Skinny Dipping (30 page)

“I told her not to feed them table scraps.” Joe nodded sanctimoniously.

Mimi narrowed her eyes at him. “Men who rely on the kindness of strangers ought to remember not only on which side their bread is buttered but who is buttering it. Besides, they’re not scraps. We share and you did
not
tell me not to feed them human food. You said their food was in the freezer and the only thing in the freezer is human food,” Mimi rejoined.

“That’s because their food is in the freezer chest in the garage,” Prescott said heatedly. “Portion-controlled rations with each dog’s name printed clearly on the labels. A balanced diet of chicken, lamb, rice, minerals, calcium, and vitamin supplements that I designed for them individually after studying canine nutrition.”

“That’s what you meant when you were taking off in the ambulance and you said, ‘There’s food in the freezer’? I thought you were talking about me and
this
freezer. How was I supposed to know you were feeding these mutts a special diet? Let me tell you, Pres, they weren’t talking.”

“You are.” Prescott gasped as if just tumbling to some deep universal truth.
“You don’t know anything about dogs at all, do you?”

“No.”

“I bet you didn’t even bathe them.”

“Right again. Joe did.”

“Why, you probably don’t even like dogs.”

“Now, that’s
not
true. I entered the relationship in good faith, without any bias one way or the other. I’ve never had a dog or lived with a dog. I will say, however,” she admitted in the spirit of full disclosure, “had Bill been my sole interaction with the doggy world, then no, I probably would have said I don’t like dogs. But he’s not,” she pointed out, “and I do.”

“If you don’t like Bill, why did you give him to me?”

“Because you said you’d take him.” Now, why would that make him go red in the face?

“You mean you
didn’t
sense the sort of person I was? That you could trust me? That I was caring and responsible? That I would take the charge you placed on me seriously—”

“No,” Mimi said, her voice hard. Prescott had made her feel like she’d let him and Bill down. Worse, he’d made her care that she’d let them down. “Look,” she said, deciding to be scrupulously honest. “I saw an opportunity to transfer a responsibility I did not want to a kid who was dying to have one and at the same time getting a little back from him for ruining my lake.”

Prescott’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at Mimi.

Joe, Mimi noted, was watching them closely. “Dying to have one?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” she shot at him.

“Ruining your lake?”
Prescott breathed, his face tight with indignation.

Mimi frowned. “Well, yeah.”

Prescott drew himself up in the wheelchair, his lip quivering with suppressed emotion. “And just how am
I
ruining
your
lake?”

Was he kidding? How could he not know the established Fowl Lake community loathed his Piney Palace and him for building it?

“Take a look,” she said, amazed. “You and the people like you, people with more money than they know how to spend, you decide to build yourself a ‘getaway’ and come up and take over. Have you ever given a thought to what sort of impact throwing up these monster houses has on anyone else? Like families who’ve been coming up here for generations?”

Prescott glared at her. “Yes. I increase the property value.”

“You jack up the property prices and with it the property taxes until no one but your type can afford them. But worse, you make anyone who doesn’t own a half dozen Jet Skis and three-tiered decks with outdoor sound systems feel like an outsider. On their own lake. In the cabins and cottages their families have been coming to for decades. You slap up your mansions and you loom over us until people like the Sbodas end up selling.
That’s
how you’re ruining my lake.”

Prescott was bright red.

“That’s hardly fair—” Joe started to say, but Prescott, his face a brilliant red, swung around toward him.

“You stay out of this. This is my business. My house.” He turned to Mimi. “Do you have anything else you want to add?”

“Yeah. Why do you even bother?” Mimi went on. “You don’t care about the lakes or your monster mansions. The turnover is like once every three years. You’re squatters, only here until the next thing captures your imagination. You’re tourists.”

“Bullshit,” Prescott snapped, his voice quavering. “You can’t just judge me like that. You don’t know what my intentions are here or what motivated me to build this place. You don’t know anything about me at all. Just like I guess I don’t know you.”

“Bingo. You’re finally getting it,” she snapped back.

He ignored her. “You might not like the house, but you can’t tell me I’m a tourist. You just don’t want to share the lake. You’re just a snob, you and your family. So caught up in making comparisons that you won’t give a chance to anyone whose family hasn’t been here for a hundred years and still pumps their water from a well.”

He had a point, but she was still angry about his idolization, her guilt, and this place and all the places like it that would be built and what they meant to the future of Chez Ducky. But at the very core of her anger was a realization that her place, Chez Ducky, was the only place in her life where she wasn’t a tourist, a passer-through, the only place where she had a personal investment. And with that realization came fear. “You’re not interested in sharing,” she said. “You’re confiscating.”

