Barefoot Girls (34 page)

Keeley forced herself to breathe. Were they going to kick her off the committee now?  “I’m sorry. I tried. Ben was very enthusiastic about the possibility and just as disappointed when she couldn’t do it.”

Tatiana’s hyper-stretched face didn’t register any emotion and probably couldn’t, but she nodded. “I’m sure he tried.”

“Well,” Brooke said, turning back to face Keeley and sighing hugely. “I guess we’ll have to come up with some other ideas. Does Ben know any other musicians?”

Keeley reached for her teacup. Really? Again? “I can’t think of any, but I’ll ask him. Maybe there’s someone he knows that I don’t know about.”

“Oh! That would be great.” Brooke, smiling again, made a note on her pad.

Keeley sat up straight. Wait, what about Tim Terrell? “I have an idea. What about a comedian? Ben knows Tim Terrell?” Oh, that would be so much fun. Keeley felt the first burst of enthusiasm she’d felt since that first luncheon when Rebecca had pumped up her ego to monumental proportions.  Tim was side-splittingly funny, edgy, cool. And Ben had hooked Tim up with his latest purchase of a pied-a-terre in Chicago, so he was more than likely to be willing to return the favor.

“Tim Terrell!” Tatiana shrieked, her always-high eyebrows shooting into the stratosphere.

Brooke made a concerned face and shook her head at Keeley. “Oh, no. We don’t do comedians. They always say the wrong thing. Especially someone like Tim Terrell. Oh, no, that really wouldn’t work. We stick with musicians. Everyone loves a beautiful song.”

Keeley felt her enthusiasm deflate. “Oh, okay. Just….didn’t know. Thought it’d be fun.”

“Oh, we have to be careful,” Tatiana said, leaning forward. “There are some really important people at this event. They spend a lot of money. We can’t take any chances.” It was the most Tatiana had ever said to Keeley, usually addressing all of her comments to Brooke.

“Speaking of money,” Brooke said. “How many tables have you two filled? I’ve got five full tables and I’m working on my sixth.”

“I’ve only got three,” Tatiana said, her voice sad. “I’ve got to make more calls.”

“I know you, you’ll fill the most tables of all. You always do!” Brooke turned to Keeley. “And you?”

Not again. One wasn’t enough? And she hadn’t even brought it up yet with Ben, she was so focused on the whole Susan Blackburn thing. “Uh, I will. I really will. Just-“

“Well, at least one?”

“Yes, we will. At least one!”

Brooke’s eyes bugged out a little and then she looked down at her notepad. “I should hope so. Your husband knows so many people. I’m sure…”

Keeley bit the inside of her lip. Was it worth it? Maybe she’d be better off talking to waiters. But Rebecca – she couldn’t let Rebecca down. “Yes, I’ll talk to Ben. Don’t worry. And I’m sure Ben might have some ideas for other musicians.”

Brooke looked at her, smiled a tight-lipped smile and said, “It would be so helpful. Tatiana and I have used up all of our entertainment contacts over the years, so we’re really counting on you.” She made a line across her notepad, signaling the end of that topic. “Now, ladies, we’ve talked about our headliner, let’s move on to the silent auction. I’ve been able to get a week at Canyon Ranch, that pristine beach house in East Hampton for Fourth of July week, and Candice Snow has agreed to have dinner with a lucky winner again. I know, the same as last year, but they’re always the most popular items. But…” She smiled more widely now and turned to Tatiana. “I’m counting on you, darling. You always have the most creative ideas! Do tell.”

Tatiana went on to regale them with a long litany of potential auction items while Brooke cooed and squealed and wrote them down on her notepad. Keeley, forgotten, slumped a little in her chair. She stopped listening after the fifth “brilliant” idea, nibbled on her almond cookie, and kept one eye on the clock. Just as Brooke was obsessed with a punctual start time of every meeting, she also insisted that they end exactly on the dot. This committee met for one hour. All she had to do was wait. And wait.

As with the last two meetings, she wasn’t consulted again after discussing the headliner. The two women went into overdrive as they planned every aspect of the event. This small subcommittee was called the Entertainment Committee, but it really should have been called the Everything Committee. Although there were subcommittees for decorations, catering, audio-visual, donor solicitation, and publicity, they were all ultimately foot soldiers for Brooke and Tatiana’s vision.

