The Islanders (29 page)

ZOEY HAD SPENT THE DAY
with Lucas, walking the beach, climbing the winding paths up the ridge, strolling along Pond Road. They'd covered nearly every square foot of the northern half of the island.

Lucas was saying good-bye, again, to his home.

They talked of everything under the sun, of his plans and hers, their hopes and dreams. He talked about his mother, how sorry he felt for her, a shadow in her own home. And he talked about his father, how he admired him, despite everything, for his moral code, his ability to work without complaining, even his determination.

And Zoey talked about her own family, the way she felt her parents had never really grown up, the way they both felt somehow guilty because Benjamin had lost his sight. But the more she talked, the differences became so clear. Yes, her father still had one foot in the past, still played Grateful Dead records and wore a ponytail. And yes, her mother flirted too
much with the guys who came into the restaurant's bar, and was, by her own admission, not into “all that parental stuff.” But what was so clear was that in her family she was loved. And despite her parents' almost daily arguments, they loved each other passionately.

She had so little to complain of, really, and Lucas had so much. Without her, Lucas was utterly alone.

They had cried, and kissed, and hugged each other till it hurt. But they had not found a way to put off the deadline that seemed now to be racing toward them at a terrible speed.

They vowed to spend every last minute they could together. They also vowed they would never give up, that they would find a way to be together.

They said good night easily at midnight, knowing that it was only a rehearsal.

Zoey went through all the motions of going to bed, lying awake in her bed until she heard her parents come home from closing the restaurant and go to sleep. At two thirty she dressed silently, stole down the stairs, and crept out the back door.

The moon was still in the sky, turning the dew that had settled in her backyard silver. She made her way up the path. She saw Lucas in his window, waiting. He held up his hand and disappeared. Seconds later the front door opened silently and she flew into his arms.

They walked at a snail's pace up the stairs and into Lucas's room.

“I knew you'd come,” he whispered.

“Of course. Nothing could stop me.”

They kissed passionately, hopelessly, lying on his bed, a tangled mess of arms and legs and twisted sheets.

Zoey knew he wanted to make love to her. And she didn't know how she could refuse. In five hours they would have to catch the ferry. In nine hours he would be on a plane. In less than eleven hours she would be back on the island, alone.

Alone.

He lay on his back, she lay on him, looking down at his dark face, knowing that her tears were falling to mingle with his. Sadness swept them both up, dampening the passion that had threatened to carry them away.

They lay together in each other's arms, saying nothing. After a while Zoey felt she might even be sleeping, as dream images floated through her mind. Images of them together, happy in sunshine.

She even smiled, the first time in so long, as she constructed fantasies of how they could find each other again. Then her bleary, swollen eyes focused on the blue numbers of his clock. Four o'clock. Their time together had shortened by another hour and a half.

She stirred, and her lips found his in the darkness. Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt. He seemed to have stopped breathing, and then, his fingers, nervous, fumbled at the front of her blouse.

“You don't have to do this,” he whispered.

“I know,” she whispered back. Was she? Was she really going to do this? Or was this just another part of her fantasy of happiness?

There was a heavy clumping on the steps and Lucas froze.

“My dad. He's going to work.”

“At four in the morning?” Zoey asked.

“Lobstermen start early,” Lucas said.

They heard the sound of the front door closing and footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway. He had not bothered to say good-bye to his own son, Zoey realized. And with Mr. Cabral gone, any last hope for a reprieve was gone, too.

Suddenly a voice came from the front yard. Not Mr. Cabral's deep, accented voice. They hesitated only a split second, then they raced to the dormered window, both half-dressed.

The sky was still dark and the moon had set, but the porch light showed them clearly—Mr. Cabral, standing, smoking a cigarette.

And Claire.

Zoey looked at Lucas questioningly and saw the trace of a smile on his lips.

“I'll be damned,” he said softly.

They dressed quickly and went down the stairs, no longer caring what anyone thought, and emerged as Mr. Cabral was walking away.

Claire had her back to them. “Mr. Cabral,” she called out. “You have to do it. You know it's the right thing.”

For what seemed an eternity, Mr. Cabral stood, his cigarette burning away in his mouth, staring down toward the distant dock. At last he half turned, looking over his shoulder at his son. “Lucas,” he said, giving the name an odd pronunciation. “Lucas, you better stay.”

