Whisper Beach (2 page)

Rumor was, Gigi didn't have a penny to her name. Nate and Amelia had to pay the funeral expenses, including the wake before the funeral and the repast after it. So Dorie had offered the catering services of the Blue Crab, free of charge. It was the least she could do. So what if she had to scrimp.

She dismissed the two girls who'd helped with the setup and sent them back to the restaurant to set up for dinner. It was the last Saturday of the season, and there would be a handful of tourists to be fed.

She pulled her cell phone out of her apron pocket. Something she had been doing all day. She'd gotten the message from Suze that she was on her way. Nothing from Van. She wasn't surprised, but she was disappointed. Fool that she was, even after all these years, she'd expected Van to come.

Things had begun to unravel for Whisper Beach all those years ago. And it hadn't stopped. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe she'd just have to sit back and watch all those young lives swirl right down the drain.

It was already too late for the likes of her, but she'd made her bed a long time ago. And all in all, it wasn't such a bad place to sleep.

Dorie dropped the phone back in her pocket, grabbed a hot pad, and pulled a tray of freshly browned Italian bread slices out of the oven. She placed the pan on a trivet and was just reaching for the bowl of tomato bruschetta when the door to the hall opened and Kippie Fuller slipped in and closed the door behind her.

“What? Out of shrimp bites already?”

Kippie shook her head. “You'll never guess who I think I saw at the funeral.”

Kippie was big and moved slow, but she had a quick eye for gossip.

“Who?”

“I'm pretty sure it was her.”

Dorie began to feel a glimmer of—not hope—exactly, but interest. Yes, interest, nothing more. She waited for Kippie to expound on the subject. She would; she always did.

“I didn't get a good look, but Pete Moran said it was her.”

“Huh.” Dorie untied her apron and threw it on the counter. Patted her hair, freshly blond from Lucille over at Sea Breeze Beauty.

“Well, don't you want to know?”

“Sure.” Dorie checked her lipstick in the coffee urn. Smacked her lips a couple of time.

“Robbie Moran's daughter. What's her name.”

“You mean Vanessa?”

“Yes, that's the one. The one who ran off and left her daddy alone, poor man.”

Short memories,
Dorie thought.

“Poor soul, I hear he's pretty bad off.”

“Kippie, Robbie Moran was born bad off and went downhill from there. And he brought it all on himself.”

“The idea of her coming back after letting everybody think she was dead all these years.”

Nobody who bothered to look for her,
thought Dorie.

“Whole family's a little wacko if you ask me. Including that daughter of his. She's got her nerve showing up like this. There'll be trouble. You mark my words.”

I
THOUGHT THE GRASS WAS HARD ON MY HEELS
.” S
UZE SHIFTED
her suitcase to her other hand as they tiptoed their way through the graveled lot at the back of Mike's. They had stopped by the parish office on their way over; met the new priest, Father Murphy; retrieved Suze's bag and laptop, which Van was carrying; and were headed to the other Murphy's.

Suze shifted the suitcase again.

“What do you have in there?” Van asked.

“Hard copies of a couple of books I couldn't find online.”

“In case Mass got boring? Or maybe you were planning to send a few e-mails?” Van lifted the laptop.

Suze looked offended. “I'm going to stay at Dorie's for a while. I need to visit with my parents, but I can't get any work done at their house. And I'm under the gun.”

“I want to hear all about what you're working on. In fact, we could ditch the reception. I'd be just as happy to drive to the
nearest upscale bar for a gin and tonic. And look,” Van said with forced enthusiasm. “Here's my rental car.”

“You parked in the pub parking lot to go to a funeral?”

“It was the only place I could find. Besides, funerals always end up at the pub.” Van shot a longing look at her car. “Last chance.”

“The heat's making you cranky.” Suze grinned at her. “But I will put my suitcase in the trunk.”

Van popped the trunk. “I'm not cranky.”

“Well, well. What do we have here?” Suze raised both eyebrows at Van's overlarge suitcase. “What's under this blanket?” She lifted it up to reveal Van's laptop and printer.

“I'm on my way to Rehoboth. Two weeks of vacation. Fun in the sun, who knows what in the moonlight.”

“Oh, meeting someone there?”

Van shook her head and pushed her suitcase over to make room for Suze's.

“Going by yourself?”

“Yeah, what's wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” Suze hoisted her suitcase into the trunk. “Except it's bound to be boring. Why Rehoboth?”

Van shrugged. “It seemed as good a place as any. And close enough to the city in case I need to get back to the business.”

“Doesn't look like you left the business behind.”

“They might need me. And plus I'll have time to work on some plans for expansion. I'm thinking about opening a branch in Boston or Philly.”

“Why don't you stay here instead? I'm sure Dorie has the room.”

“But not the amenities of the four-star hotel I have booked in Rehoboth.”

