The Weekenders (19 page)

“Hey, Maggy—how about I give you a lift back to the marina?”

She lifted her head and glared at him. Her shoulders and arms and legs were burnt bright red, but her face looked oddly ashen.

“No.”

“I think you probably need to come with me,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. He knew the girl had diabetes, and wondered how long it had been since she'd had anything to eat or drink. “It's a busy holiday weekend. Even after I call the marine patrol, it could be awhile before they can send somebody out to give you guys a tow.”

Her eyes widened, but she shook her head. “No way. I'll wait here.”

“I don't think so,” Nate said. “Come on. Let's go.”

“You're not in charge of me!”

“That's true. But if you don't start wading out here to me in one minute, I'm gonna swim in there and drag you back to my boat myself. And then things are gonna start getting ugly.”

One of the other girls on the boat approached, touched her friend's shoulder, and said something Nate couldn't hear. Maggy shook her head, but the girl leaned in closer.

“Go on,” the Billingsley kid yelled, sounding annoyed. “Let him give you a ride. I don't want you to pass out or puke on my boat or something.”

Reluctantly, Maggy climbed slowly down off the boat, using the ruined propeller as a stepladder. A moment later, she was paddling toward Nate's skiff, and a moment after that, he leaned over and hauled her effortlessly over the side.

She flopped onto the deck and looked up at him with murder in her eyes.

“Happy now? Since you ruined my life?”

“Delirious,” Nate said. He touched her cheek, which felt surprisingly clammy. “When was the last time you ate?”

“None of your business.”

“Have you checked your blood sugar or taken any insulin?”

She clamped her lips together tightly and turned her back to him. He could see her narrow shoulders were trembling.

“Hey!” Nate grasped her by her shoulders and turned her back around. “I'm not playing games here, Maggy.”

“I left my insulin kit on the dock,” she finally admitted. “I had a Coke and some chips at the marina.”

“That was hours ago.” He reached into the cooler and found another ham sandwich. He thrust it at her. “Here. Eat this.”

Her eyes flared. “Ham? Gross.”

“Eat it anyway.”

She peeled back the wax paper wrapping on the sandwich and took a bite. And then another bite. And another.

He handed her a cold bottle of water. “You need to drink something. I think you look dehydrated.”

The fight had suddenly gone out of her. She took the bottle and swigged half of it down.

Nate found a clean T-shirt in the locker under his console and flipped it to her. “Here. Put that on. You're shaking. And you're burned to a crisp. Have you ever heard of a thing called sunblock?”

“Have you ever heard of minding your own business?”

“Look. I don't know that much about diabetes. Are you okay? Do I need to call and have an ambulance meet us at the dock? And don't bullshit me. Your mom already lost your dad this week. How do you think she'd feel if you go into a coma or something?”

Maggy shrugged. “You have any orange juice?”

“I've got an orange.” He got it out of the cooler, took his fishing knife, wiped it off on the hem of his shirt, and cut it in half.

She immediately sank her teeth into the bright orange flesh and began sucking the juice noisily.

“Better?”

She nodded.

“Then let's go home.”

 

20

When the doorbell rang, Riley ignored it. She was sick of casseroles and condolences. But then it rang again. And again. If the visitor was one of Evelyn's friends, their next stop would be the back door, and there would be hell to pay.

Better to get it over with and face the music. She looked like crap, she knew, with wet hair, no makeup, and a faded tank top worn braless over baggy shorts she'd found in the bottom drawer of the dresser in her old room. Maybe, she thought glumly, her appearance would frighten away whoever was now banging insistently on the front door.

“Coming!” she bellowed, walking quickly down the hall. She opened the front door to find the person she least wanted to see on the porch of Shutters today.

Nate Milas. He was sunburnt and windblown, and he wasn't alone. Maggy stood beside him, also sunburnt with an unusually meek expression on her face. She was wearing an oversize shirt that definitely didn't belong to her.

“Hi,” she said, looking from Nate to her daughter. “What's up?”