For a moment it looked as if he might have something more to add, but then, grinding the butt of his cigarette out underfoot, he set off again, rounding the corner and disappearing down Center Street.

Claire turned to face them, her mouth set in a grim line. “I suppose you're wondering what I'm doing here at four in the morning,” she said, her attempt at humor falling flat.

“What
are
you doing here?” Zoey asked.

Claire ignored her, focusing on Lucas. “Look, Lucas, there's something you have to understand. I really didn't remember. After the accident I really did not remember.”

Lucas nodded and remained silent.

Claire drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I just remembered a
week ago. Things just started coming together. Mostly I guess because you returned. I guess it jarred my memory. Anyway, I've known since then. I didn't speak up because of my dad . . .”

Lucas nodded again. “I understand.”

“I don't,” Zoey said.

Claire looked surprised. “You didn't tell her?”

Lucas made a dismissive noise. “One thing you learn right away in jail—everyone in there claims to be innocent. What was the point in one more convict running around claiming he got screwed?”

“Innocent?” Zoey said, trying to piece together some understanding.

“Lucas wasn't driving the car the night Wade McRoyan was killed,” Claire said wearily. “I was.”

Zoey rocked back on her heels and put a hand over her heart. “You?”

“No one knew the truth but Lucas and my father,” Claire said. “Not even me. Lucas took the rap because . . . well, we were good friends.”

“I loved you,” Lucas said simply.

“And then my father got into the act. He helped Mr. Cabral out with a loan he needed to keep his boat. He wanted to make sure Lucas wouldn't change his mind and recant. Especially after everyone realized they were actually going to send Lucas
to jail.” Claire took another deep breath. “My father knows I know,” she said. “I told him I'd keep it quiet. He says people might think he'd broken the law himself. The loan to your father might look like he was paying you to confess.”

“I'm not going to tell anyone about that part of it,” Lucas said.

Claire sagged in relief, but Zoey was outraged. “Why would you protect Claire's father?”

“I wouldn't,” Lucas said. “I'd protect my dad, though. He doesn't know why Mr. Geiger arranged that loan. I know my old man's a bastard, but he would never sell me out for money, and it would tear him apart if he knew the whole truth. From here on out the story will just be that I was a dumb kid, so madly in love that I confessed to protect Claire. That's ninety percent of the truth, anyway.”

Claire nodded. “That's a better percentage than we've had around here lately.”

“Have you told Jake yet?” Lucas asked.

Claire hung her head and answered in a whisper. “That's next.”

“Poor Jake,” Lucas said sincerely.

“Yeah,” Claire said. She looked at each of them, her dark-in-dark eyes almost lifeless. She tried out a smile that quivered and collapsed.

“You say you've remembered for a week, at least,” Zoey said. “But you kept it a secret till now. What made you change your mind?”

This time Claire did manage a soft, sad smile. She sighed deeply. “I don't think Lucas ever had any illusions about me being perfect, back when we were together. And I know Benjamin didn't. But Jake . . . Jake thinks I'm like him. He thinks I'm sweet and honest and fundamentally decent. The more he trusted me, the worse I felt. The more he accepted my deception, the more I couldn't stand myself.”

“You felt guilty,” Zoey said.

“Yeah. It took me a while, but then I realized that was it.” She made a sour face. “Nasty feeling. I'm going to have to learn how to get over it.” She turned away and took several steps before calling over her shoulder, “You two can get back to
whatever
it was you were doing.”

Lucas grinned and took Zoey in his arms. “Can we?”

Zoey gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then firmly pushed him away. “I'm very, very sleepy. I think I'll head on home.”

“Will I see you tomorrow? I mean, later today?” Lucas called after her.

“Yes,” Zoey said, twirling around in sheer happiness. “Actually, you will.”

She tapped at the sliding glass door for a long time. The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon, a faint glow that threw the ridge into relief, black against a pearl gray sky. Claire was exhausted. She hadn't slept at all this night.

She had tossed and turned in her bed, arguing one side and then the other. Concern for her father, fear of losing Jake, versus the sense that either way she would lose Jake. How could she ever really pretend to love someone when their entire relationship was built on deception?

