Authors: Antoinette Stockenberg
Gwendolyn Drew looked as if she
'
d been slapped across the face. Her high, fine cheekbones flushed a bright pink as she lifted her chin in a gesture Jane knew well. Her mother adjusted the designer scarf she wore around her shoulders a fraction of a millimeter, and waited. Whether she was counting to ten or expecting an apology, Jane had no idea. But Gwendolyn Drew had crossed a line, and Jane had to let her know it.
After a brief eternity, her mother dropped her imperious gaze. Her face, so exquisitely made up, became older and troubled; it became every mother
'
s face. The look in her eyes, so blue, so bright, said,
This is how you treat your mother?
Jane held her ground.
Finally Gwendolyn reached into her handbag, pulled out the tarot cards, and handed them over to her daughter.
"
You
'
re right,
"
she said with a sigh.
"
You
'
re
not
eight years old anymore, and there
'
s not a damn thing I can do about it.
"
Her smile was stiff and rueful and something else: resigned. She had begun, at last, to let go.
Jane dropped the deck of tarot cards on the mantel and said,
"
Let me show you to your room. Then I
'
ll shower, and I
'
ll take you out to lunch.
"
"
No, I
'
ll take
you
—
"
"
Mother.
"
Gwendolyn sighed and said,
"
All right; why not? I
'
ve brought a check from your father for the Volvo. You
'
re rich. For now.
"
****
When they got back, Billy B. was in the kitchen, having a good laugh with the chimney sweep. Jane didn
'
t need her
master
'
s degree to know that she was the butt of their good humor; presumably the most simple-minded islander knew to look up his chimney once in a while.
Still, Billy took full responsibility for the incident.
"
I shoulda warned you,
"
he insisted after introductions were made.
"
After all, you
'
re new to owning a real home. Anyway, I cleaned it all up, no charge. I
'
ll be able to sand most of the scorch marks out when we finally do that room. Well, back to the salt mines.
"
He went outside to work on the new front steps.
The chimney sweep took off, leaving Jane with her mother and three more days in which to amuse her. They
'
d already walked around town after lunch, and together they
'
d admired the historic houses on
Main Street
, and poked into two or three antique shops along the way.
"
That
'
s pretty much
it
for things to do,
"
Jane warned her mother as she brewed them a pot of tea.
"
Daffodil Weekend is over, and the first yachting event isn
'
t until the end of May. It gets pretty quiet,
"
she added, hoping her mother would suffer culture withdrawal and head back to the Big Apple. The thought that she might be in the house during a Judith episode struck terror in Jane
'
s heart.
"
It
'
s really quite boring,
"
Jane repeated.
"
Funny,
"
her mother said.
"
You don
'
t look bored. You look the opposite, in fact; almost harried. Are you all right?
"
That was another point about mothers; they noticed every little thing.
"
Maybe I
'
ve just been inside too much,
"
Jane said quickly.
"
After tea I
'
ll show you around the house. Aunt Sylvia has stuff growing everywhere. You
'
ve missed the crocuses and glory-in-the-snow, but the heath and groundcovers have come into their own.
"
Jane guided the talk toward safe things like color schemes and poor old Buster, who had no idea who his owner was anymore, and afterward the two women changed into outdoor clothes and stepped over Billy and his new stairs into a cool spring evening.
"
Feels like we
'
ll have fog tonight,
"
Jane remarked, zipping up her jacket.
Her mother laughed and accused her of sniffing the air like a farmer, and Jane flushed. They walked out toward the property
'
s boundary and inevitably they found themselves at the small, forgotten burying ground. Jane tried to steer her mother away, but Gwendolyn would not be budged.
"
I love these old gravesites,
"
she said, bending over to read the weathered stones in the slanting light.
"
Have you taken any rubbings? It
'
d be nice to bring a memento of the place with you when you leave the island.
"
"
Somehow I haven
'
t felt the need,
"
Jane said without irony.
"
And look at this one with the broken stone—how neatly tended it is,
"
Gwendolyn said, stooping down for a closer look.
"'
Judith
'
something, born 1802. I suppose she
'
s someone
'
s relative. Still, it
'
s surprising that anyone still cares, after nearly two centuries.
"
"
Just because she
'
s dead doesn
'
t mean she
'
s gone,
"
Jane said laconically.
