Chance Harbor (46 page)

“Sorry. Gotta do my job,” he’d said after catching her. “Next time, don’t run.”

The boy’s office stank of potato chips and farts. Willow tried the door, but he’d locked her in. She wanted to cry, but didn’t let herself.

This whole day she’d been asking herself what her mom would do, trying to imagine Zoe’s life. “WWZD?” she whispered to keep up her courage when the man sitting next to her on the bus fell asleep and his head landed like a bowling ball on her shoulder. Willow had shoved the man so hard, he almost fell out of the seat. He woke up with a snore. Then she’d switched seats, stepping on his foot almost on purpose.

Unfortunately, the security guard had been standing on the other side of the door when she’d tried to pick the lock of his door with a bent paper clip. He opened the door and there was the cop, Officer Martinez, shaking her head. “I’m taking you in,” she said, “before you can get yourself into any more hot water.”

When Willow called Henry, he showed up in half an hour. He’d driven his Dad’s Audi without asking, even though he’d had his license less than a month. His parents were at the movies.

“How are you old enough to drive?” she asked. “You’re in the same grade as me.”

He looked down at his big hands and shrugged. “Had to repeat kindergarten because I couldn’t sit still in my chair.”

It was a miracle that he could make her laugh, but he did. Henry took her hand and held it even when the policewoman gave them a mean look over her glasses and said she still had to call Willow’s parents.

“But it’s okay. I have a ride now,” Willow said.

The officer shook her head. “You’re going to be formally cautioned by the police, and for that we need a parent or guardian present,” said Officer Martinez, whose blue uniform was so tight that you could see the bunches of flesh over her belt. She looked too out of shape to run after anybody. Why hadn’t she been the one to chase her, instead of that punk store security guard, obviously a track star in his high school glory days? Willow might have gotten away then. She could still be wandering around Salem and pretending she was Zoe.

“Who do you want me to call for you, sugar?” Officer Martinez said.

“Nobody,” Willow insisted.

“Come on,” Henry said softly, looking down at her with his butterfly lashes. “The sooner somebody comes, the sooner we can go.”

“I’m the one who’s locked up. You can leave anytime,” Willow said.

“Right. But you don’t want to spend the night here—do you? I’m betting those cells aren’t too comfortable. Plus, you’d have to pee standing up over some metal tube or something.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but she didn’t care. “It’s fine. I don’t want anybody to find out. Not my mom or Catherine or Russell.”

The policewoman overheard this. “No chance of that, sweetie,” she said. “They’re going to know because we won’t let you out until they do. I can track down your information if I need to, but believe me, you do not want to make me do extra work and get on my bad side. So just give me a damn number.”

Willow sighed and scrolled down to Catherine’s contact info, then handed the phone to Officer Martinez. Catherine was the only person who might actually come and get her. Russell would be busy with Nola and pissed off that she left, and who knows where her real mom was or whether she even had a car?

“So why’d you do it?” Henry said, as they waited and played hangman in some kind of conference room with those mirrors that were probably windows. The policewoman had brought them Cokes when Henry turned his doe eyes on her and asked if maybe they could have a drink. Life was easy for Henry. Nobody could resist him.

Willow suddenly wondered if that was how her mom felt: that life was easier for everybody else. Especially for Catherine.

“I don’t know, exactly,” she said. “I guess I was trying to see what it felt like to be bad.”

To her relief, Henry didn’t seem too freaked-out by this. “Interesting. How did it feel?”

“Good. Well, sort of good and sort of scary.”

“What did you steal?”

She thought back. She’d been in a drugstore, the huge kind that was practically a Walmart. She’d gone there because it was too cold and windy to walk around Salem and the museum she’d wanted to go to, the Witch Museum (which Russell and Catherine never took her to no matter how much she begged, saying it was “worse than Disney, not even good special effects; read
The Crucible
instead”) cost, like, a zillion dollars.

That’s when she asked herself what Zoe would have done in Salem at her age, if she were on her own with no money.

Drugs, probably. But Willow didn’t want to fry her brain the way she’d seen her mom do.

Then she realized Zoe must have stolen things to trade for drugs, since she always had trouble with jobs. What would it feel like, Willow wondered, to take what you wanted? To stop being good, to quit worrying about grades or whether people liked you? To be in your skin and apart from the world, and the world’s rules, which her mom often thought—and said—were stupid? “The world is run by dickheads with too much money and no taste, kiddo,” her mom used to say.

