Feeling ridiculous, and angry with herself, Maggie grabbed the hanger from the nearby chair and forced the dress back on it with trembling hands. She must have looked a sight, she thought, puckering her lips, her face aglow with her romantic fantasy. She should never have been thinking that way about Jess. Never. It was exactly what she had promised herself not to do. Just the kind of fantasies she had to avoid. And to be caught at it. It served her right.
Clutching the dress in both hands, Maggie hurried over to the rack and shoved the dress haphazardly back into line. Then, with her head down, to avoid the eyes
of any other shopper who might have noticed her antics, she headed for the front door of the shop.
Just as she put her hand on the brass door handle, a hand clamped down on her upper arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Maggie jerked sharply around to face the bespectacled glare of the white-haired shopkeeper.
For a moment she gazed at him, perplexed. He was staring at her hair with a grim expression on his face.
“Did you intend to pay for them?” the man asked, a hard edge to his voice.
A light of recognition came into Maggie’s eyes. She reached up her free hand and felt the comb. “Oh, the combs.” She winced in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out.
She had not intended to buy the combs. They were too expensive for her fragile budget. But it seemed futile to try to explain that to the angry shopkeeper.
“I forgot I was wearing them. I’m really sorry. Of course I’ll pay for them,” Maggie conceded nervously.
The shopkeeper went around behind the counter to the cash register, and Maggie reached for her purse. She avoided meeting the offended look in his eyes. Resigned to the fact that she would have to pay for her impulsiveness, she opened her bag and fumbled inside it. At least she would be able to wear the combs. At the moment, that thought was no comfort.
“That’s nineteen ninety-five,” the man said.
Maggie realized that it was almost half of the cash she had. The thought of asking Jess for an advance was humiliating. She thought of telling the shopkeeper that
she simply could not afford it, but the look in his eyes was forbidding. Maggie groped in the bag for her wallet. Through her confusion, she realized that she could not put her hands on it. She pulled open the top of the bag and stared inside.
“My wallet is gone,” she said quietly.
The shopkeeper shifted his weight and said nothing.
“Someone must have taken it,” Maggie protested. “It’s not here.”
The man glared at her. “Then I suggest you remove those combs, right now.”
Maggie stared at him, and he returned her look without flinching. A muscle worked in his cheek, but he did not avert his eyes.
“Someone must have taken it,” she repeated.
Then, her cheeks aflame, she reached up and loosed the combs from the tangle of her hair. She laid them on the counter and turned to leave the store, avoiding Croddick’s gaze. As she reached for the door handle she could feel his eyes on her, disbelieving, like a cold spot on her spine.
There she was.
Smiling at herself in a mirror. Picturing herself in that party dress she was holding. Probably thinking she was some kind of fairy princess.
The lips of the watcher curved into a hideous parody of a smile. The stony eyes flickered as they observed Maggie before the looking glass. Unaware. It was fascinating.
But it would not do to stand there too long on the sidewalk in front of the dress shop on a sunny,
windblown street. Someone might stop. Say something. It was better to move on.
One last look. The gown that Maggie held was blue-gray and cut low. The watcher imagined the white shoulders, the white throat, splotched with bruises, purple and red, where the vessels burst. Ragged fingernails dug into the watcher’s palms. The fingertips tingled.
Maggie was looking up.
Their eyes met.
Then Maggie began to fumble with the dress.
Quickly, silently, the watcher moved from the window and started down the street.
4
“Have you got everything?” Grace asked, brushing by Maggie, who stood in the doorway of the
News
building, looking out toward the street.
Instinctively Maggie reached into her bag, although she had already checked twice for her wallet before she got up from her desk. The day before, when she returned from Croddick’s still smarting from the humiliating incident in the dress shop, she had blurted out to the disinterested Grace that someone had taken her wallet, only to see her glance across the room at Maggie’s desk.
“What’s that over there?” Grace had drawled.
It was on the desk. She could hear Grace snort and mutter to herself before the typewriter’s clacking resumed. Maggie had stared at the wallet for a long time before she picked it up and put it in her purse. They hadn’t mentioned it for the rest of the day.
