Season of Salt and Honey (28 page)

Place about 2 teaspoons marmalade in a line in the center of each oval. Fold together the sides of each oval until they almost touch and pinch the ends (leaving the center agape). Place about 1 inch apart on the baking sheet.

Bake until golden, 15 to 20 minutes. Transfer to racks to cool. While still warm, dust with powdered sugar. Store in an airtight container.

• • • •

P
apa walks down the steps behind me, carrying a tray loaded with as many cups as we could find.

Mrs. Gardner's pale blue eyes, morning-sky blue, are roving back and forth, taking in the scene. Her face is drawn and her clothes hang from her more loosely than usual. Mr. Gardner stands apart from his wife. He's holding the car keys as though they're a talisman.

“Giuseppe,” Mrs. Gardner says.

“Mrs. Gardner. May I offer you an espresso?”

She purses her lips. She is wearing tan pants, a silk blouse, and a string of pearls. I watch Aunty Connie roll her own pearls between her fingertips.

“Barbara, Marshall,” Merriem says, cheerfully, but only Mr. Gardner gives her a little nod. He catches my eye and gives me a tired smile before glancing at his feet.

Mrs. Gardner shakes her head at Papa, speaks in a clipped voice. “No. No, thank you.”

Papa places the tray on the table and finds an empty seat, which he offers her. She refuses again. The Caputo chatter seems
to have been silenced. Even the wet children are looking at the strange woman who hasn't been introduced. I open my mouth to do so when she cuts me off.

“My husband and I”—she turns her head to include him in the statement—“have come to inform you
personally
that you are trespassing.”

Teresina looks at me, alarmed, and Bella comes to stand by my side. Aunty Rosa whispers to Teresina.

Mrs. Gardner continues. “We have sent several messages via our groundskeeper”—she emphasizes Jack's title—“giving you notice of the fact, but you seem to have ignored them.”

Papa looks to Mr. Gardner, but he's staring past us all at the cabin.

“Barbara,” Papa says, his voice low, “Francesca is staying for only a short time. It has been difficult.”

“It has been difficult for us
all
,” Mrs. Gardner says, “but that does not excuse taking advantage . . . breaking the law, in fact.”

She eyeballs me and my stomach drops. I suddenly feel tiny.

“Hey, lady, you don't know what you're talking about.” I glance over at Vinnie who's shaking his head. “Frankie? Breaking the law?”

Mr. Gardner steps forward and touches Mrs. Gardner's shoulder. “Darling, perhaps—”

She shrugs him off. “No. It's the principle of the thing. Look at them all—making themselves at home.”

“We are here to support our niece!” Aunty Connie pipes up.

“Surely you can allow your own daughter-in-law, your
famiglia
, some time here?” Aunty Rosa hisses, incredulous. “It isn't being used. It needs some upkeep, to be honest.”

Mrs. Gardner glares at her and I know what she's thinking:
She is not my daughter-in-law
.

Mr. Gardner whispers his wife's name again, pleading. Aunty Connie agrees loudly with Aunty Rosa. There's whispering all around: Teresina to her fiancé, who is nodding; Cristina murmuring to the baby, who's woken up; Roberto pressing the other two children to his legs, covering their ears; Vinnie frowning and muttering, lifting his chin; Mario's boys seeming suddenly taller and angrier.

My heart pounds as I feel the heat of Mrs. Gardner's gaze upon me. I meet it.

“It's not your cabin,” she says to me, her voice low and steely. I notice the blusher on her cheeks, applied a little too heavily.

“I know,” I reply.

“You won't get it. It'll go to Daniel.”

Daniel moves towards us, but Mrs. Gardner doesn't notice him. She's leaning towards me, lifting her finger to my face.

“Mom,” Daniel says.

“You're not a Gardner,” she hisses at me. “You never will be.”

“Mom!”

“Barbara,” Mr. Gardner says.

“She won't have it!” she shouts wildly.

Mario's boys and Vinnie are all standing now. The trees seem to bear down. I feel sick. I look at Daniel, who stares at me and then at his mom. Mr. Gardner is trying to pull Mrs. Gardner away, and also trying to catch Daniel's attention, but Mrs. Gardner is loud.

