Summer Harbor (13 page)

Inside, Grainger grabbed the hand of one of the Doublemints and pulled her out onto the dance floor. Over her head, he saw Mack and Kiley come in, arm in arm. After a moment, they took the dance floor. He was unable to prevent himself from watching Mack and Kiley dance. Mack bobbed up and down, but Kiley used the music, arching her back, raising her arms over her head in graceful motion. Then Conor MacKenzie broke off from his group and went over to them. He gave his brother a good-natured slug before bussing Kiley on the cheek. Grainger turned his partner so that he could no longer see them.

At the end of the song, Grainger walked out of the club and back to the beach. The breeze was stronger now, and the incessant din of halyards disturbed the silence. Grainger pounded across the sand, dropping his clothes before plunging into the cold water. He stayed under until his chest felt as if it would burst. That night he began to stay in his father’s motel room.

The breeze the next morning was down to six knots, so they returned to the shipyard to sail
Blithe Spirit
to her permanent mooring in Hawke’s Cove harbor. Grainger was waiting for them as Mack and Kiley walked side by side along the wooden pier to where the boat was tied up. In one hand he held Kiley’s blue cardigan.

“Where’d you find that?”

“On the beach.” He gave it to her, neatly folded. “It was almost in the water.”

“I’m so glad you found it; it’s my favorite.” Kiley tied it around her waist. “Thanks for bringing it with you.”

Grainger looked away from her, his gray-blue eyes on the boat. “You shouldn’t be so careless with your favorite things.”

They christened her with a rare glass bottle of Coke. “Hail to thee, Blithe Spirit!” they chorused, and Kiley swung the Coke bottle against her prow. Nothing happened. Grainger took the eight-ounce bottle out of her hand and, kneeling on the pier, swung it like a bat. The bottle shattered and they looked aghast at the sticky brown fluid running down her bow. Hastily, Mack grabbed a hose and sprayed the hull off with fresh water.

As if they were his students out for a lesson, Grainger handed Mack and Kiley each a life jacket. He was the last to board, casting off the ropes and then sitting in the stern to man the tiller as Mack raised her gaff-rigged sail.

As the most experienced sailor of the three, Grainger called the orders, keeping his hands on the tiller and the mainsheet. Mack, the least experienced, made fast the peak and throat halyards once the sail was in place. The wind gently pushed them away from the dock, and they easily threaded their way out between the other boats making for the opening of Great Harbor.

Grainger felt like they had the proverbial elephant in the living room. Mack and Kiley kept their boat shoes well apart, the sail effectively keeping them from each other’s sight. Grainger kept his eyes on some point in the middle distance, but from his vantage point could see both of them. Once out of the harbor, they tacked. As her patched sail took the wind, Mack moved over to sit beside Kiley on the high side of
Blithe Spirit
. They let their knees bump, but kept their hands to themselves.

The three spoke only of the boat, proud of themselves for rescuing her, proud to have done so as quickly and as cheaply as they had. But it was a flat victory. All the joy of the moment was tarnished by the change in their friendship. If they had still been as before, this would have been a jolly expedition. Instead, they spoke of
Blithe Spirit
as if she were their child, their only source of conversation.

Maybe it would have been easier if he’d gotten mad and fought with them, Grainger thought. But he didn’t. And this adherence to polite neutrality was maddening. He wanted to stand up and scream at them, but what words could he say that would describe half of what he was feeling?

“So, Grain, how was the Doublemint? Which one were you with?” They were halfway around the point before Kiley asked the question.

Grainger adjusted the tiller slightly. “Emily.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was just a dance. She’s okay.”

“Are you going to take her out?”

“Why? Do you want to double-date?”

Kiley wiped spray from the varnished rail. “Maybe. Sure.”

Mack stretched and casually dropped his hand to her bare knee. His fingers gently squeezed it.

Was this a newly possessive gesture? Hadn’t they always leaned on one another? Grainger studied the horizon, trying not to look at Mack’s easy familiarity, aware that he’d no longer have that harmless intimacy with Kiley.

“Prepare to jibe.” Grainger stood up, one leg cocked against the tiller, his hands on the mainsheet.

“Let me do it, Grainger.” Mack crept over Kiley’s legs to stand beside Grainger.

Grainger shrugged and gave up the post to Mack.

Mack let go of the sheets too quickly, and the sail flapped and the boom swung. Kiley ducked, nearly banging heads with Grainger. Mack recovered the mainsheet, gripped the tiller with white-knuckle intensity, and began to bring things back under control.

“It’s been a while.” He looked sheepish, and Kiley smiled at him as if she thought him charming.

