The Edge of the Light (11 page)

T
he arrangement for Prynne to move to Whidbey Island went as close to clockwork as anything could. One of the guys she lived with drove her and her belongings down to the Port Townsend ferry, and Seth and Gus picked her up on the other side. Prynne's mode of transportation was a Vespa GTS, which had enough speed to be useful even on the island's one highway, but she would be bringing it over later. No way could she manage to cart her belongings with her on the Vespa. So it was remaining in Port Townsend until she could get back there and pick it up.

And she
would
be going to Port Townsend fairly often, she'd told Seth as they'd made their final arrangements. He understood that, didn't he? She wanted to keep her personal space for a getaway. Plus, she had a gig twice a month on Saturday afternoon and evening, and no way could she afford to give that up. It was a chance to get her music heard by people who knew that the town was a bluegrass haven.

Seth was okay with this. She was doing his family a big favor, and he told her that he would stay alone with his grandfather on those Saturdays when she had to go to Port Townsend. So everything between them had gone smoothly and well. And now here
he was, trundling along the road in the evening's early winter darkness and seeing in the distance the lights from the ferry as it made its way into the bay where the dock was sheltered in a crescent of water.

Prynne came off the ferry at the head of the crowd of walk-on passengers. Seth took this as a good sign. He wanted her to be as happy about the arrangement he'd developed as he was. It meant more time together; it meant actually
living
together; it felt like they'd turned a corner in their relationship.

She wore a pack on her back. She carried her fiddle in its case, and she carted along behind her a duffel on wheels. Seth embraced her and he kissed her soundly. In the lights from the ferry dock, she seemed to sparkle.

“Hey you,” she said to him with a smile. “Here's the girl, reporting for duty.”

“Hope it's not
all
duty.” Seth took the duffel from her as Gus bumped around them, waiting for Prynne to notice him.

She did, with half of a sugar cookie. She said to Seth, “Can I?” as Gus immediately sat and waited for the windfall. When Seth said sure, she gave the cookie to Gus and giggled as he snarfed it down in one gulp and raised his head with a hopeful expression on his face. “Nope,” she told him. “That's it, you.” She linked her arm with Seth's and said, “Let's get this show started. You
sure
it's okay with your parents?”

“They're cool with it.”

It certainly seemed that way when they arrived at the Darrow house. Rich shouted hello from the open doors of his glass
studio, where he was finishing his work for the day, and Amy turned from the stove as they walked into the house and said, “I bet you two are hungry,” as if Prynne had been living there for years.

Seth led the way to his bedroom. Prynne looked concerned when she saw the bed. She said, “You didn't tell me it was only a single.”

“We'll fit,” he replied. “We're not big. No problem.”

“Seth can always sleep on the sleeping porch if there's not enough room.” Amy had come to the doorway, a wooden stirring spoon in her hand. “That's where he slept while Sarah lived at home. With the storm shutters in place and the woodstove going, it's perfectly fine.”

Prynne looked at Seth and said, “I hate to put him out of his room,” and when Seth said, “I'm glad to hear that,” she got red in the face. She turned to his mom and blurted out, “But I got to say . . . I feel sort of weird about the situation, Mrs. Darrow.”

“It's Amy, please,” Seth's mom replied. “As for feeling weird, I understand. But please try not to. Seth's probably told you that Rich and I had two children before we got around to saying ‘I do' to each other.”

“I'm not sure if me and Seth . . . if Seth and I are going to take things
that
far,” Prynne said.

Seth felt a little sinking of spirits at this, but his mom seemed to take it the way it was intended, for she said, “‘Two children' or ‘I do'? Don't answer that. It's fine that you're here. You're helping us with Seth's granddad, and that's what matters. Dinner in fifteen minutes, okay? I hope you like Italian food.”

“Yum,” Prynne said and told Seth's mom she'd be out in a second to help her. But Amy told her just to unpack, and she closed the bedroom door to let this happen with some privacy.

“Told you,” Seth said. “You get the right side of the bed. Thought you might like the bedside table. I'll take the window side. It's colder there.”

