“Then, what do you suppose he sees in her?”
“We all take Addie for granted because we know her, but she is a great storyteller. Elliot thinks Norman is writing a book. Most people are. And Addie is a great source.”
The afternoon wore on. Pix took a swim, which felt heavenly while she was in the water, but without a shower to wash off the salt, increasingly itchy later, even under her clean dry shirt. She sat down with her back against a log cast up on the shore by one of the winter storms and glanced around to check on her family, a reflex. Ursula was in deep conversation with John Eggleston, whose bright red beard and hair blended well with the shade his face had taken on during the day. What on earth could they be discussing? Was Mother going
to take up wood sculpture? Pix would not be surprised. Sam was poking at the mound with Elliot. They might have been considering a Viking tomb, given the intensity of their expressions. And Samantha was ⦠walking toward her.
Samantha sat next to her mother, leaned back, and stretched her long legs, almost as long as Pix's, out, wriggling her toes in the sand. The two considered the view for a moment before speaking. This one from Sylvester Cove was every bit as good as the one from The Pines, or the Millers' cottage, or just about anywhere else on the island Pix could name. Today there were dozens of sailboats, crisp white triangles against the dense green outer islands and the deep blue sea.
“I love the Fraziers' clambakes,” Samantha said, “but not when the weather is like this. We might as well be home, it's so hot.”
Pix nodded. She considered another beer, then decided to wait. Others had not waited and the laughter and talk was noticeably louder than it had been earlier. Some of the children were getting whiny. It was definitely time to eat. A sudden onslaught of sand fleas sent Pix and Samantha flying from their seats.
“At least it's not blackfly season,” Pix said. Nothing came close to that. They'd all worn beekeeper's hats when they'd tended the graves on Memorial Day. It had been a strange sight.
A possible discussion of “annoying insects I have known” was sharply curtailed by the noise of a loud disturbance farther down the beach. It was moving toward them.
“It's that jerk Duncan!” Samantha said as she moved closer. Pix followed, out of curiosity and to get away from the fleas.
“I'm speaking to you, young man! Don't you walk away from me!” It was Valerie. Her face was red, and as she'd been wearing a fetching sun hat since she arrived, it wasn't from a burn. She was absolutely furious.
“Fuck you!” Duncan answered, and kept walking.
“I saw that beer can in your hand! Don't you lie to me!”
Duncan stopped and turned to face his mother. “So what? Only grown-ups can get wasted?” He said this last in the jeering singsong tones of a small child. Pix marveled at Valerie's self-control. Sure, she was yelling, but had Duncan been Pix's son, she would have had him by the arm by now and marched him straight to the car.
Jim appeared. He'd been swimming and was dripping wet. It magnified his rageâa bull from the sea.
He stood next to his wife.
“Don't you ever talk that way to your mother again! Where do you get off using words like that? Now, I've had just about all I'm going to take from you. Get in the car. You're going home.”
“Home?” Duncan screamed. “You call that âhome'? Your home maybe, not mine!”
Valerie stepped forward and put her hand on his arm. “Now Duncan, let's calm down ⦠.”
He pushed her away rudely and she went sprawling in the sand. Everyone on the beach froze for an instant, including Duncan. He stared at his mother and seemed about to reach for her before noticing Jim virtually foaming at the mouth.
Duncan took off, the tiny red lights of his sneakers blinking frantically in the late-afternoon light.
“Let him go,” Valerie said to her husband. “He needs to be alone.” She brushed the sand from her white pants, adjusted her hat, and said to everyone with a big smile, “I apologize for my son. In his case, adolescence really is a disease. I only wish there were shots for it.”
People laughed and Jim let out what seemed like the breath he'd been holding since confronting his stepson. He hugged Valerie and echoed her sentiments. “My parents always said someday I'd get mine the way they got theirs from me, and boy, were they right!”
“I don't believe it.” Samantha said. She and Pix were on the fringes of the group.
“About Jim, you mean?”
“Yeah, I don't believe he was ever the way Duncan is. And he's definitely not the type who got in trouble when he was a kid. More the kind other parents wanted their kids to be like.”
Pix was not unduly surprised at her daughter's analysis. Samantha was a good judge of character.
“I agree. Plus, I happen to know for a fact Jim was an Eagle Scout. But I think you're being a little hard on Duncan. He may feel like the odd person out in that big house. And he must miss his father terribly. Then, the move couldn't have been easy.”
“I guess it's because I like the Athertons so much. I wasn't thinking of it from his point of view. It's hard to be sympathetic, but you're right. What if Daddy died and you got married again and made me move from Aleford, although coming to Sanpere wouldn't be so bad.” Samantha was working out a whole scenario. “Except no matter who you picked, it wouldn't be Daddy.”
“Who wouldn't be Daddy?” Sam appeared at his daughter's side.
“Mom's next husbandâthat is, if something happened to you and she remarried,” Samantha added hastily, seeing her father's startled look.
“I thought you were going to be faithful to my memory,” Sam said to his wife. “Now I find out you're getting hitched when I'm barely cold in the ground.”
Whether it was the heat, the sand fleas, the scene with the Athertons, or something altogether different, Pix suddenly felt a sense of deep despair. She didn't want to joke about Sam's demise. She didn't want to talk about death at all.
“Samantha, why don't you and your friends see if you can find Duncan. He may want someone to talk to.” Pix had not liked the look of fear and anxiety on the boys's face as he'd
run off. “He's probably up in the ledges at the other end of the beach. I saw him sitting there before.”