Nate had a hand clamped firmly on Maggy's shoulder. “I just dropped by to return some property of yours.”

“Maggy?” She glanced at her daughter, who was busily studying her fingernails. “Why would she need returning?” She hooked a finger under her daughter's chin. “I thought you were still asleep upstairs.”

“Uh, no,” Maggy said, turning on the attitude.

“Where exactly did you find her?” Riley directed the question to Nate.

“Ask her,” Nate said curtly.

“Maggy?” Riley's voice held a warning tone.

“I was just out on a boat with some kids,” Maggy said petulantly. “We weren't doing anything. And then
he
came along and butted in.” She tossed her head in Nate's direction, avoiding his direct gaze.

“What kids?” Riley asked. “You didn't say anything about going out on a boat today. Did Mimi say that was okay?”

“Mimi wasn't around. And you were asleep. I didn't want to bother you,” Maggy said. “I'm fine. But I gotta pee now, if that's okay with him.”

She stalked past the grown-ups and ran up the stairs, past her mother's confused gaze.

Riley turned back to Nate, who seemed to have something else he wanted to say.

“Well, thanks, I guess, for giving her a ride home,” she said, her hand on the door.

“Don't you want to know what she was up to?” he asked.

“She just said she went for a boat ride with some kids. Aside from being sunburnt, it doesn't look like she came to any harm,” Riley said.

“So … it's all right with you if she goes racing around out in the bay in a boat dangerously overloaded with a bunch of kids, being driven by that Billingsley kid, who has no business driving a go-cart, let alone a boat with a two-hundred-horsepower engine? And it's okay that the boat didn't have enough life jackets? And the Billingsley kid subsequently beached the boat on a sandbar—where your kid would still be sitting, with no food or drink—or meds—if it weren't for me?”

Nate's face was rigid with anger.

“Dear God,” Riley said, letting that sink in. She glanced up at the stairs. “Is she really all right?”

“She was pale and shaky when I got her on my boat, and she finally admitted she hadn't eaten anything and left her insulin kit back at the marina. I gave her some water and a sandwich and an orange. When we got to the marina she did her insulin thing. So I guess she's okay.”

Riley leaned against the doorjamb and let out a long sigh. “Thanks for bringing her home safely. I don't know what she could have been thinking. Maggy knows how to take care of her diabetes. God knows I've talked until I'm blue in the face about the importance of monitoring her blood sugar and eating properly. It's like she enjoys pushing the envelope, taking risks.”

“Maybe she needs to have a responsible parent monitor her behavior.”

Riley bristled. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“It means a twelve-year-old girl has no business running around this island without any adult supervision. Especially with that bunch of kids she was hanging out with. A boat is not a toy, but it is to that crowd. Shane Billingsley is trouble, Riley. If Maggy were my kid…”

“But she's not your kid,” Riley said. “Maggy has plenty of adult supervision. Usually. Obviously, she snuck out of the house without my permission this morning. I'll deal with that, and she'll be punished. Look. I haven't been sleeping well, since all this…”

“Whatever,” Nate said. “Sorry to have disturbed your sleep.”

He turned and stomped his way off the front porch, leaving Riley standing openmouthed in the doorway.

*   *   *

Maggy stayed in the shower for nearly an hour, until the hot water ran out. It was one of her favorite delaying tactics.

Riley sat patiently on one of the twin beds in the guest bedroom. They'd barely been in the house four days, and already it looked like Maggy's room at home. Discarded clothes and shoes were strewn everywhere. Her suitcase was open on the floor, with most of its contents spilled around it. A damp, sandy bathing suit had been dropped on top of the mahogany dresser, along with Maggy's cell phone.

Riley picked up the phone and regarded it thoughtfully. She was still thinking through her disciplinary strategy when Maggy finally emerged from the bathroom, wearing clean clothes, her wet hair wrapped in a towel.

“We have to talk,” Riley announced sternly. She patted the unmade bed. “Sit.”

Maggy sat on the edge of the bed, already sensing her mother's dark mood. “I'm sorry, okay? I know it was dumb to leave my kit at the marina. And I promise not to do it again. Okay?”

