and were married a few months later. Molly hoped he'd be happier with Paulette than he'd been with Jen.

She remembered the tension in their house before the divorce. Bill Teague was a peaceful man, "laid back" he liked to call himself. Jen's efficiency, among other things, annoyed him. He hated the crashing classical music she played. He liked soft rock. He liked soft mattresses, too. Once Jen threw away the old mattress on their bed and bought a new, extra-extra firm one, and Bill hit the roof—actually, he hit the mattress—when he came home and discovered the change. He punched the unyielding bulk with his fist. "You see? Doesn't even make a dent. How am I supposed to sleep on this board?"

"It's good for your back," said Jen in a tight voice. "It's healthy."

"Hard mattresses aren't
cozy,
Jen! They don't feel good!"

"That's one of the problems with you," Jen said. "You want everything cozy! You want everything to feel good!"

Even at ten, Molly had known they weren't only talking about beds. She'd heard all their arguments,
and they were always about the same sorts of things: that Jen wanted order, but Bill didn't mind a bit of mess. That Bill wanted to watch a fantasy movie, but Jen preferred documentaries. That Jen liked security and worked hard, but Bill was always thinking of quitting his job for something more fun.

Molly's parents had been divorced for seven years when Bill met Paulette. In all that time he had rarely dated. They had married out in California on Valentine's Day, almost on the spur of the moment, without telling their families until afterward. "It was all so romantic," Paulette had gushed to Molly on the phone when Bill called to tell her of their impetuous wedding. They moved back to New York and toured New England on their honeymoon, where Paulette fell in love with the enchanting coastal towns. In a little fishing village on the Maine coast, they saw a big old house for sale. And both of them, Bill told Molly, knew right away that they were just
meant
to buy that house. (It was just like Bill, Jen scoffed when she'd heard the news, to marry a flaky California bunny and then buy a run-down old house—all on a whim!) Bill and Paulette quit their jobs and moved up to Hibben, Maine, determined to live off their savings until they could turn the old Victorian house into an inn.

Could that be Paulette now? A short, slim woman wearing jeans and a green T-shirt was waving frantically as Molly walked down the ramp to the gate. The woman was small-boned, with carrot-colored hair cut very short, almost in a crew cut. Yes, it had to be Paulette—Molly recognized the hair from the wedding pictures Bill had sent. But where was
he?

"Molly? Molly!" Paulette ran forward and embraced her, squeezing tightly. She was a full head shorter than Molly, and the carrot-red hair tickled Molly's chin. "At last!"

Molly stepped back, smiling politely. "Hello, Paulette. Where's my dad?"

"Oh, dear, I don't want you to panic, but there's been an accident!" Her voice was high and breathless, and Molly had a sudden image of her father dead from some terrible car crash.

"Oh no—"

"He fell off a ladder this afternoon while we were pulling down the old wallpaper in the dining room and broke his left ankle. Poor baby." She looked up at Molly with round green eyes while passengers moved around them toward the baggage claim. "God, you're tall! Billy said you were, of course, but I didn't know he meant
really
tall." She giggled. "And such blue eyes. I love your long hair. Do you ever do French braids? I'll fix your hair for you tomorrow, if you like."

Relieved that Bill was still alive, Molly ignored the comments about her appearance. Jen always said people shouldn't make personal remarks. Maybe people in California didn't worry about such old-fashioned things as manners. "So is Dad in a cast?" she asked.

"You can be the very first person to sign it. We were at the hospital for
ages
today. I'm telling you, they know how to give lessons in patience there. But now Billy's lying home in bed, waiting to see you. We'd no sooner got back from the hospital than it was time for me to leave for the airport."

"But is Dad all right?" Molly asked. "Can he walk with crutches?" They started moving along with the crowd, heading toward the baggage claim to pick up Molly's suitcases.

"Oh, he'll be able to hobble around, my poor Billy. But probably not tonight. The doctor gave him some sort of really strong painkiller, and it has kind of knocked him out. I mean, he wasn't in any condition to drive all the way down to Bangor, and he might be asleep by the time we get home. But he's
ecstatic
that you're coming to stay." She reached over and squeezed Molly's arm. "And so am I."

"Poor Dad," said Molly. She realized she'd never seen Bill sick or injured. "Well, I'll help take down the rest of the wallpaper," she told Paulette. "That's something I can do."

"That'll be
super,
" said Paulette. "You'll be able to reach almost as high as Billy. But we don't want you to work too much while you're here. After your horrible accident, you probably need some R and R. That's rest and relaxation. We want you to have fun."

"Thanks." Molly saw her blue suitcases drop from the conveyor belt onto the baggage carousel and moved forward to pick them up. She noticed the old man standing with the dour woman and waved to them. The man looked confused. The woman moved closer to the conveyor belt, searching for their bags.

"Here, let me help you," said Paulette, reaching for one of Molly's suitcases.

"No, I'm fine."

"Well, give me the backpack, then," she said and giggled. "I may be tiny compared to you, but I'm strong as a packhorse. At least that's what Billy says, and he knows
everything
about me!"

Spare me the details, please.
Molly followed Paulette out to the parking lot. Paulette took her keys out of her back pocket and unlocked the side door of a blue van.

"Here we are," she said, shoving aside rolls of wallpaper. Molly lifted her suitcases inside next to several gallon-size cans of paint. "Let's hit the road." Paulette dropped Molly's backpack inside and slammed the door. "It's a long drive, and I know you want to see your dad as soon as you can."