And as much as she tried to dismiss it, the image of Zoey crying, having to say good-bye to Lucas, and even the image of Lucas, whom she had once loved, suffering yet again for a crime he didn't commit, kept coming back.

She tapped again at Jake's door. Sooner or later he would wake up. It wasn't even five yet, a ridiculous hour for a visit. But Claire was determined to get it all over with. She couldn't let Jake learn the truth secondhand. She had to tell him herself.

A memory popped to the surface of her mind. Benjamin, of course, just a few days earlier . . . had it really been only a few days? It seemed like forever. He'd pointed his sunglasses at her and said, “In the end, as self-serving and ruthless as you are, Claire, when the line is drawn between right and wrong, I think you'll do the right thing.”

The memory brought a smile. Benjamin would feel so smug, being proved right.

The door slid open quite suddenly. Jake stood there blinking sleepily, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. “Claire?”

“I'm afraid so,” she said.

“Is something the matter?” Then his face brightened as he thought of another possibility. “Or are you just here to—”

“I have to talk to you,” she said. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” He was fully awake now and obviously puzzled.

She entered the dark room. He offered to turn on the light, but she said no, the darkness was fine. They sat together on the edge of his bed.

“What's up?” he asked.

She took his hand in hers. Then she leaned over and kissed him, not a passionate kiss. Closer to a farewell.

“I don't know any easy way to say this,” Claire said. “For a long time I didn't remember the details of the night Wade died.”

She felt him stiffen, but she maintained her grip on his hand. “But now I do remember. We had all been drinking. Lucas and I and Wade. All of us.”

“I know you were all drunk,” Jake said. “But only Lucas was driving drunk.”

Claire felt a tear trickle down her cheek. Damn. She didn't
want to do that, but she was just so tired. “Lucas wasn't driving,” she said.

For a moment Jake froze. Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away.

“Lucas was in the backseat,” Claire said. “In fact, he was saying we should pull over and walk home. But I wouldn't listen.”

“You?” he whispered.

“I was the one driving the car, Jake. And the more Lucas complained, the more I would swerve around, making a big joke of it. Until that last split second when I realized we were going to hit.” She took a deep, shaky breath and forged ahead. “And just so the whole truth is out, once and for all, I saw the tree, and I knew we would hit it. And at the very last second I yanked the wheel over so that it wouldn't hit my side of the car. I saved myself. And I killed Wade.”

NINA WAS UP EARLIER THAN
she had ever been on a Saturday, managing to catch the usual seven-forty ferry to Weymouth. The night before, just as her father was heading to bed and was yawning and vulnerable, she had talked him out of his American Express card and half the cash he had in his wallet.

She hadn't gone on a date since . . . well, for a very long time, and she needed clothes, a purse, shoes other than boots, all the usual date stuff. Probably stockings. Lip gloss, eyeliner, breath mints.

Obviously, Benjamin wouldn't really know how she looked, but still, she didn't want to show up and have him look great and her look like crap. What if someone he knew was there and came over and said, Hi, Benjamin, how come you're going out with a girl who's dressed like a skank?

It was pretty bad if you couldn't manage to dress better than a guy who couldn't even see himself in a mirror.

Once off the ferry, she caught the bus out to the mall,
arriving just as the doors opened. Instantly she felt overwhelmed. If only she had Zoey with her. But today was the day Zoey would be saying good-bye to Lucas. Not a good day to ask her along on a shopping trip.

Naturally, she felt sorry for Zoey, but Nina's presence would not be welcome while Zoey and Lucas said their sad farewells. And as for Aisha, Nina didn't really want to try to convince Aisha to get up this early on a Saturday.

Too bad Claire wasn't the type of sister she could really share this kind of an experience with.

Plus, of course, it was Claire's former boyfriend she was going out with.

“Okay,” she said, standing uncertainly at the mall's crossroads, “all you need is one complete outfit. Sophisticated, but not like you're making a big deal out of it. Attractive but not sleazy. Conservative enough for classical music and yet with a style all your own.”

She set off like an explorer through uncharted wilderness. She had shopped at the mall, of course, but usually only in certain areas. She'd never even been inside some of the shops. Possibly because she had never consciously bought anything
for
a date. Which, she supposed, did make her a little backward compared
to most junior-class girls.