He lifted her duffel to the bed and showed her that he'd emptied out three of the drawers in the dresser for her use. He leaned against the bedroom door and settled in to enjoy the sight of his girlfriend unpacking. But he felt a little stirring of consternation when the first things she brought out of the duffel were a baggie crammed with weed, rolling papers, a small glass pipe, and a box of matches.

Prynne seemed to know what he was feeling. She looked over at him and said, “Seth. Come on. . . .”

He tried to sound casual. “It's okay,” he told her. “Only, you got to do it outside. And . . . well . . . you can't at Grand's. I mean, it would sort of keep you from doing what you're s'posed to be doing there.”

“I'm not a dummy,” was her reply. And then with a sharper and closer look at him, “You
sure
you're cool with this? With me smoking weed now and then?”

“You got to do what you got to do. Lemme show you where to stow your bathroom stuff.”

There was only one bathroom in the house, and it wasn't large, containing the smallest tub on the planet, a shower large
enough for one person who was able to keep arms and elbows under control at all times, a toilet, a pedestal sink, and a shelf holding towels. He knew it appeared, at first glance, that there was no place for Prynne to put a thing. But he showed her how the room's single cupboard cum medicine cabinet was cleverly disguised as part of the room's knotty pine paneling. He pushed upon it at the right spot, and the cupboard opened.

“Damn. Sorry,” Seth said as he took in the jumble of things inside. “I forgot to get this set up for you.”

The cabinet contained everything from cleaning supplies to suppositories, with no particular sense to what went where. Seth began shoving things to one side to make a spot for Prynne. Toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorants, more towels, toilet paper, aspirin, his mom's meds, remedies for colds and cold sores and sore muscles and sore throats, holistic this and naturopathic that, extra towels of all sizes and colors . . . Seth shoved things around till a small square was clear.

“Dad hates to throw away stuff,” he said.

“You think?” Prynne laughed. “I'll straighten this up for you later.”

“Epic.” Seth watched her for a moment. A warmth came over him that prompted him to say exactly what was on his mind. “Can I tell you something?” And when she nodded, “I'm really looking forward to bedtime.”

She smiled. “Why? D'you want a bedtime story?”

“You're the story,” was his reply.

• • •

IT WAS TWO
days later when Seth and Prynne went with Rich Darrow to Ralph's place. Becca was there, waiting for them, and together the four of them anticipated the arrival of Steph Vanderslip, who would evaluate the safety of the house as transformed by Seth and his crew. Everything she'd required was now in place: the ramp built and tightly covered with chicken wire to prevent a slick surface in the rain, handrails mounted where they were needed both inside and outside the house, a hospital bed brought in and placed in Becca's former bedroom, a stool in the shower, and a new chair in the living room that would make it easier for Ralph to rise.

If Steph Vanderslip put her stamp of approval on everything, they were in business and Ralph's return would occur within days. To enhance this possibility, Seth's dad had made contact with South Island Home Care, and during the coming week, he would be interviewing eight caregivers. From this group, he would hire two of them: one to be with Ralph from seven in the morning till three in the afternoon, and the other from three in the afternoon till eleven at night. The family had hoped for round-the-clock care for Ralph once they learned that this was a service provided by and paid for by the state of Washington. But they'd also learned that Ralph's condition didn't warrant that. They could still have round-the-clock care, naturally, but one-third of it would have to come out of the family's funds, and neither Rich nor his dad had those funds. His sister had the cash, of course. But no way was Brenda going to fork over any dough
so that her dad could do exactly what she
didn't
want him to do: live at home.

When Steph Vanderslip arrived, Becca was the one who saw her first. She'd been at the window, playing around with the earbud that connected to her hearing device. In and out of her ear, like she couldn't decide if she wanted to hear what was going on. She said, “She's here,” and dropped the earbud to her side. She fussed around with the box at her waist as Rich and Seth went to the door to greet the health care specialist.

The first thing Steph Vanderslip said was, “Impressive driveway,” about the way she'd descended to Ralph's house. She'd come to them from the area of Ralph's shop instead of down the hillside, and she nodded in that direction, where a fan of hard surface meant that Ralph could get into and out of a car or van without having to struggle with the old hillside path.

