Island Girls (27 page)

“Family conference? I suspected as much. I’ve been monitoring your activities—”

“You’ve been stalking us!” Jenny cried.

Marcia smirked. “So, this is the perfect time for me to be
here.” Reaching into her purse, she lifted out a pack of letters tied with ribbons. “I can pass these around. These are love letters Rory wrote
me
. As you can read, he promised me a house.”

Justine froze in place. Only the pain in her eyes expressed her emotion—the ache deep in her gut said Marcia Kirkpatrick was telling the truth. Her chin trembled.

Seeing her mother’s agony, Jenny stalked around to face the woman. “Stop it. You’re lying. My father would never be untrue to my mother.”

“Because, really,” Nora interjected with a smirk, “Rory never cheated on his wives.”

Jenny’s head whipped around toward Nora. “He didn’t cheat on my mother.”

“Of course not,” Arden said bitterly. “Not Rory Randall.”

Meg rose and put her arm around Jenny’s shoulders. Aiming her scarcely concealed disgust at Marcia, she asked, “Why have you come here? Whether you’re lying or telling the truth, it seems needlessly unkind.”

Marcia’s mouth thinned. “As I said, I’m here because Rory promised me a house, and I want it.”

“I see.” Meg nodded. She scanned the faces of the other women. This had to be dealt with. “I think you’d better sit down.”

“Thank you, Meg.” Marcia gracefully sank into a chair, smoothing the skirt of her blue dress over her knees.

Impatiently, Arden cut in, “
When
were you our father’s mistress?”

“For the past three or four years,” Marcia answered. “Until he died.”

Justine sank onto the sofa, hiding her face in her hands.

“That’s just ridiculous,” Meg blurted. “Dad was
sixty
.”

“Believe me,” Marcia cooed coolly, “Rory was as virile as a thirty-year-old. He didn’t even have to take Viagra. He could—”

“That’s enough.” Meg spoke with authority. “Let’s stick to the matter at hand. You say that our father, Rory Randall, left you a house?”

Marcia shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Yes. In a way.” Before anyone else could speak, she hurriedly continued, “Rory and I were in love. Deeply, truly in love. We were business partners as well. Rory couldn’t have run his agency down here without me. I did everything for him. He told me everything about his life.” She glared at Jenny. “You, little miss, had a terrible time when your wisdom teeth were taken out. You had a dry socket and were in pain for a week, and he had to leave the island to help your mother take care of you.”

Jenny put her hand to her mouth, as if protecting it from sight.

“And you, Meg, might be quite the smarty-pants but you couldn’t have gotten your master’s degree if Rory hadn’t paid for your grad school.”

Meg shook her head, baffled. “I was always grateful to Dad—”

“But you were the worst,” Marcia said to Arden. “Running your TV show about simplifying houses, and did you ever once mention your father’s real estate agency?”

Arden stared, stone-faced.

“You mentioned your
mother’s
real estate agency. But not your father’s, oh no, you wouldn’t give him a break.” Marcia’s face flushed. “I was the only woman who cared for your father for himself.”

Arden scoffed. “And that’s why you’re here trying to scam us for some money.”

Marcia drew back as if slapped. “I’m not trying to
scam
anyone. I’m only asking for what I deserve. Rory promised he’d give me a house on Nantucket.”

“Do you have any
proof
of this promise?” asked Meg.

“I have these letters.” With a shaking hand, Marcia held up her packet. “Love letters. He says things to me—”

“Don’t,” Jenny cried. “I don’t want to know the things he said to you.”

“But if there is a promise in our father’s handwriting that he will give you a house, I would like to see that,” Meg clarified.

“Or any legal document,” Arden added. “Hand it over.”

Marcia looked down at her lap. She took a few deep breaths. When she spoke again, her tone was sweeter. “I was hoping it wouldn’t have to come to this. I was hoping that Rory’s daughters would honor his feelings for me. I didn’t come here as an enemy. I came here as a friend. As—as, almost, a
relative
.”

Jenny muttered, “Ugh.”

Marcia continued unfazed. “I’ve known about you girls for so long. You have no idea how many times I’ve advised Rory on the kind of birthday or Christmas presents he should give you.”

“What you’re trying to say,” Arden interjected triumphantly, “is that you don’t have any legal document.”

