Beachcombers (6 page)

8

Lily

D
riving home from Carrie's, Lily felt wistful. Carrie and her baby existed in their own sensual world of love and touch and cooing voices. Carrie had gotten slightly plump and she moved as if her limbs were heavy and when she held her baby in her arms, Lily could walk through the living room on her hands and Carrie wouldn't glance her way. Lily didn't want a baby, but she would like to live, for a while, in such a lazy world of love.

What she'd
really
like to have was another car, she thought, as she steered the rusty Old Clunker through the narrow streets. She wouldn't even ask for a
new
car. Just a newer one. Her father had bought the Toyota sedan when Abbie was seventeen for her to use on the island. As the years passed, all the sisters had used it, referring to it with fond aggravation as the Old Clunker. She hadn't minded its humble state when she was a kid, but now that she worked for the magazine, she hated showing up at posh events in such a tired tin can.

Her father's truck was in the drive, so she parked in front of the house. He would probably leave before she did tomorrow morning. As she walked up her drive, she heard laughter. She walked around to the back of the house and went in the back door.

Her father and two sisters were seated at the kitchen table.

"Hi, honey," her father greeted her. "Want some ice cream? We saved some for you."

"Oh, but I made a pie, especially for Abbie's homecoming!"

Abbie raised a skeptical eyebrow.

Emma said, "We didn't see any pie."

"It's on the windowsill in the pantry." A little panic washed through Lily. Had her sisters assumed Lily had just blown off responsibility for tonight's dinner? Well, in a way, she kind of had.

She went into the pantry and found the pie. Somehow a box of cereal had been shoved against it, so you wouldn't notice it unless you knew it was there. She carried it out and set it on the table. "Ta-da!"

"Wow, Lily!" Abbie said. "What a masterpiece!"

Lily flushed with pleasure. "Let me cut you a big piece."

"Tomorrow," Abbie said. "I just finished all that ice cream."

"I'll wait, too," said Emma. "I'm stuffed. Dad brought home fresh bluefish and Abbie cooked it perfectly."

Well, Abbie would, wouldn't she
, Lily thought. She felt both jealous and guilty.
She
should have prepared dinner for Abbie's first night home. She'd intended to. She just got waylaid at Carrie's.

"I'll have some pie," her father said.

As Lily cut a piece for her father and settled in at the table, Abbie told her, "We were just talking about all the changes in town since I've been gone. So many restaurants have closed, and so many stores downtown!"

"The economy is rough everywhere," Emma said.

"I guess that's good," Lily offered, trying to be upbeat. "In a misery loves company kind of way."

"Dad," Abbie asked, "how are you doing?"

Their father took the time to finish his pie before answering. He nodded at Lily. "That was delicious, honey." He leaned back in his chair and seemed to be physically summoning up his strength. "I'll be honest with you, Abbie. Times are tough. I had three different clients back out of their contracts to have new houses built and one actually shut down on the renovations I was doing and didn't pay me. I think I'm going to have to take him to court to get any money out of him, and I don't know that hiring a lawyer wouldn't end up costing me more."

"So what jobs do you have going on?" Abbie asked.

Their father shrugged and shook his head. "Just small ones. A couple of renovations. Nothing substantial. That's why I rented the Playhouse. I always knew in the back of my mind it would come in handy someday."

Abbie asked, "How long is the rental?"

"Marina's got it for six months." When he said the woman's name, their father blushed.

The three sisters exchanged glances.

Their father cleared his throat. "While we're on the subject, I probably ought to tell you ... I'm going to sell the boat."

"Dad!" Their voices came out in one surprised chorus.

"You can't sell the boat!" Abbie continued.

"Honey, I know how attached you are. We all are. I don't want to sell it. But if I can ... it might keep me going for a little while longer ... and things might change ..." Clearly he was having trouble speaking about this. "If I sell the boat, that might buy me a little time until a new job comes in, and then I won't have to sell the house."

"Sell the house!" the girls cried.

"I know, I know, I hate it, too, but it might come to that. Now, it might reassure you to know that I do have some savings in an IRA. Not a lot, but with social security, I should be able to live pretty comfortably for the rest of my life. The thing is, I can't take out the money until after I turn fifty-nine and a half or I'd have to pay some fees and penalties. So I've got a few more years to go before I can touch those IRAs. I think I can make it, if I watch my pennies, but ..." He held his hands out in a what-can-I-do gesture.

"Oh, Dad, this is terrible," Abbie said.

"Well, I'm not putting it on the market right away. I just want you to know it's got to be an option in my life." He shrugged. "And come on, it's way too big for me. If Lily weren't home, I'd rattle around here like a marble in a bathtub."

Lily watched her sisters for some kind of wisdom. But Abbie and Emma just sat there stupefied.

"You know," their father said, "it might not be such a terrible thing for me to sell the house. I mean, I don't think any one of you wants to live the rest of her life on the island, and if I sold the place, I'd make a nice fat sum of money and I'd have something to give each of you." He studied his daughters' faces. "Abbie? You look like I've just hit you over the head with a board."

Lily could tell her sister's smile was forced. "Sorry, Dad," Abbie said. "I think jet lag is clogging my mind. I can't seem to think right."

"Well, don't worry about it," her father told her. "I don't want you girls to worry about anything. I mean, if any of you were to get married, have some children to come here for summer and holidays, then I can see this big old house might be worth struggling to keep. But as it is ..."