So Willow had followed her mother’s impulse to see what it would feel like to be free. She’d blindly reached out while she was walking down the cosmetics aisle and grabbed a tube of lipstick. Not a good color for her—it was the sick pinky-red of grapefruit—but that wasn’t the point. The point was to take, take, and take some more. She’d prowled the aisles, feeling giddier as the minutes ticked by and she got away with putting stuff in her pockets.

“A lipstick, eyeliner, a package of cool pens, a jar of nuts, some skin cream, a pair of tights,” she said to Henry now.

“Wow,” he said. “You must have huge pockets.” He checked out her jacket.

She made a face. “Not big enough, obviously. The nuts fell out when I was running from the store security guard.”

Even worse, the jar had rolled off the sidewalk and into the parking lot, where a car drove over the plastic container and popped it. “It sounded like an explosion,” she said. “Those nuts sprayed out like bullets. The security guard got hit in the leg. He said he got a bruise.”

Henry was almost doubled over in his chair, laughing. “They must have been big nuts,” he said.

“Uh-huh. Cashews,” she answered.

Suddenly, the door opened and Officer Martinez appeared. “Your people are here, young lady,” she said, and held the door wide.

Catherine came in first, looking as scared as she’d been that time they’d gone skiing at Killington, when Willow had plowed into a tree and gotten a concussion. Catherine had ridden in the ambulance with her to the hospital, had sponged puke out of her hair and stayed with her all night, sleeping in a brown plastic chair that squeaked like sneakers every time Catherine moved, making Willow laugh despite her pounding headache.

Willow was never so glad to see anybody. She opened her mouth to say this, then shut it again when her real mom came into the room, too. Zoe must have been crying, or maybe she was just pissed off. Her eyes were red and she kept her arms crossed. Nana was next; she smiled at Willow, and said, “Hi, honey,” but her eyes didn’t smile with her mouth and she grabbed on to the doorframe like she was standing in a windstorm.

Behind Nana was Mom’s friend Grey. Even here, in this cramped yellow room, the guy looked like a movie star, the sort that would fight aliens in a long leather coat, his hair a shiny ink black.

And then, like this was one of those clown cars at the Big Apple Circus, another woman stepped into the room, too, some old lady she’d never seen before, dressed in bag-lady clothes. The old woman had black eyes and was staring at her like she could X-ray the inside of Willow’s brain.

Willow didn’t know where to look, so she turned to Officer Martinez. “You didn’t have to call my whole damn family,” she said.

“Don’t swear, please,” Catherine said.

“I didn’t. I only called her,” Officer Martinez said, pointing at Catherine. “These other people showed up on their own.”

“Why?” Willow said, daring now to look at Nana, the safest place to look: Nana would always love her. That much she knew for sure. And now, thinking of that, she was very sorry to be here, and even sorrier that Nana knew what she’d done and had come all this way.

“Because we all love you,” Nana said.

“We do, you know,” her mom said, though Zoe said this like her teeth hurt and wouldn’t look at her. “You can’t do things like this, kiddo, or you might turn out like me.”

“You scared us to death,” Catherine said. “What was going through your mind, Willow? Why did you take off last night without telling anyone you’d be at Mike’s? And why were you
stealing
?” She started crying then. Not quiet, pretty actressy tears, either, but howling sobs like that kid on the Cambridge playground did, the one whose nanny never knew what to do.

Willow didn’t know what to do, either. This was so humiliating. She wanted to sink under the metal table. Or maybe pass out. With so many people in the room, there wasn’t enough air.

Henry stood up and said he’d wait outside to make room, even though he was the only one she wanted with her now. Then the chairs were scraping against the hard floor until everybody was sitting except Grey, who leaned in the corner with one foot propped against the yellow wall, and Officer Martinez, who looked pissed off, like this was her kitchen and she’d have to clean up after everybody when they left.

Which, in a way, she did, Willow supposed, as the policewoman droned on about how Willow was being officially cautioned, and that she was lucky she was only fifteen, because after seventeen you could get arrested and serve time even for shoplifting a lipstick, especially if you “resisted arrest.”

Willow opened her mouth to say she wasn’t resisting any arrest, just running from the store security guard. But Catherine was staring her down, so she clamped her lips shut and crossed her arms. Maybe she was done talking forever.

In her tired voice, Officer Martinez told them that the store had confiscated the things Willow had stolen and was filing a “no trespass” order, which apparently meant Willow couldn’t go into that same drugstore again for sixty days.

Then Willow thought of something. “The nuts!” she cried, tucking her hands into her sleeves. “I can’t give those back. They got crushed by that car that ran over them.”

