Chance Harbor (34 page)

“She isn’t doing drugs anymore?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. But, again, this could be an illusion.”

“Or her being on her best behavior.”

“Right.” Catherine bit her lip, thinking. “I love Zoe. I do. I’m glad she’s in one piece. I did really think she was dead! For years I thought that!”

Seth nodded, his brown eyes serious. “I know you did. And that must have been awful. But let’s deal with the here and now. Your fear is that Zoe will want Willow to live with her now, correct?”

Catherine nodded, thinking,
If that happens, what will I have left?

“And you’re Willow’s legal guardian.”

Catherine nodded, mute with despair. What right did she have, really? If Willow wanted to go with her mother—and why wouldn’t she prefer the excitement of Zoe’s life—how could Catherine stop her?

More than Eve, and certainly more than Catherine, Willow had been mourning the loss of her mother. This was her chance to have her back. How could Catherine deny Willow that?

“I want you to tell me the worst-case scenario,” she said. “What happens if my sister wants to get rid of me as Willow’s guardian?”

“First, Zoe would need to go to court and file a motion to vacate guardianship,” Seth said. “If you contested that—which I’m assuming you would—Zoe would have to argue in front of a judge that it’s in Willow’s best interest to live with her. That would mean showing she has an income and decent housing, for starters.”

Seth explained that the court would appoint a neutral GAL—a guardian ad litem—in the meantime for Willow, so she’d have an independent advocate speaking on her behalf and helping her make decisions. “She’s fifteen, so of course her opinion would be considered as well,” he said. “The GAL would then file a written report with the judge, suggesting a resolution.”

“That all sounds so complicated. And hard on Willow, if she felt she had to choose between us,” Catherine said miserably.

“I’d be happy to advise you through the process. Free of charge.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Catherine said. “Besides, wouldn’t it be a conflict of interest?”

Seth shrugged. “Why? You and I know each other, but we don’t have a relationship. Not really. Unless?”

He looked so hopeful that Catherine had to smile. “No, you’re right,” she said. “We don’t. And I don’t think we will. I wish I felt that way about you, Seth. I really do. You’re a wonderful man. But I don’t. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right. Maybe you’ll change your mind if you hang around me long enough.” Seth smiled, too. “In the meantime, let me know how I can help you through this, if it comes down to a legal dispute.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said, and leaned over to kiss his cheek, which smelled of spices and lemon. “You’re very dear.”

He rolled his eyes. “Now you sound like my mother.”

The doorbell rang, startling them into separating. Another of those MassPIRG kids soliciting, probably. Catherine went to the door and opened it without looking through the peephole, confident with Seth in the room behind her.

It was Russell. Early as usual—they must eat dinner at four o’clock—and he looked angry. His car was parked in the driveway; it was too dark for her to see Willow in the car. “Hello,” she said, not opening the door all the way. The last thing she needed was for Russell to see Seth.

Then again, why not? Why shouldn’t Russell think she was dating? Catherine let the door swing open, revealing Seth, who was standing behind her now. Checking to see that things were all right.

“Where’s Willow?” She peered around him.

At this Russell looked startled. “I was about to ask you that. Willow texted me to say you’d made an appointment for her after school, despite our arrangement for today.”

“What?”
Catherine’s heart started to race. “Oh my God.”

Now Russell was alarmed. “She’s not here? Where is she, then?”

“I don’t know!” Catherine said miserably. “I thought you were getting her after school. I told her to come straight here after dinner with you, because she’s grounded. I called you, remember?”

“Yeah, but that was earlier. Then Willow texted me to say the plan had changed. Wait. Why is she grounded?”

“Because she was seeing Zoe behind my back. Sneaking around. What did she text you, exactly?”

“Only that she had a doctor’s appointment and couldn’t come over.”

Catherine shook her head. “I can’t believe this. It’s like the minute Zoe shows up, Willow starts acting like her. She’s never been devious before.”

Inwardly, she was kicking herself: it was her own fault that Willow had disappeared. She should have embraced Zoe’s return, even invited her to stay at the house with them. Willow was probably with Zoe right now, God knew where. And doing God knew what.

