Local Girl Swept Away (29 page)

I stood up. “Anyway, I have to get going—”

“Did Finn tell you about this?” Lorna presented her left hand to me as though she were royalty and expected a kiss. A diamond ring glittered like rays of sun peeking over the horizon.

I was speechless, but I took Lorna's hand in both of my own. Had I ever doubted that she would get what she wanted?

“It was my grandmother's,” Finn said, as if that explained what it was doing on Lorna's finger.

“So this means . . . ?” I couldn't make myself say the word.

Lorna supplied it. “Engaged. We'll wait until after the baby comes to get married though. Maybe we'll even wait until Lucy's old enough to be our flower girl. I'd like her to be part of it.”

“It's your wedding,” Finn said. “You can do whatever you want.”

“One thing's for sure,” Lorna said. “I'm going to wear a stunningly beautiful dress and do a handstand on the beach!”

Finn's look was a shower of admiration. “You're going to do a handstand in your beautiful dress?”

“Of course I am! Do you think I won't?”

“Oh, I'm sure you will.” They looked into each other's eyes as if I were not there.

Please
, I prayed to the gods of college admission,
please let me be gone by the time they get married
.

The early admission deadline for the Rhode Island School of Design was November 1. Getting my portfolio together—twenty examples of my work, two additional assigned drawings, and several writing samples—would consume most of the fall, but it would be a welcome distraction from the rest of my life.

Sorting through my work, I decided I didn't want to send only the photographs and the collages. I wanted to send some drawings too, to show a larger range of my abilities. The problem was, I didn't have many current drawings and my older ones didn't satisfy me. I went out to the dunes a few times, but the usual subject matter, clouds, dune grass, the shacks, felt a little stale to me. I think I knew what I wanted to draw. It just took some time to admit it to myself and get down to work.

I printed out the photo I'd taken of Lorna the afternoon she opened the door of Cabin 5 to Finn and me, the one in which she looked so vulnerable and human and scared. That picture and the other, earlier one I'd taken that sat on my bookcase, I moved to my bedside table so I could study them before I went to sleep and as soon as I woke up. Then one Saturday I started to draw her, over and over.

I spent weeks drawing Lorna, some quick sketches, some more complete drawings, in charcoal, in pencil, in pastels. Lorna in motion, not smiling, never stopping. Lorna walking toward me, one foot raised in the air, the other balancing her, holding her to the earth. Then Lorna suddenly quiet, heavier, older, frightened. Over and over I drew her, one Lorna and then the other. I never tired of the subject—it seemed as if I could draw her for years and still not get to the bottom of the mysteries. What was she thinking? Where was she going? Why couldn't I come along?

The drawings were good. Some of them were
very
good. I didn't need to have Elsie or Cooper or some newspaper reviewer tell me this was the best work I'd ever done. I didn't show the drawings to anyone. I suppose I might have shown Elsie under other circumstances, but she was overwhelmed by her own life just then, and I didn't want to bother her. Besides, I didn't need Elsie to convince me. I looked at the drawings and I knew. For the first time, I really
knew
. I was an artist.

After that day at the library, I managed to avoid running into Finn or Lorna for a while, but I continued to re-examine the Big Question. Was I really going to let Lorna get away with deceiving Finn like this? Did the benefits outweigh the consequences? Of course, Lorna had been screwed over by Cooper and that wasn't fair either. But was it right that the Rosenbergs were being duped into caring for a child that had no relation to them? What was right for baby Lucy? And for whose sake was I keeping this secret, anyway—for Lorna, for Lucy, or because I feared that Finn would take his disappointment and anger out on me? I couldn't pull the strands apart. Maybe there was no right answer.

In late October Elsie insisted on taking me to visit the RISD campus. Somehow she even convinced my parents to allow her to pay for our overnight stay in Providence. Marco just rolled his eyes and said, “
Art school
,” as if the words were synonymous with “waste of time.” But Mom, I could tell, was a little hurt.

