Revel (5 page)
My grandmother almost imperceptibly relaxed the set of her shoulders, and gave him a nod. “That’s right, Sean.”
Despite his youth the tall guy seemed to carry some weight of authority, because people started to disperse, still casting curious glances my way.
I looked around. Ben had disappeared too. I felt bad; the old man had only tried to help me, and I didn’t want him to be in trouble over it. But it was beginning to get dark, and my grandmother crunched across the parking lot, giving me no choice but to follow.
Wordlessly she grabbed my soggy suitcase, headed over to one of the golf carts and flung it into the back as easily as if it had been a bag of knitting. I crawled into the little vehicle and sat, holding myself stiffly away from her. From the corner of my eye, I watched her hands, big on the tiny steering wheel. There was dirt under her fingernails and her hands were rough, with prominent reddened knuckles. I could hardly believe this woman had given birth to my mother. Mom had been delicate and beautiful. And kind. And thoughtful.
The apple had fallen pretty far from the tree, I thought.
Like in a different orchard. On a different planet
.
“I don’t have to stay with you, you know,” I said as the golf cart chugged up the street. “I’m sure I could find someplace else.”
My grandmother’s eyes never left the road. “Don’t be foolish. Of course you’ll stay with me.”
It wasn’t an invitation. There was no way to lend it any graciousness. Every syllable this woman uttered, every look she gave me, said I was nothing more than a burden to be tolerated.
We rode in silence up the main road past the little storefronts. The sandy terrain disappeared. Green grass and bushes with pink flowers overtook the roadside. My grandmother kept a sneakered foot hammered to the pedal, making the golf cart whine.
She kept glancing to either side of the narrow road. I followed her gaze into the densely shadowed trees. All I saw were lengthening shadows between the pines and that strange, thick mist that covered everything. We turned off onto a dirt road and then again, onto a packed track in the grass. The golf cart rolled to a stop.
A small yellow house with white shutters stood before me, hemmed in by tall bushes of lilac. I could hear the surf somewhere nearby, and the air smelled tangy with salt. A big hanging basket next to the front door held red geraniums and trailing ivy. An old-fashioned globe-style lamp glowed in the window, making a cozy, welcoming beacon against the gloom of the mist. But there was a general look of disrepair about the house; the wraparound porch sagged and there was a broken window on the second floor. The whole thing needed a paint job.
I wished I could say something cool or snide. Something that showed her I didn’t care. But I couldn’t.
I loved it.
I just stood looking at the house for a moment, then ran my hand along the railing as I walked up the steps with my bag. I wanted to save all of this in my mind, to remember everything later.
My grandmother only watched me silently, her expression grim, then threw open the front door and stood back to allow me to walk in. She came in behind me and heaved the door shut, leaning against it for a moment with her heavy upper body. Then she whirled around, her big hands reaching out. I flinched as my grandmother stumbled forward and grabbed me. With a hoarse sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, she pulled me close and hugged me.
“My precious girl,” she murmured. She covered the top of my head with kisses and my cheeks with kisses, over and over, and stroked my hair, all the while squeezing me so tight I became breathless. After a time she loosened her grip. She smoothed back my mussed hair and cupped my face gently in her hands. Her gray eyes looked watery and red. She gently pushed my skewed glasses back into place.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered.
I
stared at her. “I don’t understand.”
My grandmother gave me the ghost of a smile. “Nope. You don’t. You can’t. Sweetie, you never should have come. But it’s a joy for me to see you.” Her voice roughened. “I’m sorry I acted the way I did, but I thought it was for the best. Helen—” She broke off. “I suppose your mother didn’t want you to ever come here.”
“No. She didn’t. But why?”
“She ever talk about this place?” Her tone was gruff and somehow hopeful.
“No. Not until she got sick. But—” I hesitated. “She wanted to come back.”
Then I explained the way I’d learned about the island. How I’d found some old coins that Mom had collected in the safe-deposit box and used them to pay for my trip.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered again when I was done. “I never thought she’d tell you about Trespass. I never thought I’d see her, or you.”
What had happened to keep Mom away from here? I didn’t know, but the heartache I saw in my grandmother’s face was real. “I don’t think she ever meant to,” I said. “And a lot of what she said was so strange and mixed-up. But she wanted to come back here.” Hesitantly I reached for my backpack and took out my mother’s ashes. They were in a beautiful green porcelain vase decorated with sprigs of yellow and white flowers. “I think she would want these to be here.”
My grandmother nodded and bent her head. “Thank you,” she whispered, reaching out hands that suddenly looked very old and very frail.
We sat on the couch and talked for a long time. “There’s so much I want to know about you,” my grandmother said. “You’ve got another year of high school left. Then what? College, maybe, or work?”
I hesitated. Those kind of questions always put my stomach in knots. “I haven’t decided about that stuff yet. Most of my friends seem to know, but I don’t have a clue, and it kind of freaks me out that I don’t but …”
She took my hand and squeezed it. “Course not. There’s no rush.”
We were both silent. Then my grandmother began again, “I’m sorry you were alone like that, after Helen died.”
“I was okay. Foster care isn’t that bad. But people don’t really want teenagers. Apparently we’re challenging. Kind of like the army.”
And I’m difficult. Too outspoken. Not a good fit
, I added to myself. But there was no need to spoil things.
