Local Girl Swept Away (5 page)

I could feel myself shrink from five feet, eight inches to the size of a grasshopper or maybe an ant, something you might step on and hardly notice. I stood there, stranded on my towel island while Charlotte struggled with her sticky feelings.

“Really?” I said. “I stopped talking to you? I don't remember—”

“Well, I do. Believe me.”

There was pain in Charlotte's eyes and I had to look away. “So, if you hate me, why did you help me get this job?”

Charlotte went back to mopping. “Don't be so dramatic. Of course I don't hate you. I mean, I kind of did at the time, but then I saw the way it was. I knew you couldn't help it. The same thing happened to Finn and Lucas. Everybody else became invisible to you once Lorna took you over.”

That was how I remembered it too—we'd all been
taken over
. Lorna's super-sized personality had reeled us in as easily as fishermen haul in bluefish when the schools are running on the outer beaches practically begging to be caught. But why hadn't we widened our circle to include Charlotte?

“I'm so sorry I ignored you like that. I don't remember . . .”

Charlotte shook her head. “Don't worry about it. It was Lorna who did the choosing, and I wasn't chosen. When I look back, it makes total sense. Lorna demanded worship, and I didn't adore her the way the rest of you did.”

I was surprised to hear this. I guess I thought everybody adored Lorna.

“I admit I was jealous that she could just waltz in and grab my friend away,” Char went on. “I probably shouldn't even be saying this now. It's awful what happened to her, and to you and Finn and Lucas too. But back then I was ten years old and all I knew was that you liked her better than you liked me. I was mad, but, you know, I got over it.” She looked at me with an embarrassed smile. “Well, more or less.”

I was furious with my fourth-grade self. “God, Char,” I said. “I guess I was a dumb kid. I'm sorry I was such a jerk.”

Charlotte stuck the mop into the bucket. “I forgive you. Just don't ever do it again.”

“If I ever act that stupid again, you have permission to smack me.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

I watched her wedge the mop into a tight corner. “So, obviously, you never liked Lorna much,” I said.

Charlotte shrugged. “Actually I felt kind of sorry for her. She seemed so needy. She was the queen bee, but she needed the three of you buzzing around her all the time, telling her how great she was. It was like she was starving and you had to constantly feed her.”

I fell back against the sink, stunned. “
Needy?
That's how she seemed to you?
We
needed
her
. She was the one who made everything happen. She made us who we are!”

Charlotte was quiet for a minute and then said, “She made you who she wanted you to be. It was like she owned you. All of you.” She nodded toward the maple syrup jug. “Do you think you can refill the last few bottles without spilling anything while I finish the floor?”

“Sure.”

I didn't know what to say about Char's odd notion that Lorna “owned” us, so I concentrated on putting my shoes back on and completing the syrup assignment. Of course, Lorna had been our undisputed leader, but that wasn't a
bad
thing. Sometimes I thought I'd barely been alive before I met her. Charlotte had been jealous of Lorna—she'd admitted that—which blinded her to Lorna's better qualities. And I was at least partially responsible for that. If I'd been mature enough to see that Char felt deserted when I started hanging out with Lorna and the boys, surely I would have made sure she was included in the group. Wouldn't I? Charlotte had cast Lorna as the villain, but it was really my fault.

“You
should
be mad at me,” I said, screwing the cap on the final bottle.

Char butted me out of the way so she could pour the bucket of dirty water into the sink. “I'm not mad at you, Jackie. God, it was years ago. I guess I just needed to vent a little.” She stored the mop and bucket in the back room. “You can head home. I'll lock up.”

But things felt unfinished and I didn't want to leave yet. “There's some iced tea left in the fridge. Should we have a glass before we go?”

“Okay. Sure.”

I poured us each a glass, plopping in lots of ice cubes. We perched on stools and took long drinks. When I glanced over, I noticed Char had a sly smile on her face.

“What?”

“Okay, I'm going to admit something that will make you feel better,” she said. “I was kind of glad when Lorna and Finn became a couple because I knew you had a thing for him. How mean is that? See, I was a jerk too—you just didn't know it.”