Steph Vanderslip shook hands with both Seth and his dad. She evaluated the ramp Seth had built, testing its surface and its handrails and stepping back to examine its angle. She said, “Good work. Who did it?”

Rich said, “Seth and his friends did it all.”

“You're quite a craftsman,” she said to Seth. “Let's go inside.”

Within, Seth introduced her to Becca and Prynne. Steph shook hands with them but was all business afterward. Seth saw that Becca's eyes got narrow as the health care specialist went from room to room, testing this and that. She squatted to look at the way the handrails had been mounted, she sat in the new chair and tested how easy it was to rise from it, she squeezed the
bumpers that were fixed to the hearth to make sure their thickness was sufficient, and from there she went to Becca's former bedroom and the bathroom while the rest of them waited for her coming verdict.

“I'll be hiring two home health care aides this week,” Rich told her when she at last emerged. She was writing something on a paper affixed to a clipboard she was carrying. “There'll be two shifts, ending at eleven. Becca here will be with him during the night and Prynne will be with him as a backup during the day.”

Steph Vanderslip looked up from what she was writing. Her brow was furrowed. “Why?” she said. “I understand why Becca will be here at night, but why the other?”

Seth could tell his dad was trying to work out exactly what to tell the health care specialist. He went with, “Basically to reassure my sister. She's been thinking Dad would do better in assisted living with more than one person there to make sure he's okay.” He didn't add the rest: that Brenda hadn't agreed to anything they were doing.

He saw Becca watching him intently. Then she looked from him to his dad to Steph Vanderslip, who was tapping her pen rapidly against the clipboard and who also didn't look too pleased to learn there was a division in the family.

She said, “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“She'll come around when she sees how well Dad does at home,” Rich reassured her.

“I hope so. I don't want your father walking into a family disagreement. That can make a hash of the progress he's made, and
his blood pressure can't do with any spikes. He also
must
continue to make progress in speech therapy. You understand that, right?”

“That's going to happen,” Rich told her. “And if it comes down to having a professional here twenty-four/seven, we'll go that route. Meantime, I'm five minutes from here. If Becca needs me to come over in the night to help her, that won't be an issue.”

Steph nodded thoughtfully. She jotted a last few items in her paperwork and said, “Let's start out with trying this for a week and see how it works, Mr. Darrow.”

J
enn was surprised the next day when Cynthia Richardson not only stopped by the table where she and her pals were eating lunch, but also pulled out a chair and joined them. For a second she thought something had gone bad between Cynthia and Lexie Ovanov, since Lexie was with her but walked on toward their regular table against the far wall. Then Cynthia said to Lexie, “Be there in a sec,” and reached over to take a carrot stick from Becca's lunch, saying, “Can I . . . ?” and “Thanks,” before Becca could answer.

Squat was there, too. So was Derric, and Seth's former girlfriend Hayley Cartwright. Since Hayley was a senior like Cynthia, Jenn figured that Cynthia had come to talk to her about some brainy class they were taking together. But instead, she turned to Jenn as she removed a scrunchie that was holding her long blonde hair in a ponytail. Expertly, she fixed it back in place.

She said, “You're going for the All Island team, right? That's why you've been training after school?”

Jenn figured the other girl was about to tell her to give it up, along the lines of “You're a hopeless case,” but when she nodded
and told her that was the plan, Cynthia took another carrot stick from Becca and said, “Why don't you train with me? You're a good center midfielder, but you could be better. The competition's going to be from every school on the island, and it'll be tough.”

“I know. I went out last year. Didn't make past the first day.”

“That sucks. How did you train?”

“Mostly I didn't.”

“And she smoked,” Becca added. “Tell the truth, Jenn.”

Jenn gave her a shut-up look. Becca laughed. Derric said, “She speaks only the truth, girl.” And then he said to Cynthia, “She's been smoking since grade school.”

“Have not!” Jenn said. “Seventh grade. It was stupid. I gave it up.”

Cynthia said, “I did cigarettes for about five minutes in fifth grade. Down behind the Dog House in Seawall Park. Me and two girls from the Christian school.”

“Figures,” Squat said, under his breath.