She smiled. “I know what it is to be alone. I lost Charlie, your grandfather, about a year before Helen left.”
“I wish I’d been able to meet him.”
She gave me a wondering look. “I still can’t believe you’re here.” She held the urn of ashes in big hands that were amazingly gentle. “We could scatter her ashes down at the water’s edge.”
“No,” I said. “She wouldn’t want that. She was always so afraid of the water. But I think she would want to be here, on the island. In this house.”
My grandmother looked at me curiously but gave an understanding nod. “She’ll stay here, then.”
Hair made a frilly half curtain over my eyes as I dropped my head. “To be honest, bringing Mom’s ashes wasn’t the only reason I came. I hoped I’d be able to stay for the summer.”
When she didn’t answer, I added, “I don’t need to be taken
care
of. I can take care of myself. And once I’m eighteen, Family Services won’t worry about me anyway. I wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about trouble, honey,” said my
grandmother. “But this is no place for you. I’m grateful that you brought Helen’s ashes home.” She put a hand to my cheek. “That was a fine thing to do. But you can’t stay.”
Then she took my hands in her own and leaned over them, as if she wanted to tell me something important. “Just like Helen’s,” she said in a low voice, turning my palms up. “Little elegant things. You play the piano?”
Okay. That wasn’t what I’d expected.
“Mom taught me a little,” I said with a shrug. “I’m not any good—I mean, I never practiced enough.”
“Do you swim?”
“Swim?” I laughed, caught off guard by the sudden change of topic and the intent look on her face. “Um, dog paddle, I guess. Not too well. Like a dog without a paddle. Up a creek.” I frowned. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? What was the deal down there in town? Why does everyone react so strangely to a visitor? Or
overreact
, I should say.”
My grandmother still held my hands. Now she squeezed them a little tighter. “This island is a very special place. Some folks might call it strange. But we have our own way of doings things. Our own rules. I acted that way down at the dock because it’ll be safer for you. If they think it was just a mistake, if they think you don’t belong here, then maybe …” Her voice trailed away.
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe they’ll let you go.”
I withdrew my hands. Let me go? A sick feeling snaked
in my stomach and coiled tight. My grandmother might be mentally ill. What if
that
was why Mom had never come back here?
Because your grandma is clinically insane, Delia. Paranoid or delusional. Or some nifty combo of the two
.
“Who’s
they
?” I asked. I kept my tone light but couldn’t help glancing at the doorway, the closest exit.
“If they find out you’re Helen’s daughter, that she was pregnant when she left …” She laced her fingers together and tapped the pads of her thumbs, frowning to herself.
“What does it matter?” I repeated. “You mean because she wasn’t married? C’mon, people don’t really think that way anymore.”
It didn’t seem like she was listening to me. “This is
their
island,” she said; then, with an abrupt shake of her head, as if she was clearing away some bothersome thought, she added, “It doesn’t matter. You’re not staying. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Is there someone you’re afraid of?” I asked. “Has someone threatened you or … hurt you?” The thought sent an unexpected feeling through me, a rush of anger and protectiveness. Strange feelings for a woman I’d only just met and, until a little while ago, hadn’t even liked.
“No, no, nothing like that.” My grandmother waved the idea away like a mosquito. “I’m fine. It’s this place. For people who aren’t used to life here, it’s hard. And dangerous. Like the reef. There’ve been terrible wrecks on that reef you came through today. You were darned lucky.” She stood and
turned away, adding in a low voice, “The Hands are always hungry.”
“The Hands?” I got up and followed her into the kitchen. The tall, solid woman dominated the cozy space decorated in a country style—the rooster and chicken motif was pretty strong. “You mean the reef? I don’t understand. How is it hungry?”
“Not just the Hundred Hands. The sea itself is always hungry. I just mean there’s always trouble, danger waiting out there.” She pulled a red-checked curtain closed over the kitchen sink, blocking out the darkness beyond. “And island folks don’t accept everybody right off. It can be lonely here. Especially for young people.”
Would it be possible to be any lonelier than I’d been for the last six months? I didn’t think so. But I didn’t want to tell her that, I didn’t want her pity. Maybe all these strange warnings were just my grandmother’s way of saying she didn’t want me around. If so, I wished she would just tell me, not make excuses. Or try to scare me away.
I had the feeling I could do that all on my own.
“None of this makes any sense to me,” I told her. “You live here. You raised my mother here. If it’s so dangerous and lonely, then why do
you
stay?”
My grandmother let out a little dry huff. “Me? I’m set like an old barnacle. Sometimes it’s harder than you think to leave a place.” She rubbed her neck as if to ease a knot in the muscle, but I saw a scar there, nearly hidden by her braid. The
raised red line began under her ear and zigzagged beneath the collar of her blouse. She readjusted her thick gray braid and the scar disappeared.
“We shouldn’t worry about these things tonight.” She pulled a lumpy canvas sack from a low drawer and potatoes rolled out onto the countertop. “You must be half starved. We’re gonna eat some lobster salad and french fries. I fry up the best you ever had. I’m going to enjoy cooking for my granddaughter. My granddaughter,” she repeated. “How does that sound?”
“That sounds good,” I said softly.
Maybe things would be all right after all. So what if my grandmother had gotten a little odd? Living out here in the middle of nowhere all alone would do that to a person, wouldn’t it? Maybe having some company would help her.