“That Elsie acts like
she's
your mother,” Mom said. We were cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, and I scrubbed away at the stovetop as though it took all of my concentration. “I know she's helped you a lot, but it still worries me, Jackie. She's giving you hopes that might not pan out.”

“I know that, Mom. I do. But I still have to try, don't I? You said yourself, you think I'm good.”

“I know what I said.” She continued to knock plates around in the soapy sink. “That school will probably look like heaven to you. You're going to want to go there so much, and we don't have extra money, Jackie. How could this work?”

“I don't know. I'm not thinking too far ahead. I just want to see if there's any chance.”

She nodded. “I know she means well, that Elsie. I just worry.”

“I know you do, Mom, but try not to. If I can't go to RISD, I'll figure out something else. It won't be the end of my dreams. I'll find another way.”

“Maybe I should thank her,” she said. “I never thought a child of mine would be an artist. Sometimes I'm shocked at how good you are!”

She looked up from the sink with a look of amazement on her face, and I had to give her a hug, the first one my tough mother had allowed in a long time.

• • •

As Elsie's car crossed the Sagamore Bridge onto the mainland I could almost feel myself becoming a different person. It seemed as if the whole huge country was opening out in front of me, as if I was leaving behind all the fears and secrets and heartaches of my life on the Cape. I'd only been off Cape Cod two or three times in my whole life, and the idea that I might actually live somewhere else, in another state altogether, was beyond exciting. Later, as Elsie and I walked around the campus, peeking into dorm rooms and art studios, watching rooms full of students standing at easels and bending over pottery wheels, I felt as if I were a million miles from home, but exactly where I was supposed to be. I could start over here. I could learn from the best teachers. I could make art. I could—maybe—put Finn and Lorna and Cooper behind me.

Before we left the campus, Elsie insisted on buying me a RISD T-shirt, but I told her I wouldn't wear it unless I was accepted to the school. It seemed like tempting fate to announce my desire too soon. After dinner, in the hotel, I put it on just long enough to look at myself in the bathroom mirror. It fit me perfectly.

Elsie had been animated during the drive out and while we toured the campus, remembering stories about her own years at the school. It was the first time I'd seen her happy since Cooper left. But on the drive home, she got quiet again, and when we crossed the bridge onto the Cape, her shoulders sagged and she seemed to shrink behind the wheel.

“Are you okay?” I asked her.

She sighed. “Oh, you know. Sure. I'm just tired.”

“But you had a good time this weekend, right?”

She smiled at me. “An excellent time. It was great to be back on campus and feel all the excitement of young people just starting out on their careers. Thanks for letting me come with you.”

“
Letting
you? I wouldn't have gone without you!”

“Well, someday you will. You'll go to RISD or the Museum School in Boston or some art school somewhere. And I'll stay in Provincetown.” I guess she realized how grim she sounded and she tried to laugh at herself. “Good Lord, I'm making Provincetown sound like a jail sentence! Don't pay any attention to me.”

“You'll hire someone else, right? You'll be able to get back to your painting soon.”

She concentrated on the road. “I guess so. We'll do a search for a new director. I haven't had the energy since, you know.” I did know. She never mentioned Cooper's name anymore, and I wasn't going to if she didn't.

Elsie fixed a bright look on her face. “Anyway, I have Lucy to look forward to now. How wonderful will that be?”

“I know!” I said, equally bright and shiny. “You must be so excited!”

Elsie's happiness looked as false as mine felt, but it was clear neither of us was going to speak the truth on this subject either. For the next hour we sat quietly as the Cape unspooled behind us and we headed for its farthest, wildest edge. Home.

• • •

The Saturday after I sent in all the RISD application materials, I met Lucas and Char for breakfast at the Blue Moon. Charlotte was working, but the crowds were slim on a chilly, overcast November morning, and she had plenty of time to hang out with us in the booth by the window.

“You're lucky you're done with it already,” Char said. “I haven't even started on my essay.”

“I'm only done if I get into RISD,” I said. “And I can't count on that. I have to at least start on the other applications.”