Marcia drew herself up, shoulders straight, chin high. “Fine. I don’t have a signed affidavit from your father stating that he will give me a house, but anyone who reads these letters will believe that was his intent.” The slender blonde stood up. She laid a package on the coffee table. “These are copies of the letters. If I have to, I will sue, and it will cause a scandal. Think about it. Call me when you’ve reached your decision.”

“Wait a minute,” Meg said, holding out her hand. “Marcia, we don’t have enough money to give you a house. If our father didn’t leave you the money, then he simply went back on his promise.”

“Sell this house,” Marcia said coolly. “Then you’ll have the money to give me.” She looked around. “It’s a historic old house on a prestigious street. I don’t want it; I don’t even want all the
money you can get for it. I just want, let’s say, half. You three could split the other half and we’ll all be happy.”

“You’re not getting a penny!” Jenny’s face was red, her hands clenched into fists. “Get out.”

Marcia smiled. “It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you with Bjorn, Jenny. You made such a cute couple.” She rose, chin high, shoulders back, haughty, bitter. “All Rory’s women gathered together like this. How sweet. I wonder why? Well, now you have something serious to discuss.” She sauntered toward the doorway. “Don’t bother to see me out. I know which way to go. I know this house
very
well.”

The front door slammed.

The room was silent. Then Justine burst into tears.

Nora said, “Oh, that Rory still has a lot to answer for.” She made a stiff gin and tonic and put it in Justine’s hand. Sitting next to her, she said, “Drink up. Believe me, I know the feeling. Here, take some tissues.”

“Thank you.” Justine blew her nose. “I can’t believe Rory had an affair with
her
.”

“For four years,” Jenny stated baldly.

Justine’s eyes and nose were red as she looked pitifully up at Jenny. “You must hate me to say such things.”

“I don’t hate you, Mother. I hate deception.” Jenny poured herself more wine. “My entire life seems to have been built on deception. You lied to me about my biological father. You lied to all of us about the lost necklace. I missed all those summers of being with my sisters.”

Justine bent her face into her tissues. “They weren’t nice girls.”

“
I
was!” Meg retorted.

“You’re sorry for yourself because Dad had a mistress,” Jenny continued. “Can’t you spare a little pity for me? Because of you, I
missed years with my real father and with Meg and Arden. I’ll never get those years back.”

“Easy there,” Nora chided gently. “Give your mother a break, Jenny. She did what she thought was right. We’ve all made mistakes.”

Cyndi looked up. “That’s true,” she admitted. “Especially if you’ve ever been alone.”

Justine stifled her sobs at the surprise of Cyndi speaking at last.

“I know you never got on well with Tom,” Cyndi said to Meg. “Don’t think it hasn’t troubled me at times.
Tortured
me at times. But, Meg, when you’re right in the middle of life, it’s like swimming: You have to keep splashing or you’ll drown.”

Justine sniffed. “I get that, completely.”

Encouraged by Justine’s support, Cyndi’s voice grew stronger. “It was terrifically difficult when I was alone with you after Rory left me. You were a little girl, Meg. I was so lonely. I didn’t know what to do. I was afraid, alone in the house at night. I know that’s silly, I was an adult, but I was afraid someone would break into the house to steal things or rape me. I worried that you’d grow up weird, not knowing how to act around a man. That you might be afraid of men because you never saw any. When I married Tom, I believed I was doing a good thing for you, and I still believe that. He might not have been perfect, or loving—”

“You’re right about that,” Meg murmured.

“But he never abused you.”

“Hey, there’s the gold standard for stepfatherhood,” said Arden cynically.

Cyndi went on, ignoring Arden. “He never hit you. He supported us all financially. He kept us safe at night. I could sleep. No one hurt you. You might not care for him, but you know what a man sounds like, talks like, acts like.… And something else.”
Her voice grew stronger, determined. “You know that
some
men can be faithful. You know that some men will take care of their families.”

“Rory took care of all of us,” Justine pointed out. “In his way.”

Arden opened her mouth to object. Instead, she picked up a platter and passed it to Jenny. “Have an egg.”