Russell’s tone was glum. “Well, I guess we need a better system.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. From now on we’ll need to cross-check with each other to make sure Willow’s where she’s supposed to be. Every day.”

Catherine shot him a grateful look. “That’s a good plan.”

Russell was looking over her shoulder. “You have company.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but nearly.

Seth held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Russell. I’m Seth Cunningham.”

As the men shook hands, Catherine actually felt sorry for Russell. He looked so wistful and lost, standing there on the steps of his own house, where he was no longer welcome. It must be demoralizing, to be out of a job and not having anyone to come home to but a pregnant teenager who couldn’t possibly understand what a midlife crisis looked like.

But she didn’t have time to consider Russell’s plight. Catherine pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and called Willow. No answer. Next she texted Willow and waited, while the men made uneasy conversation about Cambridge real estate.

“Anything?” Russell asked her anxiously.

Catherine shook her head. “I wish I had a number for Zoe. I don’t even know if she has a phone.”

“I’m really sorry,” Russell said miserably.

“This isn’t your fault,” Catherine said, thinking,
For once
.

Just then a motorcycle rocketed down the street, did a sharp turn, and pulled into the driveway beside Catherine’s car. There were two riders on it. One looked like a woman.

Zoe? Catherine felt her mouth go dry. If Zoe was here, where was Willow?

The passenger dismounted the bike, took off the helmet, and shook out her hair. It wasn’t Zoe: it was Willow. Willow, riding a motorcycle! What next? And who the hell was
that
? Catherine narrowed her eyes at the man, but he had his visor down against the cold and she couldn’t tell anything about his appearance.

She hurried down the steps, calling Willow’s name. Russell and Seth were on her heels. “Where the hell have you been? And what are you doing on a
motorcycle
?” she yelled at Willow.

Willow looked at her as if she had two heads. “I was getting a ride home.
Jesus
.”

Later, Catherine would ask herself what the tipping point was: Willow looking so much like Zoe? Or was it the way Willow had talked to Catherine as if she weren’t a good enough parent for her?

Whatever it was, Catherine’s temper erupted and she had to shove her hands into her pockets to keep from slapping Willow’s fresh mouth. “Go to your room!” she shouted, stepping close enough to put her face almost nose to nose with Willow’s. “You lied to me, Willow, and you lied to your father. You
scared
us. What is
wrong
with you?”

Catherine stomped over to the motorcyclist. “And
you
! Who the hell are you? And what gives you the nerve to give a fifteen-year-old girl a ride on the back of your motorcycle?”

Slowly, the man unclasped the helmet and slipped it off his head. He hung it from the handlebars and nodded at Catherine and the two men behind her, standing guard. Though neither, she noticed, stepped in front of her and took over.

The motorcyclist wasn’t smiling, but Catherine got the impression that he was amused by the scene. By her, maybe. He definitely did not belong in Cambridge. He was enough to give any composting Prius owner a solid fright, with his leather jacket and black jeans, that Harley, and those glittering dark eyes. His long hair was black and tied in a ponytail.

“You must be Catherine. I’m a friend of your sister’s,” he said. “Grey Boswell.” He held his hand out for her to shake. When Catherine didn’t take it, he nodded again and said, “Willow showed up at our house to see Zoe. She apparently took the bus up to Newburyport, then hitchhiked. I didn’t want her to hitchhike home, so I gave her a ride.”

“We appreciate that,” Russell interjected before Catherine could say anything.

Catherine glared at him, but nodded at Grey. Even riding on a Harley was probably safer than hitchhiking these days. “Where’s Zoe?”

“Work.”

“She works?” Catherine couldn’t keep the astonishment out of her voice.

Behind her, Seth cleared his throat. “Hey, sorry to do this, Catherine, but I have to go pick up Brady. I’ll check in with you tomorrow, okay?”

She smiled at him. “Thanks,” she said, aware that Russell was watching closely as Seth kissed her on the cheek before leaving.

Grey was watching, too. He cocked an eyebrow. “I suppose I’d better get going, too, unless you want to introduce me.”

Catherine folded her arms, feeling the cold wind cut through her thin blouse. November was the wrong month to stand outside without a coat. “This is Russell. Willow’s legal guardian and my ex-husband.”