“Probably not. But I bet her crab cakes are better than the ones in the restaurant there.”

“Probably.” The Blue Crab was famous for its crab cakes. For Dorie's crab cakes. When they were the special of the day, she had to call in extra waitstaff. People lined up to get into the restaurant. Though Dorie always managed to put some aside for the staff to enjoy at the end of their shift.

Dorie was good like that. But it was dangerous to remember the good times. Because you couldn't remember them without remembering the other times. And Van had no intention of revisiting them.

They were nearing the back door to the pub, when a dark gray truck careened around the building and onto the street.

Suze yanked Van out of the way. “Ass—oops. Guess I shouldn't swear at a funeral.”

“Just a local baboon, drunk at high noon. Some things never change.” Van smoothed her dress and marched across the parking lot. Realized Suze wasn't coming and turned around.

“You're a poet.”

“What?”

“A baboon at high noon? It might not make any of the literary journals, but it made me laugh.”

“Come on. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

Van stopped at the back door of the pub's kitchen, exchanged a look with Suze, and opened the door.

Two women were standing across the room. Van didn't recognize the one facing them, but she knew the other one without having to see her face. Scrawny in a black-and-white print pantsuit minus the jacket. Hair suspiciously the same color as it had been twelve years ago. The “Sunday” pearls she wore on special occasions, clasped at the back of her neck.

“Dorie?”

Dorie pushed the other woman into the other room and closed
the door. When the pounding started, she turned and leaned back against it until the woman gave up and went away.

She'd been staring at Van with a blank expression. Now she crunched up her face, accentuating the wrinkles that had always been there, testament to the three-pack-a-day habit she'd acquired with the opening of the Blue Crab forty years before. “Do I know you?”

Van frowned. “Dorie? It's me. Vanessa Moran. You sent for me.”

Dorie snorted herself into a laugh that Van remembered well.

“Had you going, didn't I?”

“Not funny.”

“Hell, I thought it was funny. Did you think it was funny, Suze?”

Suze threw up her hands. “Neutral territory here.”

Dorie started across the room. Van braced herself, not sure if Dorie was planning a hug or a slap or if she'd just keep walking right out the door and into the parking lot. Van had gotten all those reactions from Dorie at one time or another.

“Whatever I think you need at the time,” she'd explained once after a particularly harrowing standoff. “Treat my friends and relations just like I play the piano . . . by ear.”

Dorie had been their surrogate mother. Kids who'd come for summer jobs and were staying in the hotel dormitory, or locals working at the restaurant and going home at night.

She had always been the one you went to when you were hurt. When you'd missed curfew and were locked out of the dorm. When your parents threw you out or you were too drunk to go home. When you were broke, or your boyfriend dumped you, or when you were sure everybody hated you.

Dorie was an equal opportunity comforter. Her house was a haven for those who had no place else to go.

It was Dorie whom Van had come to that night. Dorie whom she'd stayed with, wanting to tell her what happened and not being able to. Dorie who waited patiently for her to get around to talking, while she gave her a bed where she found no sleep and food that she couldn't eat.

She'd left three days later, without having talked to Dorie, without a thank-you, without ever looking back.

Van smiled tentatively. Dorie shook her head and gathered both of them into a hug.

Dorie was tall, about five seven, a bit taller than Van, but much shorter than Suze, and much thinner. So they were clasped in a leaning tower kind of a hug. Awkward and off balance, soft and bony, familiar and safe.

“I wondered if you'd show up.”

The same thing Suze had said.

“I was just following orders.” Van gave Dorie a salute, but the gesture fell flat. “So why did you summon me? I already know they're not that glad to see me. At least Aunt Amelia isn't.”

Dorie looked at the ceiling, her idea of calling the saints to witness. “All in good time. Now you two get out there, say your sorrys and mingle, while I get these platters out to the party.” She raised her hand and shook a jangle of bracelets at Van. “And don't even think about sneaking off again.”

“I can't stay.”

“Of course you can. I have it on good authority that you're on vacation.”

“How did you—”

“I called your office. I've kept up with the tech revolution. I've googled you. Anyone who looked for you over the last few years could find you.”

But Dorie was the only one who'd contacted her, and only
because of the funeral. For some reason that made Van feel sad, which was ridiculous because she didn't want to be found or contacted.

“Did you think I had to weasel your whereabouts out of Suzy here?”

That's just what Van had thought. “Dorie, I really can't—”

“So it's settled. Now get on out there before people begin to wonder if you bolted again.”

“Not fair.”

“No? Prove it.”

Van shot her a look but started toward the door. “Suze, are you coming?”

“Not if you're going out there angry.”

“I'm not angry.”

“Ha.”

Van started to open the door, but Suze grabbed it and kept it shut.

“Van. I know angry. I've studied the classics.”

Van forced a smile. “How's this?”

“Maniacal and inappropriate, try again.”

