The Islanders (13 page)

A PLATTER OF CORN, PASSING
down the table, chased by a dish of soft butter. A piece of swordfish on her plate, smelling of hickory smoke. Zoey's voice, quietly telling Benjamin the layout of his plate—steak, already cut, at six o'clock, beans at two o'clock, lemonade just up from his right hand. One of the people from her father's office trying to make conversation with Jake on the subject of the football team. A fork dropping onto the grass and old Mr. Lafollette bending over to pick it up because his wife's arthritis is too bad. A sudden burst of brittle laughter from Aunt Elizabeth.

Nina stares down at her plate, filled with food. She is starving and nauseous at the same time. She picks at the fish and takes a bite, chewing it as if it is rubber.

Conversation rises and falls around her, swelling to near enthusiasm, then ebbing, giving way to slurping and chewing sounds before picking up again.

She steals glances from under a lowered brow. Jake, acting
as though no one will notice his Styrofoam cup is filled with beer and not lemonade. The three people from her father's job, falling into what is probably a very familiar ritual of talking among themselves about work, no longer so put off that the boss is sitting nearby. Claire, looking up at the sky as if she is praying for rain. She probably is. Her father, playing the role of genial host, trying to involve as many people as possible in the conversation, modestly accepting compliments for his skill with the coals.

Zoey is looking thoughtful, or perhaps just tired. And she is stealing looks down the table at Uncle Mark. Probably wondering whether this bland, ordinary-looking, middle-aged man in a short-sleeved plaid cotton shirt and silver-rimmed glasses could possibly be the man Nina had described. It's almost possible to see the doubt on Zoey's face, to read the thoughts—is Nina making it all up? Is it all some product of her overactive imagination? After all, this man looks so normal, and everyone knows Nina is not quite . . . quite.

Zoey looks at her. For a moment their eyes meet, and Nina is sure she reads guilt there. Guilt, because in her heart Zoey has begun to doubt.

Nina looks back down at her plate and drags her fork through the rapidly cooling beans. It's one thing to believe Nina's story in the abstract. It's another thing entirely to be sitting at the
table with the man Nina has described as a child molester, a man who now seems so boringly ordinary.

She can't blame Zoey. She can't. After all, if the situation were reversed and it was Zoey pointing the finger at a man who looked like the soul of innocence, would Nina believe unquestioningly?

His voice rises against a general lull. Even the voice is unthreatening. Not exactly Freddy Kreuger. Just a man a little intimidated by his brother-in-law's home, making self-deprecating references to the way the noise of the jets from the airport makes it hard for him to cook out in his own, much smaller backyard.

“It is
so
quiet here,” Aunt Elizabeth says admiringly. “You must sleep so well at night, Burke.”

“Not everyone can live on an island,” Uncle Mark says, grinning to show he isn't envious. “Riding that ferry back and forth every day must be a pain in the ass. Living your life according to a schedule.”

“It can be inconvenient,” Mr. Geiger allows.

Of course, Nina's father rarely takes the ferry. He can afford to use the water taxi, but that would seem like boasting.

“Although with bankers' hours . . .” Uncle Mark says. “I mean, what is it, Burke, about a five-hour workday?” He laughs to show he's just kidding. Just ribbing his brother-in-law.

Nina's father turns it into a bigger joke. “Hell, Mark, I don't even work that much. I just leave the tellers to run the place. Isn't that right, Ellen?” he calls down the table to his head teller.

A plate of rolls appears, and Nina must pass it on. When she listens again, her uncle is saying in a low voice that the young blind boy certainly does handle himself well. “You almost wouldn't guess, the way he can clean his plate,” Mark says.

Nina feels a stiffening in her muscles. She is outraged. She wants to yell,
Don't you dare condescend to Benjamin! He's ten times the human being you'll ever be.

But Benjamin, as usual, has a better way. Without acknowledging he has heard anything, he lifts his next forkful of fish and deliberately sticks it in his chin. He frowns and tries again, sticking it in his forehead.

