Local Girls : An Island Summer Novel (9781416564171) (22 page)

Henry held me there, our faces close, our eyes level, before answering. “You're welcome, Kendra.”

“One more thing,” I continued. “How about meeting me after work and we'll go into town and hang out? This time the ice cream's on me.”

Henry slipped the key in the ignition and contemplated my offer. “Okay, but I'm not letting you off that easy.”

I looked over at him to see if he was kidding. He wasn't. “You're not?”

“Nope. I'm getting a triple scoop at least. Maybe even a sundae.”

I tried not to laugh, mimicking Henry's serious tone. “You drive a hard bargain, Henry Jensen.”

Henry attempted to keep a straight face, but he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from turning up. “Don't you forget it.”

As promised, Henry was waiting for me on the porch steps after work.

“I'm armed and dangerous,” I told him, waving the envelope with my paycheck in the air. “You can even order extra sprinkles if you want. The sky's the limit.”

With my paycheck and tips combined, I had almost one thousand dollars saved so far this summer. It felt like a fortune, until Henry and I started walking into town, passing window displays with price tags dangling off two-hundred-dollar dresses, the gallery windows boasting works of art with five zeros discreetly marking the plaques propped up against the frames.

“So where to first?” Henry asked, taking my hand and not letting go even as people tried to pass us on the sidewalk. A few times we even lifted our arms, making a bridge for little kids to pass under, rather than release each other.

“I don't care. We can just walk around until you're ready for your ice cream, if you want.”

“I have an idea.” Henry led me around the corner onto North Summer Street. At first I thought he was leading me toward Lighthouse Beach, but when he took the next left onto Winter Street I knew better.

“Where are we going?” I asked, even though at that point I had an idea.

“Edgartown's latest and greatest deli, of course. We can say hi to everyone.”

I spotted the wooden sign hanging over the front door
even before I could see the front of the deli. Lexi had insisted on an old-fashioned carved wooden sign with the name and logo etched on both sides. It actually looked nice hanging there, swaying slightly in the breeze. But as we approached the storefront I slowed my pace, preparing myself to see my family's preoccupation for the first time.

Usually my parents and Lexi and Bart didn't get home from the deli until well after six, so I was surprised to see a red
CLOSED
sign hanging against the glass in the front door. The deli's hours were stenciled in the corner of the front window, nine to four, Monday through Sunday. If the deli closed at four o'clock, why wasn't anyone ever home until well after six? I could count on one hand how many times we'd eaten together since the deli opened, and while at one time I would have really enjoyed that fact, it was getting old. I hated to admit it, especially since I was always asking when Lexi and Bart would be moving out, but I'd gotten used to having them around. Not that I couldn't do without Bart's bathroom habits. It's just that we used to eat dinner together most nights, they were home on the weekends, and we once had conversations that didn't eventually, somehow, make their way around to cold cuts.

Even when everyone was home, now there were two modes: deli talk and sleeping. Deli talk consisted of the following topics: food, equipment, receipts, and customer service (as in Lexi pondering the pros and cons of giving customers numbers versus using their first names). Sleeping consisted of my dad passing out in front of the TV at nine o'clock, Lexi nodding off with her head on Bart's lap, and my mom snoozing in her new favorite footwear, the fuzzy terry-cloth slippers Lexi and Bart got her for Christmas.

Now, as I peered through the front door, I could see Lexi standing behind the cash register pushing buttons, the white roll of register tape spiraling onto the counter as it printed out the day's sales. Beside her my mom and dad were wrapping the remains of turkey breast and boiled ham in cellophane and spooning coleslaw and potato salad into large Tupperware containers. Bart emerged from the back room, pushing a bucket along the floor with his foot as he mopped the floor.

There was no talking, everyone doing their part silently, methodically, united in their pursuit of all things delicatessen. Even though they tried to include me at home, asking my opinion on matters that affected the business (did I think shredded lettuce was better than whole leafs?), I'd become the odd one out. It wasn't that I wanted to work behind the counter or debate the merits of slicing sandwiches straight across the middle or diagonally from corner to corner. I just wished maybe once or twice a week we could actually be like we were predeli, however annoying it had been to watch Lexi and Bart play footsie under the dinner table. At least the house wasn't so quiet.

“Wait.” I reached out and placed my hand on Henry's arm, holding him back from knocking on the front door. “They're cleaning up and stuff, we probably shouldn't bother them.”

Henry stood back. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I'm sure.”

After I bought Henry a mint chocolate chip frappé, we made our way down toward the harbor, in the direction of the yacht club. I hadn't planned to visit the deli, but I had planned on making another stop on our walk. If I was going to get past the
MEMBERS ONLY
sign on the door to the yacht
club, I'd have to go there with a member. I had to go there with Henry.

Trying to find Mona's dad wasn't just about proving I was her best friend any longer. Now it was also about proving I wasn't a total bitch for ending up on the beach kissing her brother, that even though Henry and I were together I could still be her best friend. Maybe it was naive, or just plain stupid, but I had to give it a shot. I wasn't willing to let Mona give up on her dream of finding her dad, or give up on Mona and me going back to the way we used to be.

“Do you think I could use the bathroom in the yacht club?” I asked Henry as we walked along the harbor, stopping every once in a while to see what the fishermen had in the buckets they were unloading onto the dock.

“Sure,” he answered, not knowing that what had started out as an excuse to get into the club had become the truth. My nerves were making me have to go.

“Have you ever been here before?” Henry pushed open the short wooden gate that separated the members from the rest of us, before taking me through the front door and into what could only be described as the land of wood. Everywhere. Hardwood floors, large wooden picture frames on paneled walls, cherry-stained bookshelves with silver trophy cups displayed behind glass doors.

“Nope, never.”