“I am not. I’m staking a claim. Just like your great-great-how-ever-many-great-grandparents who showed up here one weekend and decided to claim a piece of the lake for themselves. They were tourists, too. How am I—” He stopped, tightened his lips, and went on, “How can a person ever belong somewhere if he doesn’t ever make the effort to go there in the first place?”

Abruptly, Mimi’s anger evaporated as understanding took root. Prescott had thought he was buying a place he could belong to, not a place that belonged to him. If anyone should understand that, she should.

Empathy flooded her. She looked up to find Prescott regarding her with a defensive jut to his jaw. Sarah and Joe were sitting quietly, their eyes watchful. Something about Joe’s expression told her that Prescott’s words had struck a chord with him, too. Was Joe, too, looking for a place he belonged? Was Sarah?

“You’re right, Prescott,” Mimi said. “I don’t have any business making assumptions about you. I’m an ass. I’m jealous because you can afford to protect what you have and I can’t.”

Prescott blinked and Joe’s brows shot up in surprise. Even Sarah looked shocked.

“What? Don’t people in your family ever own up to being wrong?” Mimi asked. “And why are you staring at me like that, Sarah? I said I was an ass. I got carried away.”

“I know you did,” Sarah said. “I’ve never heard you sound so vehement about anything before. Mom would have been stunned. Mary would have applauded.”

“Oh, crap,” Mimi said.

“I didn’t think it was all that impressive,” Joe said, protectiveness coloring his usually soothing voice. “She simply went on the offensive.”

For whatever reason, he abruptly stopped and his skin reddened slightly. “But even the most level-headed person, especially in the throes of strong emotion, can say things they might later regret. Most of us take weeks to admit it, if we ever do. Mimi doesn’t seem to have that problem.”

“Well, she did make certain points,” Prescott conceded. “I just didn’t think of things in that light.”

“I didn’t think of things in your light, either,” Mimi said. They regarded each other warily. Joe and Sarah nodded encouragingly to both of them.

“Look, Prescott. It’s not that I disliked you. I disliked—and continue to dislike—your house. But the main, the primary, the overwhelming reason that I gave you Bill was that I wanted to leave and you said you’d take the dog. You said you’d send pictures. I thought you looked like an okay guy. End of story.”

Prescott was still offended. “I can’t believe you left a vulnerable, defenseless little animal with just anyone.”

Put that way, it did sound despicable. “In fairness to myself—and I always try to be scrupulously fair to myself—I don’t know that I would do the same today. I didn’t know how dependent dogs are when I dumped Bill on you, Prescott.” It was true, too. “Peace?”

He looked at Sarah and Joe. They nodded again, like benevolent bobble-head dolls. “Okay. I guess.”

Suddenly, from the front hall, “When the Saints Go Marching In,” started playing. Mimi would never have believed a call from Jessica could make her so happy. “Excuse me. I have a business call coming in.”

She headed to the front closet and the jacket she’d left her cell phone in.

“What business? What’s she talking about? Who’s that?” she heard Prescott asking from the living room.

“She’s a medium,” Sarah replied in a casual voice. “She talks to dead people and reports the conversation to the living.”

“Some dead person’s calling here?” Prescott sounded torn between fascination and holding on to his grudge. “She’s talking to ghosts in my front hall? Can I watch?”

“No!” Mimi shouted back, digging the cell phone out of her pocket and flipping it open. “Hello, Jess. We just talked. Why are you calling again?”

“I wanted to see if you gave me your real phone number.”

“As you can see, I gave you the real thing.”

“I got something else to say.”

“Go for it.”

She heard Jess take a deep breath, then another, like she was preparing for a pole vault. “I know you can’t really talk to my mom. Neil thinks so, too. I just want you to know I know.”

“Okay.”

Another, even longer silence followed.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Jessica finally burst out.

Mimi sighed. “What do you want me to say, Jess? That you’re right, I’m a fraud? I’ve bilked you out of hundreds of dollars and I wish you hadn’t seen through my chicanery?”

“What’s ‘chicanery’?” Jessica whispered.

“Trickery.”

“Oh.” Another pause. When Jessica spoke again her voice was subdued, a little forlorn. “No. I don’t want you to say that. I want you to tell me you’re real. That what you say Mom said is real.”

