Heartbroken (19 page)

Her mother drew back, held Birdie’s face in her hands. She had a sweet, amused smile on her face. “Oh, Birdie,” she said. “No, darling, you were dreaming.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “I wasn’t dreaming.”

“Of course you were, sweetie,” Lana said. She sounded so light and sure. She wrapped her arm around Birdie and led her up to the house. Birdie waited, even as she shivered with cold, for her mother to say something. But all the way, her mother was quiet. Inside, Lana moved quickly, wrapping Birdie in the blanket draped over the couch. Birdie watched carefully as her mother made her hot cocoa in the galley kitchen that was part of the main living space. The other children were still sleeping.

“I saw you,” said Birdie. She realized her mother wasn’t going to say anything at all. Birdie needed to understand what she had seen.

Her mother’s hair was dark and full. It fell about her shoulders as she shook her head. None of the children had inherited those luxurious tresses, all of them with baby-fine hair of gold. “There’s no one on that island,” said her mother. Her tone had gone a little more stern. “You know that.”

Her father came out of the room, looking tousled and groggy. “What’s the matter?”

“I found Birdie asleep on the dock,” said her mother. There was the faintest shadow of something across her face, then that famous smile. “Our daughter thinks I dashed across to the other island for a secret rendezvous.”

Her father opened the cupboard, rubbing the crown of his head. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” her mother said. Birdie could see that her brightness was forced. “But, of course, she must have been dreaming.”

Birdie’s father was silent a moment, and she was sure a slew of questions would follow. She knew her father to be a very curious man.

“We’re out of powdered milk?” he asked. But was there something stiff and strange about him? Was his air of indifference put-on?

This was not the type of reaction Birdie expected from her father. Not that he’d ever displayed much of a temper. But still. It took her a second to realize that he didn’t believe her. It did sound outlandish, since no one had ever inhabited that island. And back then, there were very few people in the area at all.

But Birdie knew what she saw.

“He kissed her,” Birdie said. “Not like you kiss her.” Her father raised his eyebrows at that. Then both her mother and father were staring at her, her father frowning. Her mother’s expression was unreadable, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“It was a movie kiss.” Birdie said, since the adults seemed at a loss for words. She thought they’d get angry, but both of them
began to laugh. Birdie felt tears of anger and shame spring to her eyes.

Her mother, giggling a little, walked over and offered her the cup of cocoa. “Well, Birdie,” she said. She sat on the sofa. “It seems to me that you’ve seen some of the island ghosts.”

Birdie got up and ran to her room, slamming the door and waking Gene and Caroline. When Caroline wanted to know why she was crying, Birdie refused to answer. A while later, she heard them all laughing over breakfast. No one believed her. No one ever took her side.

Even at seventy-five, she could feel the anger and shame as if it all had happened yesterday. To this day, the sound of laughter in another room made her feel annoyed, even when she knew it had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

Why had she come up to the bunkhouse looking for the silly album? The light from the desk lamp was dim and flickering. Outside, the wind was picking up. The air felt like rain, had that clean, light scent. They’d had the bunkhouse built some years ago, with the idea that the children would sleep here during their visits. Once upon a time, Birdie had imagined that Chelsea and Brendan would feel the bunkhouse was an adventure, their very own place.

“They’re children, Mother,” Kate had said in that annoyed, superior tone she always seemed to take with Birdie. “They aren’t sleeping in a separate house from us.”

The children
were
young at the time, Birdie realized now. Chelsea was nine, so that meant Brendan was four or so. Maybe three.

But she’d said, “What could happen to them here?”

“Oh, Mother,” said Kate. She’d looked at Birdie as though she were depraved or idiotic. “Really.”

Kate always did smother the children. Probably since she had
nothing better to do than focus her attention on them. So the children hadn’t yet slept in the bunkhouse, preferring to stay with Sean and Kate in the guest cabin. The bunkhouse had become more of a storage depot for linens and spare supplies, old items that had belonged to her parents, framed photos that she could neither bear to look at nor discard. There were some old clothes that she, Caroline, and Gene had worn as children. They were threadbare and moth-eaten, not even suitable for donation. But they remained in the trunk they’d inhabited for decades.