Grainger drummed his fingers on the side of the boat and said nothing. Fortunately, the wind was gentle. In rougher seas, Mack’s carelessness might have been disastrous, and they all knew it.

Their maiden voyage went off with a minimum of fuss, and they rounded the tip of the peninsula within an hour. At that point they had to tack. Mack gave up the helm to Grainger without a word. Grainger made the maneuver easily, deftly handling tiller and sheet, ducking nonchalantly as the boom swung. He hoped Kiley would make a comparison.

Kiley crept out onto the bow to snag the mooring’s pickup. Grainger luffed the mainsail at exactly the right moment to shoot the mooring, bringing them to a slow glide, and Kiley caught it on the first try. They took a long time putting things away, making sure all the lines were properly coiled, the sail lashed to the boom correctly so that it would raise easily next trip. They lovingly wiped down the salt from her varnish, slid the crutch under the boom, and made sure everything was Bristol fashion.

Kiley rowed the three of them to shore, facing the other two as they sat side by side on the stern seat of the small rowboat, Mack looking port and Grainger gazing starboard. He couldn’t look at Kiley for fear she would see his anguish. Behind them
Blithe Spirit
swung into the wind, tethered by her lines. Suddenly Grainger knew that he had to separate from them, that this pretense that everything was fine would be impossible to maintain.

•   •   •

Even dipped lavishly with drawn butter, the lobster tasted flat. From where he sat, Grainger could see Will, laughing with some new friends, and Kiley, still next to Conor, deep in conversation. So be it. Just like Mack, Conor was more Kiley’s type. Conor was a doctor like his father; Will had said Kiley was a nurse practitioner. Nice match. Nowadays, Conor only occasionally reminded Grainger of Mack. Surely, as she talked with Conor, she saw something of her true love in the face of his brother.

Pilot sagged by Grainger’s feet, sated with scraps. The fireworks would begin in a few minutes, the bonfire was already blazing, but Grainger couldn’t make himself stay any longer.

“Let’s go home, boy.”

Pilot cocked his head.

“I hear that your parents are selling up.” Conor grabbed the untaken table and set his plate down.

Kiley looked back at Grainger, but he was gone. She caught sight of him sitting with a crowd at a distant table. She set her plate beside Conor’s. “It’s too much for them.”

“And you don’t have any interest in keeping it?”

“No. I can’t.” Kiley wondered if everyone she ran into was going to keep asking her the same question. She needed some surefire response to keep the rest of the questions at bay. “The truth is, I can’t afford it even if they gave it to me. I find myself unexpectedly unemployed.” The word
unemployed
had so little to do with the sad fact of Doc John’s death. “My boss was killed and his patients are being transferred to another doctor who has a full staff.” There, it was out. It would take a little practice not to choke on the words, but they were said.

“Are you a nurse?”

“Nurse practitioner, pediatrics.”

“Good for you.” Conor was vaguely condescending, as so many of the docs were. Not quite one of us, a little better than a nurse.

“You’re a doctor like your dad?”

“Not quite. I’m a gastroenterologist in a six-man practice. Six-person, rather.” Conor expertly split open the thorax of the lobster. “I practice in Great Harbor.”

She listened to Conor talk about his practice and the difficulties of being over half an hour from the nearest hospital, and how two of his partners were threatening to form their own group. Kiley began to relax, confident the conversation was safely away from her. As soon as Conor had come up to her, she’d been fighting panic. What if Will walked over just then? What would she do? How would she introduce him to Conor? Would Conor’s face show sudden puzzlement, then mental calisthenics as he tried to fit Will into what he knew of Kiley, “doing the math,” as the saying went? As she was certain Grainger had.

Conor took a breath. “So what are you going to do? About a job, I mean.”

“I’m thinking I might apply to work in a PICU.” Kiley took a mouthful of steamer.

“You might find it terribly stressful after so many years in an office.”

“I could use the challenge.”

“Do you want me to check it out at our hospital? We have a small unit; maybe there’s a spot.”

“I don’t want to move, Conor, but thank you.”

“Oh, come on. What’s holding you?”

“My parents. My commitments.”

“Husband?”

“No.” Shields up. “What about you? I mean, are you married?”

“Once. It didn’t last past medical school.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Conor arranged his empty lobster shells neatly and picked up his corn. “My parents would love to see you. They’re just over there. Finish up and I’ll bring you over.”