Mimi leaned her shoulder against the wall, tucking the cell phone close. “What good would that do, Jess?” she asked softly. “I can’t prove it. It would just be the word of a suspected fraud telling her patsy what she wanted to hear. Be reasonable, what else would I say?”

“I just want you to say it.”

“Can’t do, Jess. Some things you have to take on faith.”

“What if you find out your faith was misplaced?”

Mimi’s thoughts turned toward Prescott and how he’d assumed she’d had everyone’s best interests at heart when she’d left Bill with him and how he clearly felt betrayed when he found out she hadn’t. She should see this as Prescott’s problem, not hers. She hadn’t purposely misrepresented herself. But Prescott had thought her better than she was and Jess was still waiting for an answer.

“You hope it won’t be the next time.”

“But you keep on taking things on faith? You keep on giving people a chance?” she asked.

“If those people are lucky,” Mimi said.

Jess was quiet a moment. “I should let you go back to your friends. I…I guess I shouldn’t have called. I guess I should have had a little faith in you. Bye.”

She hung up, leaving Mimi glad she didn’t have to answer.

Even though they’d finished dinner, Mimi and Sarah were still foraging. Mimi stood in the open refrigerator door, eating something straight off the shelf, and Sarah was picking through the rest of the salad looking for garlic croutons. All the high emotions of the previous hour seemed to have been forgotten by everyone except Joe. Prescott had evidently decided that Mimi’s vitriol wasn’t personal, and Mimi’s attitude toward Prescott had subtly changed. Joe thought she regretted offending Prescott. In fact, the two of them were getting along rather well, though Joe no longer detected even the slightest trace of Mimi-worship from Prescott.

It had been a revealing conversation, not only for Mimi and Prescott, but for Joe, too.

While Joe felt Mimi had done the right thing in telling Prescott what she thought of his building this house here (he appreciated candor, even if it wasn’t always pleasant), he’d been surprised by the surge of protectiveness that had come over him when he’d seen how hurt Prescott had appeared. At the same time he’d realized that Mimi had spoken only because her emotions had been so strongly engaged. Just like his emotions had been strongly engaged when he’d accused her of conning Prescott. He’d wanted to say more, but Prescott had dealt with her accusations himself and done so well. Joe had been proud of his son.

“Whatever you’re eating, don’t give any to the dogs,” Prescott said. “Some human food can make dogs ill. Like chocolate. Don’t feed them any chocolate cake.”

“Don’t worry,” Mimi mumbled.

“Right,” Prescott said, watching her like a hawk.

Joe noted Prescott’s reaction. Though Mimi had clearly been sacked from her role as Mommy Madonna, Joe suspected she was being recast as Retro-Hippie Spiritualist. She obviously fascinated Prescott. He kept asking her about her philosophy. Mimi kept eating, giving him throwaway answers that sounded interesting until you realized they were all quotes printed on the outside of the Starbucks paper coffee cups. Prescott didn’t drink coffee.

Joe kept quiet. God, he knew so little about his kid. He hadn’t had much opportunity to watch his son interact with other people. He and Prescott had always gotten together in a vacuum, separated from the rest of the world. Why had that been, when it was so clear to Joe now that Prescott was not a loner at all, but someone who was simply alone?

Mimi could be spouting bullshit or brilliance, pap or sincerity. Whether she knew the difference was open to speculation. Joe figured she did. She’d certainly shaken up his relationship with Prescott. And with Karen. It wasn’t that he credited her with illuminating his relationships with lightning bolts of insight. She just said aloud things he’d known, but the way she’d said them, without ascribing any particular moral weight to them, had dissolved both the disloyalty he’d felt toward Karen in questioning her motives and the guilt he’d felt toward Prescott for not questioning them earlier. Questioning Karen, he realized, didn’t mean he didn’t love her. He had. She was, as Mimi had pointed out, an amazing person. And also very possibly a head case.

It didn’t matter.

Mimi hip-checked the refrigerator door closed. In each hand she held pale roundish globs. The sparkle was back in her eye—there was no keeping Mimi Olson too long on the serious side of life. Whether it was of devilment or pleasure he couldn’t tell. Mimi often gave the impression of knowing a delicious secret that she was dying to share but knew no one would believe. He’d believe.

“What do the dead sound like?” Prescott was asking.

“Don’t encourage her,” said Sarah.

“No,” Prescott said. “I’m interested. What do they sound like?”

Mimi popped a ball into her mouth and munched pensively. “They don’t have actual voices. Unsurprising, since they have no voice boxes. I don’t really hear words. I more sense things.”

