“Where's Jack taking you?” Josie asked.
“Portland,” said Dahlia. “Joel Hardy's parents are away and he's getting a keg.” She returned to the dresser for a tube of pink gloss and dragged it over her lips, smacking them loudly.
“Sounds like fun,” said Josie.
“Not really. All those basketball players' girlfriends still look at me like I'm about to burst into flames.”
“They're just jealous because you're Jack's girlfriend. All the girls in school are.”
Girlfriend
. Dahlia still didn't know how she felt about that word. The truth was, she'd been dating Jack almost six months now, longer than she'd ever stayed interested in any one guy, and that equation wasn't sitting well with her either. Worse than that, every time she thought about breaking up with him, she felt undone. Like leaving the house and being sure you'd forgotten to turn off the stove. She couldn't stand the thought of not being near him.
“Are you going to tell Jack that Daddy's here?”
“Jesus, no,” said Dahlia.
“You have told him about Daddy, haven't you?”
Dahlia shrugged. “What's to tell?”
“I don't know,” said Josie. “It just seems like something you'd tell someone who loves you.”
Dahlia turned on her sister. “Who said anything about him loving me?”
“Well, of course he loves you,” said Josie, suddenly confused. “Why else is he still with you if he doesn't love you?”
Dahlia dropped onto the bed and pulled on a pair of cowboy boots. “You don't know anything, Joze.”
Josie frowned, dejected. She watched Dahlia move back to the dresser and snap the top off a bottle of perfume.
“I knew you'd do this,” she said.
Dahlia glanced back at her sister in the vanity mirror. “Do what?”
“Ruin it. Pretend Jack's just like all those other creeps when you know he's not.”
“That's crap. I'm not ruining anything.”
“Not yet. But you will,” said Josie. “I know you will. And you're obviously in love with him.”
“I'm not in love with him,” Dahlia said firmly.
“You are too. I see how you look at him. How weird you get if he's late or if he's not on the boat in the morning. You never cared this much before.”
Dahlia sprayed her wrist, rubbed it across her neck. “You should go downstairs and find Matty,” she said, eager to change the subject. “Ask him to take you to the movies or something. Get yourself the hell away from here tonight.”
“I can't.” Josie sighed. “I can't leave Momma here with Daddy all alone. Not when he just got here.”
“Fine. Do what you want.”
“It isn't what I want,” Josie said, annoyed. “I'm not the one doing what I want here.”
“Don't start, Joze. Stay if you want to stay, but don't guilt-trip me.”
Josie followed her sister back into the living room, defeated, but it was already too late. To Dahlia's horror, she walked toward the door only to meet Charles blowing in with an armload of groceries, and Jack right behind him.
“Hey, darlin'!” Charles shoved the groceries into Dahlia's motionless arms, pushing past her to find Josie. “Where's my Julep at?”
Josie waved meekly from the love seat. Charles bounded to her, scooping her up into a suffocating embrace. “Found this fella tryin' to break into y'all's house,” he roared, gesturing to Jack. “Says he's your boyfriend, Dahlia.” Charles reached over and stroked Josie's cheek. “Don't you break your daddy's heart and tell me you got one of them nasty boyfriends too, Josephine?”
Josie shifted toward the front edge of the love seat, her fingers gripping the worn velvet seams like toes over the edge of a diving board. “I should help Momma,” she said, rising.
Camille emerged from the kitchen, wearing a strained smile. She moved to Dahlia, relieving her of Charles's bags and offering her an understanding smile.
“Hello, Jack.”
“Hi, Mrs. Bergeron. My mom wanted me to thank you for the étouffée you sent over on Monday. She said it was delicious.”
“Good. I hope she's feeling better.”
Charles pried off his shoes and stacked his stocking feet on the coffee table. “You know, Camille,” he said, “I thought you was kiddin' with this restaurant business, but I walked right by the goddamned place just now and almost pissed myself.”
“I told you when you called the last time, Charles. It's become very popular.”
