Island Girls (26 page)

“My room.” For a moment, Cyndi lurched out of her apathy and moved her eyes over the living room furniture, taking in the crisp blue-and-white décor Justine had so carefully chosen. Her thoughts flittered clearly across her face: once she had owned this house; once she had lived in it during the summer with her husband, Rory, and their daughter, Meg.

Before that marriage-wrecker Justine ruined everything.

“Where is
my
room?” Cyndi inquired.

Meg hurried to tell her mother, “Let me take you up. It’s the sweetest room, at the back of the house, near the biggest bathroom. You can wash up, rest from your trip, and unpack.”

“I brought only a nightgown. I’m leaving tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, okay. Well, anyway, let me show you where you’ll stay. I’m giving you my room upstairs—” Meg turned to leave.

“It’s not worth it, making you leave your room for the night,” Cyndi protested. “I’ll just sleep on one of the sofas in here.”

Meg froze. Why was her mother acting like such a martyr? Certainly Cyndi wouldn’t want to sleep on a living room sofa tonight, not after the discussion with all the mothers that was planned.

“Mom, I’ve already put clean sheets on the bed.”

“All right, then, if you insist.” Cyndi rose and followed Meg as if being led to the guillotine.

“Well, she’s turned into a cranky old shrew,” Arden whispered to Jenny when Meg and Cyndi were out of hearing.

“She’ll cheer up tonight,” Jenny replied with quiet dread. “When we gang up on my mother.”

It hadn’t been so long ago that the six women had been in the same room together, but the circumstances had been quite different. Last May, they’d met at the lawyer’s office to discuss the memorial service and hear the reading of the will.

They had all known Rory had already had a heart attack, but none of them had imagined that his great heart could actually give out so soon. Stunned by his death, the group of women had been formal, respectful, and grieving. Justine had hidden her swollen eyes behind sunglasses and had barely been able to walk. The three daughters were also stricken with sorrow, snatched unaware from the routines of their daily lives by the death of their father. Nora and Cyndi, while not inconsolable, had been considerate, even reverential, in the face of death. They had come separately with their daughters to the reading of the will. They had left separately, without speaking to Justine or Jenny. They had not kissed or touched or hugged.

A memorial service was planned for Rory in October, when
the frenzy of the summer was over and the people who lived on the island would have the time and the psychic space to attend to the loss of this beloved man. Tonight, once other matters were dispensed with, the daughters were hoping they might also be able to discuss this.

But now it was time to take care of the other matters.

Arden, Meg, and Jenny had strategized the meeting with the care of an international summit conference. They’d moved the furniture into arrangements that would prevent the mothers from having to sit next to or too close to one another. They’d put end tables beside each chair with napkins waiting, and also, discreetly next to the low bowl of flowers in the middle of the coffee table, a dainty box of tissues, in case anyone was to burst into tears. Surely someone would. Their platters of finger food covered the rest of the coffee table, and a table behind one of the sofas held the ice bucket, glasses, and drink mixers.

They’d also worked out a plan of action.

At six o’clock, they carried everything into the living room. Shortly after that, they heard steps on the stairs, and Justine appeared.

“Oh, thank God. Drinks.” Justine walked to the table and prepared herself a vodka tonic with the authority of the woman who had been the owner of this house for years. She still wore her white capris, her magenta halter top, and her jeweled sandals, but she’d redone her makeup and brushed her long black hair out of its ponytail. She was magnificent.

Jenny dithered around, making drinks for herself, Meg, and
Arden, wondering aloud if she should have prepared some sangria, asking Meg if they’d remembered to refill the ice trays.

“I’m sure I did,” Meg told her. “I’m going up to get Mom.”

A few minutes later, Meg and Cyndi entered the room. Cyndi had combed her gray hair, smoothed her wrinkled skirt, and applied lipstick, which only made the rest of her face look paler. She stopped when she saw Justine, her chin jerking up defensively, as if blocking a blow.

“Hello, Cyndi,” Justine said smoothly, carrying her drink to a chair.

“Hello, Justine.” Cyndi looked everywhere but at Justine, seeming confused about what to do next.

“Sit here, Mom.” Meg settled Cyndi on the end of the sofa farthest from Justine.

“What can I fix you to drink?” Jenny asked Cyndi. “We’ve got everything.”