Surprised, Jenny obeyed. Arden passed the platter around. Every woman took a spicy, creamy deviled egg, ate it, and suddenly they were all starving. They reached for the rest of the food on the table. They practically inhaled the little sandwiches, the cheese and crackers, the olives. They wiped their mouths and their lipstick disappeared, and so did just a bit of their tension. Justine kicked off her jeweled sandals and curled up on the sofa with her bare feet beneath her. The rest of the women kicked off their sandals, too, and an aura of uneasy companionship spirited around the room like an incense. As if they were sitting in front of a campfire, in the dark, centuries ago. Just people trying to figure things out.

“Now,” Arden said, after she’d placed all the bottles on the table in reach of anyone who wanted more to drink, “what to do about Marcia Kirkpatrick?”

“We should see a lawyer,” Nora said sensibly.

“Right.” Arden reached out to snap up the packet of letters. “I’ll keep these with me. Unless anyone else wants them?”

Jenny shuddered.

“Fine. We’ll show them to Dad’s lawyer, Frank Boyd, tomorrow. We can’t decide anything until we know whether or not Marcia has a legal leg to stand on.”

Nora suddenly stretched and yawned. “I’ve eaten too much too fast and I’ve got too many words in my poor little brain. I’ve got to get out of here.”

“You’re leaving?” Arden’s jaw dropped.

Nora aimed a sardonic snort at her daughter. “Yes. I’m leaving. Honey, I’m only going for a walk into town. It’s a summer night, and I want to see the lights and move my ancient legs before the blood pools and I die of a blood clot.”

“You’re not that old, Mother,” Arden said.

Justine stood up. “I’ll go with you.”

Cyndi said, “Me, too.”

Arden said, “All right. We’ll all go. My head could use some airing.”

The six women put their sandals back on. They left the drinks and empty platters on the table, used the bathroom and fixed their makeup, swept up their purses, and went out into the Nantucket night.

It was dark. Stars speckled the sky and a salty breeze drifted past. They headed down Centre Street toward the lights of town. They strolled along, not talking, gazing in the windows at the four-inch heels with ribbon straps, the eight-hundred-dollar purses with opals on the clasp, the silk dresses, the cashmere sweaters. They wandered into Bookworks and spent a long time browsing. They headed to The Juice Bar and stood in the long line to buy cups and cones of decadently rich ice cream. They crossed South Water Street to avoid the crowd of people spilling out of the Dreamland Theater. They sauntered past the stately white Greek Revival library, past the brick post office, past The Hub, with its magazines and seashells for sale. On Main Street, several musicians performed, their instrument cases in front of them to catch coins. They perched on benches and leaned against trees and lampposts, listening to a Paul Simon wannabe sing and play guitar. They tossed him money and walked on.

All around them, others were doing the same, performing the much-loved ritual of rambling around a small town on a summer evening, enjoying the warm air, the laughter of strangers, the
sight of honeymooners holding hands, or a baby asleep in a pack on his father’s back. For this while, they were lifted out of their daily worries. They felt the satin air, the firm, enduring earth beneath their feet; they saw the luxuries offered up to them by merchants who had chosen the very best and arranged it for their pleasure. A pair of young boys on skateboards whizzed past, brushing their shoulders. A small woman with a large dog tugged on his leash, trying to prevent him from blocking the sidewalk. They skirted the dog and smiled at the woman. The cobblestones of the street had once been ballast in the hold of whaling ships, and thousands of feet had trod over the stones just as theirs did now. This was the past, and the present, and the windows gleamed with promises for tomorrow of dresses to wear, perfume to dab, books to read, and jewels to drape around their necks.

Finally they walked down to the dock to watch the last steamship of the day glide around Brant Point and, shuddering and swirling up foam, slide into its berth in the harbor. They sighed wearily with pleasure, and turned to walk back to the house.

“I’m still hungry,” Nora said as they all entered the house.

“Me, too,” Justine agreed.

“We could order in,” Arden suggested.

The three younger women exchanged glances. They’d thought the finger foods they’d set out would be sufficient. They’d assumed that someone, or perhaps all of them, would be too upset to eat. Hunger seemed like a good sign.

“Let me look in your refrigerator,” Cyndi suggested.

Cyndi walked into the kitchen with the other five women following. She opened the refrigerator, scanned it, nodded, and smiled. “BLTs,” she said, and reached for the skillet hanging from the rack near the stove.

“We usually microwave the bacon,” Arden said.