Folly Cove (4 page)

“At least Kennedy's smart,” Sarah said. “That's a comfort. Her looks won't matter if she can get into a decent college and earn her own living. Researchers say more women are happy living alone these days, fulfilled by their careers and such.”

“Mother, will you please stop!” Laura said. “Kennedy's fine. She's a late bloomer, that's all.” God, she hoped that was true.

“I'm sorry, but I do worry. You girls were never hefty at that age. Of course, you were all so active, I could hardly keep up with you. Maybe Kennedy needs to help you more around the house. Doing chores can be wonderful exercise.”

Sarah picked up three of the vases and swept toward the door leading to the dining room, her stockings rustling beneath her tweed wool skirt, her red jacket snug around her waist. Watching her made Laura remember something her father's sister, Aunt Flossie, had said once: “Your mother walks like the
Queen Mary
parting the waves.”

Laura was all too aware of her filthy jeans and sneakers as she forced herself to follow her mother into the dining room, desperate to get the words out and go home. “Mom, I hate to ask, but since we're talking about Kennedy, I need a huge favor,” she said in a rush. “Her tuition's overdue and we can't swing it. Can you help us out?”

Sarah deposited her vases on tables. “How much?”

When Laura told her, Sarah simply nodded. “I'll have a check ready for you tomorrow morning. You can pick it up from Rhonda in the office.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I don't know what we'd do without you.”

Sarah smiled. “What are families for?” She headed back toward the kitchen. “By the way, Anne's here. She arrived last night.”

“What? Why?” Laura felt such a jolt of anger at hearing her sister's name that she dug her nails into her palms.

“You didn't know? I thought you girls kept in touch online these
days and I was the only one out of the loop.” Sarah waved a hand, dismissing all of social media with a flutter of her fingers. This was an act: she was an aggressive and savvy online marketing whiz.

“No. How long is she staying?” Laura's stomach churned. Two blissful years Anne had been away.

“At least until Christmas, she says.”

The swinging door closed behind her mother before Laura could respond. She remained frozen in place. Not Anne, on top of everything else! She couldn't bear the idea of seeing her.

Laura pushed the door open and followed her mother into the kitchen. “Where is she now?”

“Upstairs. Still sleeping, I imagine.”

Laura's vision blurred with rage. “Why is she staying so long? Did she lose her job or something?”

Her mother seemed about to answer, but then shook her head. “It's probably best if you ask Anne directly. You know I don't like to get in the middle between you girls. Now, let's see. I was going to put those tall Oriental vases on the buffet tables. What do you think?”

“Sure. I'll bring in the rest of the smaller vases while you do that,” Laura said, forcing her shoulders down from her ears. Her body was tense, holding in a scream that was building.

She hurried out to the dining room with two more vases of flowers. Better finish her work here fast if she wanted to avoid her sister.

Still, she stopped to gaze through the windows at the lawn, a rolling hill that dropped toward the sea, seeking comfort in the familiar view. The garden was a series of shallow stone terraces built to create a staircase effect down to the shoreline. There was a patio in the middle terrace with a white trellis; for most of the summer, the trellis was a bower of pink Eden roses. Now that it was September, the famous Folly Cove Inn roses were fading, but late perennials in the gardens still bloomed in a tapestry of rich velvety golds and oranges, reds and purples.

Below the garden was a rocky bathing beach. The ocean sprayed against the rocks as Laura watched. Today's wedding reception was scheduled for three o'clock. The tide would be out by then, revealing
the golden horseshoe of sand, gulls wheeling above it and flashing white as they turned in the air. The wedding guests would carry their drinks down to the shore and take photographs.

Laura knew that drill by heart. Twenty years ago, she had been the bride standing beneath that rose trellis. The bride who had followed the footpath through the perennial gardens afterward, holding her train high as she led the way, laughing, to the beach.

There on the sand, she and Jake had posed for wedding photographs that were now safely entombed in a white silk album tucked on the top shelf of her bedroom closet. Anne's return was one more reminder that Laura hardly had the heart to look at them anymore.

E
lly watched movies, music videos, and television shows online nonstop after leaving Ryder on Friday afternoon, bringing her laptop into the kitchen and alternating between swilling coffee and sipping wine. Well, more than sipping: she'd polished off two bottles of wine today already, and it was only six o'clock on Sunday evening.

She had dutifully noted the credits on everything she watched and made phone calls, first trying people she'd worked with in the past, then resorting to cold calls. She hated every minute of it, even as she made her pitches: “Hey, do you have anything new in the works? I've got a free window.”

Elly gave herself pep talks along the way, reminding herself that the only way to succeed in Hollywood was to keep putting herself out there, wearing her skin like some bulletproof shell, slick and impermeable.

By now, however, the confidence she'd felt driving home from Ryder's house on Friday had evaporated. Meanwhile, Ryder kept texting, asking if she wanted to meet up. For dinner yet! Or a movie! A date. Like they were sixteen!

All right, yes. She was tempted to see him after that glorious, head-spinning sex. But the last thing she needed was a relationship to derail her job search. Especially with Ryder, who was like one of those big friendly dogs that keeps jumping up to greet you no matter how many times you tell it to stay down.

