Postcards From Last Summer (24 page)

“I
knew her when she was crazy in love with a big buffoon and staking her future on some honky-tonk bar,” Elle muttered under her breath, astounded by Darcy's naivety. She'd been listening to the conversation next to her at the bar, horrified that her friend could be so in the box.

“What was that, mumbles?” Milo cracked a peanut shell, split it open, and offered it to Elle.

She pinched a peanut with a scowl. “I was just finishing Darcy's sentence in a realistic way. I know you can't always choose who you fall in love with, but can't she see that Kevin doesn't belong in this business? He tries to talk people out of ordering a second round. He spills his guts to anyone who'll listen, when it's supposed to be the bartender who listens to the problems of the world.” She squeezed lime into her Corona, then shoved it down the neck of the bottle.

Milo leaned forward to check the two McGowans, who were arguing at the end of the bar. “Putting up with his old man, I'd say he's a candidate for sainthood.” He grabbed another handful of peanuts. “Actually, so am I.”

“Hey, you two,” Darcy said, leaving her bar stool to stand between them and slide an arm around each of them. “How're my favorite contractors doing?”

“Great,” Milo said. “Have you seen the roof? We're almost done with the exterior.”

“Hallelujah, because that scaffolding worries me. Every time I walk by it I think of giant Tinkertoys clattering to the ground.”

“It's actually very secure,” Milo said.

“And next we'll get started with the interior walls of the attic,” Elle said, hoping to distract Darcy. “You should start looking at paint swatches to get an idea what color you want.”

“That'll be fun.” Darcy leaned closer and lowered her voice confidentially. “And I've got a little tip for you two. As long as you hang together at the bar, you're not going to meet anyone. You're so cute together, you look like a couple. But you're scaring off possibilities.”

Thank God!
Elle thought, restraining her sarcasm to flash Darcy a sweet smile. “Thanks for the tip, Darce, but right now I just don't have room in my life for relationship complications.”

“Me thinks Elle doth protest too much,” Darcy said, amused by herself.

“I think she's just on a break,” Milo jumped in, defending Elle. “Give her another month or so and I'm sure she'll be lifting her skirt for strangers again.”

Elle smacked him on the arm. “You are so wrong! When was the last time you saw me wearing a skirt?”

Just then Kevin stomped down the bar and tossed two metal mixing vats into the sink with a loud clatter. “Get off my back, okay? Jesus H. Christ! You think I want to be here? You think I asked for this?” His face was ruddy, his pale eyes ablaze with anger. “Believe me, it's no prize, being your son.”

Elle leaned back from the bar reflexively, then sensed Darcy in a panic behind her, fingernails digging into her bare shoulder.

“Cool it, Kevin,” Mr. McGowan rumbled in his deep voice. “This is neither the time nor the place.”

“That's the thing, Dad. There's never a good time for you to talk about alcoholism, because that's what it is when someone drinks too much. We have drinking problems, and I can't sit back and ignore it and keep pouring out poison when I can get these people help.”

“What? What are you arguing about?” Darcy shot a stern look at Kevin.

“Same old, everyday bullshit.” Kevin balled up a rag and flung it into the sink. “I'm done with the crap.”

“So quit, why don't ya?” His father bellowed from down the bar. “You'll be back in the morning, begging forgiveness, if I know you.” Dismissing Kevin with a wave of his hands, he left the bar and climbed up the steps, disappearing in the reception area.

“Whew!” one of the guys sitting at the bar blustered. “Family fireworks, and it's not even the Fourth yet.”

A few people laughed, but Elle and Milo remained quiet, sympathetic to what Kevin was going through. He'd managed to fight off his own consuming habit only to return to a world surrounded by drinkers, a world where his father's business fed into drinking problems. It couldn't be easy for Kevin, taking his father's criticism on the chin while trying to redefine attitudes toward drinking.

“Kevin, honey . . .” Darcy pushed her drink away and leaned her elbows on the bar. “It's okay. He just needs to let off steam.”

“Don't you see? It's not just tonight; we go through the same drama every fucking night. I can't take it anymore.” Kevin yanked at the strings of his apron and pulled it over his head. “You! Lindsay, can you bartend?”

