Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Beloved (22 page)
Let me guess,
she thought.
Car theft.
"
I stole a car and took it for a joyride.
"
Jane shook her head wonderingly.
"
What is it—some kind of rite of passage around here?
"
He shrugged.
"
Not much else to do off-season. It was only a misdemeanor—they can
'
t get you for nothin
'
more than that unless they can prove you stole the car to sell it for parts, and that ain
'
t possible on an island like this.
"
"
Is that true? Has the law always been that way?
"
she asked, thinking of McKenzie and the stolen Porsche.
"
Dunno. I think it used to be tougher. Anyway, the owner was really mad—even though I didn
'
t damage nothin
'
. Right after that, I got married and settled down, but people have long memories, y
'
know. I really could use the break, Miss Drew. I
'
m good. That
'
s no bul
l
shit. I
'
ve been doin
'
general contracting almost since I could lift a hammer. My dad was in the business.
"
How could she say no? She
'
d feel like the villain in a Frank Capra movie. So they struck a deal, work to begin midweek, and Billy B. walked away with a new spring to his step. Despite some misgivings, Jane was feeling upbeat. McKenzie was going to remove a holly for free, and a contractor was going to put her house in order at a wage she could afford. The work she was doing was moving along at a reasonable pace. And best of all, her shoulder had stopped hurting, at least for now.
****
That night Bing pulled out all the stops. He took Jane to Le Petit Pois, a tiny, elegant restaurant located in the heavily beamed basement of an art gallery on
Centre Street
. Le Petit Pois was new and didn
'
t know it couldn
'
t make a living in the off-season; but judging from the nearly empty dining room, it was learning fast.
Bing ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon to celebrate the passing of winter, while Jane tried to keep him in perspective. But that wasn
'
t easy, not by candlelight, so she reminded herself that he was thirty-eight, and he was a bachelor.
Bachelor
.
D
read
word
. S
he and her single friends all had a healthy fear of it.
"
The worst is over,
"
Bing said, lifting his glass to hers.
"
Before you know it, it
'
ll be July.
"
"
I know you don
'
t believe me, Bing,
"
she said with a rueful smile,
"
but I won
'
t be here that long. Once Lilac Cottage gets fixed up, I
'
m hanging a For Sale sign in the window and heading back to
Connecticut
to look for work. I may or may not find it there, but I
know
I won
'
t find it here.
"
In the soft ambience of the room her words sounded jarring and defeatist, even to her. Feeling like a wet noodle, she picked up her menu and opened it. Bing folded the menu back up for her, then wrapped his hand around her wrist and gave her a beseeching look. Oh, he had it down cold, that
movie star
sincerity.
"
Isn
'
t there
anything
else you can do besides graphic design?
"
he asked with gentle irony.
"
You sound like my mother,
"
she quipped, trying her best to fight the seduction of his gaze.
Bachelor. Bachelor.
She repeated the word to herself, like an incantation.
"
Your degree is in fine arts, isn
'
t it?
"
he pursued.
"
What about oil painting?
"
"
Unless it
'
s the side of a house, I doubt that there
'
s any money in it,
"
she said, trying not to wilt under the heat of his touch.
"
Okay, okay. Let
'
s think about this. You have a great eye for color
—
that peach silk thing you
'
re wearing looks terrific with your hair and green eyes. Have you considered interior design?
"
She laughed at that one.
"
Just what
Nantucket
needs, another interior designer,
"
she said, rolling her eyes.
"
Bing, don
'
t think I don
'
t appreciate this,
"
she said in a softer voice, turning her hand up in an almost imploring way.
"
But,
"
she continued,
"
I have a plan of my own. If I sell Lilac Cottage, I
'
ll be able to set up my own business in
Connecticut
. It has to be in
Connecticut
,
"
she added when he looked stricken.
"
My contacts are there; my old accounts are there. My professional future is there. I can do the job better and cheaper than the firm that fired me, and I will.
"
"
You sound like someone with something to prove,
"
he said, trailing his fingertips across the palm of her hand.
"
Could it be you
'
re still smarting from having been let go?
"
Jane dropped her gaze away from his.
"
I suppose I am,
"
she admitted.
"
No one likes rejection.
"
She opened the menu and buried her nose in the dazzling selection of fine French cuisine.
"
Let
'
s order, shall we? I
'
m starved.
"
The plain truth was, being fired had been the single worst humiliation of her life. Jane was Phi Beta Kappa, clever and intuitive and hard-working, a woman on the fast track to fame and fortune. She
'
d spent the booming eighties moving steadily upward, courted by one firm after another
—
and then, somehow, suddenly, she was out. Just like that: boom. Rejected.
