Nantucket Nights (20 page)

“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” she said.

They stood in the waiting room. The officer behind glass pecked away at his typewriter, and Paul lowered his voice. “We’ll call you if we find her,” he said.

“Can’t you do anything else?” Kayla asked. “Check her bank account or something? Because for all we know, Antoinette could have disappeared of her own volition. She had reasons, Paul. Her daughter arriving today, the pregnancy. Can’t you make an effort to look for her?”

“She hasn’t even been gone twenty-four hours,” Paul said. “We’re not conducting a missing persons yet; we’re conducting a recovery mission. We have to check with die coast guard, and the fire department, see what they think.”

“What does it matter? You said yourself that you don’t think she’s in the water.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Paul Henry said, and Kayla saw he was telling the truth. Furthermore, she agreed with him. She didn’t know what to think, either.

“What about Theo?” Kayla said. “He’s supposed to start school on Tuesday.”

“He should go to school,” Paul said. “Unless we find reason to tell you otherwise.” Paul ran a hand across the top of his crew cut. “I’m sorry about Detective Simpson. He’s new here.”

“He’s appalling. I hate him. He’s accusing me of terrible things.”

“But you have to admit, Kayla, it doesn’t look good.”

“This is ridiculous, Paul. Val
lied
to you. She set me up. Please tell me you see through this. First, John comes in here accusing Val, then Val comes in accusing me.”

“Val was very convincing.” Paul said. “She had physical evidence. Being an attorney didn’t hurt, either.”

“Attorneys lie all the time,” Kayla said.

“And the girl,” Paul said. “What the girl said didn’t help your case.”

“Lindsey set foot on Nantucket for the first time this morning,” Kayla said. “She doesn’t know her ass from Altar Rock.”

Paul patted Kayla on the back. “Just go home,” he said. “Get your kids their dinner.”

Outside, the Labor Day crowds filled the streets. A line was forming at the Dreamland Theater. Kayla stumbled up Chestnut to Visitor Services, where she used the public rest room. She splashed water on her face and dried off with a paper towel. She stared in the smudged mirror, blind, deaf, dumb with the news: Antoinette and Val had both betrayed her. And Kayla had loved them without reserve or exception, like sisters.

So now what? Go home, like Paul Henry said? Get the kids their dinner?

No. Find Val.

There was no way Val had returned to Kayla’s house—Jacob or no Jacob—and so Kayla drove out Pleasant Street toward Val’s house. She slowed down as she approached because the last person she wanted to see was John Gluckstern, especially if he had Lindsey Allerton with him. But thankfully the only car in the driveway was Val’s BMW—with the trunk flipped open. Kayla pulled into the driveway.

Val rushed out of the house carrying clothes on hangers—her expensive blouses, her linen pants. When she saw the Trooper, she hugged the clothes to her body. Kayla watched her lips clamp shut, her jaw lock. Val laid the clothes over the suitcases in the trunk. Without a word, Kayla walked past her into the house.

Val’s house was designer perfect; it was the kind of house featured in magazines, a house no one actually lived in. In the brick entryway was a pine table with a lightship basket meant for mail and keys— empty. A gilt-framed mirror hung over the table. In the mirror, Kayla watched Val enter the house behind her.

Val stepped around Kayla and headed down the hallway into the kitchen. She opened a cabinet door and brought down some cookbooks.

“I have to get out of here,” Val said. “Before John gets home.”

“You know why I came?” Kayla asked.

“Actually, I have no idea. This isn’t a good time.”

Kayla peered into the living room—white sofa and love seat, a glass coffee table with a glass vase of pink peonies and Robert Gambee’s book of Nantucket photographs. White furniture—what Kayla wouldn’t give to be able to have even one piece of white furniture in her house. But this white furniture gave the room a cold, sterile feel, like a hospital. Val and John owned good, valuable Nantucket art—a glorious Illya Kagan hung over the sofa—the view from Monomoy, from the exact spot where Raoul was building the Ting house.

“We’ve known each other twenty years,” Kayla said. “That’s a long time to be friends.”

“Kayla?”

Kayla turned to look at Val, loaded down with cookbooks—Martha Stewart, Sarah Leah Chase.

“What?”

“You have to leave. I’m leaving. I told you this, remember? Moving out? Now isn’t a good time.”

“Right,” Kayla said. She reached for Val’s load. “Let me help you with those.”

Val seemed relieved. “Thank you.”