“How do you tell one ghost from the other?”

“I dunno.”

Prescott turned to Sarah. “Is she putting me on?”

Sarah shrugged. “I dunno.”

Prescott looked at Joe.

“I dunno, either,” Joe said.

“Nobody knows,” Mimi pronounced.

“The trouble I’ve seen,” Joe rejoined.

Mimi smiled in delight. She looked damn pretty. “What time it is? Pop songs count.”

Prescott’s eyes widened with discovery. “Which way the wind blows!”

Mimi laughed. “God only knows.”

“The Shadow knows,” Joe said.

“Who’s the Shadow?” Prescott asked.

“What are you guys talking about?” Sarah asked a little anxiously. “Were there funny mushrooms in those meatballs? Is my baby okay?”

“The baby’s fine. We were just playing,” said Mimi, giving Prescott a conspiratorial grin.

“And Sarah calls herself a genius,” Prescott said, surprising Mimi into laughter.

Joe leaned back smiling and looked around the table. The mockery between the sisters, Prescott’s unexpected humor, the casual affection with which everyone treated the dogs, even the lack of a cohesive reason for all of them being here, contributed to his sense of well-being. It was different from anything he’d ever known. It was irresistible.

“What is that you’re eating?” Prescott asked Mimi, pointing at the little beige balls studded with dark flecks in her hand.

“Cookie dough.”

“That’s disgusting,” Prescott said.

“Gimme one,” said Sarah.

“No,” Joe said, leaning forward and trying to knock Mimi’s hand away. She avoided him.

“Raw eggs. Salmonella.” Prescott carried on the fight. “Sarah could get sick.”

“Not to worry,” Mimi said, handing Sarah a ball. “These are prepackaged, preformed, refrigerated cookies of a type that does not use raw eggs. Now”—she brushed her hands—“we gotta get going, Sarah.”

“Where? Chez Ducky?” Prescott asked. “But it’s still early.”

“Yup,” Mimi said. “Sarah hasn’t even seen the place.”

“You should record your first impressions,” Joe told Sarah. “I’ll bet they’ll be interesting.”

“What does he mean?” Sarah asked Mimi.

Mimi smiled serenely at him. “Ignore Bubble Boy. Unless it’s sprayed daily with bleach, he’s sure it’s carrying typhus.”

He smiled back, but he wanted to say,
Stay.

Sarah pushed herself up from the table. “Don’t worry, Mr. Tierney, I’m not high maintenance. Mimi says it’ll be like camping. I think I’d like camping.”

“That’s nice, dear,” Joe said amiably.

Mimi led her sister to the front door, where they bundled themselves into their coats and jackets. After short good-byes, they got into Sarah’s Lexus and drove away. Prescott watched them disappear into the night.

“I wish they could have stayed,” he murmured. He shot a self-conscious glance at Joe. “Bill liked Sarah.”

Joe rolled back out of the front hall, settling his chair on one side of the bank of windows. Prescott wheeled himself to the other side. Both of them stared at the darkening sky.

“Do you think I should let Bill out again?” Joe asked.

“I think he’s fine.”

“Okay.” They fell silent again, but this silence didn’t have the same quality as past silences they’d shared. This silence was less silent. Cozier. Smaller.

“Good stargazing,” Joe said. He felt Prescott’s gaze on him.

“Thanks for not telling Mimi about how we ended up on the floor,” Prescott said. “That I swung and missed.”

“No problem.”

“And thanks for coming here to, ah, help out with things,” Prescott mumbled. “It couldn’t have been easy with all your work.”

“No big deal,” Joe said. “I was glad to do it.”

The silence tensed and as quickly relaxed again.

“You know much about astronomy?” Prescott asked after a bit.

“Not a thing,” Joe said, feeling weirdly content. “You?”

“Some. A little.”

“Hm. So, where’s Orion’s Belt?”

Prescott rolled his wheelchair closer to Joe’s and pointed out into the darkness. “See the Big Dipper?”

“That’s one I do know.”

“Okay. Follow the handle—”

The front door banged open, startling Prescott. The dogs, likewise startled, blurted into a chorus of frightened howls. All except Bill. His lip curled back over his teeth and a deep rumble emanated from his little barrel chest as he swaggered into the hall like Popeye the Sailor.

Prescott and Joe waited expectantly.

Sarah appeared in the doorway, clutching a suitcase. She dropped it with a thud. “To hell with the camping. Can I stay here?”