“When do you hear about early decision?” Lucas asked.

“Mid-December. So it's either a great Christmas present or it ruins my whole vacation.”

“It's so weird that next year at this time, we'll all be somewhere else,” Charlotte said, ripping a paper napkin into strings. “I miss you guys already.”

Lucas put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned against him. “Maybe we'll both be in Vermont. Let's think positively.”

Happy as I was for Char and Lucas, it was sometimes hard to be around a couple riding the waves of their first love, and I could only stand it for so long. “Gotta go study,” I said. “Spanish test Monday.”

They pretended to wish I could stay longer, but I knew they were both busy with senior year projects too, and the opportunity to spend a day alone, staring into each other's eyes, was a treat. I hugged them and wandered off down the street. I didn't intend to go right home. The Spanish test wouldn't be difficult, and after the stress of getting the RISD application in on time, I wanted a little break from obligations.

I'd been giving Old Hat Vintage Clothes a wide berth ever since the day, months ago, when Carla sat out front and made me take her picture. But Carla wasn't likely to be sitting outside on a chilly November day so I figured it was safe to walk by. I was just approaching the store when the door banged open with a jangle of bells and I heard Lorna shout, “What do you want from me, Mom?
What do you want
?”

I stopped in my tracks. It had been a month since I last ran into Lorna, and I was hoping the streak would last. But there she was, her back to the doorway, hands spread wide, pleading with her crazy mother.

Carla's voice carried out the door and a young couple walking by looked around to see where it was coming from. “I want you to undo the last seven months of your life!” she screamed. “Of
my
life! You let me think you were dead! I'm your mother, for godsakes!”

“How many times do we have to do this?” Lorna yelled back.

“For the rest of your goddamn life, Lorna, because I'll never get over it!”

“You'll get over it. Just pour yourself another vodka martini.” Lorna turned and stalked onto the porch, then down the stairs. A high-heeled shoe came flying out of the doorway, narrowly missing her head. Carla stood in the threshold, a red satin bow tied around her neck as if she were wrapped for Christmas, a second shoe in her hand.

“Sure is great to be home. Just like old times, huh, Mom?” Which is when Lorna noticed me, frozen in place, watching.

“Enjoying the show?” she asked. Her face was flushed as if she were overheated, even though her beloved white jacket, now more ragged-looking than ever, gapped wide over her belly.

Carla was still raving. “You think you're hot shit marrying that Rosenberg kid, but you're dumber than I was. At least I wasn't seventeen when I got knocked up.”

“I may be dumber,” Lorna said, coolly, “but I'm not half as crazy.”

Carla let the other shoe fly, but this time Lorna caught it. “Get outa here and don't come back!” Carla screamed.

“With pleasure.” Lorna dropped the shoe to the sidewalk, stomped on it and kicked it back toward the store. The door banged shut.

Lorna stood with her eyes closed for a few seconds and when she finally opened them, I noticed they were ringed with dark circles. She turned to me with an artificial grin plastered on her face. “Well,” she said, “that was enough fun for one day. You walking home?”

“More or less. Just killing some time.”

“I'll kill it with you,” she said, not waiting for an invitation. “I need to talk to a normal person for a change.”

“I'm normal? Is that a compliment?” I fell in beside Lorna so naturally, as if our friendship had not been kicked around and stomped on like that old shoe.

“By ‘normal' I mean more like me. From a family that's not so damn perfect. It's exhausting living with Saint Elsie and the Royal Rosenbergs. Obviously, they're easier to get along with than my insane mother, but still. I don't fit in with Finn's family. I'm not like them.”

“I don't think they expect you to be like them, do they? I'm not like them either, but Elsie's always been great to me.”

Lorna shook her head. “It's not the same. Elsie talks to you about art, which you want to know about. With me it's a lecture on how to roast a chicken or what kind of soap to wash baby clothes in. Like she's teaching me how to be a wife and mother. Like she's some kind of freaking role model.”

“You could have a worse one.”