“Oh, water will be fine,” Cyndi said.

“Come on, Mom, have some wine. We’ve got Prosecco, which is sparkling, and cool and light on the alcohol.”

Cyndi allowed herself to be convinced. “Fine.”

Jenny was handing the flute to Cyndi when Nora stalked down the stairs and into the room. She’d changed into a turquoise tunic thick with embroidery and matching turquoise sandals. Even her earrings were turquoise, dangling and bright.

“Hello, everyone,” Nora cooed. “Oh good, drinkies.” As silkily as a lioness, she lounged down onto the end of the other sofa, stretching out her long, sleek legs. “Fix me a g and t, will you, Arden?” No sooner was the ice clattering into the glass than Nora was beaming her easy smile around the room. “Good grief, check us out! What a bunch of luscious babes. One thing we’ve got to admit, Rory Randall had great taste in women.”

Justine’s mouth quirked up nervously.

“Although you, Cyndi,” Nora continued brashly, “could use a serious makeover.”

Cyndi bristled. “I have sons. I’m busy all the time, doing laundry, attending soccer games. It’s not like I have time to sit around filing my nails.”

“Obviously,” Nora stated flatly. Flashing her attention on her own daughter, she demanded, “Okay, so when do the fireworks begin?”

Arden sat down next to her mother. Meg poured herself a glass of wine and sat on the sofa near Cyndi. Jenny took her own wine to a chair near Justine. And there they were, the six of them together.

“I’ll go first,” Meg announced. “I have just been offered tenure at Sudbury College. I’m getting a raise. Plus, my freshman English syllabus will be the standard, and I’ve been put in charge of the freshman English program.”

Cyndi smiled. “That’s wonderful, Meg. I’m sure that will help you get a position in a real college.”

Meg’s pale cheeks blushed crimson. “Sudbury
Community
College
is
a real college, Mother. To my way of thinking, it’s more important to our country’s future than many of the four-year colleges. Our students learn the skills that will help them get jobs and be valuable members of our society.”

Cyndi’s smile soured. “You sound like a pamphlet.”

Arden’s head jerked up. “Hey. Give Meg a break. More than that, give her a damn compliment, Cyndi. She’s just had an enormous responsibility placed on her shoulders and a huge tribute paid to her skill as a teacher.”

“And there you are,” Justine said smugly. “The real Arden Randall. Ready for a fight.”

“What?” Arden stared, mouth open.

“Justine,” Meg began, “Arden wasn’t trying to start a fight. She was championing me, something I wish you—”

“This is perfect.” Jenny stood up suddenly, startling everyone. “I was going to wait to get into this, but it seems we’re all in the mood for confrontation, so I’m going to dive right in. Mom”—she faced Justine, her hands clenched at her sides—“we’ve found the necklace.”

Justine went white. “You did?”

“
I
did,” Arden said.

“You would,” Justine muttered darkly.

“What are you accusing my daughter of now?” Nora demanded.

Jenny didn’t allow herself to be sidetracked. “You hid it yourself, Mom, in the back of your own closet. It’s time you admitted it and apologized to us all.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Justine sniffed. “Of course I didn’t hide my own necklace. Why would I do that?”

“So you could get rid of us,” Arden said. “Me and Meg.”

“Mom.” Jenny knelt before her mother and took her hand. “Please.
Please
just admit it, won’t you? We want to get past this.”

Justine averted her eyes. The other mothers sat frozen, as if afraid to break a spell.

Everyone waited. One beat. Two.

“Fine,” Justine said. “I hid it. I was sick and tired of dealing with Arden, and you all have to agree that that year she was a miserable, nasty, disobedient little hellion.”

“I can attest to that,” Nora said dryly. “Still, manipulating events to oust her from the house seems a pretty severe reaction.”

“Making us all believe Arden was a thief was a pretty severe reaction,” Cyndi cut in. “I was afraid to let Arden come to our house to hang out with Meg because of what she did. I was afraid she’d steal something of mine.”

“But why did you make me leave, too?” Meg asked Justine. “I didn’t do anything.”

Justine lifted her eyes and scanned the room. What she saw in the faces of the other women was not anger so much as curiosity. After all, it had been so long ago. These girls, these daughters, were close to the age Justine was when she’d had to deal with Arden and Meg. These girls were now women.