“No shit?” He shoved a cigarette into his mouth, fumbled in his shirt pocket for his lighter. “Well, don't get used to it, darlin'. I'm makin' enough money for y'all now, so you can quit this foolishness with the restaurant. Let Haskell make his own goddamned gumbo.”
Jack gave Dahlia a curious look. She took his hand, steering them toward the door, thinking there was still time to escape unscathed.
“Where y'all going so fast?” Charles pointed to the kitchen with his cigarette. “Dahlia, girl, go help your sister and your momma and leave me and your boyfriend alone awhile to get to know each other.”
Dahlia looked up at Jack, panic filling her eyes. He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand. Jack had heard the stories about their father, even seen Charles's takeover of the band at the island's dance with his own eyes the year before, a painful scene that had only made his affections for Dahlia grow stronger.
Jack took a seat across from Charles, his gaze steady but cautious.
Charles offered him a cigarette. Jack refused. “My lungs would kill me,” Jack said. “I'd never be able to get up and down the basketball court.”
“Horseshit.” Charles sucked in a long drag. “I been playin' the trumpet near my whole life. Need lungs the size of Texas for that. Ain't hurt me none.”
Jack shrugged agreeably, glancing toward the kitchen, sure Dahlia was straining to overhear.
Charles saw where Jack's eyes roamed and he grinned. “You like Dahlia, do ya?”
Jack turned back to Charles. “I like her very much.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Charles snickered. “Me and Dahlia don't always see eye-to-eye so good. She tell you she tried to kill me once?”
“No,” Jack answered carefully. “I don't think she mentioned that.”
“Sure did. Went at me with a goddamned carving knife.” Charles flicked ashes off his cigarette. “She's a hellion, that one,” he said, nodding to the kitchen. “You gotta watch her real good.”
Jack studied Charles as he stubbed out his cigarette, wondering just what sort of attack Dahlia had endured before managing to defend herself. Just let the bastard try to pull something like that here, Jack thought, protectiveness rising in him primal and hot.
He stood, offering his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Bergeron, but we really have to go if we want to make the ferry.”
Dahlia appeared in the doorway, relief spreading across her face.
“Ready?” Jack asked.
Dahlia sighed. “God, yes.”
Â
Jack waited until they were in the car before he asked, “So when did he get here?”
Dahlia watched the house slide out of view in the side mirror, her heart still racing. “A few hours ago,” she said.
Jack reached across the seat and touched her cheek. Her skin was hot. “We don't have to go to this party, you know,” he said. “We could just get some fried clams and go down to the cove. I've still got that blanket in the trunk.”
Dahlia bit at her lip, torn. She didn't want to go to Joel Hardy's, but she didn't want to stay on the island, either. Tonight it wouldn't have been enough to disappear into the cove. She wanted a moat between her and Charles larger than just a slip of sidewalk or a hundred yards of pavement. Give her the widest part of the bay. With luck, maybe she and Jack would miss the last ferry and be stuck on the mainland till morning.
“No, I want to go to the party,” she said, forcing an easy smile.
Jack searched her face, unconvinced.
They parked in the lot and walked down to the landing. Spring had arrived, but only barely. Even though the streets had been empty of snow for over a month and the daffodils had started to poke through the softening soil, it seemed winter still held claim to the island's evenings, resurfacing at sunset with a bristling wind.
On the ferry, they found Jack's teammate Eddie Boone and his girlfriend, Mandy Kinney, sitting on the upper deck.
“Hey, man!” Eddie stood, waving them over. Mandy stayed seated and watched them approach, pulling the collar of her peacoat under her chin.
“You guys going to Joel's?” Eddie asked.
Jack took Dahlia's hand. “That's the plan. Hi, Mandy.”
Eddie's girlfriend smiled, brushed back her straight blond hair. “Hi, Jack.”
“You know my girlfriend, Dahlia Bergeron, right?”
Dahlia swore Mandy's nostrils flared. “Sure,” she said, meeting Dahlia's gaze. “Hello.”
