Beloved (12 page)

Jane gave him an arrogant look, then blew smoke from the barrel of an imaginary six-shooter.
"
Don
'
t start nothin
'
you don
'
t mean to finish, pal,
"
she said, feeling like a flirt.

Cissy was getting the bottom of a snowman going. Buster, wanting desperately to be a part of things, came up and put his huge paws on the rolling ball, just as his mistress was doing. Cissy laughed and stood up and tried to push him away. The dog stood up on his hind legs and pushed her back
—
s
uch fun!
—
and Cissy fell on her behind in the snow.

It
was
fun, the way fooling around in fresh and falling snow is always fun. But it was impossible, at least for Jane, to ignore the fact that their fellow dinner guest was twenty feet away, working hard at plowing her driveway clear. She sidled up discreetly to Bing and said,
"
Why is he doing that? Just being neighborly?
"

"
Hell, no; I
'
m paying him,
"
Bing answered cheerfully as he shaped a snowball in his gloved hands.
"
The regular service wouldn
'
t be around to your place for hours.
"

Shocked, Jane said,
"
You
'
re
paying
—"

"
Don
'
t think twice about it, fair one,
"
he said gallantly.
"
It
'
s no different than picking up the cab fare into
Manhattan
on a dinner date.
"

"
But we
'
re not
on
a dinner date
—
"

"
Which is why I was coming over. Will you have dinner with me tonight?
"
he asked. His eyes were sparkling with interest, and this time there was no wine to blame.

"
Tonight?
"

The revving of a tractor engine behind them sent Jane jumping: McKenzie seemed to want to plow the exact spot they were standing on. He was wearing a duckbilled plaid hat with fold-down flaps, but even that wasn
'
t enough to prevent him from having to squint in the driving snow. He looked fiercer than ever. His lips, normally set in a firm line, shaped themselves silently around one word:
move.

He was being deliberately annoying; surely there were other parts to plow.
That damn chip on his shoulder,
she thought. She
'
d been wrong about him being a hired hand at the nursery, but she hadn
'
t been wrong about the chip. Anyway, right now he
was
a hired hand. And in this case, she didn
'
t like it. It offended her that he
'
d accepted money for plowing her drive. If their positions were reversed,
she
would
'
ve done it for nothing, just to be neighborly.

"
I would
love
to go to dinner tonight, Bing,
"
she said, stepping nimbly aside just as the plow was about to take out an ankle.
"
What time?
"

They made arrangements and then Bing took the huge snowball he
'
d been shapin
g and, grinning, calmly dumped
it on her head.
"
Now we
'
re even.
"

Jane was still sputtering from it when she felt an avalanche of snow being plowed into the back of her legs, filling her boots. She whipped around, furious. McKenzie shrugged and said
"
Sorry,
"
and backed the tractor away for another pass.

Bing, laughing, swatted as much of the snow off Jane as he could, then said,
"
You look like a Quaker Oats commercial. C
'
mon, let
'
s go in and I
'
ll make us breakfast.
"

Jane agreed, mostly to prove that she wasn
'
t a bad sport. She waited as Bing helped Cissy roll the bottom of her snowman into a monstrous ball, and then they all headed for Bing
'
s house. McKenzie was just finishing plowing her drive. Bing paused alongside his tractor.

"
Thanks again, Mac,
"
he said, slapping the side of the tractor as if it were a farm horse.
"
And hey
—
how about some bacon and eggs?
"

The snow had dribbled into Jane
'
s socks by now. If there was one thing she hated, it was snow in her socks.

McKenzie gave her a cool, infuriating look and said,
"
Breakfast sounds good.
"

Jane
'
s instinct was to turn on her heel and leave, but again: she wouldn
'
t give anyone the satisfaction. So they all piled into Bing
'
s enormous designer kitchen, which came straight out of
House and Garden,
and stripped off their snowy jackets and hats. Bing hauled out a carton of eggs and a slab of bacon and got to work, while McKenzie went to the fireplace at the far end of the room and coaxed the dying embers into a comfortably roaring flame.

Cissy brought out dry socks for Jane, so she peeled off her wet ones and draped them over the big brass screen that protected a handsome hand-knotted rug from the crackling fire. The women dragged a couple of chairs, overstuffed in creamy tweed, closer to the fire and put their feet up on a shared hassock between them. Buster lay down alongside them, his big tail thumping contentedly on the wide slate hearth. Jane offered once or twice to help with breakfast, but Bing wouldn
'
t have it.

