Independence Day (8 page)

“Nick! Chessie! Come join us!” Betsy O’Meara
called from a table in the middle of the crowd. Nick recognized Sandy Weston and Patrick Goodall and the rest of the Art Guild group along with their spouses. Although there was no alcohol at this school function, he thought he saw eighty-year-old Sandy surreptitiously pour something from a flask into a plastic cup. Great. As an administrator, he was here to police students, not the senior citizens. And if he had to be here, he’d feel more comfortable with a table of faculty members. He tried to steer Chessie in the other direction toward Hattie St. Regis and her husband.

“We’d love to join you,” Chessie called back to Betsy, and he could do nothing now but follow her.

“Wow!” Sandy exclaimed as they approached. “Chessie, you’ve emerged from your cocoon! Nick, you have one beautiful dance partner tonight.”

Nick winced. “I’m not sure how much dancing I’ll be doing.”

“Ah, your…injury.” Sandy stood, then held out a chair for Chessie right next to his own. “I’ll be glad to help fill your dance card, my dear.”

Chessie beamed up at the old coot as if she was actually enjoying his outrageous flirtation.

As Nick stood behind his wife’s chair, the group discussion broke into small talk about art and technique and the best tourist-free spots for open-air sketching. Chessie, her cropped head bobbing with enthusiasm, joined in the discussion as if he wasn’t there.

He looked around at the crowd enjoying themselves in the gathering dusk and resigned himself to a very long evening.

B
AREFOOT
, I
SABEL CLIMBED
down the rocks near the pier to the high water mark where the outgoing tide had left an undulating berm of treasure. Seaweed in every shape and color. Gull feathers. An occasional float from a lobster trap’s line. Smooth pebbles. Driftwood. And sea glass. She liked the sea glass with its frosted surfaces best of all.

She often came here to collect random objects to serve as inspiration for her poems. Clutching her notebook in one hand, she bent to examine what the latest tide had left behind. Usually, she felt peaceful here, even with the continual activity at the pier. By day, the lobstermen ruled. But they were a generally taciturn bunch. Unless Uncle Sean spotted her, she was left alone. By evening, the owners and crews of the pleasure boats came ashore. But they were mostly tourists or summer residents who might take her picture as she mucked about at the water’s edge, but who never pressed themselves into her world.

That was the way she liked it. The solitude gave her a chance to think. A chance she got less and less at home lately. She didn’t know what she was going to do about home. About her family. And she didn’t know what she was going to do about the pain she felt inside.

Usually her poems helped. Would the hurt go
away when she got older? Most adults acted as if they didn’t remember the agony of growing up. Until that forgetfulness descended, Isabel wrote poems. Notebooks and notebooks full of them. Some of them she put to music. But she couldn’t concentrate on her music lately.

It was hard enough to concentrate on her writing.

In fact it was hard to feel peaceful even in her favorite spot tonight. Too many troubling thoughts kept vying for her attention. Too many problems kept vying for solutions she didn’t have.

Take Gabriella.

Please.

This afternoon she’d tried to have a serious conversation with her sister about Mom and Dad. About how she and Gabby needed to make things easier for their parents right now because they seemed to be going through a rough patch. A potentially dangerous rough patch. Isabel had seen her friends’ parents split over less.

As she saw it, with Mom acting out, the two sisters needed to keep things copacetic. As much as she’d cried over ripping up her college applications, she knew she’d done the right thing. She needed to stay home, attend a community college in Portland and keep an eye on her parents.

But when she’d tried to find her sister earlier, she’d been holed up in her bedroom with Keri. They were on about how they were joining up with Baylee Warner and Margot Hensley for a makeover to
night. As if there hadn’t been enough makeovers already.

Isabel thought bitterly about her mother’s haircut. More than Gabriella’s buzz, her mother’s radical new look bothered her. It bothered her that her mother could look so young and so…sexual. And didn’t she know that Dad loved her long hair? Why would she take that away from him? It was like a slap in the face.

When she’d tried to discuss it with Gabriella, her sister had just shrugged. She’d said the more outrageous Mom acted, the less right she’d have to complain about what Gabby was planning.

That was when Isabel knew Gabriella wasn’t just going to hang out with the girls and experiment with makeup and hair. But when she’d confronted her, Gabriella had shut down. Keri had looked at Isabel as if she were an infant.