Dahlia lifted her hand. “Hey.”
The air fell silent between the two couples. Jack pointed inside. “I was going to grab us a couple of Cokes,” he said. “You guys want something?”
Mandy rose, pushing past Eddie. “I'll go,” she said tightly. “I'm freezing out here.”
The four of them walked indoors, choosing a booth near the windows. Dahlia and Mandy took seats while Jack and Eddie crossed to the snack bar.
“The guys are getting together for a pickup game tomorrow at TJ's,” Eddie said. “Want to come?”
“I can't.” Jack fished a pair of singles out of his wallet. “I'm helping Dahlia start some seeds for her beds.”
“Very funny.” Eddie grinned. “That's a joke, right? Seeds and beds?”
Jack turned to him. “No joke. She wants to get started on some plants before summer. I said I'd help.”
They took their place in line behind an elderly couple, who grumbled loudly as they recited the price list behind the short counter.
“Gardening?” Eddie stared at Jack. “You're serious?”
“Why wouldn't I be?” he said. “Dahlia's incredible at it. Talk about a green thumb. Man, you should see what she did with Haskell's yard. I keep telling her she should open up her own business. She'd make a fortune over on the Foreside.”
“Yeah, well, I didn't think you were dating her for her thumbs, Thurlow.”
Jack frowned. “Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Oh, come on, man. Don't get pissed off. I'm just surprised that you're still seeing her, that's all. I mean, shit . . .” Eddie lowered his voice, turned toward Jack. “She's not exactly the kind of girl you get serious about.”
“How would you know, Ed? You've never even said five words to her.”
“Look, don't get me wrong,” said Eddie. “I get it, you know. I get what you see in her.”
“No,” Jack said firmly, handing over his cash and scooping up two bottles of Coke. “You don't.”
Back at the booth, Jack found Dahlia and Mandy sitting across from each other, their gazes fixed on different points out the window. He handed Dahlia her soda, delivering it with a sympathetic smile. Dahlia gave him a wary look and climbed out from the booth, walking away without a word, then pushing through the door to the deck.
“What's with her?” Eddie asked.
Mandy shrugged. “As if I would know.”
Jack offered no explanation; he just followed Dahlia outside. She'd chosen the bench farthest out on the stern. Jack looked around the deck, seeing they were alone. He took a seat beside her.
“I don't want to sit in there,” she said when he arrived.
“Then we won't.”
“Mandy Kinney couldn't say two words to me, Jack. You should have seen her face while you were gone. I swear she looked ready to pop. I'm not even sure she took a goddamned breath the whole time we sat there together.”
He chuckled. “She probably took one.”
“Maybe,” Dahlia relented.
Jack watched her study the water with narrowed eyes, biting at her cuticles.
“Want to talk about him?” he asked.
“Eddie?”
Jack gave her a weary look. “Your dad.”
“Oh.” Dahlia shrugged. “There's nothing to talk about. He's an asshole and I couldn't care less if he's here.”
She closed her eyes then and raised her face to the darkening sky, the wind off the water loosening the hair from her combs. Jack reached out and smoothed the stray strands behind her ear, watching the familiar transformation. Her face relaxed first, then her body. Her legs, crossed before so snugly they were nearly knotted, now came undone. She threw one leg over his, her skirt riding up her thigh. He could see the gooseflesh above her knee, the tops of her wool socks peeking out from her cowboy boots.
He put his hand on her leg as if trying to still a spinning top. She exhaled.
“Why didn't you ever tell me?” he asked.
She rubbed her thigh against the smooth cotton of his chinos. “Tell you what?”
“About the fight with your father.”
“It was just a fight, Jack.”
“You had to defend yourself with a
knife
.”
“It wasn't a big deal.”
“Not a big deal?” He frowned. “Jesus, Dolly, he could have really hurt you. Did you call the police?”
“No.”
“Well, why the hell not?”
“Because we got the fuck out of there instead.” Dahlia swung her leg off him and sat up, impatient. “You don't have any right to judge us. You weren't there.”