Maggie looked out at the street and sighed. She had only to get through this afternoon and the week would be over. She thought longingly of the house on Liberty Road, where she would escape from the strains of this new job. Two whole days of peace and solitude. Maggie pushed the door open and stepped outside. The Island
Luncheonette was out. It would mean passing by Croddick’s, and she wanted to avoid that today. Maggie decided to head down toward the dock. She remembered passing a seafood place there the day she arrived. The wind snapped at her, and she put her head down against it as she started toward the water.
“Maggie.”
She stopped and looked up. The shout fell short of her, like a rope thrown across a canyon. Figuring it was only the wind, she kept walking. Suddenly Maggie heard steps behind her and, as she turned, Jess jogged up beside her.
“I thought you heard me,” he panted.
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Have you eaten?”
“No,” she admitted.
“Me neither,” he said. “Will you join me? If you’re not doing something else, I mean.”
Maggie studied his face for a moment. He was smiling at her, his eyes guileless and dark as forest pools. His angular face, although young, was already deeply lined. She repressed a sudden urge to reach up and trace the hard outline of his cheekbone into the shadowy hollow of his cheek. It’s only lunch, she argued recklessly with the warning voice inside her.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“You sure you’re not from New England?” Jess asked in a wheedling tone.
Maggie shook her head and gripped her menu.
“You’re so reserved,” he said. “Real Yankee trait.”
She allowed herself to smile. “Are you sure you
are?
” she chided him.
Jess nodded. “Born here, grew up, married…”
“Married?” Maggie exclaimed, immediately regretting her tone.
“Let me finish,” he admonished. “Got divorced here. About five years ago. The only substantial amount of time I spent off this island was when I went to college. After graduation I worked in Boston for a few years, but I really missed this place. So, I came back.”
Maggie hesitated, reluctant to verbalize the question that was on her mind. “Does your family still live here?” she compromised.
“No. Sorry to say. My parents moved down to Sanibel, an island off the Florida coast, when my dad retired. Winters just got to be too much for them. I had one brother, but he was killed in Vietnam.”
“I’m sorry,” said Maggie, biting her lip.
Jess shrugged. “He’s buried here on the island. Otherwise it’s just me.”
“And your wife?” she ventured.
Jess smiled at her. “My ex? No. Sharon always blamed this place for all our problems. She was a summer person when I met her. Her folks have a house out here and used to come in July. Their place is not far from Thornhill’s, as a matter of fact. Anyway, after we got married I wanted to live here year round, but she began to hate it. Said it was too bleak and lonely. She was depressed eight months of the year.”
“But you wouldn’t leave?” Maggie asked, an accusatory note in her voice.
Jess paled slightly and licked his lips. At once Maggie realized that he had been trying to dismiss a painful subject as lightly as possible. She felt a stab of remorse as she watched the distress surface in his eyes.
“It’s true that I wanted to stay,” he admitted. “I love this island. It’s my home. But I don’t think it was entirely my fault.”
“You don’t have to explain,” she interrupted him.
“We had our problems,” he concluded lamely, “like most couples.”
“I didn’t mean to pry,” she said. “It was none of my business.” She began studying the menu. She could feel his eyes on her as she pretended to debate her selection.
“It’s all right,” he said, smiling at her. “I don’t mind.”
Alarmed by the warmth in his voice, Maggie avoided his eyes. “How’s the food here?” she asked.
“Try the lobster salad,” he said. An awkward silence fell between them. “How about you?” he asked finally. “Have you ever been married?”
Maggie lowered the menu and faced him. “No,” she replied.
“Never?” He seemed surprised.
Feeling uncomfortably as if she owed him a confidence, Maggie groped for a simple explanation. “There was one man,” she admitted cautiously. “I loved him, but it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” Jess persisted.
“It just didn’t,” Maggie said firmly.
“Do you ever see him?” Jess inquired.
Maggie stared him straight in the eye. “He’s dead.”