Cynthia glanced at him. He looked impassive. He also looked completely unimpressed that the captain of the soccer team, a girl who had a scholarship to University of Virginia to play soccer, was telling Jenn she was a good center midfielder.

Cynthia said, “So d'you want to?”

Jenn had forgotten Cynthia's offer. “Want to what?”

“Train with me. I've been doing this for a long time. You're running is good, but what else're you doing to get ready?”

“Nothing.”

“So . . . ?”

Jenn felt a kick under the table. She knew it was Squat. She shot him a what's-with-
you
look and said to Cynthia, “What about Lexie? I thought you trained with her.”

“She'll still be there.” Cynthia grinned. “Abuse motivates me.”

Squat guffawed. Cynthia glanced his way. He said, “Got a picture in my mind if you know what I mean. Sorry.”

Hayley said, “Isn't your sandwich calling you, Squat?”

“Something is,” Derric added.

Jenn said to Cynthia, “I dunno. I sort of like training on my own.”

Cynthia looked at them all, then cast a longer look at Jenn. She said, “Okay, then,” as she pushed away from the table. Jenn thought that was it and she would walk off to join Lexie, but she didn't do that at once. Instead she leaned over Becca's shoulder, took a final carrot stick, said to Becca, “I owe you,” and then to Jenn, “If you change your mind, let me know. It's not catching.”

“What?”

“Being like me and Lexie.”

Although Jenn grew hot and knew that color was climbing her neck and attacking her ears, she said, “Huh? Don't get what you're talking about.”

Cynthia nodded and cast a glance at Squat before she said to Jenn, “Sure you do.” She popped the carrot stick into her mouth and walked away.

At first there was a little silence at the table. Squat was the one to break it. He said, “Good decision, Jenn.”

Hayley said, “She's a nice girl, Squat.”

“I didn't say she wasn't nice,” he countered. “But if she and the other dyke made it any more obvious they'd be doing it on the table over there.”

Jenn rose at that. She grabbed up her lunch bag. “You're disgusting,” she told Squat. Before he could answer, she swung around and stalked away.

• • •

THE LAST THING
she expected was that he would follow her, but that was what Squat did. She was at her locker when he came up behind her and said abruptly, “Look. I got nothing against them.”

She swung around. “Got nothing against who?”

“You know. They can be what they want to be. I don't care.” His gaze darted around, as if he and Jenn were spies afraid of being caught red-handed with information they needed to pass on. “But if you start hanging with them, it looks like you're
like
them. So guys are going to wonder, and you need to ask yourself if that's what you want.”

Jenn shut her locker with a little too much force. “I get it. You mean I might not get a date to the senior
prom
if I train with Cynthia Richardson. Ohhhh, that breaks my heart in two.” She leaned into him so they were nose to nose. “Like I actually care?” she demanded. “You are all
over
the place, Squat, and every place you're all over is, like, completely wrong.”

Squat didn't back off as she'd intended. Instead he said, “Sure,
Jenn. If that's what you say. I just wanted to give you some advice. We been friends since—”

“Yeah. Right. Preschool. Got it. So
you
get this: If I want to train with the school's most out-there lesbians, I will. And if
that
means I end up with cooties and no one wants to have lunch with me, then that's how it all plays out. I guess you'll be one of them, huh?”

“One of who?”

“One of the people who decides my cooties are catching. Wow, Squat, stick around me and I might turn you trans!”

“Hey. I'm not saying—”

“I know what you're saying. Give it up. And I think it's time you trotted off to class.”

Becca and Derric were coming toward her then, and Jenn figured it was going to be more of the same. She scowled, hoping to drive them off. No luck there because Derric pulled his smart phone from his pocket, frowned down at the screen, and made an adjustment to it that stopped its quacking. Becca came to join Jenn.

She'd apparently seen the action between Jenn and Squat because she said, “What's going on with Squat?”

“General asshole-ness.”

“About Cynthia Richardson, I bet.”

“She freaks him out. I'm surprised he didn't have a can of Raid to spray on her.”

Becca made an adjustment to her iPod thingy. After a moment, she said, “I dunno, Jenn. It might be a good idea.”