Everybody was staring at her like she had two heads. “The security detail didn’t mention any nuts,” Officer Martinez said, consulting her paper. “So never mind those. You’re free to go after signing these papers here. And I expect you to stay out of my sight, young lady. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“She has,” Catherine said quickly, her hands fluttering.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Officer Martinez’s eyes bored into Willow’s skull.

“I have,” Willow said. “I promise.”

She signed her name on one of the papers, and then there was a lot of discussion when the police officer asked who was taking Willow home. Finally, Officer Martinez sighed. “Which one of you is this girl’s parent?”

“I’m her mom,” Zoe said, uncrossing her arms and sitting straighter in the chair.

“I’m her legal guardian,” Catherine said. “I think she should come home with me.”

“But I’m her biological parent,” Zoe argued.

“Where is this child’s home?” Officer Martinez said. “Where does she go to school?”

Catherine actually raised her hand. No wonder she was an A student, Willow thought, then ducked her head to avoid looking at anybody, especially that old lady with the X-ray eyes.

Officer Martinez raised an eyebrow. “I guess you better take her with you, then,” she said to Catherine without asking Willow what she wanted.

That was fine. Willow wouldn’t have known what to say, because any answer she gave would be wrong.

Outside, the shock of the cold air made Willow’s nose and eyes immediately start running. She zipped her jacket and searched for Henry until she saw him in the parking lot, leaning against his dad’s black Audi. She ran over to him, ignoring Catherine, who was calling for her.

“I don’t want to ride with any of them,” she said, tipping her face up to Henry’s and touching his sleeve. “Everything is too weird! I want to go with you. Please!”

He smiled down at her, his hair glowing red in the sun. “I’d drive you—I really would—but I can’t. I’ve only had my license for a month, remember? Go on. Man up. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What if I’m grounded?” Willow said.

“I’ll see you anyway.” Henry bent down suddenly and kissed her. Then, his cheeks as red as his hair, he ducked into the car and started the ignition.

C
atherine drove her mother, Willow, and Grey back to Newburyport, while Zoe drove Madame Justine in the Porsche. Willow fell asleep in the backseat with her head on Eve’s shoulder; Catherine glanced at her now and then in the rearview mirror, reassuring herself that the girl was actually there.

Willow woke up when they pulled into Eve’s driveway half an hour later and, blessed by being a child, despite her new woman’s body, she smiled at Catherine in the mirror, appearing to forget everything that had happened as she stretched and yawned. When she remembered to be angry, Willow quickly wrapped her arms tightly around her body and looked out the window, muttering a good-bye to Eve as she got out of the car with Grey.

“Want to sit up front?” Catherine asked before pulling out of the driveway again.

Willow shook her head.

Another forty minutes south to Cambridge. Willow slept. Catherine put on the radio, glad she didn’t have to say anything yet. She needed time to think.

At home, Mike was beside himself at the sight of Willow, launching himself in the air as if his legs were springs. She sank to her knees and rubbed the little dog’s body, laughing and letting him lick her face. She took him outside while Catherine made grilled cheese and soup, numb from the effort of not yelling at Willow in the car.

“You can go ahead and ground me,” Willow said as she laid spoons and napkins out on the kitchen table without Catherine having to ask her.

“I’m not going to do that,” Catherine said. “This is bigger than that. Like I said at the police station, you really scared me. All of us.”

They sat across from each other, the bowls steaming between them, the yellow cheese oozing out of the thick slabs of toasted bread. “What can I do to show you I’m sorry?” Willow asked. She looked miserable.

Catherine picked up her napkin, put it on her lap, and said, “Eat something, please.”

Willow obeyed, tearing the sandwich into bite-sized pieces with her hands. A habit only a parent could love about a child. Seeing it made Catherine want to weep.

“I’m sorry you felt like you had to find Mike without telling me,” Catherine began. “I would have helped you, you know.”

“Really?” Willow chewed, her face a mask. “You never did before. Whenever I asked who my dad was, you always said it didn’t matter, because I had you and Russell.”

“You never actually asked me to help search for him.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “You should have known what I wanted. Nola was the only one who’d help me. Don’t be mad at her,” she added quickly. “I pretty much made her drive me to Framingham.”

Nola. Catherine sighed. She’d already burned her mouth on the soup; now she set down the spoon and said, “I’ve made a mess of things in a lot of ways. But the one thing I’ve learned, honey, is that life is a lot easier if you come out and ask for what you want.”

“So, if I asked you right now if I could live with Mom again, you’d say yes?” Willow challenged.