Her face was still chafed from Ryder's stubble. She rubbed a hand over it, remembering the way his legs had entwined with hers after they'd made love, how sweetly pleasant it was to doze in his arms. She had awakened Saturday morning to find Ryder smiling down at her, his eyes surprisingly tender.

Definitely a mistake to see him anytime soon. Why get attached and ruin a good thing?

The sun was starting its descent, the usual L.A. ball of fire fizzing orange behind the palm trees swaying outside her wrought-iron balcony. She might as well give up until Monday.

Elly sighed, shut down her laptop, and went into the living room, carrying the last dregs of the wine with her. Her phone rang just as she flopped down onto the cheap leatherette couch and reached for the TV's remote control.

It was Laura. “Elly! You're home! Thank God.”

“What's up, Lorelai?” Elly continued flicking through channels with the television on mute.

“You've got to help me.”

Elly sat up. “What's wrong? You okay?”

“No, of course I'm not okay! That's why I'm calling! You should
know
that!”

“You always call me at this time of day,” Elly pointed out. “While you're washing dishes,” she couldn't help adding.

Laura was the diva of multitasking; she couldn't even make a phone call without simultaneously doing some chore. Tonight it sounded as though she was throwing plates into the stainless-steel sink in her kitchen.

“Well, this time I'm calling you because things are definitely not okay,
okay
?” Laura's voice was high and tight above the clatter.

“So spill,” Elly said.

“Anne's here!”

“At your house?”

“No! At Folly Cove with Mom.”

There was another crash in the background. Elly frowned, trying to picture Laura. Her sister's straight dark hair, cut in a chin-length
bob since college, was now laced with gray; she was probably wearing her usual barn clothes: jeans and a sweater.

Elly's entire apartment could fit inside Laura's kitchen. Sometimes Elly envied this, but mostly not. Her sister was moody, and she often wore her unhappiness like a shawl, scratchy but pulled close to her chin anyway.

“Say something,” Laura demanded.

“So Anne's there. So what?”

“Did you know she was coming home?”

“Nope. I haven't talked to her in a while.” Elly shut off the television to focus better on her sister's tense, disembodied voice. “I'm surprised she's home, but I don't get why it's such a big crisis.”

“You
know
why! I can't have Anne around Jake.”

“Come on. Don't be stupid. That was a million years ago.”

According to Laura, Anne had once stayed at Laura's house to look after the horses while Laura and Kennedy were away, and she'd put the moves on Jake. Truthfully, Elly found this story tough to swallow. Jake was a nice guy, sweet and handsome in the regular way of a blandly appealing Ken doll, but he was definitely not Anne's type. Anne went for bookish, bearded men usually recovering from substance abuse or a tragedy. The sort of men who were appealing because they were dangerous, and dangerous because you couldn't fix them, but you got hooked on trying.

“Wrong! Remember when Anne was here just two years ago?” Laura was saying. “How I caught them during Mom's big Christmas party at the inn?”

“I'm sorry, sweetie,” Elly said. “I know that hurt, too, but I still say it was a drunken party kiss. I really don't think Anne and Jake were ever involved. Maybe having Anne come back is a good thing. You guys can try talking about things more rationally now. You can't hang on to this forever.”

“I don't
want
to be rational!” Laura shouted. “I don't trust Anne. I never will again.”

Elly sighed. She understood Laura's feelings, but at the same time,
she'd always been close to Anne, and Anne had denied everything. Most of all, Elly hated not being able to be with her sisters at the same time. So awful and awkward. “I doubt you have anything to worry about now, anyway,” she said. “Last time I talked to Anne, she was living with some guy in Puerto Rico. She sounded madly in love.”

“Not anymore.” Laura's voice was grim. “Mom thinks they broke up.”

“But you don't know that for sure.”

“Anne's planning to stay here until Christmas! What does that tell you?”

Elly had to admit that sounded potentially bad. “Why did they break up?”

“Mom didn't say, and frankly, I don't care. But I can't stand it,” Laura said. “
Hell
no. I'm going to tell Mom that Anne has to leave.”

Elly laughed. “Be serious. You can't do that. It's not like you own Folly Cove.”

“I'm the only one who stuck around. That should give me some leverage, right? I'll be the one pushing Mom's wheelchair when it's time.”

“Don't bet on it. Mom will probably outlive us all.”

“Maybe,” Laura said. More plates crashed in the background. “But what am I supposed to do while Anne's here? You've got to help me!”

“How? I'm in California.”

“Come home,” Laura said. “You haven't been here in ages, and I need backup.”

Elly started to say that she couldn't possibly fly to Massachusetts right now because of work. But she didn't have any work.

And as she glanced around her apartment, Elly saw that the philodendron hanging in the window was already dead, a scattering of brown leaves curling on the windowsill beneath it. Not even her plant would miss her if she left.

Why not fly home for a visit and catch her breath, and maybe help her sisters mend fences? She could job hunt from there. Maybe she'd sublet her apartment for a month. That would bring in some cash.

And Ryder would have to take no for an answer if she was three thousand miles away.