Justine sagged just a bit. She ran her fingers over her forehead, and then she tried to explain. “Listen. I was Rory’s
third
wife. Both you girls were his real, biological daughters. Jenny needed a father. I wanted Rory to think of her as his daughter, his
real
daughter. You both were, well,
in the way
. I was insecure, I was jealous, I was young.”

“You were a grown woman,” Nora reminded her, but her voice held no malice.

“Oh, when is
anyone
grown-up?” Justine asked. “I thought I was an adult when I gave birth to Jenny. Legally, I was an adult when I turned twenty-one. But I had a brief marriage in my twenties to a guy who hardly noticed my sweet little girl, and we divorced after a year. That destroyed my self-confidence. Perhaps it made me feel not so grown-up. Certainly not so smart. You were always so capable, Nora, swanning around like you owned the world, and you, Cyndi, why, you had Tom and your two sons. Neither one of you needed Rory the way
I
needed him, the way Jenny needed him for a father.”

“Self-preservation,” Nora said, nodding her head. “I can see that.”

“No,” Meg objected. “
Selfishness
. You wanted Rory all for yourself and Jenny. You took him, and this house, and our Nantucket summers away from Arden and me. Maybe Arden deserved it for being a pill that year, but
I
never deserved it. Do you think
Tom
was a father to me? Hardly.”

“He was your stepfather,” Justine reminded her. “He was
there
.”

“Not for me, he wasn’t,” Meg shot back.

Cyndi hung her head and pleated her skirt with her fingers, shrinking into herself.

Justine glared at Jenny, who had returned to her seat on the sofa. “So this is why you wanted us all down here?” she asked her daughter. “To humiliate me in front of everyone? To hurt me, when I’ve just lost the love of my life.”

“He was the love of our lives, too,” Arden pointed out quietly.

“He was your father!” Justine tossed her black mane of hair, and her dark eyes blazed. “He was only your
father
, not the angel of your heart. It’s not my fault if Rory preferred Jenny to the two of you. Jenny was lucky she had his affection at all. Our passion was all consuming.
I
was Rory’s one real, true soul mate.”

In the midst of the tense silence, a loud knock sounded on the front door.

“Now what?” Nora demanded. “What other delights have you girls arranged?”

Arden snapped, “I have no idea who it is.”

“I’ll see.” Jenny rose, went into the front hall.

They heard a female voice.

When Jenny returned to the living room, her face was white. “She says her name is Marcia Kirkpatrick.”

Justine frowned. “Marcia—? Oh, you mean his office manager here on the island.”

A woman appeared behind Jenny. She was perhaps forty-five or fifty, slender, with tumbling blonde hair. Without invitation, she stepped around Jenny and right into the room.

“You’re the blonde!” Arden said in surprise.

Meg nodded. “Right. We’ve seen you everywhere.”

With a toss of her head, Marcia announced, “Yes, I am the blonde. And I was more than Rory’s office manager.”

Justine drew back. “What do you mean?”

“For heaven’s sake, what do you think I mean?” Marcia Kirkpatrick retorted.

“Oh my,” Nora murmured smugly.

The other women, mothers and daughters, gaped in shock at the self-assured knockout in her neat blue dress and pearls. Her heels were low. Her makeup was pristine, so well applied it seemed nonexistent. She had a bit of the same polish and confidence Nora had. But she was younger than Nora, Cyndi, and Justine, and that got their backs up.

Arden broke the silence. “Uh-uh. Dad didn’t like blondes.”

“He liked
me
.” Marcia’s hands and voice were trembling but she held her head high. “In fact he
loved
me. That’s why I’m here.”

Justine gathered her wits and rose. Trying to gain control, she said, very lady-of-the-manor, “Marcia, we’ve met before, at a real estate party one year. I’m Justine, Rory’s wife.”

“I know who you are. I know who you all are.” Staring at each woman as she spoke, the blonde woman pronounced their names: “Jenny. Cyndi. Meg. Arden. Nora. Rory talked about you so much.”

“I’m sure he did,” Justine agreed coolly, “because you both worked together for years. It would be odd if he hadn’t spoken about his daughters.”

“We did more than talk,” Marcia insisted.

“That’s ridiculous.” Justine turned her back on the woman and returned to her seat. “Please. We’re having a family conference. This isn’t a good time for you to … to do whatever it is you think you’re doing.”