Catherine wanted to close her eyes. To make all of this a dream she could then wake from. “It’s not that simple.”

“Because you don’t trust her to take care of me?”

“Look, right now this is all theoretical—”

“Why? Because she doesn’t want me?”

Catherine knew by the desperate note that had crept into Willow’s voice that she was afraid both things might be true: that Zoe didn’t want her, and couldn’t take care of her anyway. Even worse, Catherine couldn’t completely deny those possibilities. Yet, now, after Willow’s reckless act and hearing the pleading in Willow’s voice, Catherine knew she also had to start thinking seriously about what Willow wanted for her own life. If she didn’t work with her, if she didn’t really start learning to listen to her daughter, Willow was going to view her as an enemy instead of an ally.

“If your mom goes to court and proves she’s clean and responsible,” she answered slowly, “then I wouldn’t have any legal leg to stand on. She’s your biological parent. But I would always be in your life.”

“So you’d just let her
have
me?” Willow’s voice was shrill now.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“It is, too! And that’s why I wanted to find my real dad, you know, in case none of you guys want me. Okay?
Now
do you get it?” Willow shouted. Then she left the table, scooping Mike into her arms on her way out of the kitchen.

“I get it,” Catherine whispered as she heard Willow’s footsteps on the stairs. “Oh, honey. I get it.”

She poured herself a glass of wine and threw the remaining food into the compost. She sat with the wine as she called Dr. Patel and stumbled through a message, saying she needed to take some days off to clear up some personal matters. “Maybe through Thanksgiving,” she said, thinking that with the office closed for two days anyway, she could manage a week to herself. “I hope this won’t put you in a bind.”

Whether it did or not, she needed to spend time with Willow. Forget work, forget Zoe, forget everything else: Willow needed her now, and then maybe Eve would take Willow to Chance Harbor, since she planned to spend one last Thanksgiving there. That would give Catherine time to be on her own and think. Besides, if Zoe went to Canada for Thanksgiving with them, it would be a chance for Willow to spend some supervised time with her. They could see how things went.

She called Russell next. “We’re home,” she said.

“Thanks for texting me earlier. How did it go? Was she charged with anything?”

“No. Since this was her first offense shoplifting, the officer gave her a diversion. If she does a three-month program, the charges will be wiped clean.”

“Good. I wish I could have gone to Salem with you.”

“It’s all right,” Catherine said. “I had lots of company. Mom and Zoe. And one of Zoe’s friends.”

“Oh.” Russell’s voice was strained; he was clearly put out not to have been part of the rescue party, and she didn’t blame him. No matter how flawed he was as a husband, Russell loved Willow, too. “That’s good, I guess. Listen. Can I put Nola on for a minute? She wants to say something to you.”

Catherine opened the refrigerator and poured another glass of wine. “If she must.”

Nola was blunt, as always. “Look, I know I totally messed up. I’m sorry,” she said. “I never should have taken Willow to that guy Mike’s house.”

Catherine closed her eyes and counted to ten, reminding herself that Nola was still a teenager. A confused, pregnant teenager. “I understand you were trying to help Willow. You were being a friend to her.”

Nola sounded startled. “Yeah? Yes. That’s exactly what I was doing!” she said. “I really like that kid. She’s a good girl. And I’m sorry, you know, for everything else, too.”

“Apology accepted,” Catherine said, though it wasn’t easy. “Good luck with your baby. Just, if you do take Willow somewhere again, please tell us, all right? She’s still only fifteen.”

“Boy, I know! I thought I was all grown-up at fifteen, like Willow. But I was wrong.”

“Yes, you were,” Catherine said before she could stop herself. “And you’ve still got some growing to do.” She hung up.

How could she possibly sleep, with her brain on fire like this? Catherine put on a movie and watched it blindly, then watched another, trying to fill her mind with sounds and images other than her own. When the doorbell rang, she glanced at the clock. It was nearly eleven o’clock. Surprisingly, Willow had already been asleep when Catherine had gone upstairs half an hour ago, the dog curled on the pillow next to her. She must be exhausted from her day. She’d looked impossibly young, her hair still damp from a shower and fanned out on the pillow. Catherine hoped the bell didn’t wake her now. It must be Russell at the door—who else? She only hoped Nola hadn’t come, too. Catherine’s patience was shredded by the day’s events.

She went to the door, peered through the keyhole, and felt her stomach drop at the sight of Grey. Was Zoe with him? Had they come here, teamed up to convince her that Willow belonged with Zoe? Catherine remembered the awful scene she’d made in her mother’s living room. Grey must think she was unhinged. Well, what did it matter what he thought? They had no future together.

