Little Gale Gumbo (31 page)

Josie flushed with embarrassment. “I'm sure you already know my sister.”

Dahlia turned to them, sucking on her pinched thumb. “I still don't see why we can't just put out napkins in stacks on the table, for Christ's sake.”

Wayne smiled politely. “Probably because they'd spill and make a real mess.”

Dahlia frowned at him.

“Wayne's going to be helping out at the café,” Josie said cheerfully.

“Since when?”

“Since Ben just hired him.”

“Hey, Wayne.” Matthew arrived with a stack of cardboard boxes stamped with the words DRIED KIDNEY BEANS and set them on the counter.

“Hi, Matt. Jeezum crow, that's a lot of beans.”

“Jeezum crow?” Dahlia chuckled. “What are you, ten?”

Wayne gave her an even look. “We don't use swearwords in my house.”

“I think that's nice,” Josie said, glaring at Dahlia. “Momma says you get only so many words on this earth, and I don't want to waste mine on cusswords.”

“What can we get you, Wayne?” Matthew asked.

“I'm working here now,” Way ne said. “Your dad just hired me.”

“No kidding? Just till school starts, huh?”

“I'm not going to college, actually.”

“Really? I thought I heard you were going to Orono?”

“I was. But then my dad had a . . .” Wayne cleared his throat. “Maybe you heard.”

Matthew had, and he felt bad for remembering too late. When Josie looked at them all blankly, Wayne explained, “My dad had a heart attack last spring and the bills have been crazy. He had to stop working, so it's not really a good time to leave.”

Josie nodded quickly, her eyes rounding with sympathy.

“You'll like working here,” she said.

Wayne smiled gratefully at her. “I'm sure I will.”

 

Wayne Henderson proved a hard worker and a fast learner. By the end of his first month, he was opening the café four days a week, and manning the counter by himself three. A native islander, he knew all the customers by name and quickly learned their favorite dishes. Even Camille had to admit his first attempt at making a roux wasn't half-bad, and his enthusiasm for the business seemed genuine.

But it was his enthusiasm for Josie that was most apparent. Especially to Matthew. If Matthew hadn't known better, he might have thought Wayne had applied for the job only to get to know Josie better.

But Wayne imagined he knew a few things about Matthew too. He knew that Matthew was the sisters' bodyguard, and that it had been a rare day to see them around school without him.

Wayne knew too that Josie was terribly fond of her escort. He'd seen her face light up when Matthew came near, her cheeks flush, her fingers wind nervously around her red ponytail. But more than that, Wayne had seen the clear lack of nerves in Matthew when Josie crossed his path. The attraction wasn't mutual, and Wayne was relieved for that simple fact.

“You can go home early if you want, Wayne,” Matthew said one afternoon at the beginning of August. “It's quiet. Josie and I can close up.”

They could hear Josie's faint singing in the kitchen. “Someone to Watch Over Me.”

“Jesus, you'd think she only knows one song,” Matthew said, wiping down the display cases.

“I think she has a great voice,” said Wayne. “I like her. Very much.”

Matthew frowned, confused at first. “Well, no kidding, so do I. I was talking about a stupid song. . . .” But even as he said it, Matthew knew that Wayne hadn't misunderstood, and yet Matthew added for good measure, “I like Josie very much too, actually.”

“Not the way I do.” Wayne shifted nervously against the counter. “I just . . . I just want to be clear on that, all right?”

Matthew might have pressed his classmate if Doris White hadn't come in just then for two pecan pies.

And so Wayne's bold statement fell away with the old woman's order, and Matthew didn't care enough to bring it up again for the rest of the summer.

 

For Jack Thurlow, summer pleasures were fleeting. In another month, he'd be going to the University of Southern Maine, commuting to the mainland for classes and keeping his part-time job packing seafood on the wharf. He knew with his new demands it would be hard to find time for Dahlia, but he had no intention of breaking up with her. Quite the opposite: His affection for her was stronger than it had ever been, his commitment to her unwavering.