I could feel the blood drain from my face. “I never told you I liked Finn.”

Char laughed. “Please. It was obvious. I sat across the aisle from you in freshman algebra. You used to stare at him like he was a pork chop and you were a stray dog.”

“Thanks. I thought you weren't mad at me?” I was glad Char felt comfortable enough to tease me, but this particular joke reminded me of my recent disastrous mistake with Finn. “Stray dog” was a little too close to the truth; I was hungry and lonely and I slobbered all over him.

“It's no big deal. Everybody's had a crush on the Finnster at some point,” she said. “Cute, rich, and he doesn't even strut around like a rooster.”

“Does that mean you had a crush on him too?” I asked.

“I admit it.” Charlotte downed most of her iced tea. “I got over it though. I prefer to crush on people who at least know I'm alive. I'm not a fool.”

Right. Not a fool, like, for instance,
me
. I tried to shunt the conversation onto another track. “You dated Kevin Spinelli last year, didn't you?”

“For about five minutes. Drama Club kids trade partners constantly, but so far—for me at least—nobody's stuck. What about you?”

I shook my head. “Nope. Well, I dated Lucas for a while sophomore year.”

“Right. I remember that.”

“We only did it because Lorna wanted us to. She'd been with Finn for ages already and she thought it would be perfect if Lucas and I were a couple too. It was kind of ridiculous. Lucas had a huge crush on Lorna, and I . . .”
Stop talking about this!

“You were still into Finn,” Charlotte said matter-of-factly.

Remembering that time made me cringe. Lucas and I had tried so hard to make it work. It seemed like it ought to. The First Place boy and girl were such a perfect match. Didn't it make sense that the Runners-up belonged together too? Lorna kept telling us we were a great couple, but I knew Lucas wasn't feeling it either. And still, we held hands and bumped hips and pretended the kisses meant something. And Lucas pined for Lorna while I longed to be with Finn.

I tried to make a joke of it. “We'd only kiss each other when Lorna was around, to convince her we liked each other. Isn't that romantic? I mean, we
did
like each other, so it wasn't horrible or anything. Just stupid.”

“How long did you keep that up?”

“A month or two. Amazingly, it didn't wreck our friendship.”

Charlotte got up and rinsed her tea glass and put it in the sink. “Don't get mad, but I was just thinking, now that Lorna's gone . . . I know you still like Finn. Maybe the two of you . . . you know.”

An ice chip slipped down my throat and I choked on it, then shook my head wildly. “No,” I sputtered. “No, no, no.”

“Why not? Stranger things have happened.”

“Not to me,” I said. “Can't happen.”

“Why? Because Lorna wouldn't like it? Is she
still
running your—”

“You don't get it, Char. Finn's not interested.”

“How do you know?” Charlotte insisted.

“I
know
. Believe me.” I turned my back on her and carefully lined up the syrup bottles as if they were a marching band, but Char's accusation stuck in my head. No, Lorna
wouldn't
like it. I couldn't even imagine how angry she'd be if she knew I'd kissed Finn. He was
hers
.

When I left the Blue Moon, I headed over to the Jasper Street Art Center where I often worked for a few hours in the late afternoon helping Elsie with office work. I needed to save as much money for college as I could over the summer, even though whether I was going to college at all was still a subject for debate in the Silva household. Neither of my parents had been to college and only one of my three older brothers had had any interest in going. And even Michael only made it as far as Cape Cod Community College. I had higher aspirations. I wanted to get off-Cape and go to a real art school.

JSAC was irresistible to me and I would have helped Elsie even if she wasn't paying me for it. I loved wandering through the closed gallery and sniffing around the pungent studios where so many young artists had started their careers. I loved being a part of the place, belonging to it, at least a little bit.

