Chance Harbor (27 page)

No. That woman couldn’t possibly be Zoe. Zoe was
dead
.

She parked at the only open space along the Common, in front of a fire hydrant, and watched. Willow was sitting on the bench next to the woman and talking animatedly. She looked engaged. Happy.

Willow must have met this woman on the Common and decided to do some portrait photography. Just a few months ago—though it seemed like a lifetime, given all that had happened—Willow had insisted on posing Catherine in the garden. The portraits were stunning in their detail, in the lighting, in the way Willow had caught Catherine’s various expressions.

That must be it. Willow had met this homeless person and was doing a school project. Still, she shouldn’t be on the Common after the sun went down, chatting up some vagrant. She needed to come home, have dinner, do her homework.

Catherine got out of the car and locked it, then started across the Common. She was perhaps twenty feet away when Willow and the woman noticed her approach. It was difficult to tell who was more panicked.

“What are
you
doing here?” Willow cried out, sounding nearly hysterical.

At the same time, the woman on the bench began running, leaving her cane and guitar on the ground.

Fortunately, there was a fence between the woman and the street, and her long shawl got tangled up in that as the woman tried to throw herself over the top rail. Catherine had been infused with some superhuman strength; she felt herself fly across the Common as if her feet literally weren’t touching the ground. She was on the woman in seconds, yanking her back off the fence and onto the ground, then pulling the glasses off her face.

Catherine reared back as she stared into the defiant blue eyes. “Damn it, Zoe,” she said. “What the hell are you playing at?”

•   •   •

Somehow, despite the number of times she’d teased Darcy about wearing a kilt, Eve had never expected him to go through with it. Yet here they were in a pub a few miles from Bras d’Or Lake, Darcy in his kilt and long tasseled socks, looking completely in his element as he joined a group of musicians by the fireplace and took out his fiddle.

They’d stopped at the inn to shower and change before coming here to have fish and chips for dinner in the pub, the fish unbelievably delicate inside its crispy coating. Now Eve sat with a glass of red wine at one of the round wooden tables, perfectly content as she listened to the music. Her face was chapped, windburned from the hiking they’d done all day, first for their picnic and then at the Skyline Trail, which traversed a bog, bright with red berries, through some scrub pines and eventually funneled them onto a headland. The wind was so fierce that Eve had to cling to Darcy’s arm to avoid being blown off the cliff. They’d laughed and bent toward the wind, and Eve thought of all the trees she’d seen on these trails, gnarled and bent as they were now, strong enough to survive despite the elements.

As we are, Eve had thought, taking Darcy’s face between her hands and surprising him with a kiss as they stood on the headland high above the sea, speckled pink and gold at sunset.

They returned to the inn from the pub just after eleven o’clock, wrapped themselves in woolen blankets, and walked down to a pair of Adirondack chairs positioned to overlook the lake. It was a clear night and very cold, the stars glittering in an illuminated spiderweb above the water, the moon’s path white and so solid-looking that it was easy to imagine walking on it.

“Happy birthday,” she said, and handed Darcy the gifts she’d bought him earlier. He laughed with pleasure as he opened each one and wrapped the scarf around his neck. He carved a few pieces of cheese off the wedge for them to eat, and they washed it down with whiskey they drank straight from the bottle.

“Is it my imagination, or can I taste peat in this?” Eve said, after she’d swirled the whiskey in her mouth.

“Whatever it is, it’s perfect,” he said. “As are you.” He stood up from the chair then and came over to her.

She snorted. “If you believe that, you’re in for serious trouble.”

“My middle name is ‘Trouble.’” He scooped her up out of the Adirondack chair too quickly for her to react and settled her onto his lap, now with his blanket over her, too.

“My goodness,” she said. “Somebody’s been taking his senior multivitamins.”

“And doing my chair yoga, too,” he said, and kissed her. “I’m thinking that the instructor might have more students if she included this particular exercise.”

Eve laughed, and he kissed her neck, his breath hot against her skin.