She
'
d learned the hard way that there was no such thing as company loyalty, not anymore. With a flick of a pink slip, her whole value system had come crashing down. And yet she
still had all this unspent ..
. she didn
'
t know what. Passion? She hesitated to call it that, and yet there it was: a feeling as deep and wide as the ocean around her that there must be something still worth striving for in life. Something had to be worth all the hard work, all the devotion, all the intensity. There had to be more to life than dull bottom lines and empty profit margins. There
had
to.
"Or ..
. perhaps you
'
d rather I made a choice for you?
"
It was Bing, embarrassed. The waiter had approached the table discreetly to be of service, and Jane had left them both twisting in the wind.
"
Mmn? Oh, I
'
m sorry
...
everything just looks so wonderful.
"
They could have been offering Hamburger Helper, for all she knew; she hadn
'
t read a word.
"
Yes, why don
'
t you choose for me?
"
she said, covering her lapse.
The waiter was sent on his way to rustl
e up some escargots and a rack o
f lamb.
"
I
'
m sorry for trancing out like that,
"
she said, reaching her hand across the table to Bing.
"
So tell me, did you manage to nail down that Edward Hopper painting for your museum?
"
she asked with a warm smile.
"
It
'
s ours,
"
Bing said. A look of unmistakable satisfaction lit up his face.
"
I
'
m on a roll, come to think of it. I
'
ve also nailed down a landscape by Thomas Cole and a series
of sketches by Thomas Eakins—and I have a shot at an early Georgia O
'
Keeffe.
"
Jane conjured images of each artist
'
s work, from Cole
'
s lush Catskills to O
'
Keeffe
'
s rich red poppies. It was so good to be with someone who cared about real art, someone who
'
d never had to swim in the shark-infested waters of commercial advertising. Bing Andrews was the dream date from heaven.
But his obvious joy in his work made Jane even more depressed that she herself had chosen so badly. For the first time, she wanted to discuss it with someone. With him.
"
I haven
'
t talked about being let go with anyone up until now,
"
she said with startling abruptness.
"
I never even went to see the psychologist they provided for us, ev
en though everyone else who ..
. who got the ax, went to him for counseling.
"
Bing switched gears with ease.
"
Good lord, Jane, why not? There
'
s no stigma to being let go; every company in the country is downsizing, from GM to IBM. It
'
s a fact of life. It will be a fact of life for the next decade, especially in
New England
.
"
"
So they say,
"
she said with a sad little grimace. She took another sip of champagne. Maybe it was the bubbles; maybe it was finally admitting she resented being downsized. But the words were coming more easily now.
"
The problem is, my family is very stiff-upper-lip. You know what I mean: bad form to blubber at funerals, that sort of thing. If life isn
'
t going so well, just keep it to yourself, thank you very much. So I
'
ve been
...
reeling
now, for months
—
and even as I tell you all this, I feel guilty for admitting it. It sounds so whiny.
"
"
Don
'
t feel guilty, dope.
"
"
It
'
s also true that I haven
't had ..
.
"
She stared at the bubbles rising from the tulip of her glass with a rather fierce expression.
I
'
m tipsy,
she realized, amazed by the fact.
I almost told him I have no love
lif
e.
"So ..
. are you seeing anyone in
Connecticut
?
"
Bing asked softly.
"
No,
"
she said, suppressing a hiccup.
"
I have no love life.
"
That made him smile.
"
We can change all that,
"
he said. He cocked his head at her.
"
Are you okay?
"
The hiccup came out anyway.
"
Oh, sure,
"
she said breezily.
"
It
'
s been a while, that
'
s all.
"
"
Since you
'
ve had a love life?
"
"
Since I
'
ve had
champagne,
"
she said and began giggling uncontrollably.
The escargots, thank God, made their appearance and Jane brought herself back under control. With a wary expression the waiter laid the plate of snails before her.
"
I just forgot I remembered to eat lunch,
"
she said, looking up at the waiter in abject apology.
"I mean ..
. I just remember I forgot to eat lunch.
"
The waiter pretended his eardrums were shattered and left. Jane took a deep breath and plowed on.
"
Champagne
always hits me hard. Hits my stomach hard. Hits us both hard. I
'
ll be fine. I just need some
"
—
she put the palms of both hands on the table and studied her plate
—
"
of these things.
"
Bing was doing a very poor job of not smiling, which she thoroughly resented. She was not a child, after all. Just because she had no job and just because she had no love life did not mean she could not hold her liquor.
"
Did the dish ever come back with the spoon?
"
Bing asked her pleasantly.
Jane stared blankly at her table setting.