"
How
'
s your shoulder, by the way?
" he asked suddenly.

"
No better, I
'
m afraid. Must be old age,
"
Jane said, rubbing the spot.
"
I doubt that I could lift that cast iron pan right now.
"

"
Bing
'
s got even bigger pans than that,
"
Cissy piped in, slipping off her sheepskin slippers and curling her toes in front of the flames.
"
He
'
s a way better cook than I am. But then, he
'
s had sixteen years longer to learn.
"

"
It
'
s the
practice
that makes perfect, Ciss,
"
Bing said in gentle reproach.

It was obvious that Cissy thought that cooking skills, like crow
'
s feet, came automatically with age. Jane shared a sympathetic smile with Bing and turned her attention to the rugged, taciturn man on her left.

McKenzie was sitting in a chrome-and-leather director
'
s chair, his elbows resting on his thighs as he stared at the leaping, crackling flames. His ruddy skin had kept its high color from the outdoor work; his hair, damp from the snow, looked darker now, almost black. Unlike the others, he seemed oblivious to the cold, oblivious to the wet. He seemed, in fact, oblivious to their presence.

Fine. Why the heck did he join us, then?
Just to throw a pall on the merriment? In the meantime, she wasn
'
t even sure the man could form two sentences in a row.

"
Isn
'
t a fire a wonderful thing?
"
she asked him, trying to force him into speech.
"
I suppose our fascination with it goes back to Prometheus,
"
she added, sure he couldn
'
t have a clue who Prometheus was.

McKenzie turned to her with a look of pure irony.
"
Actually, I was thinking that Bing has been burning too much pine.
"

"
How did you know I burn pine?
"
Bing asked.

"
I smell it when I drive by.
"

"
What
'
s wrong with pine?
" Jane wanted to know.

"
Creosote. It builds up in the chimney. You
'
re asking for a chimney fire, Bing.
"

"
No problem,
"
Bing said cheerfully.
"
I
'
ll get something else. Is oak okay?
"

"
Sure,
"
McKenzie said.
"
And have a chimney sweep look at it before too long.
"
He fell back into moody contemplation of the fire.

He looked so deeply philosophical; it was disappointing to know that he was analyzing the ash content of the logs. Jane tried again.

"
I can
'
t get over how deserted the island is in March. When I was here last it was in August, at the height of the season.
"

She said it in a general way and was surprised when McKenzie turned to her and said dryly,
"
I know. We met.
"

In an equally dry tone she said,
"
I doubt it. I was eight.
"

"
And I was fifteen. Your aunt used to hire me now and again to mow her lawn. I remember having to mow around you; you wouldn
'
t budge.
"
He snorted, a barely audible sound.
"
Nothing much has changed.
"

"
You
'
re in for it now, girl,
"
Bing interjected.
"
These isl
anders have long memories. Come '
n
'
get it, people.
"

"
I don
'
t remember that,
"
Jane said, wondering.
"
I don
'
t remember
you.
"

"
No. I don
'
t expect you would.
"
McKenzie stood up at the same time she did. She was close enough to see a dark, angry flush intensify the ruddiness in his wind-whipped cheeks. It occurred to her that she would not want, ever, to anger this man.

They took their seats around a scrubbed pine table and were treated to a simple but wonderfully filling breakfast of thick Canadian bacon, scrambled eggs, and fresh-baked sourdough bread that Bing had brought with him from
New York
. Warmed outside and inside by the fire and fresh coffee, Jane felt more relaxed and at home than she
'
d been in months.

They talked about anything and everything, from the great October nor
'
easter of 1991, the worst storm to hit the island in a hundred years (even McKenzie admitted it was a big one), to local efforts to relocate the historic Sankaty Lighthouse before it tumbled over the bluffs into the sea. They talked about the fire that burned down Downy Flake Restaurant (before Jane
'
s time) and the great home-team advantage the high school foothall team enjoyed (think how tired the mainlanders got just getting to the field).

They talked about a lot of things, and when there was a lull, easy and relaxed, Jane sighed and said,
"
This is really nice.
"

"
It is, isn
'
t it,
"
Bing said, getting up for more coffee and to stir the fire.
"
So why do you want to sell?
"

It caught Jane by surprise. Still, it was a simple question, and it deserved a simple answer.

"
I need the money,
"
she said.

"
For what?
"
he asked casually. Presumably he was expecting her to say,
"
For a Ferrari.
"