Beach Plum Island Page 9

  After dinner, they carted the dishes into the kitchen and stacked them on the counter with the others. Then Elaine went out to the car to grab her laptop rather than use Ava’s computer in the living room, where the band was now playing a surprisingly melodic version of “Californication.”

  “What do you think? The band sounds pretty good, right?” Ava said as Elaine booted up her laptop on the dining room table. “That’s Sam on lead guitar and Evan on bass.”

  “Not bad,” Elaine agreed. “It’s just a shame they don’t have a volume control. You do have a curfew, right, so you can get some sleep?”

  “Oh sure. None of them have cars and the parents have all promised to pick them up by eleven o’clock on weeknights.”

  “Friday’s a weeknight now?” Elaine looked up, teasing, thinking of her own high expectations for the Matchbox Bar later.

  “It is for me,” Ava said. “I have a big order to finish tomorrow.”

  They spent an hour setting up the Web site. Elaine showed Ava how to navigate the template and upload content onto different pages. She also talked her into writing a short newsletter and adding an e-mail subscription feature. “You can send out news about your gallery events and sales that way,” she said.

  Ava learned quickly and readily agreed to everything, making Elaine wish all her clients were this smart and amenable. They had the site up and live in less than two hours. It wasn’t even nine o’clock. She shut the laptop and packed it away.

  “Thanks for the sleepover invite, but I think I’ll head out,” she said. “There’s this band I want to hear in Cambridge.”

  Unfortunately, Ava knew her too well. “I really wish you’d stop trolling for hookups,” she said. “I worry about you bringing home the wrong guy. Or the wrong STD. I don’t understand why you take such risks.”

  Elaine held up a hand. “Stop! You know I play it safe. I never bring anyone home, I always have my own wheels, and I carry condoms and pepper spray. You can’t possibly understand what I’m doing because you’ve only ever been with two men in your whole life. You say you don’t understand me, but I don’t get you, either! I can’t believe you don’t have needs. Why don’t you come with me?”

  “The boys are here,” Ava said.

  “They’re old enough to take care of themselves.”

  “Yes, but now they’re old enough to take risks themselves, and I’m not about to leave a houseful of teenagers unattended. Anyway, I do have ‘needs,’ as you so tactfully put it, but I don’t think those could possibly be met with one-night stands.”

  “How do you know unless you try it?” Elaine was warming to the idea. This was just what her sister needed: to change out of those crappy overalls and get off mother patrol. “Or I could help you use one of the dating sites. That way, you’d know a lot about somebody before even meeting him.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” Ava said. “I’d only know what the guy chose to share online. I wouldn’t really know him. Knowing somebody has as much to do with physical chemistry as it does with knowing whether he loves bicycling or sci-fi movies.”

  “Exactly! That’s why I’d rather meet a man in person before I sleep with him. If I see him with my own eyes, I can make a decision based on how he holds his wineglass or what kind of clothes he wears.”

  “But that’s just the point, Elaine. You’re meeting men not because you want to know them, but because you want to sleep with them.”

  Elaine laughed. Sometimes the five-year gap between their ages seemed more like five decades. Ava was so off the social grid, it was like dealing with Jane Austen. “Crawl out of your cave. Men have been choosing women based on our appearance since time began. So have women. The difference is now it’s okay for us to say we want the same thing they do.”

  “Which is what?”

  “A little pleasure with no strings.”

  “God. You make it sound so soulless.” Ava must have seen something in Elaine’s expression, because she quickly apologized. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I’d just like to see you in a real relationship for once. You’re worth more than this.”

  “It’s not about what I’m worth. It’s about what I want,” Elaine said. “And I’d like to see you in a real relationship, too, so we’re even.” She couldn’t decide if she was angry or not. She knew Ava only wanted her to be happy, so Elaine chose not to give in to her temper. Instead, she kissed her sister as she stood up and said, “I’ll just say good-bye to the boys, and then I’m off.”