Kayla threw the books to the floor. They made a tremendous crashing noise; the gilt-framed mirror shimmied on the wall. “You gave the police my sedatives,” Kayla said. “You made them think I drugged Antoinette.”

Val knelt and stacked the books primly, like a librarian. “The police have their own ideas about things.”

“An idea
you
put into their heads,” Kayla said. “You gave them my pills. Why did you do that?”

“I had no choice,” Val said. Avoiding Kayla’s eyes, she left the house. She threw the books into the trunk. That was it. Val opened the car door. She was going to leave.

Kayla raced outside. “What do you mean you had no choice? That’s outlandish! Of course you had a choice. A choice between telling the truth and lying.”

“I didn’t lie.” Val pointed a finger in Kayla’s face. “I did not, technically, lie.”

“You told them I accused Antoinette of sleeping with Theo.”

“I told them you accused Antoinette of an affair. Those were my words.”

“But I didn’t know about Antoinette and Theo,” Kayla said. “They’re using that as my motive.”

“I know,” Val said.

Kayla threw her hands in the air. “I can’t believe this. You turned me in to the police.”

“I did what I had to do, Kayla, okay? John made this whole huge case about how I murdered Antoinette for her money.”

“But he doesn’t have any evidence,” Kayla said.

“That’s right,” Val said. “As I was sitting there, I realized that none of the evidence points to me. It all points to you. But that’s not my fault. You can’t blame me for that.”

“You gave them my pills.” Kayla closed her eyes. She felt an old sense of hurt—the kind of hurt she hadn’t felt since the playground. “Why would you do that to me?”

“Because you can handle it, Kayla,” Val said. “It seems pretty bad today, but you know as well as I do that you can survive these accusations. They’ll roll off you like water off a duck. But I don’t have a loving husband and children to fall back on. As you may have noticed, I’m all alone. All I have is my career, my reputation. I’m an attorney, Kayla. If my name is even whispered in connection with this, I’ll lose all my business.”

“What about my reputation?” Kayla said. “What about my life?”

“You’re a housewife, Kayla,” Val said. “I don’t mean that as an insult. But let’s face it, if you get blamed for this, no one will even notice.”

“That may be,” Kayla said. “But I had nothing more to do with Antoinette disappearing than you did.”

“You upset her,” Val said. “What you said about Raoul upset her.”

“I didn’t put a sedative in her drink,” Kayla said. “I didn’t know about her and Theo.”

“But you can’t prove it,” Val said. “Unfortunately.”

“So that’s it, then? You screwed me over because I’m a dinky unimportant housewife.”

Val shook her head. “I knew you would blow this out of proportion.”

 “Out of
proportion?
They suspect me of
murder
because of what you said.”

“You’re being very dramatic.”

Again, dramatic. Kayla felt like she was going to cry, but she didn’t want Val to have the satisfaction. Dramatic Kayla. Sensitive Kayla. Housewife Kayla. All these years she’d stood up for Val, protected Val from her
real
reputation as a bitch, a viper, someone other women talked about in the most unflattering ways. Now Kayla felt like telling her about every petty insult ever directed at her. But Val wouldn’t believe it. Val thought she was beyond reproach. “How do I know you didn’t poison Antoinette yourself? To get control of her money? Maybe John is right.”

“The police don’t seem to think so.”

“Why would you do something like this to me? I thought we were friends.”

“We are friends.”

“Friends don’t treat each other this way,” Kayla said.

“Of course they do, Kayla,” Val said. She put one of her gold chains into her mouth and sucked on it like a child would. “Friends disappoint and fall short of expectations every day. Now, maybe you have a different idea of friendship. Maybe your idea of friendship is what we do up at Great Point—hold hands, walk in a circle, bare our souls. Do you ever wonder why we only get together like that once a year? Because that’s all we can handle. If we shared and gave and loved that much every day, we’d be exhausted, drained, and sick of each other. That’s why Night Swimmers is only one day of the year. The rest of the days we have to live our own lives and protect our own interests. That’s real life. This, Kayla, this is real life.” Val held out her arms to indicate her house, her perfectly trimmed shrubs, her green lawn.
Polished on the outside, rotten on the inside,
Kayla thought. Then in a series of quick, clean movements, like someone folding up a penknife, Val tucked herself into the car, clicked the door shut, and whooshed out onto the street. Drove away.