They stayed until the fog came in over the water, a finger of white urging them back inside. Eve considered inviting Darcy into her room, but then what? Was she ready for anything like that? Would her body even know what to do, after so many months of mourning and solitude? Of course, they never had to see each other again. She was planning to drive home the day after they returned to Prince Edward Island.

Except that wasn’t what she wanted, she realized suddenly, with a jolt of understanding that was physically unsettling. She wanted to be with Darcy. In every way.

“Would you like to come in for a little more whiskey?” she asked, as she unlocked her room across the hall from his.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Not for whiskey, no.”

And then he was behind her at the door, his arms around her waist, kissing the back of her neck and somehow unzipping her jacket and working his hands beneath her sweater, his fingers so cold against her skin that she gasped and wriggled free.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, and followed her into the room.

She’d just turned to face him, had reached up to put her arms around his neck—still a novelty, connecting her body to someone this tall—when her cell phone rang in her pocket, jarring them both and causing them to spring apart.

“Wasn’t expecting that,” Darcy said.

Eve shook her head. “I’m so sorry. It never rings. I don’t even know why I carry it.” She glanced down at the screen, though, and saw that it was Catherine. That was worrying. Catherine seldom called.

“I think I have to take it,” she said after apologizing again. “It’s my daughter. I’ll just tell her I’ll call her back.”

“Take your time,” Darcy said. “Do you want me to go? Give you some privacy?”

“No, no,” she said, and pushed him lightly against the chest to make him sit on the edge of the bed. Then she perched on his knee and answered the phone.

“Catherine?” she said. “Is everything all right, honey?”

There was a silence—long enough that Eve wondered whether her daughter had already hung up—and then Catherine said in a small, shuddering voice, “Mom, you have to come home. Right now.”

Eve stood up, alarmed. “Why? What is it?”

“Just come home! I found Zoe,” Catherine said, and burst into tears.

•   •   •

Somehow, Zoe had managed to escape. Willow had watched, frozen in place, as her mother wriggled out from under Catherine and took off, leaving her sunglasses, guitar, and cane on the ground. They ran after her, but even in those layers of clothing and that stupid shitty wig with the dreads flopping around like octopus arms, Zoe managed to lose them as she slalomed her way through the people on the sidewalk along Mass Ave, all of them probably thinking,
Hey, there goes another insane homeless woman!

Catherine wouldn’t let Willow keep chasing her, even when Willow started crying. “There’s no point,” she said, taking a firm hold of Willow’s arm. “Let’s go back and get her things so nobody steals them. Does she know where we live?”

Willow nodded, unable to speak.

“Okay. So she’ll probably come to our house after she calms down, at least to get her guitar,” Catherine said. “We’ll just have to wait.”

But Zoe hadn’t shown up at the house last night. And now, Tuesday morning, Willow was debating about whether to go to school or pretend to be sick—no easy thing, when Catherine was a nurse who’d seen it all. She lay in her bed after the alarm went off, staring at her phone and hoping her mom would text her; she’d given her the number days ago, but Zoe had never used it.

Did her mom even
have
a cell phone? She wouldn’t just disappear again, would she?

That last thought was both aggravating and—Willow could admit this to herself, at least—almost a relief. She’d been thinking so much about her mom lately, worrying about where she was sleeping and whether she was still using, that a part of her wished Zoe would disappear again. What was the point of having a mother if she wasn’t any more reliable than your ditziest friend?

Catherine knocked on her door, making Willow jump, and stuck her head into the room. “Time to get up,” she said. “Breakfast is almost ready.”

By the time Willow was dressed and had come downstairs, Catherine was putting bowls of oatmeal and mugs of hot chocolate on the table. “Sit,” she said. “Eat while it’s hot.”

Like Willow was two years old! But Willow obeyed, picking up her spoon and taking a bite.

“Do you need me to make you a lunch?”

Willow shook her head. “I’ll buy today. I have money.” She didn’t add that it was Russell’s money. She wondered if Russell and Catherine even talked about things like who would give her lunch money.

Catherine sat down across the table but didn’t touch her oatmeal. Why did adults give kids rules they didn’t follow themselves?

The world was unfair—that’s why.

Then, to Willow’s surprise, Catherine apologized. “I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you and Zoe like that. I was just really shocked and upset.”