"
What? They
'
re both here.
"
"
No, I meant, did you ever find the missing spoon from your aunt
'
s display rack?
"
Jane shook her head, which made her see little starry bubbles sweeping back and forth across the snails.
Bing said,
"
There haven
'
t been any more mysteries at Lilac Cottage, have there?
"
He took his pick and inserted it with a surgeon
'
s precision into the snail shell. A stab, a twist, and out came the rubbery contents.
"
Uh-h-hn. Maybe I
'
ll just pass for now,
"
she said, nudging her escargots ever so slightly away. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to knock back her queasiness. Really, she was being absurd. Her mother would
not
approve. What was the question?
"
Oh. Mysteries at Lilac,
"
she said aloud.
"
Yes, there
'
s been one
...
other. Someone opened the storm doors to the basement last night.
"
"
Are you sure you didn
'
t leave the doors open yourself?
"
"
Pretty sure. But don
'
t worry. The steps up to the kitchen are gone; the intruders couldn
'
t get very far. Unless they
'
re ghosts, of course,
"
she added in a studiedly cheerful voice.
"
I
'
m not sure how ghosts get around on
Nantucket
. I read somewhere that they travel in great big bubbles.
"
"
Let
'
s be rational about this,
"
Bing said, smiling.
"
With all due respect, there
'
s absolutely nothing worth stealing in Lilac Cottage. That leaves you. Now, granted, you
'
re the kind of woman who might tempt a man to a criminal act, but that
'
s not
Nantucket
. So what
'
re we left with?
"
He answered his own question:
"
Mischief makers. Doesn
'
t that seem more logical?
"
For the first time since she
'
d known him, Jane saw him step back from her emotionally.
He thinks I
'
m a nut,
she realized.
He thinks I
'
m making this up.
Her cheeks flamed. There was no way, in that case, that she
'
d tell him about the strange phenomena she
'
d experienced at Judith Brightman
'
s grave. She herself was unsure of that part. But not about the bookcase, the spoon, and the bulkhead doors.
"
I agree,
"
she said guardedly,
"
that someone wants me out of there.
"
She placed her hand over the stemmed glass he was trying to fill and said darkly,
"
We both know that
off-islanders aren
'
t that welcome here. Haven
'
t you felt that?
"
"
Not very much,
"
he admitted.
"
But you
'
re in a different category from me. I suppose you
'
re seen almost as a real estate speculator. Don
'
t expect any sympathy from me,
"
he added in a lighter tone.
"
All you have to do is stay, and the problem
'
s solved.
"
She stared at him blankly.
"
Wa-a-a
i
t
a minute. Let
'
s run that through one more time. Someone
'
s trying to drive me out because I don
'
t want to stay. But if I stay, they
'
ll stop trying to drive me out? Is that what you
'
re saying?
"
"
I know it sounds crazy.
"
"
Sheesh.
"
They drifted off the topic of mischief makers without reaching any conclusion and went on, during the course of dinner, to talk about a lot of things: politics (Bing was a liberal, she a moderate); sex (Bing was a liberal, she a moderate); and even sports (neither had a position).
By the time they drove back to Lilac Cottage, Jane felt as if she
'
d known Bing half her life. The man was charming her socks off; she began to feel he might not stop there. He was so easy to talk to; he understood her thoughts almost before she spoke them.
The subject of siblings came up. Bing told Jane what she already knew: that his parents had died in a car accident, and that he
'
d assumed complete responsibility for raising his little sister. It hadn
'
t been easy, he said
—
not because Cissy was so headstrong, but because she was so very submissive. She was forever letting men assume control over her.
"
Sometimes I wonder if I
'
m one of them,
"
he said thoughtfully.
"
Maybe it
'
s inevitable. I
'
m sixteen years older; she looks on me as a father figure.
"
His voice trailed off into a sigh.
"
How about your sister? Is she older, or younger?
"
"
Lisa
'
s younger than I am,
"
Jane said.
"
I
'
m anything but the guiding light in
her
life. Unlike me, Lisa knew what she wanted from day one, and now she
'
s got it all: perfect husband, big house, and a bright-eyed prodigy with another prodigy on the way. All, I might add, within an easy commute of the doting grandparents.
"
"
Hmm,
"
said Bing.
"
I suppose your sister the princess is married to a heart surgeon in
San Francisco
?
"
"
Plastic; in
Sausalito
.
"
"
Hmm. You jealous?
"
Jane laughed.
"
You betcha. Sometimes, anyway. I mean, her life is so settled. There
'
s never any question of, will things turn out? Will I be happy? Things
have
turned out. She
is
happy. She made it look so easy.
"