Not that loving her had been easy. Oftentimes he'd felt like a naturalist observing an exotic animal in the wild, fearful of scaring it off before he'd had the chance to win its trust. For every week that had brought them lighthearted chases on the beach or excursions north to explore garden spots and greasy spoons at her urging, there had been episodes of frustration, her continued accusations that he was too demanding, his that she was too detached, both arguments that would drive them apart for days at a time until Dahlia would plead for his return, clinging to him as soon as he did, her affection so naked in those moments it shocked him.

But it was all worth it. Tonight they would celebrate their eight-month anniversary. Jack had been hard at work on the plan all week, arranging to use the roof patio of the fish market after hours. The owner's wife, Marcy, had even offered to set aside a pile of scallops for him, and promised to leave an extra quart of blackberry custard in the freezer. He'd decided it would be the perfect night to announce his devotion, though he still didn't understand how Dahlia could have doubted his love after all this time.

Boarding the ferry for home that afternoon, Jack saw Matthew on the upper deck and shared his plan.

“Does Dahlia know?” Matthew asked.

“She knows we're going out,” Jack said. “Nothing specific. You know Dahlia. She likes surprises.”

“Yeah, I know.” Matthew frowned into the wind. “So you guys are going to stay together through school then?”

Jack glanced over at him. “Of course. Why wouldn't we?”

“I don't know.” Matthew watched an old man wipe sea spray off a bench with his sleeve before sitting down. “I guess I just figured with all those college girls, you'd want to be free and clear.”

“You'd think, wouldn't you?” Jack grinned. “Maybe if I wasn't so damn crazy about her. But I am.”

Matthew turned back to the view, squinting out at the nearing island, the familiar tufts of trees like the scalloped edges of a collar. “Good for you,” he said, then again, as if he might mean it this time: “Good for you.”

 

Dahlia watched the clouds from the porch steps, her heart so heavy she could hardly breathe. Her fingers stung where she'd been pulling at the skin around her nails. A pair of zits had appeared on her chin, and another one was starting on her forehead. She touched it compulsively, sure it was getting as big as a walnut.

It wasn't any wonder. Ever since Jack had told her two weeks earlier that he was going to USM, she'd been a nervous wreck, distracted with useless jealousies and swirling fears. She'd tried to tell herself she wouldn't care if he fell in love with some high-and-mighty college twit, but she did care, desperately, and the thought of his being attracted to another girl left her feeling so hot and feverish she couldn't sleep.

She knew there was only one thing to do: She'd leave Jack Thurlow before he left her. Then things could go back to the way they'd always been. The easy way, the safe way. She could be free again, free of all the complications of a relationship, free to breeze in and out of a person's line of vision, to flirt and fool around and move on. She'd go back to being the girl who announced she'd never get married, never get serious about one man. There was too much trouble and heartache in it otherwise. If this was what love did to a person, she'd been right to say she didn't want any part of it.

Looking up, she saw Matthew climbing the path to the porch, carrying a soda.

“Anyone else home?” he asked, dropping down beside her.

“Nope.” Dahlia took the bottle from his hand. Matthew watched her sip and hand it back, seeing the flash of abandon in her dark eyes. Something was wrong, he thought. Something had happened.

“Jude Parker is having a bonfire at the cove,” she said without looking at him. “Want to go?”

“I thought you and Jack had a big date.”

Dahlia turned back to the view, knowing she couldn't lie if she had to look Matthew in the face. “Jack and I are breaking up,” she said, the words coming out slow and thick, as if her throat were sore.

Matthew didn't believe it. And when silence fell between them, he knew this was his chance to correct her, to discourage her from this course she'd set for herself in a fit of panic and foolish fear. It would have been easy—painless, really—to tell her just how much work Jack had gone to for their evening, how determined he was to take their relationship as far as it could go. How much he loved her. The silence lingered, taunting him. But he let it go, letting the chance go with it, and when the weight of guilt took residence in his throat, Matthew forced it down.

