The Summer House (29 page)

She glanced at her watch. Another fifteen minutes had passed. She could not wait any longer. She had to call Michael. Because Michael was still Danny’s father, and he had a right to know his son was missing. And a right to help her figure out what to do.

“
He what?
” Michael barked into the phone.

“I know that everyone here thinks I’m overreacting. But, Michael, it’s almost two and a half hours …”

“Call Hugh Talbot. Hang up the telephone, Liz, and call Hugh Talbot.”

Hugh Talbot was, as Liz and everyone up island knew, the sheriff, and had been for nearly thirty years.

“The van can’t be too hard to locate, honey,” Michael continued, his steady politician’s voice wavering only a little, only enough for Liz to know that deep down, Michael was scared.

“But what if Danny went off-island? What if he … left?”

“There might be a hurricane, right? Maybe he couldn’t get across. Maybe the ferry’s shut down.”

But Liz knew the weather had to be pretty inclement for the Steamship Authority to cease its shuttle. She also realized that Michael wasn’t going to be much help in Florida.

“You’re right,” she answered abruptly. “I’ll give Hugh a call. I’m sure Danny just ran into a few old friends or something. Besides, he hasn’t driven in a few years. Maybe he’s just enjoying the ride again.” She wanted to
add that his license must be expired, but decided that was unimportant, and would be a sure tip-off that she was faking unconcern.

“I’ll give Hugh a call and let you know what happens,” she said and hung up the phone, grateful that Michael did not point out that this would not have happened if they were with him campaigning as they should have been, grateful that Michael could not look her in the eye right now and see what she feared he would see there.

Hugh, however, was not available. “Folks are battening down for the hurricane,” Hugh’s wife, Lucy, told her. “Not that it’s any of my business, but you should be doing the same.”

“When you see Hugh,” Liz said, “please ask him to keep an eye out for the van. It’s dark green.”

She hung up, feeling slightly annoyed that Lucy Talbot felt preparing for a hurricane was more important than locating a lost son.

Rubbing her arms, Liz went out onto the porch where BeBe was still stationed, trancelike, looking out at the rain. Liz sat down next to her sister on the swing, pushing away the thought that only the day before yesterday she had sat here with Josh.

“If he’s not home soon I’m going to call the media,” Liz said abruptly.

“What?” BeBe asked, sharply turning to face her sister. For all the alcohol Liz presumed she had drunk, BeBe looked as clear-eyed and sober as a Mormon on Sunday, or any other day.

“I said I’m going to call the media. It shouldn’t be difficult. There must be an army of reporters stationed at Josh’s. A lot of the media people have cars. They can help us search for Danny.”

“You’re going to call up a search party?”

“Don’t make fun of me, BeBe. Danny is missing and, quite honestly, I feel as if something’s wrong. In my gut, I feel it.”

BeBe didn’t answer.

“Are you with me?” Liz asked. “Will you help me find him?”

“Do you honestly think the Secret Service will let you leave?” BeBe nodded toward the house, where Keith and Joe had moved the chessboard inside and were playing a quiet, subdued game. “I’d put money on it that they’ve been told it’s more important to guard you, not Danny.”

“They don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, they do. Danny has the van and I’ll bet they have the keys to the other car.”

Liz’s head began to throb with a dull ache.

“They have to let me go. Danny might need help.” She stood up. “I know you’re going to hate me for this, but I’m going to call Josh. I have his number …”

Suddenly, BeBe was beside her. “Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what? Don’t call Josh?”

BeBe squeezed her eyes shut. “Please don’t. It will only complicate things.”

Liz felt a sting as if her hand had been slapped, as if she were that little girl again, the know-nothing baby of the family. “It will not complicate things, BeBe. But Michael is not here, and I need help fast. Josh has the connections. He can get it done.” She started to move away, then turned back. “Besides, it’s not as if he knows anything, BeBe. It’s not as if …” It was the paralyzed look on her sister’s face that cut off Liz’s words. A look that said something, something …

“He knows,” BeBe said.