She winced. “I make a mean Bloody Mary.”

“That's good enough. Most of these customers are beer and wine drinkers, anyway.” He tossed Lindsay the apron and hopped over the lip of the bar. “Back behind the bar, Linds, and don't take any crap from my old man.”

Lindsay caught the emerald green apron in midair and held it up, looking at Darcy and the others for some clue as to how to proceed.

“Kevin, please . . .” Darcy pressed her hands together in prayer position, tears sparkling in her eyes. “Don't do anything rash. I know you're going through a rough time now, but . . .” Rushing forward, she embraced him, whispering something in his ear.

Biting her lower lip, Elle watched. Was this going to be the fall of Darcy's savior?

Kevin was shaking his head, but Darcy persisted, whispering, pulling him closer to the bar, pressing her face to his so he was forced to look in her eyes.

Meanwhile, Lindsay sat the apron on the bar behind Kevin with a shrug. “I've got tables to take care of.” And she went off to the kitchen.

A few minutes later, after much private discussion with Darcy, Kevin hopped back over the bar and resumed taking orders. Things seemed to be back to normal, but Elle sensed that the threat remained for Darcy. More trouble in paradise.

“I
know you need to dress for the interview, but I'm just not used to seeing you buttoned up in little suits like that,” Elle said as she took a seat across from me on the westbound train to Manhattan. “You're so . . . Gidget Goes Corporate.”

I straightened the lapel of my beige jacket, a polyester linen blend, hopefully enough polyester not to wrinkle. “Don't make fun of me. I need all the confidence I can get so that I don't do something embarrassing during this interview.”

“You look like a young Audrey Hepburn,” Milo assured me, “and I'm sure you'll do fine. What are you worried about? You're eminently overqualified to file papers and answer phones in the textbook division of Powder Publishing.”

“Don't be surprised if I take a powder at Powder. I don't give good interview,” I admitted. “I'm always worried that there's a stain on my blouse or toilet paper trailing from my shoe. And when it's time to talk, my words get all gummed up and I sound like an idiot. It's a wonder I can manage a yes or no.”

“Well, I'm impressed, and I'd say your interview karma is about to change,” Milo said sweetly.

“Suck-up,” Elle muttered, slinking down low in her seat. “And if you don't get the job, I'll call my father's friend at Island Books, Uncle Jorge. I didn't think of him, but then I didn't think you were interested in publishing, Linds.”

“Only because I've exhausted all other options, unless I want to be a camp counselor or volunteer for the Peace Corps.”

“I would
love
that,” Elle insisted.

“I thought you were happy to be back in the States,” Milo said.

Elle twisted her mouth to one side. “Yeah, I guess I am. Especially since I'm going to be adopted by a Brooklyn family.” She clapped Milo on the shoulder. “I'm so excited.”

I shot Milo a look of horror. “You're letting her meet your parents?”

“She insisted on it, and I figured it was the least I could do since she got me a free ticket for the matinee. Elle got free
Lion King
tickets, can you believe it?”

“I'm impressed. That's a very hot ticket.”

“How do you know this producer, anyway?” he asked Elle.

“Oh, he's some kind of assistant production something, but we went to university together in England. He's a fun guy. I can't wait for you to meet him.”

“You know, between your Uncle Jorge and this producer, you're starting to look pretty well connected, Elle,” I teased. “Who else do you know? Got any uncles who work as Park Avenue shrinks—maybe a nice Jungian therapist who's looking for a protégé?”

“Believe me, I know plenty of shrinks, but you don't really want into the crazy industry, do you?” Elle laughed. “Depression is so depressing.”

“Yes, but being around us, Lindsay must have a deep understanding of neurotic behavior,” Milo added.

I nodded. “And let me say, my family laid a strong dysfunctional foundation.” I wriggled in my seat, trying to keep the skirt of my suit from creasing. “I'm glad you guys are taking a break today. You've been working pretty hard on Darcy's place. Not even taking weekends off?”

“We will,” Milo said. “We're just on a roll, figured we go with it.”