A seagull landing on a nearby rock startled her. She needed to get home. It looked as if she wasn’t going to find any poetic inspiration here this evening, and, if she stayed, her sour mood might just ruin the karma of the place. As she stepped over a pile of seaweed, pain sliced through her heel. She looked down to see blood oozing from the sole of her foot. A jagged piece of glass—not the beautiful sea glass, but a fragment from some nasty beer bottle—poked out of the rock-strewn shore. For a moment, Isabel stood absolutely still, her foot slightly raised, a detached part of herself fascinated by the red blood, the green glass. And the physical pain. So different from her emotional pain.

For an instant, the physical pain blotted out the pain of her emotional chaos.

And then all the first aid her mother had ever drummed into her surfaced. She hobbled to the shoreline where she stood ankle-deep in the cold Atlantic. The salt and the iodine would naturally cleanse the wound. The cold would anesthetize it.

But as the physical pain receded, the confusing jumble of emotions returned. She stood with the harbor stretching before her and felt so alone.

She thought of the red blood and the green glass.

As if sleepwalking, she made her way back up to the rocks and found the broken shard. Held it up in front of her like a talisman. Grasped it firmly, then, very deliberately, drew its razor-sharp edge along the soft flesh of her upper arm.

C
HESSIE HADN’T MISSED
a dance.

While Nick had mingled as only an administrator would, Chessie had accepted any and all dance invitations. And they’d come in a steady stream. It seemed the new and improved Chessie had the power to turn heads. All but her husband’s.

His underwhelming response to the effort she’d put into looking attractive for him had hurt. Big time. So she’d decided to look attractive for herself—how liberating—and had left him to stew in his own juices.

But now that she’d tasted adulation, she realized it wasn’t her goal. Not in the least. Bringing Nick closer to her was. So, as the band took a break and the stars began to come out in force, she threaded her way through the crowd, two soft drinks in hand. Obviously, she needed to take a different tack, and she’d finally thought of one.

She found him just leaving a group of parents.

“Hi. I was watching you from across the way.” She held up a can. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” As he reached for it, she held on.

“I’m Chessie. I’m a potter. I like moonlit walks, long conversations and men who aren’t afraid to commit.”

He looked puzzled.

“Humor me,” she said, releasing the soda.

“Okay…” He took a swig and gazed at her over the rim of the can. “I’m Nick. I’m a high-school principal.”

“So, Nick, what do you like to do when you’re not being a high-school principal?”

“What? There’s supposed to be time beyond the job? Nobody told me that when I hired on.”

Chessie chuckled, pleased he was going along with her little game. Then she saw Richard Filmore heading their way. This wouldn’t do. She wanted Nick to herself.

“Can we talk? Somewhere it’s not so crowded?” she asked.

He touched her arm—this time his touch lingered—and steered her beyond the tables to where the track circled the football field. There were no adults here, only small groups of young children playing tag and letting off steam away from their parents.

“This better?” he asked, his voice husky.

“Yes.” She fell into step beside him, aware of the tension between them. Not the stress of the previous week, of husband and wife at odds, but a sort of just-having-met electricity. Their relationship needed some first-date jitters, some searching for who the other person was, what he or she wanted.

They walked in silence until they were far enough away to feel alone under the night sky. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and when his arm brushed hers by chance, she could feel the coarse hairs and the warmth of the flesh beneath. The sensation felt new to her.

“So, Mr. Principal,” she said at last, “if you had any spare time, how would you like to spend it?”

“I’m a basic no-frills guy. Aside from running to let off steam, I like to spend time with my loved ones. Pretty boring, huh?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” She looked at him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Would she be interested in him if she had just met him tonight? “But you do look as if you could use a little fun.”

“Ouch. I look that bad?”

She stopped and reached out to touch the scowl line between his eyebrows.

“I’ve had a tough week,” he said.

“Anything I can do to help?”

He started at her question.

“I know we just met,” she offered with what she hoped was a come-hither look, “but do you want to party?”

“When I first saw you tonight—” a slow grin softened his features “— I thought, ‘There’s a woman who knows her way around a good time.’”

“And why did you think that?”

He paused and seemed to see her, really see her. “You…look…hot.”

His comment, along with the intensity of his gaze, made her shiver.

“You think?” She turned slowly in front of him as she’d imagined turning—preening—earlier at home. “So why didn’t you ask me to dance?”

He shook his head ruefully. “The competition was tough.”

“And you let a little thing like competition scare you off?” She trailed her fingers down his shirtfront. “I may have just met you, but already I would have expected more of you.”