“Face it,” she muttered, “you're a little backward compared to most sixth-grade girls.”

She didn't know why she hadn't dated very often, or why she had never dated any guy more than twice. Usually her dates amounted to meeting casually at a movie, or a quick stopoff at a burger place. She'd only ever kissed one guy and that had grossed her out.

The truth was, most guys grossed her out.

Except Benjamin. He was so different. She knew he would never be disgusting, the way guys often were. He would always treat her with respect, and that was important. Unlike when she had gone out with George O'Brien and he had kissed her and then tried to touch her breasts.

The memory made her heart race, and she realized her palms were sweaty. She had totally panicked when George had done that. So utterly uncool of her. George had gone around telling everyone she was a lesbian. Which she wasn't. In fact, she had more experience than people knew. More than Zoey and probably Aisha.

That memory made her even more uncomfortable. She beelined for a bench and sat down beside an old man. She fumbled a cigarette out of her purse and stuck it in her mouth.

“You're not going to smoke that, are you?” the old man asked.

“Actually, no,” she said. She took several deep breaths and
wiped her hands on her shirt front.

Why were these things out of her past suddenly reemerging? She hadn't thought about all that in a long time. At least not outside of the dreams she sometimes still had. Was it because she was finally going out with Benjamin? Was that it?

But Benjamin wasn't George O'Brien.

And Benjamin wasn't her uncle, either.

She looked at her fingers and saw they were shaking. She sucked deeply on the unlit cigarette.
That's all in the past, Nina
, she told herself.
Years and years ago. Over and done and forgotten. Things happen, and then you go on.

What if Benjamin tried to kiss her and the panic happened? Like it had with George? Was that why she had gagged in the movie theater when Benjamin had leaned close? Was she still capable of losing it the way she had with George?

She'd rather die than act that way with Benjamin. How would she ever be able to face him again?

But that wasn't going to happen, she reassured herself. This was Benjamin. Gentle, smart, funny Benjamin. Her friend. Her trusted friend.

And besides, he couldn't do anything she didn't want him to do. After all, he was blind, and that did give her a certain advantage she had never had back . . . back then.

“All right, shake it off, kid,” she challenged herself. The
old man turned and stared. “Sorry, sir, I was just talking to the voices in my head. They want me to shoot Justin Bieber, but I'm refusing.”

The old man gave her a startled stare that had the effect of instantly putting her back in a better mood.

She pulled out her father's American Express card and looked at it. “All right, let's you and me do some damage.”

Nina arrived at Benjamin and Zoey's house at four forty-five, wearing a black dress, black pumps with heels that made her wobble and lurch, real stockings that itched her thighs, a silver necklace and bracelet, and enough perfume to fumigate a barn. She felt like the largest, most conspicuous dweeb on earth.

Zoey's reaction when she opened the door was not promising. “Nina? What are you . . . Nina? Is that a dress? And hose? Did someone die?”

Nina gave her a dirty look. “Didn't Benjamin tell you? We're going out to hear Bach. You know, Bach, I'm sure? Naturally I mean Johann
Sebastian
Bach, who lived from 1685 to 1750 and is considered the leading composer of the late baroque period.”

Zoey stared at her. “Is this one of those cases of demonic possession? Have you been worshipping Satan again?”

Nina brushed past her into the entryway. “So tell me the
truth, is it too much? It is, isn't it?”

“That's not it, it's just that—”

“Damn,” Lucas said, nodding appreciatively at her. “Little Nina is suddenly all grown up.” He grabbed her around the waist and swung her in a graceful circle.

“Lucas? What are you doing here? I thought today was the day you were, you know.”

“Didn't Claire tell you?” Zoey asked.

“I haven't seen Claire all day,” Nina said. “I've been buying clothes and memorizing fun facts about old Johann Sebastian. Tell me what?”

Zoey exchanged a look with Lucas. “Claire should probably tell you,” she said.

“I would browbeat you into telling me,” Nina said, “but my thighs itch, and I'm really here to pick up Benjamin. Is he ready? We have to make the five ten, and I'm not fast in these shoes.”