Any energy Liz had remaining now left her body. She stood on the porch of the house she had loved for as long as she remembered, and slowly forced her eyes away from her sister, off toward the dunes, off toward the
thicket, off toward the cove, and out toward the sea. She pictured Daniel there a moment, a brief moment. If he had not died, he would be the one running for president. If he had not died, none of this would be happening. None of this nightmare that had become Liz’s life.

She looked back at BeBe. “How?” she asked slowly.

BeBe paused. She picked up her glass from the old wooden table next to the swing and took a drink.

“
How?
” Liz repeated, this time more insistent.

BeBe closed her eyes again. “I told him,” she said. “This afternoon.”

It was strange how quickly the wind had picked up and how quickly the fog was crowding out the daylight. Reggie had pulled in the sails and was tying off everything he could tie off topside; LeeAnn was with Danny in the wheelhouse, at the controls. She fought to steer, struggling, Danny knew, to keep the boat upright. He held on to the ledge that surrounded the windows of the small, square, all-weather-carpeted area and knew it was best not to speak. He was oddly grateful to be out of his wheelchair, which was folded up and stuck in the corner. Even though he could not feel the bench underneath him, it was good to know that something other than a flap of brown vinyl was supporting his dead little ass. He made a mental note to get out of the chair more often, if they ever survived this adventure across the high seas.

Through the rain-splattered window Danny could barely see land, a long, gray strip that would be Cuttyhunk Island. It did not look too far: it looked almost as if he could reach out and paddle a few strokes and the boat would be there. But Danny knew better than to be deceived by the ocean, especially when the ocean was all inky and rough as it was now, and when no man-of-wars floated on the surface, as they were known to do
in this patch of water on sunny days, not on days that turned out like today, when even the most playful sea creatures knew the importance of being serious.

LeeAnn, for example. Danny glanced at the hardworking young woman whose eyes were fixed on the water. Usually, LeeAnn had the CD player blasting with reggae or Caribbean music—anything to make the passengers feel they were bound for a tropical island, a visit to paradise.

Today, she had not turned it on. She did not need to impress Danny. And she did not need to pretend that they were in paradise.

“I knew this was stupid,” she finally said now. “We’ll be lucky to make it to Cuttyhunk in one piece.”

Danny didn’t respond. Instead, he looked out the window again at the sharp, slanted gray rain and felt himself fill up with gratitude for these friends he had found, for LeeAnn and Reggie, who had always been there for him—been there to laugh and play when they were kids, been at his bedside when he lay crumpled and worthless, been there even after he’d been too despondent to write back or return their phone calls, and now, there for him when he’d been ready to end it once and for all. He might have been lied to all of his life, he might have a father he did not even know, but Danny Barton was lucky that he had friends such as these. Friends, dear Gramps, that he hadn’t had to buy.

He looked at LeeAnn again and blinked back a few tears. Then he wished Reggie would hurry up and come in off the deck before he got tossed overboard and pissed them both off.

Chapter 26

BeBe had never understood the old cliché of feeling like a piece of shit. After all, what exactly did shit feel like? And who had determined that shit had feelings, anyway?

She’d never understood it, and yet, right now, it about described how she felt. After having spent a lifetime protecting her younger, presumably more fragile sister, BeBe had blown it, big time. She had betrayed Liz. Okay, it had been a stupid mistake, but what kind of excuse was that?

She went to the back hall to find an old yellow slicker. She slipped it on, inhaling the familiar dull scent, like tires on wet pavement, or the old inner tubes they had once floated on in the cove, until Father had decided it was too dangerous because the hard intake valve might poke out someone’s eye.

Back in the living room, she went to the telephone. From the drawer of the small oak stand, she pulled out the phone book—The Island Book, it was called—which, of course, was still there, was always there, updated yearly. It only took her a moment to find the number she wanted.