It was on the last page of the album that Birdie found the picture she was looking for. It had lingered in her memory, like so many things about her childhood that she tried not to think about. The events of the day brought it back to mind. Beside each of the photos were her mother’s meticulous notes:
Gene and Birdie, first sailing lessons! Lana and Jack (Mommy and Daddy), renewing our vows! Caroline, our little flower!
All but one of the pictures were in summer; they were never on the island in winter. It was Joe who had winterized the homes so they could come if they chose. But when the weather was cold, to Birdie, Heart Island was just a dream of summer, something unreachable, almost unimaginable, until the thaw.

The picture was of her mother standing beside a tall, dark-haired man. He was lean with long, pale features. Lana sat on the rocker that Birdie remembered on their porch, and he stood beside her. He looked off, up and away from her. She stared at the lens. There was nothing intimate about it, nothing incriminating. Except. Except the small upturn of her mother’s lips. Her left hand gripped the armrest. Her right was lifted toward him. He was drawing his hand away. It was as if they’d been touching moments before the shutter had snapped. There was a thin line of snow on the windowsill. Lana was there in winter. When? Birdie didn’t remember her mother ever going away from them.

Beside the photo, there was no note in her mother’s delicate, looping cursive. It was out of place among the summery, happy pictures.
There was something strange and unsettling about it. Birdie heard the first drops of rain start to fall. It started its tap-tap-tapping on the tin roof. Birdie lifted the photo from its place, and it came away with a slight crackle. She turned it over. Her mother had written there,
It wasn’t a dream, darling. I’m so sorry
.

chapter fourteen

S
ean had been talking a lot all morning, which they both knew he did when he was feeling nervous or guilty. Today he was both. He was nervous (and excited) about the open house; he felt guilty and uneasy that the girls were going up north alone. Brendan was sulking and limping, in varying degrees of intensity depending on who was watching and to whom he could put the screws for the unfairness of the whole situation.

Do you have the navigation computer? Is the address entered correctly? Do you have enough snacks? You’re really taking Lulu? Really? Don’t let your mother get to you. Seriously, we’re right behind you. We’ll be there tonight or tomorrow morning at the latest
. He was rambling like a crazy person. Every time he tried to be quiet, some other thought bubbled out of his mouth.
I’m sorry. I’m talking too much
.

Kate was being quiet, which they both knew
she
did when she was nervous or feeling guilty. Sean knew that she was nervous about going to the island without him and feeling bad for leaving Brendan behind. Her silence only caused Sean to talk more, desperate to fill the void of quiet between them.
It’s okay, honey. We’re fine. Don’t worry about it
.

Chelsea and Brendan were fighting over whether Chelsea should be able to take the iPad to watch movies on the trip, or whether it should stay with Brendan to play games.

“You have the iPhone!” Brendan yelled suddenly, their argument
reaching a crescendo. “You don’t need it. You get everything. She gets everything. She
always
gets
everything
.”

“That’s it!” said Kate. In her anger, her tone reached an uncharacteristic pitch and volume. All three of them turned to stare at her. “You two—figure out a way to share that thing, or I’m
donating
it to kids who have
nothing
.”

Brendan and Chelsea watched her gape-jawed as she proceeded to slam the rest of the dishes into the dishwasher. It was not yet six
A.M
., the golden morning light dappling the floor. Sean moved to Kate and put his hands on her slender shoulders, which were tight and hiked up high.

“Sorry,” she said after a moment. He felt her take a deep breath; her shoulders released a bit beneath his touch. “Sorry for yelling. But I meant it.”

“Okay,” said Chelsea. She sank onto one of the kitchen chairs, kept a watchful, worried stare on her mother. Chelsea was usually the one to relent, the one eager to keep the peace. Sean thought maybe it had to do with the battles between Kate and Sebastian, the classic behavior of a child caught in conflict. Brendan, on the other hand, had never had to mediate or to please warring personalities. “You can keep it.”

Brendan was as sore a winner as he was a loser. He took the iPad from his sister and stormed, as best he could with his terrible limp, from the room. Chelsea followed him out, casting a quick glance behind at her mother.

“Everyone’s stressed,” said Kate when they were gone. She brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed.