Emma made a choking noise and burst into tears. Shoving her chair back, she rose. "Sorry." She ran from the kitchen and up the stairs to her room.

"She's really taken it hard, Duncan breaking off with her," Abbie observed quietly.

"Duncan was an asshole," their father said, surprising Lily. He seldom swore.

Lily smiled. "You're right. She's better off without him."

He pushed back his chair and stood. "Well, I think I'll catch some of the ball game before I go to bed. Let you two catch up on some girl talk."

"Night, Dad," Abbie said.

He pecked a kiss on their heads. To Abbie, he said, "It's great to have you home. And thanks for cooking dinner." He left the room.

"I was at Carrie's," Lily blurted out. "She's got a baby now, a little girl only seven months old, and Carrie's exhausted. I went over to help--"

Abbie interrupted Lily by leaning back in her chair and yawning enormously. "Oh, man, it's hitting me now." She stood up. "I've got to go to bed or I'll fall over on the floor. Good night."

"Um ... good night," Lily replied. She stood alone in the silent kitchen, with all the dirty dishes for a meal she hadn't eaten.

9

Emma

R
ain streaked down the windows like teardrops. Perfect for Emma's mood. She checked the clock: 6 a.m. She groaned and rolled on her side, trying to fall back asleep. Instead, her thoughts flashed a slide show in her mind, a private DVD of images of Duncan and Alicia, happy, together. Perhaps she dozed.

Someone tapped gently on the door. "Emma? Honey?" It was her father.

She didn't answer. She didn't want to see him.

The door opened. Her father came in and sat down at the end of her bed. He smelled of Old Spice and his own particular scent of soap and wood dust.

"How're you doing?" he asked softly.

She muttered, "I'm fine, Dad. Don't worry."

"It's raining," he told her. "It's down in the lower sixties, if you can believe it. Be sure to wear a sweater when you go out. It's supposed to be cool and rainy all day."

If she could remember how to smile, she would have smiled. That was so Dad, presenting the daily weather--the
hourly
weather--in detail. He always had been a devotee of the Weather Channel. She supposed it was his way of taking care of his daughters now that they were grown.

"Thanks, Dad. I'll wear a sweater."
If I get out of bed, which I won't.

"Well, then, I'm off." Her father leaned over to kiss her forehead. "See you tonight."

"Right."

Her father closed her bedroom door behind him. Emma remained pinned to her bed by the needles and knives of her misery.

Where was Duncan at this very moment? He had never lingered in bed. When their alarm went off at six a.m., Duncan would be awake instantly, and he'd roll on top of her, whispering, "Hey, baby, let me give you one," which now that she thought about it was ironic, because their morning sex was always over so fast it didn't give her anything at all. She knew, for Duncan, it was a kind of start-up point, a way of checking his first item of the day off his list. He'd jump up from bed, rush into the bathroom, and shower. She'd shower while he shaved, they both dressed, and he drove them to work while she put her makeup on in the car. As they rushed into the building, they'd grab a double java jolt coffee from Starbucks.

She thought that with Alicia, Duncan probably could slow down enough to enjoy making love. With Alicia, who was already rich, and safely rich, Duncan didn't have to move so fast because he didn't have so far to go to get to what he wanted. Would Alicia sleep at Duncan's apartment, or would he sleep at hers? What would her apartment be like? Emma had Googled the address. It was on Commonwealth Avenue, in the pricey, elegant part of the city, not far from the building where they worked. So probably Duncan would sleep at Alicia's, rather than at his place, which was in a nice but not posh apartment in Watertown. This would give them even more time to lounge around in bed.

Alicia's hair was a sleek brown pageboy. It never frizzed--she'd been born with sophisticated hair. While Emma's stupid hair would coil into curls at the slightest whisper of humidity. She had to blow her hair dry, then iron it to get it to lie down and look groomed; she could never hope for sophisticated, not with freckles. It was one of the things that drove Duncan mad about her; he hated how long she took to dry her hair. He was always afraid they'd be late for work, which they never could have been because they always got into the building an hour before everyone else, so they had time to scan the news streamers and Asian stock reports.

Now, with Alicia with the perfect hair, Duncan would have even more reason to relax. And at night, they wouldn't have to argue about what to have for dinner or who would fix it. With Alicia's money, they could just go out every night, to whatever restaurant they wanted. Everyone would admire them when they walked in--just like they'd admired Duncan and Emma. Duncan was so handsome, so tall, with sleek brown hair and a patrician profile. His clothes were expensive, and he wore them well, his body shaped by the hour's exercise he did every day instead of eating lunch.

What a glam couple they'd be, both thin and reeking of power and sexual conquest ... while she lay here on her childhood bed, on stupid sheets with idiotic
violets
on them! While her hair curled like a Scottish sheep's and her bank account gaped emptily and no hope waited anywhere. Duncan and Alicia could zip over to Paris for the weekend. Emma couldn't get out of bed.

"You should keep your engagement ring," Duncan had told her the day he broke off with her. "It might help you get back--"

"I don't want your charity!" she'd screamed. "This ring is a sign of your love! This ring is a sign of our hopes for the future!" She'd thrown the ring at him. The two carat, square-cut diamond ring.

Idiot.

She couldn't stand it that he pitied her. But of course he did. She was a loser. She'd lost her job. She'd lost her savings. She'd lost all hope for the future.