Zoey, Claire, and Jake all stifle the urge to laugh, refusing to look at each other for fear they will lose control. Even Nina smiles at the memory they all share—the day Benjamin spent ten full minutes in the lunchroom trying to eat a spoonful of Jell-O. At first kids had thought it was for real. Then, one by one, they had caught on. People had laughed till they cried and fell out of their chairs.

Now her uncle Mark is staring. He has caught on immediately to Benjamin's little game and his cheeks are flushed with anger. He's being made fun of by a blind kid.

There! There, if Zoey would only look, she would see the true face of the man who hides behind pretty blue eyes and smudged glasses. Oh, he doesn't like being made fun of. No. Uncle Mark has no sense of humor about himself.

Benjamin takes a second bite, pops it effortlessly into his mouth. Uncle Mark looks away, smoothing over his fury, releasing it in another direction, telling Aunt Elizabeth in too loud a voice that she has a piece of food caught in her teeth.

Nina nods, feeling better. No need to be so afraid of a man who can be humiliated by Benjamin. Benjamin isn't afraid. She looks at Benjamin, inscrutable behind his shades. He's not a big, powerful guy like Jake. He's vulnerable to any sighted person who wants to walk up and take a punch at him. He should be afraid, always. Only he isn't.

She can survive this, she decides. She will keep her distance during the day and keep her door locked at night. In a few days it will be over and the monster will be gone again. He won't visit again soon, and in a couple of years she'll be gone from this house, at college, at work, in her own life where she will decide who has access. Then she will be done with him forever.

The conversation drops into another lull, this time deeper, more expectant. Nina listens. Her aunt is talking in a full, fruity voice, loaded with happy anticipation.

“. . . never had children. It wasn't that we didn't want to. It
was
me
,” she adds quickly at a look from her husband. “I mean,
I
wasn't able.”

“I was worried it might be me,” Mark interjects, just in case anyone has missed the point, “but we got tested and it turned out I was fine.”

“Anyway, we think now is the time to think about taking the big step. And we've been talking to an adoption agency . . .”

Nina feels her heart trip.

“. . . and they have a little girl for us. She's not quite two years . . .”

Congratulations. Excellent news. This deserves a toast.

Nina sees Zoey, looking uncertain, worried. She sees Benjamin's lips pressed into a thin line. Nina feels dizzy, floating. She feels as if she might be fainting. Only she is still hearing the words. Her uncle's words now.

“I've always wanted a little girl of my own, ever since we had Nina stay with us all those years ago.”

Nina's hand goes to her throat, her heart is banging in her chest, her breath coming in gasps.

No! No, no, no, no. He can't. He can't. He won't.

Before she realizes what she's doing, Nina stands up.

“Oh, my God,” Zoey whispered under her breath.

Nina began to speak, but it was a low, hoarse whisper,
indistinguishable above the babble of happy voices. She cleared her throat. Claire had stopped to look at her disapprovingly, obviously expecting some joke.

“I don't think you're going to adopt anyone,” Nina said softly, tears coursing down her cheeks.

Several of the people closest to her fell silent, looking at her uncertainly. The silence spread down the table.

“Did you have something to say, Nina?” her father asked in a patient tone.

“. . . yes.”

In a flash Zoey saw it—the blood drained from Mark's face. His eyes went wide, then narrowed. He stared daggers at Nina.

Zoey could see Nina falter, but then she recovered herself. “I said, I don't think you're going to adopt anyone. Ever.”

Her father winced good-naturedly. “Nina, I don't think this is the time for playing games. If you want to say congratulations . . .”

“I don't think they let child molesters adopt,” Nina said. “At least, not in most states,” she added, stiffly ironic.

“Nina, that's enough,” her father rapped angrily.

“He likes little girls,” Nina said through gritted teeth.

“Goddamnit, Nina that's more than enough!” her father shouted, his face darkening. “What is the matter with you?”