  “Don’t bother,” Ava said, standing up. “Evan and Sam are so busy with their friends, they won’t even know you’ve been here. Besides, the living room looks like a bomb went off. See them next time.”

  Elaine stared at her, confused. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Ava was deliberately standing between her and the door to the living room, blocking her way so she’d have to leave through the kitchen. Her sister’s mouth looked practically stitched shut. “What’s going on? You’re always so big on manners. Of course I should see the boys. They’ll think it’s weird if I just sneak in and out.”

  “No they won’t,” Ava said too quickly.

  That did it. “Move!”

  “Wait. I need to tell you something. But first promise you won’t be mad.”

  Elaine snorted. “Why wouldn’t I be mad, with you shooing me out of your house like a Jehovah’s Witness?”

  “I am not!”

  “You are so!” Elaine was incredulous. Her sister still wasn’t getting out of the way. “What the hell is in the living room that you don’t want me to see? And no more lame excuses about the house being a mess! This is me you’re talking to. I’ve seen your house look so bad, I’m surprised the board of health wasn’t here posting notices.”

  Ava folded her arms, her green eyes hard. “Thanks a lot. I’m used to you acting childish, but I don’t expect you to be mean. At least not to me. What did I do to deserve that?”

  “I’ll tell you in a minute.” Elaine darted to the living room door and yanked it open before Ava could stop her.

  There were teenagers on every surface, their blue-jeaned or bare legs draped over the sofas and chairs and floor. Evan and Sam were on their guitars, a shaggy drummer doing his thing behind them.

  In front of the band, the singer held a microphone attached by a long cord to a speaker. She had her back to Elaine, a small girl in a shredded pink T-shirt that matched the pink tips of her orange hair. The T-shirt didn’t quite reach her hip bones, where her baggy white shorts were cinched with a rainbow belt. She was barefoot.

  Evan and Sam started playing. It took Elaine a minute to recognize the opening chords as Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Then the singer turned around, her lovely slim pale arms pinwheeling as she danced and started singing, her voice rough and sweet and teasing, a slight vibrato in it.

  The scene came together then, rooting Elaine to the spot. It was Gigi, singing. Gigi with her eyes closed, Gigi with their father’s smile and dimple, Gigi in Ava’s living room, singing and happy and so mesmerizing nobody could take their eyes off her. Especially not Ava’s boys, who didn’t even notice Elaine standing there.

  Elaine spun on her heel and fled through the kitchen, her laptop case banging against her hip. Ava followed, shouting, but Elaine kept going and pressed the button on her car key, frantically trying to unlock the BMW and slip into its safe white leathery sanctuary before Ava could reach her.

  She failed. She’d pushed the wrong button and now the trunk gaped open. Elaine ran to slam it shut before getting into the car. But Ava, always faster and stronger, was practically on top of her, pinning Elaine against the car.

  “Stop being such a damn baby!” Ava said. “Even if you don’t want to talk to me, at least come inside and calm down before you drive off and kill somebody.”

  Elaine felt so much pressure o
n her chest, it was as if it weren’t Ava holding her in place but a tree. A giant redwood falling out of nowhere, slamming against her torso, making it impossible to breathe. She couldn’t get the image of Gigi dancing in her sister’s living room out of her mind, swiveling her hips and shaking her head so that the hair looked like flames, pink and orange catching the overhead light.

  Gigi’s powerful voice carried out the window, surrounding Elaine until she wanted to cover her ears while at the same time admiring its throbbing emotional intensity. How did such a skinny little girl manage to combine tone, power, and longing to make singing seem so effortless? So fun?

  By practicing with their father. By singing with him for hours and hours. Elaine could almost hear Dad’s voice right now, accompanying Gigi, the way the noise of the surf, angry and unpredictable, always lay beneath the shushing sound of a summer wind swirling sand around your feet.

  “Let me explain,” Ava was saying.

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” Elaine said, her words falling out of her mouth like wooden blocks, clunking onto the driveway. “Who you invite into your home is your business.”