“Not okay,” Riley said. “It's not okay that you snuck out of this house this morning without letting anybody know where you were going. And it's not okay for you to be out in a boat with somebody who isn't old enough or sensible enough to legally operate a boat. And it's especially not okay to pull a stunt like this when you know what I'm going through with your father's death.”

“Like you're the only one going through it,” Maggy shot back.

“I didn't say that. I know you're hurting, too. But you have to stop this risky behavior.” Riley felt her anger rising, along with the pitch in her voice. “Nate told me Shane was driving that boat like a crazy person. What if he hadn't come along after Shane beached the boat on that sandbar? You could have been stranded out there for hours and hours with no food or water.…”

Riley was crying now, damn it. But her tears failed to faze her daughter.

“Geez, Mom. Get a grip!” Maggy shouted. “Nothing bad happened. Why do you have to make such a big deal of everything?”

Riley grasped Maggy's shoulders and shook them. “You could have died. You know that, right? You could have died!”

“Ow!” the girl howled, twisting away from her mother's reach. “Cut it out! That hurts.”

“I want it to hurt. I don't know how else to get through to you. You can't keep doing this stuff, Maggy. You just can't!”

Maggy hurled herself off the bed and onto the floor. She scuttled across the rug until she was a few feet away, then glared up at her mother, wide-eyed.

“Okay. I get it. All right? Can we just drop it now? I said I'm sorry. I won't do it again.”

Riley clutched the edge of the bed with both hands, trying to regain her composure. She was breathing hard, as though she'd just run a marathon.

“That's right,” she said, when she could speak. “You won't be doing that again. You're on restriction until further notice. You don't leave this house unless it's with me or a family member. Or Parrish.”

“No! It's Memorial Day. I'm playing in the tennis tournament with Bebo. And the cookout. Everybody will be there. You can't lock me up on Memorial Day. It's not fair.”

“You should have thought of that before you went sneaking off without my permission,” Riley said. “Also? I don't give a damn about being fair.”

“Fine,” Maggy said. “Go ahead and ruin my life. I don't care.”

“I'm trying to save your life,” Riley said softly.

“Whatever.” Maggy stood with hands clutched on both hips. “Can I please have some privacy now?” She held out her hand. “And my phone?”

“You can have your privacy,” Riley said. “But I'm keeping your phone until further notice.”

“Whattttt?” Maggy shrieked. “That's my phone. It's mine! Dad gave it to me.”

“And I'm taking it away, until you can figure out how to behave responsibly.”

Riley pushed up from the bed and walked unsteadily to the bedroom door, the cell phone gripped firmly in her hand.

The door slammed shut behind her, and a moment later she heard what sounded like a tennis shoe being thrown against the wooden door. “I hate you!” Maggy screamed.

 

21

Billy breezed through the back door of his mother's house. He was dressed in tennis whites with a racquet slung over his shoulder.

“Maggy!” he called, walking through the hallway and calling up toward the stairway. “Let's go! We're supposed to be on the courts in twenty minutes.”

The house was quiet. Eerily so. He heard a door open and close upstairs.

“Maggy? Mama? Riley?”

Light footsteps.

Riley walked slowly down the stairs. She looked, her brother thought, like she'd been through the wringer.

Bless her heart,
he thought.

“Hey,” she said softly, as she reached the bottom stair. “Sorry. I guess I should have called to let you know. Maggy won't be playing in the tournament.”

“Is she still pulling that crap about tennis being stupid?” he asked, frowning. “Where is she? I bet I can change her mind.”

“I bet you could. Unfortunately, she's under house arrest. So she's not going anywhere for the next few days.”

Billy glanced upward. “What'd she do? Rob a bank?”

“It's not funny,” Riley said. “She snuck out of the house this morning and went out on a boat with Shane Billingsley and a bunch of other kids. They were racing around the bay, the boat got beached on a sandbar, and she was out there, with no food or water, or her meds. It's only by the grace of God—and that damned Nate Milas—that she made it back alive.”