“They’ll get over it,” he said. “We’ll get over it. This time tomorrow, all of this will be forgotten, and we’ll be relaxing at the island.”

“Right,” said Kate. “It’s going to be
so
relaxing.”

“Look,” he said. “Why don’t you just wait? We’ll all go tomorrow.”

He knew before the words were out of his mouth that it would never fly. He could already see the etching of worry in her brow. God
forbid she should disappoint her parents, make them wait for anything they wanted. They’d all be subject to the famous full-throttle Birdie meltdown.

“No,” she said. “The car is packed. We’re ready. I hate to leave him, but it’s better for him to have another day to rest.”

“Okay,” he said. “It’s all going to be fine.”

She melted into him. “Is it?”

“Of course.” He squeezed her tight. “Of
course
.”

The first time they met had been in this very house. It was empty then; the owners had moved out west. Realtors didn’t do much staging in those days, setting up rented furniture so that people could envision how the houses would look when they moved in. The walls needed painting. The floors were older. But it was a nice house in a good neighborhood. In the market as it was then, it would sell no matter how much work it needed.

Sean’s assistant had made the appointment, and Sean was waiting on the porch when Kate and Chelsea pulled up. He saw Kate first as she stepped out of her old but well-maintained Mercedes, having pulled up alongside his brand-new Porsche Spyder. She wasn’t his type. She was sweet-looking, with wheat-blond hair and a cute body. She wore a flowered dress over leggings, a denim jacket. Cute, nice, the kind of girl his mother would like. But he wasn’t into cute. The redhead he was dating at the time was rocking his world; she was a five-foot-ten lingerie model with a real kinky streak. Honestly, he could think of little else.

Then he saw Chelsea in the car seat in the back. She was pouting, clutching a stuffed dog. There was some negotiation at the car door.

“Just one more,” he heard Kate say. “Then we’ll go for ice cream.”

He remembered thinking that was the problem with modern parents, always bribing and negotiating. No one had negotiated with him when he was a kid. He just did what he was told or he got his ass kicked.

But as they approached, something happened. Kate smiled and shook his hand, but she didn’t really look at him. Chelsea scowled at him, apparently unimpressed by his bright and, he thought, charming “Hi, there, princess.” That guy, the one he was then, was such a clueless jerk. And Chelsea, not yet four, could see it clearly.

There was something about them. Even now he couldn’t say what. It was in the way Chelsea held Kate’s hand, leaned her body against Kate’s leg. It was in the way they whispered to each other, walking slowly from room to room.
That’s a nice big closet
, Kate said.
All my toys could go there
, answered Chelsea practically.
You’d have fun in that tub
, said Kate.
Oh, yes
, Chelsea said.
I would
.

“My daddy isn’t going to live here,” Chelsea told him in the kitchen. “It’s just me and Mommy now.”

“Oh,” said Sean.

“I’m sorry,” said Kate. She smiled at his awkwardness.

“It happens sometimes,” said Chelsea. She put up a hand, ready to explain. “Sometimes grown-ups don’t want to live together anymore.”

“That’s true,” Sean said.

When he looked back at Kate, she seemed to be studying him in a way he was not used to. It was as if she were trying to figure out the exact nature of his character.

“Do you have kids?” she asked him.

“No,” he said. “Not even close. Someday, though, I hope. And I hope they’re as cute and smart as this little girl.” He added that last part to be connective; it was a sales trick. Relate. Relate. Relate. Chelsea’s frown was back. Kate gave him a slow nod. There was that smile again, amused, understanding. A little condescending? She thought she was smarter than he was. Maybe she was.

“I like this house,” she said. She put her hands on the granite countertop (the very same one they were leaning on now). “It’s the nicest thing I’ve seen in a week. It feels … safe.”

He’d wondered what she meant by that. She hadn’t meant the
neighborhood or the new security system. She meant something else, something bigger. And it
was
a nice house, though he hadn’t thought much of it until he saw Kate in it. It wasn’t big and flashy, like some of the other houses he’d recently sold in this wealthy New Jersey suburb. But it had good bones. It was solidly built, unlike the new McMansions that looked stunning but had paper-thin walls, fixtures and baseboards that started to pop out after a year or so. It was a real house. With a little love, someone could turn it into a home.