  Ava blew out her breath so hard that a lock of her hair lifted from her face and touched Elaine’s cheek. She didn’t let go of Elaine. “Of course it’s my business, you idiot,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean I want to see you upset. I wanted to talk to you about Gigi tonight. That’s why I invited you to dinner.”

  “I thought you wanted my help on your Web site.” Elaine was proud of herself, speaking without shouting despite the emotional fog starting to cloud her vision.

  “Sure, of course,” Ava said, backpedaling. “But I could have waited. I wanted you to come over because I was hoping we could discuss Katy and Gigi. Katy’s still in a bad way, so I’ve been looking after Gigi by having her work with me in the studio.”

  “That,” Elaine said, lifting an arm to point to Ava’s house, “is not your studio.”

  Finally, Ava looked flustered. “I know. It’s just that Gigi and the boys hit it off, and Evan and Sam needed a singer. You heard her. Gigi’s good! They just booked their first real gig, a free concert at the farmers’ market next month! I was hoping you’d come.”

  Elaine locked eyes with Ava, allowing herself, just for one moment, to hate the pride shining in her sister’s green gaze, to abhor that generous love for her children and every single amazing thing they did. When she could speak, she said, “Thanks for the invite, but I’m busy next month.” She lifted her arm again, this time to remove Ava’s hand from her chest. “In fact, I’m pretty tied up for the whole summer, actually. Work and stuff. You know.”

  “Don’t be like this!” Ava’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m really sorry. Gigi was hurting. I had to do something to help her. She’s our sister.”

  Elaine stepped away from the car. To her relief, Ava backed up. “You did what you thought was right and I’m sure Katy is grateful. Having Gigi hang out here is probably a million times cheaper than camp. Anyway, I’ve got to go. The band I really want to hear is at a bar in Cambridge. I’m already late for the first set.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m really sorry,” Ava said again.

  “Yeah, well. Me, too.”

  This time, Elaine pushed the right button on the car key. She got into the car and backed out of the driveway slowly, her hands steady on the wheel, her sister’s waving figure growing smaller and smaller.

  With the sea cresting white behind her, it was as if Ava were on a ferry, headed out to sea, and Elaine was the one standing still. She didn’t wave back.

  • • •

  Ava got up at first light on Saturday and went out to the studio. She’d had a bad night’s sleep, thinking about Elaine. Her sister’s fury and hurt had been more controlled than usual, but honest to God, sometimes Elaine acted like a three-year-old on a bender.

  It didn’t help that she was partly to blame. She should have talked to Elaine about Gigi right away. Elaine might have been more reasonable if Ava hadn’t sprung things on her. For all of her pragmatic, sometimes icy businesslike demeanor, Elaine had a kind heart and was often surprisingly generous.

  Instead, Elaine had been shocked, seeing Gigi with the boys, and the look on her face had been one of absolute devastation. As children, Ava had mothered Elaine because their own mother couldn’t. Now she’d let her down at a time when Elaine was clearly in so much pain. She wondered if Elaine had still gone to a bar last night and picked up a man. If so, Ava hoped it had at least brought her some comfort.

  Ava couldn’t imagine ever doing such a thing. But she didn’t harbor that same poisonous, leaden black core of loneliness that Elaine carried. Having children had cleansed her of it. Being a mother was like being a ship’s figurehead: you had to keep moving forward through the waves and weather, your head high, even when an iceberg was clearly on the horizon, too big to go around.

  She began wedging a block of clay, furiously pressing the heels of her hands into the cold gritty stoneware to pop the bubbles of air that could cause the pieces to explode in the kiln. No, she didn’t need a man. Her life was full enough between teaching, her studio work, and the boys. Besides, now there was Gigi, too.

  Despite Elaine, thinking about Gigi made Ava smile. True to her word, the girl had arrived promptly every morning since the day Ava hired her. Whether she asked Gigi to sweep the studio, load the kiln, prepare clay, or mix glazes, the girl was remarkably quick and curious, eager to learn, and good company besides.