“I know, but you scared her off! That wasn’t right!”

“Maybe not, but honey, I just couldn’t believe Zoe would let us think she was
dead
this whole time.” Catherine massaged her temple with two fingers, as if the noise in her brain was as bad as Willow’s. “It almost killed Nana, thinking Zoe was dead.”

“Except Nana never really believed that.” Willow made herself take a bite of oatmeal. “Did you?”

“Of course! I mean, otherwise, why wouldn’t she come back? What kind of person
does
that?” Catherine shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know that sounds harsh. But I can’t forgive Zoe for abandoning you, never mind what she did to your grandmother.”

“She didn’t abandon me,” Willow said, setting her spoon down. The oatmeal had gone cold; it felt like lumps of cold, gritty mud sliding down her throat. “Zoe had a friend watching me in the bus station. Sandra. She was there the whole time, until you came.”

“I don’t believe that. There was nobody else with you. I was there.”

“I’m not lying! Sandra was dressed like a homeless person.”

“Seriously?” Catherine folded her arms. “That’s ridiculous. And stupid! Why wouldn’t Zoe take you to Sandra’s house, if she felt so compelled to ditch you? Why go to all the trouble of leaving you in the bus station and scaring you? Why did she have to pretend to be
dead
? And why is she going around in that weird disguise?”

Zoe didn’t completely trust Sandra, which was probably why she took her to the bus station, Willow thought, even as she felt the words “ditch you” like bee stings on her skin.

“She was afraid you might look for her,” Willow said. “She had to leave her old life completely behind.”

“Well, she certainly succeeded,” Catherine grumbled.

“And also? She gave me to you because she felt sorry for you,” Willow added.

“
Zoe
felt sorry for
me
? Oh, please. Why?”

“Because you couldn’t have kids.” Willow was just trying to make her mother’s motives clear, but this was apparently the wrong thing to say. Catherine stood up and began clearing the dishes, clattering them into the sink and rinsing them full force beneath the faucet. After that was done, she turned around again, her face covered in blotchy red patches.

“I can understand why Zoe lied,” she said. “Zoe has always been a first-class liar. But how could
you
lie to us, Willow? How
could
you, after all we’ve done for you? Didn’t it occur to you that your grandmother, at least, might be happy to know her daughter’s alive?”

“I’m sorry.” Willow knew she’d been wrong to keep this secret from Nana, of all people. “But Zoe asked me not to tell anybody.” She spoke slowly, trying to be careful not to trip up and say the word “mom” when she meant “Zoe.” That would freak out Catherine even more. “She only came back because she wanted to see me. To know me a little.”

“Oh, yeah? She wanted to see you and know you? And
then
what?” Catherine demanded. “Zoe wanted to gain your trust and ask you for money, so she could get her next fix?”

“No! She’s clean now. Zoe never once asked me for money. It’s not like that!”

Catherine took a step back and pressed herself against the sink, as if Willow were cornering her. “Okay. Tell me, then. What is it like when you see her?”

“It’s not like anything! We just meet up after school and, you know. Talk.”

“And you can honestly say you never give her money?”

Willow felt her cheeks burn. She
had
given Zoe money. Five or ten dollars at a time. Nothing much. Just whatever loose bills she had from the money Russell and Catherine gave her. But Zoe had never asked for it: Willow was the one who secretly pushed money into Zoe’s backpack.

Catherine was staring at her. Finally, she said, “I see,” then came over to the table and pressed on Willow’s shoulders, making her sit back down at the kitchen table. Willow felt like she was going to be pushed right through the chair and onto the floor.

“You have to get this through your head,” Catherine said in a low, scary voice. “Once an addict, always an addict. Your mom is a drug addict and has been since she was your age. I know you’re curious about her, and I’m sure you’re happy to know she’s alive. I am, too. But you can’t trust her, Willow. I’ve known Zoe all her life, okay? And she has begged, borrowed, or stolen money from every single person I know, including me. She even sold some of our grandmother’s silver, the silver that used to be in the hutch at Chance Harbor, so she could buy drugs. Who knows what she’s up to now?”