“And we wanted to finish off the roof before more rain or wind damaged the house,” Elle added. “It doesn't really feel like work when you don't have to dress up and answer to a big boss.”

“Hey, I thought I was the boss,” Milo said.

While they argued I unzipped my bag, took out my new cell phone, and checked for messages. It wasn't like anyone even knew my number, but I enjoyed checking for voice mail, then scrolling through my address book, lingering on one name . . . Bear.

“What's that?” Elle asked.

I turned to her. “My new cell.”

“I know what a cell phone looks like. What's that name in your address book—Bear?”

“It's his cell number. He had a cell phone before any of us, remember?”

“But you just got yours. You programmed his number in?” Elle pressed. “Have you been in touch with Bear?”

“I wish. We've talked, like, twice over the winter, and I got a few postcards,” I admitted, but Elle's intense gaze made me squirm. “So what if I have his number. It's not like I'm waiting for him to call.”

“Here's a revolutionary idea,” Elle said. “Why don't you call him?”

“In Hawaii? I . . . I don't know if my cell goes there.”

“Bullshit. You're just afraid.” Elle snatched the small black phone from my hands.

“Elle . . . give it back. I think Hawaii has roaming charges.”

“What do you care? What good is a cell phone if you never use it?” She held the phone back, out of my reach. “What's the point of having his number if you never call it?”

“Just give me the phone back,” I pleaded. When Elle didn't budge I turned to Milo.

“I know nothing,” he said, holding his hands up defensively. “I don't own a cell phone and I met this Bear man, like, once.”

When I turned back to Elle, Bear's name was on the screen and Elle was pressing the call button. “No!”

With a giggle, Elle listened to the phone a second and handed it back to me. “It's ringing . . . you can't hang up now, or he'll know you chickened out.”

My nerves burned in anticipation as I pressed the phone to my ear and waited through three excruciatingly long rings until Bear answered in a gravelly voice.

“Bear? It's Lindsay.”

“Hey, Linds.” He cleared his throat. “What's up?”

He sounded so casual, I felt as if we could instantly pick up where we'd left off. “I'm on my way into Manhattan for a job interview.” I pushed out of my seat and moved down the aisle, back two rows to an empty seat. “I got a new cell phone and I was thinking of you and, I don't know, just thought I'd call.”

“Cool. How's the surfing there?”

I told him about an offshore storm that had brought some big waves in last week.

“And what's it like for you?” I asked. “Is Hawaii really as amazing as they say?”

He groaned. “Even better. It's really paradise, Linds. You can live in a shack without electricity but you don't really care because you've got this amazing ball of sun and waves that are totally irresistible.”

“Really? So I guess you're not heading back anytime soon.”

He laughed. “How's everyone? Your ma?” I gave him an update on my mother, Steve's new job that was sucking up his time, and how Sal was complaining that the new deliveryman could never find anyone's address.

And most of all, I miss you,
I wanted to say, the words lingering on my lips. But even though I'd turned away from my friends and had ample privacy on the deserted late-morning train, I didn't know how to make the leap from the mundane to something so personal.

Muffled sounds came from his end of the line. “Hold on a second,” he said, and there was the sound of movement, his voice, her voice. I couldn't catch the words, but the intonation was clear. Something like: “Is everything okay? Are you all right? Who is it, honey?”

“Sorry,” he said, coming back on the line.

“Where are you?” I asked pointedly.

“In bed. It's pretty early here, and surf isn't up till afternoon today.”

I felt a wound, deep in my chest, so painful I had to pretend we were going into the tunnel and end the call. The train threw me to one side as I made my way back to my friends. I held on to the seat rail, feeling off balance, knocked out of normal planetary orbit.

“Aren't you glad you called?” Elle asked as I returned to my seat.

“I'm not so sure about that. I got him out of bed, and I don't think his girlfriend appreciated it.”

Elle winced. “Crap.”

“At least I know; he's moved on.” Fighting tears, I focused on the landscape racing past the window, the rows of houses edging up to the train tracks, the cars waiting at streetlights or shooting down a parallel highway, everyone in a hurry.

Like the speeding train, Bear had forged ahead. So why couldn't I? Why was I the one left behind at the station?