“Me neither, until last summer,” Henry explained. “And honestly, I'd still rather sit on the shore than sail.”

“Where's the bathroom?” I asked, and he pointed down the hall as I'd hoped.

“Second door on the right.”

“I'll be right back.”

I left Henry standing in the lobby and made my way down the hall, only I didn't stop when I reached the second door on the right. I continued to the end of the hall, toward the double doors that I hoped would lead me to an answer.

The bronze plaque on the door announced “Library,” but I didn't need a sign to tell me that. The bookshelves lining the walls, and the overstuffed armchairs covered in navy blue with small white sailboats embroidered on the seat cushions, were a dead giveaway.

I didn't have time to use the bathroom. I had to find what I'd come for.

I tipped my head to the side and walked the length of the first bookshelf, reading the spines of the hardcover books as I went. Mostly they were sailing reference books, spine after spine of titles like
The Handbook of Sailing, Fundamentals of Sailing, Fifty Places to Sail Before You Die.
Then I found what I was looking for. An entire shelf of what looked like scrapbooks, each one labeled with a year. I found the one I wanted and slipped it off the shelf.

I stood there cradling the book in my arms, taking a deep breath before cracking open the spine. Inside, the photographs were faded, their colors muted as if they'd been left out in the sun too long. Each photograph sat behind a sheet of laminated plastic and was accompanied by a dated caption, sometimes typed, sometimes handwritten in black pen. As I turned the pages I had to peel the plastic sheets apart, carefully separating the plastic while making sure they didn't rip. One by one I stared at snapshots of kids on dinghies, men hoisting sails, women sitting at the helm of boats in rain slickers. There were photos of celebratory dinners, men holding
trophies and plaques against their chests. I went through June, July and then I came to August; the first photograph was appropriately titled “12-Meter Regatta,” the race results pasted to the opposite page.

“Kendra?” A voice startled me, and I whipped around to face the person in the doorway, dropping the book on my foot when I saw who it was.

“I thought that was you,” Mona said, coming toward me and bending down to help me pick up the photos that fell out from the pages. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to use the bathroom,” I stammered, as if that explained why I was in the library looking through old scrapbooks.

We stood up and Mona handed me the pictures in her hand. “Thanks.”

“Did you get lost? It's right outside to the left.”

I randomly stuffed the photos in the scrapbook. “I must have passed right by it.”

“You know how many times we wished we could get in here to pee?” Mona asked, giving me a smile as she was probably remembering all those long walks we had to take to the public bathrooms, sometimes running to make it in time. “How'd you even get in here?”

“Kendra?” I heard Henry call my name out in the hall.

“I should go,” I told Mona, slipping the book back onto the shelf, not even checking to make sure it was in chronological order.

But I was too late. As I turned around, Henry walked in.

“There you are,” he was saying as he came through the double doors, noticing Mona only once he was in the room.

“Were you looking for me?” Mona asked, turning around to face Henry.

Henry didn't answer. Instead he hesitated and looked over at me standing beside the bookshelf. He couldn't have paused more than a minute, but Mona noticed.

“What's going on?” she asked, looking from Henry to me and back again. “What are you two doing?”

“I ran into Henry on Main Street and he got me in,” I practically stammered. “I told him my situation.”

Mona furrowed her brow, probably trying to figure out why I'd be telling Henry I needed to use the bathroom, but then dismissed it. “I better go, they're waiting for me on Emily's boat. Maybe call me, Kendra?” She looked hopeful, as if willing me to say yes.

“Sure,” I told her, and I meant it. Only instead of feeling better about Mona and I being able to work things out, I felt like crap for lying to her about Henry.

I stood next to him as Mona passed by us on her way out.

“Are you guys sure everything's okay?” she asked, turning around to look at us one more time before heading down the hall.

“I'm fine, thanks.” I pointed to the door on my left. “This one, right?”

“Right,” she confirmed, then waved good-bye and headed toward the lobby.

“You didn't have to lie to her,” Henry told me when Mona was gone.

“I didn't lie.”

He shook his head at me. “You didn't exactly tell her the truth either.”

“I'm going to tell her, I just didn't think this was the best time.”

“Well, if you don't tell her soon, I'm going to.”

I'd tell Mona. I had to. She might not be thrilled, but at least she'd know I was being honest with her. If she found out on her own there was no way she'd forgive me.

“You should come with me next week.” Henry and I were parked in front of the inn. That morning I had to find the oldest, brownest bananas in the store for Shelby's banana bread. I figured I had about two more minutes before she came out looking for me.

“Where?” I asked.

“To the city. I'm going back for the night on Wednesday. A friend who's been in Europe all summer will be home for a few days before heading out to California to see his grandparents.”

“I can't, I have to work.”

“It's your day off,” he reminded me, as if he'd already thought out all the details.

“Yeah, but I'd need somebody to cover for me Thursday morning.”

“So ask someone.”

“That's hardly the point.”

“Then what's the problem? It's just one night. Your parents trust me, they've known me forever. Besides, I'm Mona's brother.”

He must have seen me wince. “If that's the problem, then let's just tell her,” he said.

“No, that's not it.” It wasn't, at least not
all
of it. It was the idea of leaving the island with Henry, taking what we had to Boston. It was meeting Henry's friend, who was probably just the male version of Mona's Whittier crew. It was seeing if what we had could actually make sense when exposed to Henry's life away from me. It all reminded me of a documentary I watched this winter on the Discovery Channel. It was all about how they move pandas from their native environments to zoos, how so few actually survive the transition, even though the zoos attempt to re-create their habitat exactly, right down to the smells and sounds they'd find in their real home thousands of miles away. I was afraid our summer was like that, that the island was like that, that we were just as much a result of the summer and the island we shared as we were of our feelings for each other. And the thought scared me, because I wanted to believe we were more than that.