Kiley followed Conor’s pointing finger to see a group of older Covers sitting in web-and-aluminum lawn chairs. She recognized Dr. MacKenzie only by his lifelong uniform of plaid shirt and khaki trousers. Mrs. MacKenzie had grown stout, and her once lush brown hair was steel gray and permed into a mass of tiny curls. Although Kiley hadn’t seen them since that last summer, she remembered with awful clarity the last time she had. “That’s okay, Conor. Maybe another time. I need to get home.”

“Why? The fireworks haven’t even started. You can’t seriously think of going before they do.”

Kiley picked up the biscuit off her plate. She looked over and saw that Grainger was no longer at the table with the crowd. Trying not to look like she was looking for someone special, she glanced around. It was full dark and she couldn’t see Grainger, or Will, anywhere. Suddenly the first rocket went up, exploding into a chrysanthemum of purple and white. In the dazzle she saw Grainger walking to his truck, the wirehaired mutt on his heels.

“See, it’s too late to leave now. Come on.” Conor stood up, his paper plate in one hand, the other extended to her. “They’d love to see you.”

The boom of a second firework split the air. Kiley jumped. In the flash she saw Will sitting on a blanket, surrounded by boys and girls. He gazed heavenward, his mouth open in delight, having a good time.

“Kiley, they’d love to see you.” Did he think that if he repeated it enough, she’d capitulate?

She closed her eyes. “I’d love to, Mack, but I can’t.” A flush crept up her cheeks as she realized what she’d said. “Conor, I mean.”

Conor smiled at her, his face illuminated by the next green-and-red burst. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to press. Another time.”

“I promise.”

“Good. And I will make some inquiries about jobs.”

“You don’t have to.”

Conor dumped his plate into a barrel. “Kiley, I want to.”

“Who were the kids you were with?” The traffic leaving the beach was heavy and Kiley drove slowly.

“Just some of the kids that played softball with us. Molly, Andrew, and Catherine. Some others.”

“Are they year-round or summer?”

“I guess year-round. They knew each other from school.”

“What did you talk about?”

“I don’t know. Nothing big.” Will drummed a rhythm on the dashboard. “What did you talk about?”

“With whom?” After Conor, Kiley had moved through the crowd, speaking to several old acquaintances.

“That guy you were sitting with.”

“Sex and drugs, of course.” Kiley pulled into the driveway. “See, it’s not so hard.”

“Mom!” Will slapped his forehead in feigned exasperation. “Talk is talk. What do you say to people you just meet? Nothing heavy.”

Heavy. She needed to talk to Will and the subject
was
heavy. If she didn’t tell him herself, there was the very real danger that someone else would; a danger illustrated by Conor’s wanting her to say hello to his parents. A danger looming every time someone who remembered her from the club saw her with Will. A danger made imminent with Will’s upcoming sailing lesson. It wasn’t that people didn’t know about Will. It was just that he was the Harris’s grandson in the abstract. At first her parents had declared that the child and his mother would not be welcome at Hawke’s Cove. That was their initial reaction to Kiley’s unwelcome news of her pregnancy and anonymous lover. But soon the baby Will had endeared himself to his grandparents, proving to be the most perfect grandchild. Once he was old enough to be away from his mother, they began to suggest he might come and stay with them while at the summerhouse. Maybe they’d been unable to refrain from speaking about their clever, charming, handsome grandson; but they never found it necessary to explain his existence, always letting Hawke’s Cove friends assume a normal—acceptable—genesis. So, Kiley reasoned, the MacKenzies might
know
about Will, but not really know who he was. And she wasn’t going to change that. But, it was clear that one change had to be made.

“Will, are you very tired?” They were on the porch steps.

“No, I’m still pumped up from the fireworks.”

“I have to tell you something.” Kiley sat down and patted the arm of the other rocking chair.

“I know you do.” Will took the empty chair.

She took a deep breath. “Once, long ago, I loved two boys.”

“Mack and Grainger”—a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

She rowed them away from
Blithe Spirit,
the boys not speaking to each other, or to her. An impasse had been reached.

The dinghy’s bow ground onto the beach. The three jumped out and the two boys dragged the rowboat up onto shore. Suddenly, Grainger was gone.

Kiley ran to catch up to Grainger. At her touch on his bare back, he turned. “I have to go to work.”

“I know. I just wanted to say…” What words were there?

Grainger gently stroked the length of Kiley’s blond hair, touched her cheek as if in blessing, and smiled at her with kindness. She felt the pang of loss, of waste. “There’s nothing to say, so don’t try.”

“Will you be home for dinner, Grainger?” Mack was close behind her.