Not that her body was being that rational. The sight of Grey, even as tiny as it was through the peephole, immediately aroused desire she’d hoped to satisfy and then set aside for good.

She wanted him. No denying that.

Catherine opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on until she saw that Grey was alone, standing in his customary boots and leather jacket, his hair loose and framing his sharp features beneath the porch light.

She closed the door again to release the chain, then stepped back to let him in.

Grey took off his boots in the hall and bent to kiss her cheek. Catherine didn’t say anything beyond the barest of greetings, only folded her arms and waited, keeping her eyes on the floor so that none of her tricky emotions would be revealed on her betraying face. Let him scold her, berate her, whatever. Then he could leave and their business would be finished.

“I came by to make sure you’re okay,” he said.

Startled, she looked up at him and saw that Grey’s expression was not angry, or even irritated. He looked, if anything, worried. Kind. Tender. Sweet.

Catherine’s cheeks burned. “I’m fine. I’m just glad we found her.”

“Zoe’s a mess.”

Ah. So that’s why he’d come. To plead Zoe’s cause. “She should be,” Catherine said, and turned her back on him to walk away.

Not that she could put much distance between them in her modest house. Her only choice was to walk to the kitchen at the end of the hall, where she picked up her wineglass and gestured to the cupboard. “Want a glass?”

He shook his head and watched her silently drain her glass. She badly wanted a third.

No. Bad idea.

“Why do you say that Zoe should be a mess?” Grey asked, sitting down at the table.

Catherine took the chair across from his. “It’s her own fault that Willow went to Mike’s looking for information.”

Grey’s voice was calm, but she noticed a glint in his eyes. “I don’t understand. How is that her fault? Zoe had no idea what Willow was up to, since she hadn’t seen her.”

“Because she has never told Willow about her real dad. Willow is fifteen. Old enough to know the truth.”

He sighed. “Zoe doesn’t know who the father is.”

“I’d figured as much. Zoe had a lot of fun at the university. I think she spent, like, ten minutes a day studying.”

“She didn’t have all that much fun. Not after she and Mike broke up.” Grey’s voice was low; Catherine almost had to lean forward to hear it.

“So that’s why she dropped out? Not enough parties for her?”

She heard her own bitchy tone and inwardly winced, uncomfortably aware that the anger flickering in Grey’s eyes was growing brighter.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she said. “You know what Zoe’s like.”

“Because I want to tell you the truth, but I’m conflicted because I know Zoe wouldn’t want me to say anything.”

“We’re all conflicted,” Catherine said. “Believe me, if you know something that will help me understand my crazy sister, then by all means, share it. Though I can’t guarantee that I’ll listen with an open mind. Too much water under the bridge, you know?”

He nodded. “I got to that point with Sadie. I know what you’re feeling. You’ve been hurt and betrayed so many times that you’re almost ready to give up on your sister.”

“No. That’s where you’re wrong.” What the hell. Against her best instincts, Catherine stood up and poured herself a third glass of wine. Then she turned around again to face him, the glass in her hand. “I am not ‘almost ready’ to give up on Zoe. That happened a long time ago. Now my only goal is to keep Willow safe, even if we go to court and I lose custody to Zoe.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” He arched an eyebrow. “A custody battle would be tough on Willow, don’t you think? What if Zoe continues to play by the rules and Willow wants to live with her some of the time. Would you ever allow that?”

“Look, I don’t want to make problems for Willow,” she said. “There might come a time in the future when I’d say yes to that, sure. As Willow gets older, I know I’ll need to honor her as a person by letting her make her own choices, provided I don’t perceive any risk.”

“Very noble rhetoric.”

Catherine shrugged. “I mean it. I know this may come as a shock to you, but I’m actually a good person most of the time.” She took a gulp of wine. The wine was sour and unpleasant; she nearly spit it out.

“You’d better sit down,” Grey said.

She dropped into a chair and set the glass down carefully on the table in front of her. She was seated in Willow’s place; there were crumbs everywhere. She nearly smiled. A child, still, Willow. Thank God for small mercies.

Grey folded his big hands on the table. His hands were calloused from his boatbuilding, but he wore an expensive-looking watch, a Bvlgari.

“Why are you here?” Catherine asked. “I mean, really? You should be propping Zoe up. You’re her friend. And, as you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”

“You are not fine,” Grey said. “And I wanted to see you, to tell you some things about your sister that you obviously don’t know. I think that’s the only way you’ll forgive her.”