“I'll go get him,” Zoey volunteered.

“So, what do you really think,” Nina asked Lucas, holding out her arms to give him the full effect. “You're a guy and all.”

“That's very observant of you, Nina,” Lucas said, giving her a wink. “What do I think, as a guy? I'll tell you what I think.” He grabbed her around the waist. “Quick! Before Zoey gets back! Let's do it, right here on the floor!”

Nina felt a tremor of fear before she realized that Lucas was
obviously kidding. She pushed him away. “I guess that's a compliment. Kind of.”

“You're a babe,” Lucas said sincerely. “What are you going to do? Pick up guys down in Portland whenever Ben's out of earshot?”

“No,” she said, blushing a little.

“Well, it's probably a good thing Benjamin can't see you tonight,” Lucas said. “He might start thinking of you in a whole new way.”

Nina rolled her eyes in exasperation. Obviously Lucas didn't get it.

Benjamin arrived with Zoey a few steps behind. He was dressed in a suit and loosely knotted tie. He took a quick turn as he came in. “Sorry to keep you waiting, but Zoey told me you were showing leg tonight. I thought I'd better go beyond my usual concert attire of jeans and a jacket and go all out and wear my dead-relative clothes. How do you like the jacket? I hear it's plaid.”

Nina grinned. The suit was black, like most of what Benjamin owned, because black was an easy color to match. “I think the plaid jacket clashes just a little with the striped pants.”

“How does Nina look?” Benjamin asked.

“She looks sophisticated and—”

“No, not you, Zoey,” Benjamin interrupted. “What do you
know? You're a girl. Lucas?”

“She looks too good for you,” Lucas said. “I give her a thumbs-up. Way up.”

“You're both sexist scum,” Zoey said disgustedly.

“We better get going,” Benjamin said.

“Yeah,” Nina agreed. “I wouldn't want to miss anything. You all know how I love baroque music.”

“Oh, right,” Zoey said. “You just won't shut up about baroque music.”

“This is very sweet of you to give up your Saturday night for me,” Benjamin said.

Nina blushed again and muttered a quick good night to Zoey and Lucas. She took Benjamin's arm, and they crossed the yard together.

“You don't have to guide me,” Benjamin said. “You know I have this island down like the back of my hand.”

“Oh, yeah, I did know that,” Nina said awkwardly, releasing her grip. Then she saw something that made her stomach churn. “It's Claire!”

Her sister was coming up the street looking angry, or at least distracted.

Nina slapped her hands down to her side and sidled away from Benjamin. She hadn't exactly mentioned to Claire that she was going out with her recently ex-boyfriend.

Claire caught sight of them and came rushing up. “Has either of you two seen Jake at all today?”

Nina shook her head violently, still expecting Claire to lash out with some choice bit of sarcasm.

“I haven't,” Benjamin said.

“Okay. Okay. Damn. Um, is Zoey in?”

“She and Lucas are both inside,” Benjamin said.

“I'll go ask them,” Claire said, immediately heading for the house.

“What was that all about?” Nina asked as she urged Benjamin down the road.

“I'm not sure,” Benjamin said in a troubled voice.

“I can't believe she didn't give me a hard time,” Nina said.

“Why would she?”

Nina shrugged. “You know. Because, you know, you were her boyfriend and all. And we're, you know . . .”

“Mmm,” he said, still frowning in a preoccupied way. “It's not like she'd be jealous. I mean, it's just you and me.”

Nina stopped and glared at his back as he walked on.
It's not like she'd be jealous
, she mimicked silently.
It's just you and me.
She looked down at her expensive, painstakingly chosen outfit, with her tight, uncomfortable shoes. All this, and he still didn't get it. All this effort and he still thought of her as his little buddy. Damn him to hell and back again. The insensitive toad.

“Come on, Nina,” he called over his shoulder.

“I'm coming,” she muttered through clenched teeth.

“Well, walk up here with me,” he said crankily. “I can't talk to you when you're dragging back there. Besides, I want to make everyone who sees us jealous.”

“Why would they be jealous?” she subtly mimicked his own tone.

He shrugged. “Everyone's jealous of a guy with a beautiful girl on his arm.”

Nina sighed. Okay, maybe he wasn't a complete toad.