“Let me go!”

“Come on, darling.”

“Let me go right now!”

“I think it's best if we—”

She struggles out of Mr. Gardner's grip and cries, “Little . . .
whore
!”

I reel back, my fingers against my cheek, though she hasn't touched me.

“That's enough!” That's Bella and her body is right up against mine now, moving to stand in front of me. Papa has grabbed hold of my hand. Vinnie is close too, his biceps twitching, his jaw square.

“She let him go surfing that day!” Mrs. Gardner bellows.

“I couldn't stop him. . . . He loved the sea,” I mumble uselessly, pleading with her.

“You think you know everything about your son? You think he was flawless?” Bella shouts at her.

I reach out to stop her. “No, Bella, don't.”

Mrs. Gardner is writhing in her husband's arms, her silk shirt twisting. I can see her bra, the loose skin of her stomach as she struggles. When she yells spit comes out of her mouth. “She seduced him!”

“How dare you!” Bella screams.

“She did nothing of the sort!” Aunty Connie retorts, her voice shrill.

Bella is pointing, threatening. “Stay away from my sister! She's been through enough.”

“Mom, please. Stop. Please?” Daniel is begging his mom, but
reaching out for Bella. I watch him take hold of her hand. Their fingers lace together easily, out of instinct.

Mrs. Gardner sees it too. “See? See! They are just like that other . . . French bitch! Get away from my boys!
Whores!
”

The Caputo men crowd in, tall and dark and silent as the trees. Mr. Gardner glances at them, eyes wide. Mrs. Gardner struggles in his arms, shaking her head from side to side. She spots something beyond the end of the table and lunges in that direction.

“Jack!” she calls. “Arrest her!”

I look up to see Jack jogging out of the forest with long strides. The men wheel around, confronting the new arrival. Jack glances at Mrs. Gardner and then to me, his eyes round. He's still looking at me when Luca, Mario's son, buries his fist into his stomach. There's the strangest sound, like someone punching a pillow rather than a person, and Jack folds down to the ground. “Jack!” I cry out.

And then Daniel is lurching towards Luca to pull him off Jack, and Luca's brothers are tearing at Daniel, and Vinnie's among it all too, and the table crashes on its side and the dark espresso splashes up Mrs. Gardner's tan trouser legs.

*  *  *

The cabin is mine.

It tumbles out in a chain of whispers. Mr. Gardner to Daniel, after his wife is finally in the car. Daniel buckles her into the seat as though she's the child; he's the only one she'll let touch her.

Vinnie overhears, and tells Bella.

The cabin was Alex's, it turns out, left to him by his grandfather, Hank Gardner, because Alex was his favorite. And Alex left everything to me. He made a will a few months ago, when he renewed a bunch of insurances, something I didn't know. So many things I haven't known.

The cabin key, in my jeans pocket, suddenly feels heavier.

“We'll contest it!” Mrs. Gardner wails from the car, her voice full of grief, her face and clothes crumpled.

The huddle around me starts to disperse. Zio Mario puts his family in the car; the boys with wild, happy eyes, his wife crying and reprimanding at the same time. Cristina has already left, her kids munching on big boxes of Milk Duds, nonplussed. Zia Connie and Zia Rosa wash dishes with Bella in the cabin, gossiping and admonishing too, no doubt, while Papa and Uncle Roberto stack chairs into Vinnie's pickup.

Jack offers to help clean up. Thanks to my cousins he has an eye that's going to go black and an angry red scratch across his collarbone.

I shake my head. “No, it's okay, thank you.”

Together we look out at the mess. The table has been righted but the ground is still covered in broken crockery and food and discarded cutlery.

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “There are lots of hands.”

Jack clears his throat. “I was coming to warn you. Mrs. Gardner called. She sounded . . . well, how she was.”

“There was nothing you could do,” I say.

“I've never seen her like that.”

“She hates me.”

Jack pauses, but doesn't disagree with me. “What will happen now? Will you stay?”

I tip my head, considering.

“Sorry, you don't have to answer that.”

“It's okay. It's just that I don't know.”