“You're right, Mom, but I think he'd be more apt to talk to one person than a bunch of us. I'll go.”
She ran off. Sam looked at Pix. “What's going on?”
“I don't know. I wish I did. It's probably just me. I got tired all of a sudden.”
At that moment, Elliot began to bang on the lid of Pix's now-empty chowder pot with the ladle.
“Hear ye, hear ye! Gather round!”
Elliot, normally a reticent and mild-mannered man in his late sixties, assumed an entirely different persona at the clambake. He wore an apron that proclaimed him “The Clam King,” a gift from a partygoer some years ago and now indispensable garb, as was his broad-brimmed straw hat decorated with small plastic clams, lobsters, and various seashells bearing absolutely no resemblance to reality.
People crowded near to the pit, knowing that before they would get their hands on a lobster or an ear of corn, they'd have to listen to Elliot's traditional clambake speech.
“Some of you have heard this all before,” he started.
“Many times before,” a friend called out, and everyone groaned.
Elliot continued undaunted.
“When my friend Sam and I dug the pit and lined it with rocks this morning, getting everything ready for you sleepyheads who were still snoring away, we were continuing a tradition that goes back to the first summer people to come to Sanpereâthe Abenaki Indians. Along with all the other useful things Indians taught the early colonists, they showed them how to cook in the sand this way. I always like to remember themâwe could be eating at the site of one of their clambakesâand say thank you before we tuck in.”
“Thanks, Abenakis,” a little girl shouted, and everyone laughed. She buried her head in her mother's skirt in embarrassment.
“Now, I'm not quite done yet. At the risk of being accused of being sentimentalâ”
“Risk it, Elliot.” This, much to Pix's surprise, came from her own mother.
“Thank you, Ursula, I will. I'd like to make a toast to all of you good people, who mean so much to Louise and me, and also, as always, to absent friends. Finally, in the words of Sean OâCasey, âMay the very best of the pastâbe the worst of the future!” He took a swig of beer, handed the bottle to his wife, took the first stone anchoring down the tarp covering the steaming pit, removed it, and flung it into the sea. It resounded appropriately with a loud splash. Everyone cheered and rushed to help uncover the steaming food, packed in cheesecloth parcels.
Pix stayed close to Sam. “I love Elliot's toasts.” Things were beginning to be all right again.
“And I love you,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “Now let's eat.” Definitely all right.
Perhaps because they had been waiting so long for the food or because the various potables that had been imbibed created an atmosphere of heightened enjoyment, one and all declared the food the best ever. Pix knew she was a mess. She'd dripped melted butter down her chin as she'd consumed her lobster and clams. Her fingers were sticky from the chickenâLouise always charcoal-broiled it a bit firstâand corn. Above all, she was fullâand there was still dessert. She and Sam were sitting on the blanket she'd brought when Earl and Jill strolled past laden with lobster carcasses and clam shells.
“Come and join us,” Pix called.
“Just as soon as we dump this stuff,” Earl answered.
She'd have to go see Earl down in Granville at the combined post office, town hall, and office of the law to get him alone and talk about the blue quilt marks. Although her appearance at the tiny hole-in-the-wall that served the needs of justice on the island would immediately cause talk. She'd better
call him. Now she might just try to steer the conversation to antiques, quilts in particular, perhaps, and fakes. She was feeling comfortably sated and the demons disturbing her earlier were gone. She didn't want to waste the opportunity. Earl was right here and she hadn't made much progress in her investigation so far. Faith would no doubt have had the whole thing sewn up by nowâbut maybe not. Pix sat in the growing darkness waiting for Jill and Earl's return. Elliot had lighted his huge bonfire and a few people were playing guitars. It was a lovely scene. She was content to wait.
Â
Samantha had not been able to find Duncan at first. He wasn't in plain sight and she walked deeper and deeper into the woods before she found him, curled up in a fetal position on a bed of pine needles.
“Duncan, it's me, Samantha Miller. I'm a friend of Arlene Prescott.”
He didn't move for a second, then slowly sat up and eyed her warily.
“You work at the camp. I've seen you. Did they send you to get me?” He spat the words out.
Assuming he meant Valerie and Jim, Samantha answered, “No, I just thought maybe you'd like to talk to somebody. You seemed pretty upset.” He was so antagonistic that she'd begun to wish she hadn't been the good little Samaritan her mother expected and had stayed down on the beach.
“I'm not going back.”
“It's a long walk.” She almost said
home
, then quickly changed it to
the house.
“So what.” He leaned against a tree and put his arms behind his head. He was pathetically skinny and short for his age. Samantha hoped for his sake that he would grow a few inches this summer and maybe start to work out. It would certainly make life easier if he looked a little more attractive.
She decided to give it a try. “I know a kid whose mother
died last yearâcancer. It was really terrible. Anyway, I wanted to say I'm sorry about your dad. I know how my friend feels, and she didn't have to move.”
Duncan looked as if he was going to cry. His face got all screwed up, then he opened his eyes wide and shook his head. The ring in his ear wobbled. Samantha noticed that the hole was red and angry, obviously infected. Now completely grossed out, she decided she'd done her duty and turned around to return to the party.
“Hey, are you leaving?”
“My parents might be wondering where I am,” she lied, “and besides, the food is almost ready and I love lobster cooked this way. You ought to try it.”
“I don't eat fishâor meat,” he added.
Definitely not getting enough protein, Samantha thought. She sat down beside him. He was so pathetic. “There's lots of corn. It's steamed in the husk. My dad brought it up from Boston, since there's no corn here yet. Come back and you can eat with us.” It was worth a try.