Jenn said,
“What?”
assuming Becca was agreeing with Squat.

But Becca said, “Training with her. If she wants to help you . . . She's got an athletic scholarship, right? She's been playing soccer since . . . when?”

“Probably since she was in her playpen.”

“Then why not? What did Squat say?”

“The old what-will-the-
guys
-think.”

“Really? Who cares? This's more important than what a bunch of A-holes think.”

“Who's an A-hole?” Derric had come to join them. He was shoving his smart phone back into his jeans. He gave Becca a look that communicated something because she said, “Again?”

Jenn said, “Your mom bugging you?”

“Not his mom,” Becca said.

“Ohhhh, that girl from Uganda? You better watch out, girlfriend,” she said to Becca. “She's hot for him. You better handle it.”

“They're going to arm wrestle for me,” Derric said. “I want Becca to win, so we've been practicing.”

Becca laughed. Derric dropped his arm around her shoulders. He told her he'd walk her to class if she was ready. Turned out that she was, but she said to Jenn before walking off, “Think about it, okay?”

Jenn nodded. She watched the two of them walk off together. Ten feet away and Becca's arm was around Derric's waist, and they disappeared around the corner. Jenn thought, seeing them, about what it would be like to have someone the way that Becca and Derric had each other.

• • •

SHE WAS WAITING
in the shelter for the free island bus when her day got worse. A horn honked behind her. She turned, thinking that Cynthia Richardson was going to offer her a ride home again and that she was going to have to turn her down. But it was her mom in the decrepit Whidbey Island taxi. Kate McDaniels had pulled to the side of the road. She'd just dropped someone at the language school over on Langley Road, she said. She could give Jenn a ride home.

Jenn was reluctant. The drive was long. Plenty of time for her mom to engage her on the topic of Jenn's being baptized in Deer Lake, which Kate wanted to happen just as soon as the weather made it possible for someone to be dunked without getting hypothermia. Seeing her, though, Jenn could hardly say she'd rather wait for the bus, since she
wouldn't
rather wait for the bus.

She climbed into the vehicle. She said, “Thanks. It was going to take forever.”

“Happy to be of service,” Kate replied. She patted Jenn's hand, said “Seat belt,” and waited. As Jenn hooked it up, Kate fondly smoothed Jenn's hair. As she did this, Squat and his mom pulled out of the parking lot in the family SUV. Squat was behind the wheel. It was late for him to still be at school, Jenn thought. He'd probably been massaging his brain with trigonometry in the library.

Kate said, “That's Fergus Cooper, isn't it? He's turning into a handsome young man. Goodness, though, doesn't time fly? He's driving!”

“Looks that way.”

“Why don't we see more of him, Jennie?” her mom asked. “You and he used to be such pals. I can remember—”

“We pal around at school,” Jenn cut in. “He's busy otherwise. He's in Honors Everything. Got to maintain the GPA.”

“You even had play dates,” Kate said wistfully.

“We can't exactly do that when we're sixteen.”

“No, no. Of course not.” Kate pulled into the road and they followed the Coopers' SUV toward the highway, where it would turn in the direction of Double Bluff Beach, and they would turn in the opposite direction. “Still . . . I remember him being a lovely boy. Polite, well raised . . . Is he a Christian, Jenn?”

“No clue,” Jenn said. “He's probably heathen. Or maybe pagan. He could be Wiccan.”

“Don't make fun,” her mother said. “Christianity is our path to heaven. And God's commandments were created to get us there.” She paused, as if considering something. Then she said, “Fornication is part of the sixth commandment, Jennie. It says adultery but fornication is included. You know that, don't you?”

Jenn turned to stare at her mother: upright in her seat, hands at ten and two o'clock on the wheel, gaze firmly on the road lest a deer dart out or a suicidal rabbit take the plunge. She said, “Yeah. Thanks. I know.”

“And so is touching yourself. You've not been touching yourself, have you?”

Jenn gritted her teeth. Most of the time she could listen to her
mom and translate it to
blah blah blah
in her head. But at the end of this day, which had seemed to pull her every which way, this was not one of those times.

“Whatever,” was her final response.

She wished that she had waited for the bus.