“Oh God, I give up. Let's just get this over with.”

Van pushed the door open. The party was in full swing. The noise level was typical for a postfuneral bash. Mike Murphy was dispensing beer from an aluminum keg. A bartender was mixing the heavier stuff. Gigi must have married rich, because this would be costing her a fortune.

She caught sight of her cousin across the way, standing in a loose reception line of family members. The crowd didn't suddenly stop talking, or all turn to stare, though a few people did step out of their way as Van cut diagonally across the room.

“Like Moses and the Red Sea,” Suze whispered.

Van frowned at her.

Suze shrugged. “Funerals always put me in a biblical frame of mind.”

They were still several feet away when Gigi turned and saw them. After a moment's hesitation, she shoved her glass into the nearest relative's hand and ran.

She hit Van full force, both arms clasping around her as if she were afraid Van might slip away. Something Van wished she had the power to do.

“I knew you'd come. I'm so glad to see you.”

Van patted Gigi on the back. “I'm glad to see you, too. I wish it were under happier circumstances.”

“It's just been awful.” Gigi burst into tears. Van could only stand there, while Gigi sobbed and gulped. Suze was being no help, and after a few uncomfortable seconds, she saw someone she knew—or pretended to know—and stepped away to talk to them.

“Gigi. Take it easy. I know you're hurting, but you've got to be strong.” Empty words. And hard to say with Gigi choking her and half the attendees looking on. Van tried to ease out of Gigi's ironlike grip but couldn't manage it without causing a bigger commotion.

Van saw Amelia walking toward them, and she felt relief and a bit of trepidation. Amelia had always thought Van was a bad influence on Gigi. Somehow it didn't occur to her aunt that everything Van did was just trying to stay alive.

Amelia took Gigi by the arm. “Gigi, pull yourself together. You're making a spectacle of yourself.”

She switched her attention to Van. There wasn't an ounce of any feeling showing on her face except consternation. This is why Van hadn't wanted to come. She'd moved on, but it seemed as if others hadn't.

“I suppose I'm glad you came but you could have given us a little advance warning and maybe we could have avoided this total breakdown.” Amelia gave her daughter a tiny shake. “Gigi. Mr. and Mrs. Salcani are here to pay their respects.” She peeled Gigi away from Van and herded her back toward the wall where the Dalys and Morans were lined up like a . . . firing squad, Van thought.

Van was left alone and embarrassed in the middle of the floor. The crowd that had been watching the reunion finally lost interest and turned back to their conversations. There would be plenty of fodder for talk at the bar tonight.

No one came up to say hello, and Van's confident façade began to slip. She looked around for Suze. Saw her talking with a good-looking man, around thirty or thirty-five, and hoped to hell it wasn't someone they knew. She'd never get Suze out of here.

She caught Suze's eye, motioned to her to meet her in the kitchen. Then, nodding and smiling but not stopping to talk, Van retraced her steps through the crowd.

The kitchen was empty. And Van slumped against the table. She'd give Suze two minutes, then she was out of here. This had been a mistake.

But when the door opened, it was Suze and Dorie. She wouldn't get away that easily.

“Dorie, don't start. It was a mistake for me to come.”

Dorie pursed her lips, accentuating the wrinkles around her mouth. “It was a mistake for you to leave in the first place—at least not the way you did it.”

Van started to protest, but what was the point? “Suze, you want to have dinner before I leave for Rehoboth?”

Suze cast a look at Dorie, who looked innocent. “Dorie said Gigi and her children have been living with her mother.”

Dorie nodded. “The bank foreclosed on her house.”

“That's too bad.” Van turned toward the door.

“Van, you wouldn't leave her like this,” Dorie said.

Suze grimaced. “She does need a friend.”

“Then stay and be a friend.” Van didn't owe any of them anything. Where were they when—when she needed them? Did she really have to ask herself that question? Suze had gotten her medical attention, let her stay while she recovered. Dorie had always been there for her, every time she didn't have a place to stay because her father was too drunk for her to go home, and Gigi had handed over her college fund so Van could get away.

“We'll never get a hotel room,” Van said halfheartedly. “It's the end of the season and every hotel will be packed.” She'd had to sell her soul to get two weeks at Rehoboth.

“You can stay with me; I could use the company,” Dorie said, looking sad and forlorn.

Van didn't buy it for a second.

“You can't take a few days off for a grieving friend and a lonely old woman?” Dorie grinned. “I exaggerate somewhat on the second half of that.”

“What about Harold?” Van asked in a last-ditch effort to get away.

Another jangle of Dorie's bracelets. “Don't worry about Harold. He won't be any trouble.”

Van rolled her eyes. She was trying to remain calm, strong, determined, but inside she was beginning to panic.

And then Gigi walked through the door, looking totally defeated and needy and hopeful, and Van felt herself giving in. She looked over at Suze.