“What are you doing?” Liz asked, walking into the room and eyeing her sister.

BeBe averted her gaze. “I’m going to find your son.”

“Did you forget we don’t have a vehicle, or are you calling a cab?”

BeBe knew the sarcasm in Liz’s voice was propelled by deep anger, and she did not blame her. “There are probably only two men in the world I haven’t totally pissed off yet,” BeBe said. “One is your husband, only because he doesn’t know what’s really going on. The other is Tuna. Hopefully, he’ll give us a hand. If he’s still alive.”

Tuna was still alive. He said he still drove a rusted-out pickup truck (though this one was black), and he was still married to the same woman (four kids, three grandkids now), and he said he was only too glad to help out BeBe and her famous sister. Besides, he added, he was sick of listening to everyone piss and moan about Hurricane Carol and speculate if she was really going to hit the island or not.

As for speculation, BeBe knew there was no time for any of her own—to wonder whether or not calling Tuna had been a good idea. Instead, she told Liz to put on a slicker, that Tuna would be there in ten minutes, thank God for old friends.

Apparently finally realizing that there might be reason for concern, Keith decided to drive into Vineyard Haven to check with the ferry to see if Danny had boarded. He had tried phoning first, but had not been able to get through. She could not imagine why Danny would have wanted to get off-island, but part of her hoped that he had. She hoped he had arrived in Woods Hole and kept driving, up to Boston, where he had friends, where he might decide to become part of the world again—the world away from the spotlight that shined off the spokes
of his wheelchair, the world away from the political board game.

So Keith left, and Clay said he would wait at the house “just in case,” and BeBe sat in silence next to Liz in the living room, where she felt once again like the family’s bad child.

He had a few teeth missing and he smelled a bit like what might have been last night’s beer, but Tuna showed up and for that Liz seemed grateful. She was not so happy, however, when Joe insisted on going with them. Neither did their chauffeur.

“There’s no room,” Tuna said. “You’ll have to sit in the back.”

The “back” turned out to be the open bed of the truck. Tuna tossed a rain hat at Joe and showed him a tarp that might help him stay dry.

Under other circumstances, BeBe would have cracked a joke and Liz would have laughed, and they would have become like silly schoolgirls again, despite their years, despite all they had been through in their lives.

But this was not ordinary circumstances, so BeBe simply climbed into the truck next to Tuna and, for once in her life, did not speak.

Tuna backed out of the driveway. “Where are we going?” he asked BeBe.

BeBe looked at her sister, saw Liz’s pain, then quickly averted her eyes. “Where do you think Danny might be?” she asked.

“I have no idea,” Liz replied. “I was always too busy to pay attention to his friends, or to what he liked—or didn’t like—to do. I was always too busy, but I always trusted him. Danny was a good boy.”

When Liz spoke of Danny in the past tense, BeBe
wanted to scream at her sister to stop being a jerk, to slap her and tell her to grow up, that none of this was her fault, that it was all Father’s fault for screwing up all their lives. But of course she said no such thing.

“Let’s start in Gay Head,” BeBe said. “Danny always liked to look out from the cliffs.” No one mentioned that it would soon be dark. “If he’s not there,” BeBe added, “we can try Oak Bluffs. Maybe he did something really simple like go to the movies.”

“The movies?” Liz asked.

“This is his first taste of real freedom in years,” BeBe said with more conviction than she felt. “He might want to have fun. Besides, the Strand is still there. So is The Island.”

Liz looked at her sister, then looked away again, as if not wanting to remember those nights at the movies, the popcorn blocks, the saltwater taffy. And Josh.

This was her penance. Liz numbly stared out the dirty side window of the rattling old pickup truck and knew that this was her penance for being with Josh again, for letting herself succumb to lust or memories or vulnerability—whatever it was that had propelled her into doing what she should not have done, then, now, or ever.