By the time the mantelpiece clock chimed again, Keeley was convinced her feet had fallen asleep, they were so numb.

“Well! How time flies!” Brooke and Tatiana leapt to their feet.

Keeley stood up more slowly, afraid she would stumble. “Yes,” she murmured. Could she keep this up? What if Ben didn’t know any other appropriate musicians? And what was appropriate had already been clarified to her in no uncertain terms – no rappers, no heavy metal, no crazy pop stars. Only elegant songbirds, folk artists, and opera singers need apply.

They were ushered out quickly, pins and needles piercing Keeley’s feet and calves. Tatiana, as usual, said nothing in the elevator and waved a quick goodbye on the street before stepping into her waiting car. Keeley watched the sleek black Mercedes pull away with Tatiana in the back seat with a mixture of relief and depression, and then turned to walk to the corner to hail a cab wondering if maybe she should also have a car and driver. The rain had slowed to a pattering shower but the wind had picked up, driving raindrops under her umbrella and soaking her fat-pants-clad legs.

Chapter 28

Hannah sat on the steps of the Barefooter house, soaking in the mild October sunshine and staring at the photo she had taken out of one of the photo albums of a tall dark-haired boy who was standing in the center of the four girlfriends, two girls on each side. They were all wearing bathing suits and they were standing barefoot on the boardwalk. The edge of a bright blue sail peeked into the picture and it looked like late summer, everyone’s tan too brown to be early summer.

Her mother, beautiful and leggy in a pink bikini, leaned her blond head against the boy’s bare chest. He was so tall, her head ended below his shoulders. Next to her, Zooey leaned in, her skinny legs twisted awkwardly, her smile hesitant. She still looked like her old bird nickname in the photo, spindly and strange and sexless, nothing like the glamorous woman she would become. Pam was on the boy’s other side, beaming up at him with utter worship and wearing a one-piece bathing suit with a high neck that only accentuated her chest rather than hiding it, as was its most likely intention. Amy was the only one not pressed into the group, standing a little apart and bent a little to scratch at her leg. She looked irritable and impatient, already stepping away from this forced pose of togetherness.

Was the boy her father, Michael? He was dark and tall, just like her. But his expression as unfamiliar – one of openness and amusement, of someone completely at ease. Even when her mother was sparkling away in a crowd of admirers she was never peaceful; instead, she was “on”, doing a little verbal soft-shoe routine. With the Barefooters and Hannah, she only relaxed halfway, a part of her guard remaining rigidly up. It was that ever-present guard that both separated Hannah from the mother and made her feel like her mother’s daughter, recognizing the wall that stood between her and others. 

The plummeting feeling of dread that came in waves for the last few days, hit her in the chest again and then fell through her stomach. Her book, once a source of joy and elation, was now a pile of ashes in Pam’s fireplace, but nothing could be done about all the other copies in bookstores, ticking time bombs waiting on bedside tables. Even now, her mother or one of her aunts could be reading it. Too soon, Hannah’s cell would ring and her mother would have one last cold message for her. Or maybe she’d call after she’d been swimming upstream through a river of wine and the words would be wilder and more violent. Or maybe there wouldn’t be any communication at all. Would the Barefooters step in then? Or would they, too, turn away? But they loved her - they wouldn’t do that. Would they?

Then she heard it. Someone was honking a car horn across the channel. It sounded like her family’s code.

There it was again. Yes, it
was
the O’Brien code.

Maybe it was one of the Barefooters. Or her mother! If they were here, that was a good sign. Wasn’t it?

She shoved the picture randomly back in the album, leaving it loose between the pages. Then she scrambled up the stairs, dropped the album on the coffee table, and spun around so fast she nearly fell. The car horn sounded again. Hannah pounded back down the stairs, running for Pam’s house and the boat.

At first, as the boat approached the community dock across the slapping waves, she was confused to see that it was empty. She had imagined them all waiting for her there. Then she remembered the locked gate to the parking lot. Did she have the only key? That didn’t make sense. She shut off the engine, tied up the boat as securely as she could considering her lack of skills with knots, and ran up the dock and then the path to the lot. The car wasn’t her stepfather’s dark green Jag, Pam’s silver BMW, Amy’s red SUV, or Zo’s black Lexus. It was a boxy white car she didn’t recognize. She stumbled to a stop. She could only see the shadowy outline of the person in the driver’s seat. Who-

Then the car door opened and Daniel unfolded himself from the driver’s side.