A strange thing happened as they stood close together on the track at the far end of the football field, under the stars. Nick the administrator was replaced by Nick the man. A tall and handsome man with a look of longing in his dark eyes.

At that moment the band began to play again. A slow number.

“May I?” Before she could answer, Nick slid his arm around her waist, pulled her close and began to move to the music.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, felt the heat of his cheek next to hers, let the rhythm of their bodies take over. Would she be attracted to him if she had just met him tonight? Yes. If for the chemistry alone.

Nick smelled the exotic scent of a perfume he didn’t recognize. Felt the wind blow a short errant curl across his cheek. Felt the woman in his arms respond to the music and his body with a sensuality that was new. And exciting.

This was Chessie?

The thought unnerved him. As much as he loved the old, nurturing Chessie, this new woman turned him on. Was that okay?

“Chessie,” he said, fighting to hold on to reality, “about this week…”

“Let’s not talk about this week,” she whispered in his ear. “Let’s stay in the moment.”

All right. He could handle the moment because it sure felt fine. But, in light of this past week, what would she expect beyond this moment?

“What do you want?” he persisted. “From me.”

She pulled away slightly and laid a finger across his lips. “This is an excellent start.”

If that was true, maybe this basic no-frills guy had a chance.

F
OR WHAT SEEMED
like the millionth time, Gabriella brushed Kurt’s hands away as they slid up her sides too close to her breasts while they danced, her back to his front. Surrounded by the throbbing beat, the pulsing lights, she found it easier to turn away from him—to pretend he wasn’t there—but harder to anticipate his unwanted moves.

“What’s the matter?” he shouted in her ear from behind. “You need a drink to loosen up?”

She shook her head. If she kept Kurt dancing out here on the floor with everyone else, she might just make it through the night. What time was it? It seemed like they’d been here forever. The glistening
bodies, the smell of sweat mingled with perfumes and alcohol had seemed edgy and bold when they’d first arrived. Now it seemed stale and cheesy. No big deal.

Just why had they gone through so much to get here?

Gabriella had told her mom she was spending the night with Keri. Keri had told her mom they’d been invited to spend the night at Baylee’s, and Mrs. Weiss had driven them to the Warners’. Baylee had packed their outfits in an overnight bag and had her dad drive them to Margot’s, which was right on the beach within walking distance of the Surf Club. The guys met them at the entrance.

For all the build-up, getting into the club had been a snap. Whether it was the clothes and makeup— Baylee had done a fabulous job—or the fake IDs, the checkers waved them right through. This might be a club for summer residents and tourists, but Dad would have a cow if he could see how many Coastal High kids were in here right now.

The DJ changed songs—the music never stopped—and Gabriella felt Kurt’s hands slip over her hips. Gently. He’d suddenly become a much smoother dancer, shadowing her every move. Surprised, she turned her head to find herself dancing with some other guy who was definitely not Kurt. He was kind of goofy-looking and somehow familiar, but she stayed with him, turned to face him, because he didn’t try to paw her as Kurt had all night. Besides, Kurt was nowhere in sight.

Neither were any of the other kids she’d come with.

Suddenly nervous, she looked around. She hadn’t seen Keri in a while.

“What’s wrong?” her dance partner mouthed.

“I can’t find my friends!” she yelled at him, but the music was so loud he shook his head in confusion.

She stood on tiptoe and tried to see over the crowd looking for Keri, Baylee or Margot. Quite frankly, the guys they’d come with made her nervous. Including Danny. She didn’t mind if they’d split.

“Come on!” The guy who wasn’t Kurt edged her toward the doors leading out to a huge deck.

She sure didn’t want to be alone with him, but because she could see people out there, she didn’t resist. Maybe one of her group had gone out to catch some air.

There wasn’t a sound system out on the deck— Gabriella could imagine the beachfront property owners had something to do with that—but it was still loud. She could, however, hear herself think for the first time that night.

“Something wrong?” the guy asked as they found a space by the railing.

“I can’t find my friends.”

“Who are you looking for?”

When she told him the names of the seven people she’d come with, he made a face.

“What?”

“It’s a free country,” was all he’d say. He was tall and thin and had grown a really scraggly soul patch.
He looked at her as if he could see right into her skull. Not in a pervy way, but nosy. “How old are you?” he asked.

The nerve. “How old are you?”

He laughed and Gabriella could see he had nice white teeth, if a little crooked.

“I gotta find my friends.”