Again Grainger smiled, suddenly much older than they. His leadership of their troupe and his authority had so far outstripped them that he was looking at them as already in his past. “No, Mack. I’ve told your mother I’m going to stay in Great Harbor until I report for duty.”

“Why?”

Grainger turned away.

“What about the race?” Mack’s voice was tense and a little throaty. “You’ve got to help us sail her.”

He didn’t turn around to answer. “No, I don’t. She’s yours, Mack.
Blithe
is yours.” Grainger left them standing together, Mack’s height over Kiley’s, his chin on her head.

Suddenly bereft, she fought back tears. “Why can’t he just accept us? Be happy for us?”

“Because he loves you too.” Mack’s tone was without surprise or jealousy, even matter-of-fact.

As if, she thought, he loved Grainger as a brother, but loved her in a stronger, deeper way. As a man loves a woman. He didn’t begrudge Grainger his love; neither would he allow it.

It should have been easier, not having Grainger around to remind them of the fracture in their threesome. But this strange new partnership had no framework. It was as if she and Mack had to redefine themselves.

Every day Kiley found some pretext to call Grainger at the motel, ready to hang up if she got his father. When Grainger answered, she’d blurt out, “We’re going to the movies, want to come?”

“No.”

“Then, are you coming to the dance Friday?”

“No.”

“Are you ever going to say yes to anything?”

“No. It’s okay. You guys only have a few days left together. You don’t need a third wheel.”

“Grainger, you’ll never be a third wheel.”

After this last attempt, Kiley hung up the phone and leaned against Mack’s chest. “He hates us.”

“Can we not talk about Grainger? Let’s have one day when we don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it. You’ve got to stop worrying about him.”

Something primal had taken place. It wasn’t that he didn’t still want Grainger’s friendship; it was more that he was willing to sacrifice it for her. Their boyhood friendship was less important to him than having Kiley. She should have been flattered; instead she was dismayed. She had come between best friends. In less than two weeks they were going in three different directions, and this thing between Mack and herself might not survive winter’s separation. They had destroyed the best thing they had for a transitory pleasure.

Kiley wouldn’t let Mack touch her. Angry at him for caving in to his desires, more angry at herself for letting him, she pushed him away and walked home. As she had feared, loving the one didn’t mean she loved the other less.

When Mack came to collect her that evening, he carried a rose, presenting it to her like a courtier. “Forgive me?”

“Just what am I supposed to forgive?”

“My being a jerk about Grainger. Of course I’m worried about him too. But I think that we need to go on. I mean, we can keep trying to get him to accept us, but we also need to be together, to enjoy what we have before it’s gone.”

He was right; they needed to focus on themselves, on what they had chosen to be, together. This time was so brief, Kiley no longer wanted to waste any of it on argument. “I know. I just can’t bear thinking that he’s alone.”

Mack began kissing her neck. “Promise me that you won’t mention Grainger again tonight?” He moved to her lips. “It makes me think you feel that you’ve made a mistake, picked the wrong guy.”

“No, Mack. That’s not true.” She heard how thin her words sounded and pressed her lips against his.

They were in his father’s car, the stick shift between them. Mack had driven to Bailey’s Beach, parking off to the side of the narrow road. They got out and walked under a pretty moon illuminating the shimmering sandy path leading through the woods and field to the beach. Mack carried an Indian-print spread and a basket. It looked like they were on a moonlight picnic, and his romantic gesture surprised Kiley a little.

Mack spread the blanket on the sand beneath the dune, and she stripped off her jeans and sweatshirt, running to the edge of the black water in her bikini. Kiley heard Mack’s feet pound the sand behind her, and his hands caught her up to throw her in the cold water. Kiley screamed and he put a hand over her mouth. “Shh, Kiley, we don’t want to alert anyone that we’re here.”

She giggled against the restraint of his hand. “Who?”

“Smugglers, wreckers, other lovers.”

“Lovers?”

Mack kissed her, his kiss tasted like Chiclets. Kiley was still cradled in his arms, and it felt different from all the other times he had playfully scooped her up until he walked into the water, flinging her away with a great splash. She came up laughing and swam to him, wrapping her legs around his, letting the seawater float her. They kissed some more; then Kiley realized he wasn’t wearing a suit. His fingers released the three simple strings that held her suit in place. His lips and tongue touched her where he held her up, the water floating her into and out of his reach. His erection touched her and suddenly it seemed like there was nothing more in her life she wanted than for him to enter her. Right there, in the water where the salt taste of the sea mingled with the salt of his body, the salt of her happy tears. That single word floated above her head, a name for what they were, what they were to each other.
Lovers.
Their act had sealed them together.