Shaken by her blunt response, Jess hurried to apologize. “I’m really a clod sometimes. It’s just that I wanted to know more about you. I didn’t mean to tread on sensitive ground…”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Maggie, returning to her menu. “I’m over it.”
The words on the menu wavered and started to dissolve before her eyes. She could feel Jess’s worried eyes on her, but for a moment she had the uncanny sensation that if she looked up she would see Roger sitting across from her. She pictured him vividly in her mind’s eye, with his gentle eyes that always looked sad despite the laugh lines around them.
“I could sit here and look at you forever, Maggie.” She could still hear his voice.
“I wish you would,” she said earnestly.
Roger smiled. “It’s so simple for you, isn’t it?”
Maggie shrugged. “I love you. That’s simple.”
Roger sighed and turned his head to stare out the window.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, squeezing the hand that held hers below the tabletop.
He turned his troubled gaze on her. “This is all so unfair for you. You deserve a young man. A fellow who could take you out openly. Spend all your evenings, every free moment together.”
“I don’t want any other man,” she protested stubbornly.
“But you can’t be happy this way,” he insisted.
“I’m happy with you,” she said, her eyes lowered. “I
don’t mind the rest.” The last was a lie, but she did not want to complain to him. The prospect of losing him was worse than any loneliness or shame she might endure as a result of their affair.
“We’ve got to get back to the office,” he said quietly, putting his napkin beside his plate.
She looked up at him and smiled bravely. But she could see that he was not fooled by her protests. He knew that it was not all right, but he was helpless to change it.
“Do you know what you want?” Jess asked kindly.
Maggie started and looked at him blankly for a moment. Then smiled. “I’ll try that lobster salad,” she said, hoping it would please him.
Jess leaned back in his chair and signaled the waitress. As he turned, Maggie noted, with an unfamiliar longing, the line of his jaw, the breadth of his chest. It had been years since a man held her. The last time was the night of Roger’s death. Jess turned back to her and was adjusting the flower vase on the table so that he would have a clearer view of her.
“Cheer up,” he said pleasantly. “If you don’t like the lobster you can send it back and get something else.”
Maggie regarded his open countenance pensively. A weight descended on her heart.
Change the subject,
she thought.
“I’ve been thinking about getting a puppy,” she said.
“For lunch?” Jess feigned indignation.
Maggie laughed. “I thought you could tell me where to look for one. I’m kind of rattling around in that house.”
“Not offhand,” he said. “But I’ll nose around for you.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Maggie said. Determinedly, she smiled at him. “Now, tell me about growing up here.”
Maggie waited on the steps outside while Jess paid the check. It went pretty well, she thought with some satisfaction. The conversation, after the initial awkwardness, had been surprisingly easy.
“Seems to have warmed up a bit,” Jess observed, joining her on the steps. The door banged behind him.
“It’s much nicer now,” Maggie agreed.
“I really rattled on, didn’t I,” he said, shaking his head. “Motor mouth.”
Maggie laughed. “I enjoyed it,” she insisted.
“I’m usually the tall, dark, handsome, strong and silent type,” he protested. “Not a magpie.”
“You were just answering the questions.”
“Okay this time, lady,” he said. “But you’re going to get your turn.”
Maggie frowned and turned away from him. She had not considered another time. Or the prospect of her turn. She started down the steps. “We’d better be getting back, I guess.”
“Hey, what’s the rush?” he asked, catching up to her. “You’re with the boss.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve just got a lot to do this afternoon.”
“You trying to make me look bad?” he teased.
“No, of course not.”
“I’m kidding,” he said.
They fell silent as they walked along, Maggie setting
a brisk pace. The confidence she had felt in the restaurant ebbed away. She wanted to sneak a glance at his face, to see if he was bored, or annoyed with her. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on the cobbled street in front of her.
I’ve forgotten how to act around a man. All those years of sly women. I must seem ridiculous to him.
As they turned the corner onto Main Street he broke the silence. “You know, I like being with you,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time.”