“Suit yourself,” he replied as she pushed away from the railing. “Thanks for the dance. You’re good.”

There was something kind of old-fashioned about the comment. Gabriella couldn’t imagine Kurt thanking her for one lousy dance. In any event, she couldn’t switch partners. Actually, she didn’t want a partner. She needed to find Keri and see if they could leave. By getting in here, they’d made their point. Whatever the heck it had been. Now her head hurt. She didn’t feel like sticking around till someone with authority found out how old they really were.

“Hey, what’s your name?” the guy called after her. “I’m Owen.”

Geez, Owen was the name of someone’s grandfather. Gabriella suddenly felt sorry for him, and pictured him younger. At the losers’ table in junior high. “Madison,” she replied. Now was as good a time as any to try on a new identity. She headed back into the noise of the club.

But once inside, she felt alone and unprotected, nervous without the skinny guy watching her back. Somehow he’d made her feel safer than Kurt. As she made her way around the dance floor, guys reached
out to cop a feel even as they were dancing with another girl. This was cool? Call her a nerd, but she thought it was lame. It was time to leave. But where was Keri?

If the others wanted to stay, let them, but she needed to tell her best friend. Maybe she’d come with her. Keri had a cell phone. They could call Mrs. Weiss and wait for her outside Margot’s house. They’d make up something about how they ended up there. Mrs. Weiss always seemed to believe whatever Keri told her. Maybe they could buy some sympathy and say Gabriella felt sick and wanted to sleep in her own bed. That was kind of true. Gabriella needed the familiarity of her own room about now. Being over twenty-one wasn’t what it was cracked up to be.

She saw Kurt over at the end of the bar, sucking face with some girl as if he hadn’t come with someone else. Gross. What a jerk.

By the restrooms, she saw Danny and a couple guys she didn’t recognize. He should know where Keri was.

Pushing her way through the crowd, she saw Danny palm something to one of the other guys before they turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Danny looking around as if he expected someone else.

“Hey, Gabs. Wassup?”

“Where’s Keri?”

“How should I know?”

“Geez, Danny, you’re her date.”

“Date. How quaint.” He looked at her funny. “You’re something else.”

“Then have you seen Baylee or Margot?”

“Do I look like directory assistance?” He seemed irritated. “Hey, Gabs, nice talkin’ to ya. But if you don’t mind, I got business.”

“What business?” He was giving off the same pervy vibes as Kurt.

Danny pulled his hand only slightly out of his pocket, and Gabriella could see a bunch of little plastic bags with pills. “You interested? You look like an E kinda girl.”

Now she knew she had to find Keri.

Pushing her way into the women’s restroom, she scanned the row of girls in front of the mirrors. “Keri?”

“Check to see if your friend’s the one in the last stall,” a girl drying her hands said. “She’s been in there a while. She might be sick.”

Peering under the door, Gabriella didn’t recognize the shoes, but they were all wearing new stuff. Baylee’s stuff. “Keri?”

There was no response. No movement even.

She turned to go, but a bad feeling stopped her. Whoever occupied the stall, Keri or not, was too silent. Too still.

“Are you okay?” Gabriella asked, rapping on the door. She would’ve welcomed an expletive-laced order to go away, but behind the door the toes in the platform sandals never even twitched.

Panicking, Gabriella knelt to look under the door.

Keri sat slumped on the toilet seat, her face flushed, her eyes half open.

“Keri!”

She didn’t move.

Gabriella tried the door. Of course it was locked. “Keri! Open up!”

Keri didn’t respond.

The others in the restroom backed away uneasily.

Not caring what they thought, Gabriella crawled under the door and into the stall. “Keri?”

As her head lolled backward, Keri’s eyelids fluttered. She was hot to the touch. Burning up hot. As if she had a fever.

“Help!” Gabriella unlocked the stall door, but couldn’t open it in the cramped space. She had to crawl back out underneath.

“Help me get her out of there,” she pleaded as a dozen faces stared blankly at her. “She needs air.”

Finally, one of the girls stepped forward and helped Gabriella lift Keri out of the stall and into the larger room where they laid her on the floor.

“Omigod,” someone muttered. “She must have taken some bad shit.”

Gabriella looked up. “What are you talking about?”

“Ask Danny Aiken. He’s her boyfriend, isn’t he?”

Had Danny given Keri drugs? Had he slipped them in her drink? Had she taken them on her own?

At that moment, Keri turned on her side and retched. Her cell phone fell off her belt.