“You want to go or not?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, sure.”

He told himself Dahlia already knew what she claimed was a lie, and that made it okay to be her accomplice. He told himself that Jack should have known she'd do this, and he wouldn't be surprised when he came to the house in an hour and found her gone.

But even as he followed Dahlia inside, even as he waited in the kitchen while she ran upstairs to change, Matthew knew this made him a terrible person. And yet, even as he walked beside her down to the beach, the sky streaked violet and the dusky sand cold between their toes, he knew too that he couldn't help himself. He'd wanted her too long.

When they reached the edge of the bonfire and each took a beer, Dahlia could see the night spreading out before her, the way it would go now that she had set things in motion. She couldn't stop it now. She only hoped it wouldn't hurt as much if she did it like this.

Looking at Matthew, seeing the growing buzz in his narrowed eyes as he stared at her through the popping flames, Dahlia knew for certain. Jack would break her heart if she let him, and Matthew couldn't if he tried.

 

“Wayne is working out well, don't you think?” Ben said, turning the sign to CLOSED and snapping off the light above the front door.

“Josie certainly thinks so,” said Camille, putting away the last of the day's leftovers. “He asked her to a movie tonight. It's just nice to see her interested in someone other than Matthew for once.”

“Now if Matthew could just do the same.” Ben crossed back to where Camille stood and laid his hand on hers where it rested on the counter. They watched their fingers awhile, opening and closing together.

Camille sighed. “Dahlia's broken his heart, hasn't she?”

“He'll move on,” Ben said. “Everyone does eventually.”

“You can't be sure. He loves her terribly.”

Ben took Camille's face in his palms, caressing her velvety cheeks, her temple, her mouth. “I loved Leslie like that,” he said. “Then I met you.”

Camille turned her face to kiss his thumb, her eyes heavy with want.

“Come to the pantry,” she said. “There's something I've been meaning to show you.”

Ben smiled.

 

Matthew found them a place under the rock ledge where the tide couldn't reach and the sand was smooth enough to lie on. They made love without undressing, their union so fast that he couldn't help but be surprised when Dahlia stood up right after to tug her skirt back down over her hips. He watched her brush the sand from her rear, her thighs, her arms; watched her shift her breasts around in her bra, breasts he'd barely touched, breasts he hadn't even seen. He'd imagined the hundred ways he'd make love to her body, the hundred places he'd touch and taste, and he'd barely had time to kiss her before he'd come inside her and she'd rolled off him.

He stared at her now, confused.

“What's your hurry?” he asked.

“I'm cold,” she said, when he'd never known her to be cold, not even in the dead of winter, “and you know they always run out of beer.”

“I don't care about the beer,” he said. “Come on, stay.”

Her hair fell across her face but she didn't seem to want to tie it back. She was hiding something, Matthew thought at once, and when she sniffed, he knew. She wiped her eyes in quick strokes.

“What is it?” he asked, wanting to believe it had something to do with him.

She gave him a tight smile, then leaned down to kiss him quickly on the jaw. “It's nothing,” she said. “I just got sand in my eye, that's all.”

Out of instinct, Matthew grabbed her arm to pull her back down to his lips but Dahlia gently wriggled free.

“Don't go yet,” he asked one last time.

“I'll save you a cup,” she promised.

Then she dashed over the rocks before he could zip up his shorts and catch up to her.

 

Jack waited on Ben's front porch until nine. When he heard the click of a woman's shoes on the sidewalk, he felt a last swell of hope, a brief spark of relief. Then Josie appeared around the curtain of forsythias and his broad smile fell.

“My goodness!” she exclaimed, beaming with excitement. “Back already?”

“Never left, I'm afraid.” Jack forced a good-natured grin that any other night would have suited him.

“I—I don't understand,” Josie said, her voice suddenly small. Jack saw her eyes fill up. “Maybe she got caught in town. Maybe the ferry was late.”