He nods, looks down at his feet. He's wearing black Havaianas; I'm surprised he ran as fast as he did in them.

“I'm sorry,” he says again.

“It's not your fault.”

He winces and clears his throat again. “No, I mean about the other day. I should never have said what I said.”

I shake my head. “No, I asked. I was—”

“You were upset. I shouldn't have—”

“Jack. Stop. Please. I was unfair and I should be the one saying sorry. Please stop saying sorry?”

“Okay.”

I think of myself screaming at him, leaning against the car, being helped into his house. A whirling, wailing, confused tornado of grief. Not unlike Mrs. Gardner. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Maybe we should agree to pretend it never happened,” I say.

Jack doesn't reply.

I open my eyes to find him staring at me, bruised and expectant.

“Frankie, if you ever want . . . a friend . . . or something. To talk or have a coffee . . .”

He looks away.

“Coffee?” I ask.

He nods, still not looking at me. “Coffee. Tea. Cake. A piece of bread . . . a walk. Pretty much anything.”

“Anything,” I repeat, dumbly, feeling oddly light-headed.

“Yeah. I know I shouldn't be saying this, but I don't want you to just disappear, if that's what you're going to do, without saying . . .”

“Okay,” I mumble.

He looks down at his legs, brushes dirt from them, coughs. I can't stop staring at him.

“I should get back to Huia,” he says. “Merriem said she'd get her painting eggs.”

“It's not Easter,” I say.

“I don't think it matters. They made Christmas cookies a few weeks ago.”

I suddenly have a vision of Merriem and Huia peering into an oven full of baking cookies. The kitchen is warm and smells of cinnamon and brown sugar and there's a bowl of runny red icing on the counter with a wooden spoon in it that's already been licked. Huia's face is scrunched up because she's impatient, and Merriem has her arm around her. My tongue ties; I can't remember what I was going to say. I stare at Jack as my eyes start to fill with tears.

“Frankie? Are you all right?” His voice is thick with concern.

“Yes,” I say, taking a quick breath. “Yes, fine, sorry. You should go. Huia will be getting worried.”

“I can stay and help.”

“No.” It comes out too blunt and I regret it. “It's fine. Truly, I'm fine,” I lie.

But when Jack does leave, retreating down the winding path through the trees that takes him out of sight, I realize my hands are shaking. The memory of Mrs. Gardner twisting out of her shirt, her eyes bulging and ferocious; learning that the cabin was Alex's all along and now it's mine; the image of Merriem and Huia together without me; and the thought of not being here with them and close to Jack—they all leave me trembling.

• • • •

I
sense someone beside me and turn to see Daniel. He takes hold of my quivering hand and squeezes it. His presence is so much like Alex's it makes my whole body uncoil from the inside.

“I have to go,” Daniel tells me. “I think Mom needs me right now.”

I notice that he's changed into a clean shirt. I stand by while he pushes some clothes into a bag, his guitar beside him. I pass him a sweater he has dropped.

“Alex never told me about the cabin,” I say.

Daniel nods. “I don't think he ever thought about it actually belonging to him. Granddad died a long time ago.”

“Alex was his favorite.”

“Yeah, he was.”

“Your mom and dad thought it would go back to the family.”

Daniel shrugs. “You were his family too, Frankie.”

Tears threaten again. I feel as though I've stolen something. “I don't need it. It should be yours.”

He shakes his head. “It was Alex's. It was his decision for you
to have it. I know you'll take care of it, choose what to do. . . . It'll be right.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. It will be okay. In the end.” His voice is weary and resigned. “I don't want a cabin, Frankie. I want my brother. That's all I care about.”

“I know,” I whisper.

The idea of the cabin being legally mine is too strange to deal with, and I know that Mrs. Gardner is serious about contesting the will. I can't imagine it will be mine after the Gardners are through throwing money and lawyers and rage into the fight for it. Daniel is right. Beyond the strangeness is the fact that it doesn't really matter. We both wish it was still Alex's and that Alex was still alive.

I know I won't tell Daniel about Summer. Someone else might, one day, perhaps, but I won't.

“No wonder your mom was angry,” I say.

“She's really hurting.”