Finn's and Tess's parents, Elsie McGavrock and Rudolph Rosenberg, had moved from New York City to Provincetown twenty years ago to open the Art Center on the grounds of a sprawling old inn they'd purchased with the proceeds from Rudolph's Pulitzer Prize–winning novel. Elsie, an abstract painter, had spent the last two decades as director of the Jasper Street Gallery and the fellowship program.

“Oh good, you're here.” Elsie's eyes lit up as I walked into her office. “I've got lots for you to do today. The website needs to be updated with next month's gallery shows and readings. And there are envelopes to stuff and mail out to the incoming Fellows. They should have gone out last week.”

“No problem. I can take them to the post office on my way home.”

Elsie stood and gave me an aromatic hug. “Thank you, sweetie. You're a peach. I'm unraveling this afternoon. Oh, before I forget, I brought you goodies!” She hauled a bag from beneath her desk and handed it to me. “I found some information online about filling out the FAFSA form, which I'll be happy to help you with. And, because you've started making collages now, I'm loaning you my Joseph Cornell book, and then just for fun, I got you a copy of that new Rothko book you were looking at here last week.”

“You did?” I pawed excitedly through the bag. “You didn't have to do that.” Elsie was my fairy godmother. She always knew just what I needed.

“Of course I didn't
have
to, but I love feeding your spirit, and you're so appreciative of it, unlike my two adorable children who couldn't care less about art. Oh, and I also talked to my friend at RISD and he gave me some advice for you, which we'll talk about before you fill out the application.”

The Rhode Island School of Design was my dream school. Elsie had studied there and just listening to her talk about “Riz-Dee” made my brain explode—it sounded like paradise to me. Since the first time I followed Finn into his house—was I ten? eleven?—and saw all the paintings on the walls, the thick art books on the coffee table, all I could think about was making art. Elsie said I reminded her of herself when she was a kid, and she encouraged me with rolls of paper, half-used tubes of paint, and hand-me-down sticks of charcoal and pastels. Then, last year, she gave me the best gift of all, her old SLR digital camera.

But the most helpful thing Elsie gave me was her time. When I was a kid she spent hours looking through art books with me, explaining materials and techniques. Later, she guided me through Leonardo da Vinci and Rembrandt, explaining the methods of the Old Masters, then brought me into the nineteenth century with Van Gogh. I could feel my mind expand as she explained how Van Gogh used color as a way to capture emotion. I soaked up every word that came out of Elsie's mouth. She was living proof of her own belief that art was as much about passion as technical mastery.

Now she ran a hand through her thick, honey-colored hair, which was just beginning to gray at the temples. She seemed more distracted than usual. “What was I doing when you came in? There are so many details to wrap up this week, I swear I'm losing it.”

“Why don't you go work in your studio while I do this stuff? I'll answer the phone and if it's important I'll come get you.” As much as I liked having Elsie around, I could tell she was longing to escape her mundane duties and paint.

She perked up. “I really shouldn't—there's so much to do here. But I haven't been in the studio all week.”

“Which is why you're having a meltdown.”

“You know me too well, Jackie. Maybe I
will
go paint for an hour or so. Do you mind holding down the fort? You can try out the new photo program I just installed—you'll love it.”

“Go. Get out. Paint,” I said, laughing.

Elsie sprinted out the door, heading for the small studio she kept for herself at JSAC.

As I settled myself at the computer, I wondered, not for the first time, whether the work Elsie found for me to do those afternoons was really all that necessary. Elsie was determined to help me find a way to go to art school, even though Teresa and Marco didn't have the money or the inclination to send me, and I sometimes suspected that this job had been at least partly manufactured to keep me near the inspiration of the gallery while adding a few extra dollars to my savings account.

The website updates didn't take long. I had my camera with me, as usual, so I could have tried out Elsie's new photo editing program, but I usually preferred to print my pictures exactly as I took them, without any digital manipulation. I'd settled into envelope stuffing when I heard footsteps approaching from the Common Room down the hall.
Could it be
Finn?
He was often pressed into service here too, for basic handyman jobs. My heart started to trot.

It wasn't Finn, but I wasn't disappointed to see who it was.