"
Why shouldn
'
t someone care?
"
As she phrased the question, Jane realized that she did care, and deeply, about this tormented woman. Despite the fear, despite the agony, she felt a deep connection with Judith, just as she felt a connection with her Aunt Sylvia.
We
'
re all women, and we all want to love and be love
d
and not one of us has been able to get it right.
On one level it was as simple as that.
Her mother, crouching at the gravestone, gave Jane another thoughtful, troubled look. At the same time, Jane heard the sound of Mac
'
s pickup in the lane behind her. She turned, her heart bounding at her ribcage, in time to see him slam on his brakes. They exchanged a look as intense, as burning, as unresolved as silent speech could be, and then Mac spotted Gwendolyn Drew and immediately threw the pickup into gear. He roared off just as Jane
'
s mother came up alongside her.
"
Him,
"
Gwendolyn said, her voice low with apprehension.
"
Has he been bothering you?
"
Jane laughed weakly. She
'
d done everything to get Mac McKenzie
'
s attention except maybe the dance of the seven veils.
"
No, Mother, he hasn
'
t been bothering me. I don
'
t think I
'
m his type.
"
"
I
'
m glad to hear it. The last thing you need is someone like that
—
well, you know.
"
"
No, Mother. I
don
'
t
know.
"
Her mother
'
s well-intentioned snobbery suddenly had become insufferable. They walked in strained si
lence in the direction of Phil
lip
'
s house and came to the little wooden footbridge over the narrow gully, now swollen from recent rains, that ran through his property. Gwendolyn balked at using the footbridge; she would not follow her daughter over it.
"
Come on! It
'
s old but it
'
s solid,
"
said Jane, surprised by her mother
'
s timidity.
"
And the water
'
s not exactly deep,
"
she added with good-natured irony.
"
Maybe six inches.
"
"
It
'
s not drowning I
'
m afraid of; it
'
s my ankle going through one of the boards and breaking. Anyway, it
'
s getting damp and cold; can we go back?
"
"
Sure,
"
said Jane, not all that surprised. Her mother was an indoor plant, not a wildflower. August on
Nantucket
would be rough enough for her.
"
We can build a fire in my nice clean fireplace,
"
Jane promised.
When they got back, there was a note on the table from Billy, who
'
d left for the day.
Mac came by for the tape in your camcorder.
He said you wanted him to see it. And if you want
to bring some kind of noodle thing, that
'
s okay
with him.
"
What tape?
"
her mother asked, glancing at the note over Jane
'
s shoulder.
"
And what noodle thing? I thought you said he wasn
'
t interested in you.
"
"
The tape is j
ust some old ..
. tape,
"
Jane answered inadequately.
"
And the noodle dish must be for Uncle Easy
'
s potluck birthday on Saturday. Half the island will be there; it
'
s not exactly an intimate dinner for two. And even if it
were,
"
she added acidly,
"
I thought you and I had reached an agreement.
"
"
Yes. I suppose we have,
"
her mother agreed through compressed lips.
****
That evening, despite the damp and penetrating fog, Jane and her mother sat without a fire and read in the wicker chairs in the newly decorated front room. Her mother seemed to have an aversion for the fireplace room, as if the spirit of Sylvia Merchant was too much in it. Still, the arrangement had an advantage: the only phone was in the fireplace room, and Jane could use it privately there. With heart hammering, she dialed Mac
'
s number. For the last hour she
'
d been staring at the same damn novel she couldn
'
t finish the night before, turning the pages for her mother
'
s benefit while she relived every second of her time with Mac McKenzie. This man had held her, calmed her, caressed her; had kept her literally from falling apart. Step by step he
'
d led her out of one hell
—
and step by step, he
'
d led her straight into another.
Things used to be so simple between them. Mac hated everything Jane stood for, and Jane couldn
'
t stand Mac
'
s obstinate ways. He was here for the long haul; she was strictly hit-and-run. He said noodles; she said pasta. But now he seemed not to despise her anymore, and she seemed not to want to take the money and run anymore. It was all incredibly muddled.
And,
he was willing to take a look at the videotape, which astonished her.
He answered his phone and she said stiffly,
"
Is this a bad time?
"
His laugh was tense.
"
I
'
ve had better.
"