“I'll think on it,” Elly promised. “Besides, isn't Mom about to turn sixty-five? Seems like we should give her a party.”

“Somebody should,” Laura agreed glumly. “And that means us.”

•   •   •

Despite her exhaustion and the crisp white sheets, Anne wasn't sleeping well at the inn. Being awake wasn't much better: the minute she opened her eyes, her evil monkey mind started replaying that last horrible day with Colin.

She'd gotten up early to take Lucy outside so Colin could sleep. He was a writer who kept late hours as he worked on his second book. His first novel had made him “practically famous,” he'd told her, “at least in Ireland, where they're not afraid of a dark story.”

When his first book's sales didn't warrant a U.S. deal, Colin, who was originally from Dublin, had married Barbara, a wealthy American woman, and moved to New York City. He'd returned to school for a degree in computer science. When the marriage unraveled, he'd wanted to follow in Hemingway's footsteps and live in Cuba, but since that was still politically dicey, he'd chosen Puerto Rico instead.

Now Colin worked as a consultant for a U.S. telecommunications company and wrote during his free hours, he'd explained the first night they met in the Surf Riders Bar and Grill, where Anne was working. Colin had shown up at the bar in a pin-striped suit, a lone older man swanning through a crowd of board shorts and bikinis “like a heron among pigeons,” as her friend Josefina had observed from behind the bar.

Anne was impressed by Colin's dedication to his writing. He had rebooted his life after his marriage ended, just as she had started her life over when she left Massachusetts, after earning her bachelor's and master's degrees in education. She'd taught elementary school for a decade. Then, once she'd struggled to pay off her student loans and save some money, she'd moved to Puerto Rico—both to escape Jake and to experience the adventures she'd never been able to have while studying and working so hard. His openness to make such a drastic change, just as she had done, was partly why Anne had fallen hard for Colin despite their fifteen-year age gap and the fact that his divorce wasn't quite final.

When she got pregnant a few months into their relationship, Colin
hadn't wanted the baby. Anne was thrilled. She was thirty-six and had always wanted a child. Finally Colin capitulated once she promised to take on all the child care responsibilities.

After Lucy was born, Colin called the baby his “happy little accident.” Anne was sure that he would love his daughter in time. When his divorce came through, they might even marry, but she cared less about that.

Colin insisted that they rent a house after Lucy was born so he could have an office. Anne had put up the money—first and last months' rent, plus a security deposit—because Colin said he had to send most of his monthly paycheck to Barbara, his ex. Their rental house was in El Yunque rain forest, nestled on a hillside among towering tabanuco trees laced with vines. Below the deck off their bedroom, the flor de maga trees flamed bright red and there were thick stands of orange bird-of-paradise flowers. Lizards sunned themselves on the railings.

They lived only five miles above the tourist bars and food kiosks of Luquillo Beach, yet El Yunque was so cool and misty that it felt like a different world. She and Colin hiked the trails at off times. Their favorite path led to a small waterfall. Before Lucy was born, they used to make love behind the silver curtain of water, their skin hot and stinging in the icy water. Anne wrapped her legs around Colin's waist as they balanced on the slippery rocks, breathless with love, with desire, with trusting each other not to let the other one fall.

Puerto Rico was, quite simply, paradise.

The day before she left the island, Anne had put Lucy down for a morning nap while she showered and dressed for work. Colin didn't stir as she was leaving. His habit was to stay home and write while the baby napped; he'd bring Lucy down to the restaurant when she woke. Then Clara, the owner's sister, would watch her while Anne finished her shift.

Anne had worked at Surf Riders Bar and Grill for two years by then. The tips were good and the owner, Mateo, was flexible about giving her time off. He also let her cook once he realized that Anne knew her way around a kitchen. She made the more innovative dishes and desserts. They talked excitedly about transforming Surf Riders from a casual beach bar into a destination for tourists, especially the
moneyed people from Miami and New York who kept yachts in the Fajardo marinas.

“You class up the joint,” Mateo announced when Anne produced her first chocolate flourless torte for him, a staple recipe at the Folly Cove Inn. She'd given the dessert Puerto Rican flair by topping cake slices with guava ice cream.

Whether she was classy or not, Mateo still insisted on Anne wearing her bikini—the standard outfit of all Surf Rider waitresses—when she was waiting tables or bartending, even after the baby, despite her new breast size and the added layer of padding around her waist and hips.

“This is Puerto Rico, not Manhattan or L.A.,” Mateo had declared when she'd protested and said she felt self-conscious about her figure since motherhood. “Guys around here dig a real woman's curves.” His only compromise was that if Anne was cooking, she could pull on a tunic over her suit.

That last day at the restaurant, she was wearing her red bikini and mixing cocktails. Patrons were already lined up when Anne arrived, crowding around high-tops made of surfboards. She soon lost track of time as she chatted with people and poured drinks.

Anne was in her groove, adding fresh mint leaves to a trio of frosted mojito glasses, when Colin came striding into the restaurant. His mouth was set in a tense line, and he carried Lucy under one arm like a football. The baby didn't seem to mind. She was drooling and grinned at Anne as if she could fly straight into her mother's arms.