Molly sat in front next to Paulette. They drove away from the Bangor airport and headed northeast, up toward the coast. "Did you look Hibben up on a map?" asked Paulette. "You probably couldn't find it! We're way out on the edge of
nowhere.
"

"Dad said it was pretty remote."

"Well, there's a new tourist trade just getting started, and we're hoping that our inn will get going just in time to take advantage of it. You know, all the rich people down east—that's what they call the south of Maine and New England, too—they've pretty well taken over places like Kennebunkport. It's getting crowded down there. That is, crowded for Maine. So tourists are starting to build summer homes up in the little fishing villages, and lots of guest houses and hotels are springing up. We're hoping to be part of this trend. If our timing is right, we'll do really well. The villagers have mixed feelings, I think. They don't like the peace disturbed, but they're sure happy enough about all the money tourism brings in. A few of them are opening bed-and-breakfasts in their own homes, but mostly it's people like us—
outsiders
—who are setting up the tourist places. You wouldn't believe how much the locals value their privacy!" Paulette laughed. "Up here, unless your family has been here a hundred years, forget it! You're a foreigner. It takes some getting used to. In California you're practically an old-timer if you've lived there two years."

Molly murmured something in response. The fatigue that had pressed down on her so heavily at home assailed her again as they left the highway and drove along a narrow road through what seemed to be miles of dense forest.

"Would you just look at these trees?" Paulette said brightly. "I still can't get over how much of Maine is mostly forest. Two minutes out of a city and you're in the wilderness, practically. There's bears in the woods. And, would you believe, moose?"

Molly yawned, then covered her mouth. "Sorry. I'm just so sleepy."

"Go ahead and have a nap, then. We'll be on Route 9 till we get to Machias. Then we have to go further over to the coast, to Starboard. Even then, it'll be a drive. Hibben is tucked between Bucks Harbor and Benson. I mean, barely on the map. You'll see. Way north, and then so far east, we're just about the first people in all of America to see the sunrise each morning."

Molly retreated gratefully behind closed eyelids. She didn't want to talk to Paulette. She was feeling unaccustomedly awkward and ungainly next to this slender, small-boned woman with a haircut like a little boy's. She wanted only to see her dad and then go to sleep for a week or two.

"It's dark, anyway," chattered Paulette. "But you'll just love the scenery in the daytime. Especially since Ohio is so flat. The mountains and trees weren't such a shock for me, since I'm from San Francisco, you know. Not that there are very many trees in the city, of course, but it's only a short drive to the mountains. And of course there are hills all around. This is different, though. It's like the cities up here in Maine are just little patches of paint on this big, wild dark green canvas of a state. There's miles and miles of farmland, too. People grow crops of potatoes and corn, mostly. Wait till you see our own crop of wild blueberries! I can't wait to show you around. Billy and I have driven all
over
the place buying supplies for the house. Not that it's in terrible shape or anything. The house, I mean. Nothing structural, really, although one of the porches had dry rot and we had to replace it. It's mostly just an old, musty place. We want to freshen it up with new paper and paint and trim and all that. We want it to have a
cozy
feeling—you know? Billy likes things cozy." She giggled again. "You know?"

Molly feigned sleep while Paulette rabbited on and on. The young woman's high, breathless voice rose and fell in a quick cadence almost like a song. Soon Molly really did sleep, or figured she must have, because in no time at all, it seemed, she opened her eyes and found they were on a winding road. She could smell the sharp salt smell of the ocean even through the closed windows. Paulette's voice was still going strong:

"You can't see it very well in the dark, of course, but the ocean's churning down there like you wouldn't believe! You can see it from the cliff by our house if you walk out on the headland. When there's no fog., that is. The fog just seems to pile up around our house. I know you don't like water much, or is that just in pools? You can't swim in the water around Hibben, really, anyway, because the waves are too rough and there's no real access to the water. Well, there's the wharf, with a little pebbly beach, but the villagers keep their fishing boats there, and the ferry docks there, too. So it's kind of not the
best
place to swim ... But you won't be wanting to swim anyway, right? I hope you won't feel afraid with so much water nearby."

Molly couldn't see well in the dark van, but she sensed Paulette was peering over at her with worry. "No, as long as I don't have to go swimming in it, water's fine," she reassured her stepmother. She smiled in the dark van and felt herself relax for the first time, it seemed, in weeks. Her father wouldn't pressure her at all. She wouldn't mind the sea as long as she didn't have to go near it. She breathed deeply, listening to her stepmother's chatter. She looked contentedly out at the dark road and the dark shapes of trees, smelling the salt in the night breeze through the open window. Paulette was friendly and seemed happy Molly had come. Things would be all right now.

Suddenly the van lurched to the left and started up a rutted road. "We've got to do something about this," said Paulette. "Maybe gravel? Or should we pave it? What do you think?"

"Is this the road to your house?" asked Molly. "I didn't even see the town."

"Hibben's just farther along that road, but we turned off to go along the headland. We'll be home in a sec. Watch now—you'll see the house."

Molly straightened up in her seat. They had left the coast road and were jerking along a dirt road lined with evergreen trees. Molly could see them outside the van window, black shapes whipping back and forth in the sea wind that reached all the way up here on the headland. Ahead of them the trees gave way to a tangle of overgrown grasses. And rising out of the dark grass was the house.