Mark was frozen in place, his face an unreadable, rigid mask.

“Nina, I don't think this is going to get a big laugh,” Claire said.

Nina wavered. Zoey could see her flinch before her father's anger and her sister's scorn. Zoey wanted to say something, come to her defense, but what could she say? All she knew was what Nina had told her.

“Daddy,” Nina said in a different, pleading voice. “It's true. It's true. When I stayed with them . . . he . . .” She looked wildly around the table. “He . . . did things to me. At night he would come into my room and—” She was sobbing now.

“How long do I have to sit here and listen to this, Burke?” Mark snapped, suddenly alive again as he saw Nina weaken. “If you can't control your children—”

“Nina, leave this table at once,” Mr. Geiger said in a menacing growl. “This is too much, even for you.”

“But I'm telling the truth,” Nina said in a whisper.

“No,” her uncle said in a flat, utterly convincing voice. “You are not telling the truth.”

For an eternity, thirteen people seemed to sit like statues, poised on the edge but unable to move one way or the other.

Then there was a new voice.

“Nina doesn't lie,” Claire said.

“She
is
lying,” Mark said. “Or else she thinks this is funny.”

Claire shook her head. She stared coldly at her uncle. “No. I know Nina. This isn't a joke.”

Mr. Geiger hesitated now, looking with new suspicion at his brother-in-law.

“Surely, Burke . . .” Aunt Elizabeth began.

Claire looked directly at her father. “I believe Nina.”

Suddenly Zoey was speaking. “She told me a couple of days ago, Mr. Geiger. She spent last night at my house because she was afraid to face him. I believe her, too.”

“This is absurd and offensive,” Mark said. “I've always known you didn't like me much, Burke, but I didn't think you'd let this sort of thing go on. I've been slandered in front of all these people. If this isn't stopped instantly, well, brother-in-law or not, I'll sue your butt.”

“Mark . . . Burke . . .” Elizabeth pleaded.

“Shut up, Elizabeth,” Mark snapped.

“Mr. G.,” Benjamin said, “you have a choice here. You believe him, or you believe your daughter.”

“Burke, you know better,” Elizabeth reasoned. “Do you think for one moment I would allow something like that to go on in my house? Do you?”

Mr. Geiger smiled sadly. He took his sister's hand gently. “Yes, sweetie. I'm afraid you would.” He didn't look at Mark. “I
can have you charged here in Maine, Mark, or you can catch the next ferry off the island and I'll have you charged back in Minnesota. Your choice. The next ferry leaves in thirty minutes.”

Mr. Geiger stood up, walked around the table, and put his arms around his younger daughter.

NINA KNOCKED AT THE DOOR
to Claire's room. When there was no answer, she opened the door cautiously and went inside. “Claire? You in here?”

No answer, but when Nina looked up, she could see that the square hatchway that opened onto the widow's walk was open. She went over to the ladder and looked up at the patch of dark, star-strewn sky. “Claire?”

Claire's face appeared in the square, her long dark hair hanging down. “Oh, hi.”

“Can I come up?” Nina asked.

“I can come down if you'd like,” Claire said.

“No.” Nina climbed the ladder till her head poked up through the hatchway into the cool night air. She leaned back against the opening, feet propped on a ladder rung. She had never gone out onto the widow's walk. The height made her nervous, and anyway, it was Claire's private turf. “It got colder.”

“Yeah, there's a cold front moving in,” Claire said, standing
tall and looking off toward the mainland. “It's moving pretty fast, so we might get some nice storms. See, a cold front moves like a wedge beneath . . .” She stopped herself. “Sorry. I don't guess you want a lecture on weather tonight.”

Nina shrugged. “I know you like a good storm.”

“These probably won't last very long. Short but violent, if we get lucky.” Claire sat down by the edge of the hatch. “You okay?”

“I had a talk with Dad.”

Claire waited patiently for her to go on.

“Lots of apologies and remorse and all,” Nina said.