She blinked. What was he doing here? “Daniel!”

He smiled and waved at her and then at the car. “Rental. Ugly, isn’t it? So, are you going to let me in?”

“I…” She wavered and then ran to unlock the wooden gate, grateful that the keys for the boat’s ignition and the key for the parking lot gate were on the same ring. She pushed the gate, swinging it wide, and watched as Daniel drove through. Daniel. Here now. But, she’d said she needed time alone. Why did she feel so relieved? She should be mad. Hell, she should be furious. Why was she so happy to see his ever-tousled hair, his dancing dark brown eyes, his dimpled grin?

Digging up brown dust, he drove across the lot and parked next to her car. She closed the gate behind him and walked slowly over to meet him, quickly running her hands through her tangled hair and patting it down. She hadn’t even thought of her appearance when she’d leapt in the boat to go and greet her visitors, had assumed it was her aunts and possibly her mother. She looked down at the soft ragged cargo pants and gray sweatshirt she’d taken to wearing every day and saw how dirty they were for the first time. She wiped at a reddish stain, possibly jam, on her right breast. It didn’t budge.

 “Hey, you,” he said, already out of the car and holding his arms open wide. She hesitantly went into his arms and let herself be enfolded. Oh, it felt so good.

“Hey,” she said into the warm fabric of his navy cotton thermal shirt.

Then she lifted her face and they were kissing.  Suddenly she was pierced with longing, ambushed by her buried love and desire for him. Why hadn’t she known she needed him, now more than ever?

Daniel pulled away and smiled. “Wow! Somebody’s missed me. Are those erasers in your bra, or are you just happy to see me?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She felt her face flood with heat. “I…I have missed you.”

“Good. I’ve got the next few days off and this hermit-routine of yours is getting old. You and your mom are going to work things out, but meanwhile, I need to see you. So, here I am, bag in hand, willing to take a chance that you’d turn me away. But, before you say anything, you’ve got to see what I’ve brought you.”

He released her, went to the rear of the rental car and opened the trunk. “You’ve been moping around here too long. And I was thinking…what you need is…” Daniel lifted out a large brown cardboard box with writing on its side. In red magic marker, he’d written “FUN”. “Fun in a box! Everything you need for a great time in one box! That’s right, folks, good times, good times. So where…” He looked around and saw the picnic table set in the middle of the lawn between the parking lot and the dock. He jerked his head at her. “Come, my sweet, and see what I brought you.”

Hannah felt the familiar delight blossom in her. He was so wonderful, always surprising her like this. This man, this caring good fun-loving man, wanted to marry her. It was amazing.

Then she felt it: her bare ring finger, breeze tickling on it. Her engagement ring was tucked safely away in her suitcase, put there the first day she arrived. Every time she saw it on her finger since June, she felt a thrum of panic and fear, and feeling safely alone on the island, she had taken it off. And forgotten it.

Daniel was already leading the way to the picnic table carrying the box. Hannah stuck her hands in the back pockets of her pants and followed him, trying to look casual. He put the box down and turned to her. “Come on. Open it!”

“No, you. Show me. I can’t believe you did this.” She smiled at him and cocked her head. Make it look normal. As soon as they were at Aunt Pam’s she’d get her ring. Just had to hide her hand until then.

“All right. Get ready.” He opened the box, looked inside and then turned to her. “You know the Barefooter’s super-secret Mean Greens recipe?”

“Yeah, it’s famous. Everyone wants it.”

“Well…I called your Aunt Pam. She seemed like the softie of the group. I begged. I told her I wanted to surprise you and it had to be something good, something ultimate. I swore an oath of secrecy. And…” he said, reaching into the box. He lifted up a plastic grocery bag filled with items, placed it on the table, and then pulled out a golden bottle of Patron tequila and another brown squat bottle of Grand Marnier and placed them on the table as well. The remaining ingredients were hidden in the bag. He splayed out his hand with a flourish. “At your service, fixings for Mean Greens that will kick you in the pants and make you want to dance,” he said, quoting the Barefooters.