Kayla stood in the driveway. It was starting to get dark; between the trees across the street, the sky was streaked pink and purple. Did friends betray each other every day? Did they turn each other in to the police? Did they sleep with each other’s sons? Did they shatter dreams, destroy happiness? Her friends, yes. Kayla touched her cheek as if she’d been slapped.

At home, Kayla found Raoul and Jacob still at the dining table. They hadn’t bothered to turn on any lights; they were two shadowy figures, drinking vodka now. The room smelled of peanuts.

“How did it go?” Raoul said.

“Where are the kids?”

“Theo’s still asleep. I gave Jennifer money, and she walked with Cass and Luke to the Clam Shack.”

Kayla felt feverish. She looked at Jacob. “You’re still here.”

“Val was planning on hashing things out with her hubby,” Jacob said. “Not a scene I wanted to walk in on.”

“Kayla, what happened with the police?” Raoul asked. His diction was thick and deliberate; it sounded like he’d had too much to drink.

Kayla looked out the sliding glass doors. Theo’s Jeep was gone—still up at Great Point. She listened to die ice clink in Raoul’s and Jacob’s glasses, she listened to their molars grind up peanuts. She turned on the kitchen light and this startled them both. Raoul looked at her quizzically with his golden brown eyes. Eyes that, it had always seemed to Kayla, were flooded with sunlight. He was supposed to be her ally, her last resort, her safe place. And yet he’d betrayed her, too. He’d never said a word.

“Jacob?” Kayla said. “Are you on your way home?”

Jacob emptied his drink into his mouth, crunched the ice cubes, and stood up. “Actually, yeah. I was just going.”

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can you give me a ride up to Great Point? I have to get Theo’s Jeep. We left it there. God knows what the police will do if they find it.”

“It can wait until morning,” Raoul said.

“No, Raoul,” Kayla said “It can’t.”

“I’ll take you,” Jacob said, “It’s no problem.”

“But it’s dark,” Raoul said. “You’re not going up to Great Point in the dark. Not after last night.”

“I’m getting the Jeep,” she said.

“Okay, fine, then I’ll take you,” Raoul said.

“You’ve been drinking,” Kayla said.

“So has Jacob.”

“It’s on Jacob’s way home,” Kayla said, although Great Point was so out of the way that this could barely be counted as true.

“Relax, man,” Jacob said. “It’s no problem.”

Raoul stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. Kayla’s heart ached with how much she loved him, and with how sorely he’d disappointed her. The luckiest man she’d ever known, until tonight.

Her third trip to Great Point in twenty-four hours was with Jacob Anderson in his 1991 Bronco that smelled of marijuana. Kayla hadn’t smoked dope since Theo and Jennifer were small children, but she thought of smoking now with longing, especially since her Ativan was gone, especially since she was steeping in her anger.

Her semi-oldies station was on the radio, continuing with the countdown (“Uncle Albert,” “Baba O’Reilly”) and Jacob whistled along. He wasn’t into conversation, and that was fine with her. There weren’t any safe topics tonight, anyway.

When he turned onto Polpis Road, Kayla said, “Do you have a joint?”

He glanced at her. The moon was full, and trees cast shadows on the road.

“Sure.” He flipped open the ashtray and produced a fresh joint. “I didn’t know you smoked. Raoul, he’s so straight…”

“We have four children,” Kayla said. “That’s why he’s straight.”

“Yeah. But you?”

“Ask Val sometime about my wilder days.”

Jacob pressed the cigarette lighter to the tip of the joint. The paper hissed and crinkled as it caught. He inhaled deeply and after he let the smoke go, he held the joint out to her and said, “I always knew there was a wild woman in you somewhere, Kayla.”

She smoked the joint down without responding. What did he mean by that? She concentrated on the dope, the fresh green smell, the promise of it in her lungs. Immediately her head felt lighter, like a balloon. Luke’s purple balloon. She laughed, and it felt wonderful.

They passed the turn for Antoinette’s driveway, but Jacob didn’t slow down or look. Antoinette’s disappearance meant nothing to him except a day off work, a little excitement, his straight boss’s family involved in a small-time scandal. Kayla peered into the dark woods surrounding Antoinette’s driveway and she wondered if they had posted a policeman there for the night. Did the town have that kind of extra staffing? That much money? Did anyone at the police station care except for Detective Simpson? No, she guessed that Officer Johnny Love had gone home at the end of his shift with no one to replace him, and now Antoinette’s house was dark and unprotected.