“Yeah, well, I owe you some of those myself,” Claire said, looking away.

“No, you don't.”

“I should have . . . I don't know, I should have known, somehow.”

“I didn't tell you,” Nina said. “I didn't tell anyone.”

Claire bit her lip. “I never exactly made it easy for you to talk to me.”

Nina smiled. “Claire, it's not easy for anyone to talk to you. You're kind of a difficult person. Unlike me, Ms. Normal.”

A fresher breeze lifted Claire's hair and rustled the top branches of the trees. Overhead the stars were obliterated by an advancing wave of cloud. “Definite storm,” Claire said
contentedly. “It'll be along soon now. I have to come down and get my poncho.”

Nina descended the ladder, with Claire right behind her. Claire grabbed the yellow rubber poncho from the hook on the back of her closet door and slipped it on.

“You look like the aftermath of a terrible accident involving a school bus,” Nina commented.

Claire went toward the ladder, then stopped and turned back. “Look, Nina. I know we haven't ever been—”

“The Bobbsey twins?” Nina supplied.

“But you know, I am your sister. You could always tell me anything. I wouldn't laugh at you or give you a hard time.”

Nina grinned. “Sure you would.”

Claire made her rare, wintry smile. “Okay, but only at first.”

Nina looked at her sister, lush dark hair under a crumpled plastic hat and draped over the shoulders of a bright yellow slicker. She was preparing to go up and sit in the middle of a thunderstorm.
And you're supposed to be the
normal
Geiger sister
, Nina thought.

A flash of lightning lit up the square in the ceiling. “You don't want to miss your storm,” Nina said.

“It will be over soon, you know, if you want to talk or anything.”

“I guess I'm going to start seeing your old shrink,” Nina said. “She did such a fine job of turning you into a model citizen.”

“Probably a good idea,” Claire allowed. “Make up some good dreams for her. She loves a good, symbolic dream.”

“Yeah, I can manage that,” Nina said dryly. “Look, um . . . thanks, all right?”

“For what?”

“Things were on edge there, this afternoon. You backed me up.”

Claire made a no-big-deal face. “I just said what I know. I just said you don't lie, not about the important things. Fortunately, no one asked me what I thought about the way you dress, or act, or your idiotic habit of sucking on unlit cigarettes.”

“Idiotic,” Nina echoed. “From the girl who's going to go sit in the rain.” Nina hesitated, feeling an unfamiliar urge. “Jeez, I hate to do this. It's such a cliché.” She held out her arms.

“Well, if we have to.” Claire put her arms around Nina, and they hugged each other for a long time.

“When do we stop?” Nina asked.

“It's up to you,” Claire said. “You're the one who started this.”

“I'm thinking this is plenty long.”

“On the count of three,” Claire said.

“Three,” Nina said.

They stepped back from each other, both looking awkward and embarrassed. Lightning flashed again, and Nina could see Claire counting off the distance, “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand—”

The thunderclap rattled the windows.

“Don't get hit by lightning,” Nina said.

“I've taken the appropriate safety measures.”

“Yeah, you're a real model of common sense,” Nina said sarcastically. “I hope I can grow up to be just like you.”

“I'm still betting you never grow up,” Claire grumbled as she climbed the ladder.

 

Over time, I've added a new dream. Number four. It incorporates many of the same images from the other dreams. In it I'm still a little girl wearing a dress with a ridiculously large bow on the front. And I'm still feeling myself drawn across an open floor toward a man with burning, terrible eyes.

And in the dream I'm still afraid. I don't know when that will go away. I know it will someday, but I don't know when.

Only now there's something new. I feel someone else in the dream with me. And I know, as you sometimes just know things in dreams, that this other person is on my side.

When I wake up, I wonder who this other person is. Zoey? Benjamin? Then I realize it's both of them, somehow. Them, and a little of my father, and a lot of my big sister, Claire.

They can't protect me from the man with burning eyes, or from the fear, but because they are there I no longer feel the shame.