  Then, two weeks ago, Ava had returned from the grocery store one afternoon expecting Gigi to already be gone and found her in the living room with Evan. Evan, usually so shy, was sitting next to Gigi on the couch, his blond head bowed and almost touching Gigi’s pink and orange one. The two of them were humming a song they were listening to on Evan’s iPod, each wearing one earbud of Evan’s headphones. It had been only natural to invite Gigi to dinner.

  During dinner, Gigi and Evan had surprised her again by asking Sam if Gigi could try singing with the band.

  “I don’t know about that,” Sam said. He had appointed himself the band’s unofficial manager, creating a Facebook page and posting YouTube videos.

  “But we need a singer, dude,” Evan said. “You’re the one who said so.”

  “Yeah, but I meant a good singer.” Sam didn’t say this unkindly; he took his role as older brother seriously and was always kind to Evan. But he was honest. If Gigi didn’t cut it, Ava knew Sam wouldn’t let her sing with them.

  “She’s got a great voice,” Evan had argued. “She really does.”

  Ava had to pinch herself, hearing Evan, typically so unsure of himself, stand up to Sam. Sam wasn’t only a year older; he was also more popular at school than Evan, a better student, and a double varsity athlete who played soccer and lacrosse.

  Sam must have been as surprised as she was, because after a stunned silence, he’d agreed. “Okay, dude. Let her try out for the band. But she has to wait until Les is here. He gets a vote, too.”

  Les, an acne-scarred kid with braces, had been a drummer since elementary school and was already attending summer classes at Berklee College of Music. He was definitely the highest authority on music in Ava’s household. When he arrived, the band assembled and Gigi sang.

  To Ava’s astonishment, Gigi didn’t just sing. She became another person altogether. She wailed and growled and soared, whether they tried her with Aerosmith or the Rolling Stones or Pink Floyd. Where in the world had a girl that age learned to sing those songs with such authority, such emotional resonance?

  Then it dawned on her: their father had taught her, of course. Knowing this had made Ava’s knees feel as if they had come unbolted.

  Since that impromptu audition, Gigi had been staying at Ava’s almost every day after finishing in the pottery studio, waiting for the boys to come home from their summer jobs so they coul
d practice. Katy had agreed to this; amazingly, Gigi had even managed to talk her grandmother into picking her up in the evenings because Katy was still taking antidepressants and reluctant to drive.

  Gradually, some of the other kids in the neighborhood had started coming around. Word spread fast that it wasn’t just three boys fooling around on instruments and doing whatever, but a live band with a singer worth listening to, a girl with pink and orange hair who could rattle the windows with her voice.

  It was a productive morning. Ava threw forty-five mugs in three hours. The boys had come and gone, telling her they’d had cereal and were riding their bikes to work. It was heavenly to be alone.

  The studio was so warm from the kiln that Ava pulled off her sweatshirt and worked in her tank top and jeans as she finished trimming the last mugs. She was straightening up to stretch her back when the screen door slapped open. Simon Talbot stood in the doorway. Silhouetted in the rectangle of bright sunlight streaming behind him through the screen door, his hair was a pale halo and she couldn’t make out his expression. Then he approached the wheel and she saw him in more detail.

  Simon’s blue eyes were heavily creased at the corners; his nose was more prominent than graceful; and he had a small, moon-shaped scar on one cheek. He was dressed in khaki shorts, a navy polo shirt, and worn moccasins. He was very tan, his skin nearly the same golden brown as his khakis, his hair a shade lighter, wheat-colored and too long over his eyes.

  “Hey,” he said. “Can you talk?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  Simon flashed a quick smile. “I came to thank you for looking after Katy and letting me know the situation.”

  “And what is the situation now?” she couldn’t help asking. Simon had such a funny, clipped, almost British way of speaking, as if he were acting out his lines. She supposed that came from living in Hong Kong. Or maybe he was shy, she thought, as he ducked his head to hide his eyes.