“Not yet,” Russell interjected, but he shook hands with Grey. “We’re separated.” He turned around to walk back toward the house. “I’m going to have a word with Willow.”

“Wait,” Catherine said. “I think we should let her cool down. You and I are both too upset to talk with her now.”

Russell hesitated, then nodded. “I guess you’re right. You and I can talk tomorrow, come up with a plan for consequences. I should just go. Early day tomorrow. I’m substituting up at the school in New Hampshire. Trial run. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Catherine said softly, and meant it.

Russell kissed her cheek, too, and then drove off. She and Grey stood in silence, Grey still straddling the bike, as Russell started up Nola’s BMW and drove off.

“So,” Grey said. “This all looks very complicated. If that’s your ex, who’s the other guy kissing you?”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “A friend. You’re saying
my
life’s complicated, and you live with Zoe?”

“Right,” he said, and began to put on his helmet.

“Wait,” Catherine said. Maybe this guy knew what Zoe was doing back in Massachusetts. What her sister’s life looked like for real. He must have some clue about what was really going on. “Do you want to come inside for a few minutes? You’ve got a long ride back. I could give you some coffee first.”

“Sure. Sounds good.” Grey dismounted the bike in one fluid motion and followed her into the house.

As they entered the hallway, Catherine remembered: Zoe had told her all about Grey, the gypsy. He was the brother of one of Zoe’s drug-addled pals in sunny Florida. And, apparently, Zoe’s live-in boyfriend.

She offered Grey his choice of coffee, tea, or wine. Grey chose tea, to her surprise. She put the kettle on and leaned against the counter while he sat down at the kitchen table, his eyes roving around the room. “Nice woodwork,” he said. “Solid maple.”

She nodded, feeling unexpectedly nervous. Grey was so tall and well built that it was hard to know where to look. She wanted to look only at him. “That’s why we bought the house. I loved it because it reminded me of our family’s summer place on Prince Edward Island. Same general era. Zoe’s told you all about our family’s place at Chance Harbor, I imagine.”

He shook his head. “Zoe doesn’t talk much.”

This puzzled her. All their lives, Catherine had been the shy, serious one. They used to tease Zoe for being a motormouth. “That girl could carry on a conversation with a deaf-mute for six hours,” their father had said.

Grey didn’t seem to talk much, either. He sat in silence, still surveying the room with those alert dark eyes, while she made the tea and brought it over in two mugs with a plate of teddy-bear-shaped cookies. She was embarrassed to have them on hand, but they were Willow’s favorite. She watched, fascinated, as Grey picked up a tiny bear between his long fingers and popped it into his mouth.

“So, you and Zoe live in Salisbury Beach, you said?”

Grey nodded. “I’ve got a trailer there,” he said. “I’m a boatbuilder. My shop’s down the street. We’re just friends,” he added hastily. “Roommates.”

“Oh.” She digested this. She could not picture this guy living in a trailer. It was easier to picture him in a castle. “What sorts of boats do you build?”

“Classic wooden skiffs and dories, mostly.”

“Was that what you were doing in Florida? Building boats?”

He looked at her, his cup halfway to his mouth. “No,” he said.

“Sorry,” she backtracked. “It’s none of my business what you were doing.”

“That’s right,” he agreed easily.

Now Catherine was irritated. “I only asked what you were doing because you met my sister in Florida. I’m curious about her life there. We haven’t exactly been in close contact over the past few years, and I’ve been raising her daughter. If Zoe’s going to be in Willow’s life, it would be nice to have more information.”

Grey nodded. “I’m sure.” He popped another cookie into his mouth.

“You’re not very helpful.”

“What do you want me to say?” His tone was mild. “I don’t talk about other people. Whatever Zoe wants to share with you about her past should be her choice. As for her future plans, ditto. I don’t know what they are, anyway. I doubt if Zoe knows what she’s planning to do, either. She’s a seat-of-the-pants kind of person.”

“Oh, yes.”

Grey brushed the crumbs off the table and onto his plate. “But you, you’re different. Zoe says you live by schedules. You uphold your responsibilities.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing.” Catherine’s skin was prickling all over, as if she’d slipped on a wool sweater. Why did being called responsible make her feel defensive?