She was halfway through, covered in water and sweat, standing in rivulets of blasting water, when she realized that a man was standing just beyond her deck, smiling hesitantly. He was tall and stocky, with a pleasant face and hair that was actively in retreat. He was dressed in an expensive silk Hawaiian print shirt, khaki shorts, and leather flip-flops, and she knew instantly that he was a summer person, here for what tourists ridiculously called the season. Probably from Bellevue or Woodinville. No wonder he’d been able to pour so much money into remodeling the old Shank place without bothering to oversee construction. Beside him was a pretty red-haired girl of probably twelve or thirteen.
Winona flicked off the machine and set the sprayer down. It occurred to her in a flash that she looked like hell—old shorts, baggy, splotched T-shirt, damp hair falling out of its ponytail. The sight of her thick fish-belly-white legs was an image she tried to block from her mind. “Hello there,” she said, forcing a smile. “You must be my new neighbors.”
The man advanced toward Winona, his big hand outstretched. “I’m Mark. This is my daughter, Cissy.”
Winona shook his hand. Good, strong grip. She liked that. “I’m Winona.”
“Nice to meet you, Winona.” He took a deep breath and exhaled, looking around. Oddly, she was reminded of a king surveying his holdings. “It’s stunningly beautiful here.”
She pushed the sweaty hair out of her face. “I never get tired of the view.”
“It’s not one you forget, no matter how far you go.”
Winona saw Noah coming up the dock and figured that it must be noon. The kid might not grasp the idea of working, but break times he understood. At the top of the ramp he paused and then slowly shuffled toward them, shoulders slumped, hands in his pockets, hair in his eyes.
“Is that your son?”
“No,” she said quickly.
Noah gave her a sullen look.
“This is Noah. My sister’s son. Noah, this is Mark and Cissy.”
Noah jutted his chin an almost imperceptible amount. “What’s up?”
Only it sounded more like
whasup
? Winona fought the urge to roll her eyes. He looked like a homeless person with his dirty, baggy pants and duct-tape knot at his waist. His ridiculously big skater’s shoes bloomed up around his feet like baking bread.
No doubt Mark would pull his preciously pretty girl close and run back to his house.
Instead, he said, “Cissy and I were going to take the boat out this afternoon, maybe do a little water-skiing. Would you two like to join us?”
Winona was surprised by the invitation. “Your wife—”
“I’m divorced.”
Winona saw him in a whole different light suddenly. He was older than she was, by five or ten years probably, but he had a really nice smile. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Noah has any shorts.”
“I got ’em on,” he said. “Under my cool duct-tape belt.”
“You’re wearing trunks?”
He shrugged. “I swim sometimes.”
Mark smiled. “It’s settled, then. We’ll go get stuff ready and meet you on our dock in, say, thirty minutes?”
“Sure,” Winona said. The minute they left, she went into the house and looked at herself in the mirror. “Oh, God.” It was worse than she’d thought. She looked like the love child of Demi Moore and the Michelin Man—plump white legs, fleshy arms, tangled, frizzy hair, sweat-and water-stained T-shirt. She flew into the shower, washed her hair, shaved her armpits and legs. There was no time to dry her hair, so she French-braided it and put on makeup.
Then she looked at her one-piece bathing suit. It was a size twenty and unless she missed her guess, she’d barely fit in it. Perfect. The first reasonably good-looking single guy she’d met in almost a year and she was supposed to show off her body on day one? That would guarantee that he never asked her out on a date.
“No swimming for you, fat girl.” Instead she chose a pair of black capris and a long white tank top.
At precisely twelve-thirty, she was in the yard, carrying a cooler full of beers, Cokes, and munchies. Cute boating clothes might be a problem for her, but food she always had.
Noah was milling aimlessly around the deck, and she called him inside. When he stepped into the kitchen she was momentarily taken aback. He’d stripped down to a pair of blue board shorts that hung low on his narrow hips. When had his shoulders filled out like that? And his arms. He had the lean, defined build of a runner.
“Sit down,” she said, waiting impatiently for him to do as she’d asked.
“Why?”
“That girl was pretty cute. I saw the way you were looking at her.”
“Whatever.”
She gave him the look.
“Whatever, Aunt Winona.”
“She might actually think you’re cute if you quit sulking around and hiding behind your Morticia hair.”
“My what?”
“Do you want her to think you’re cute?”
“Hot,” he said, eyeing her mistrustfully. “Puppies are cute.”
“Whatever. You want her to think you’re hot?”
“You mean ‘whatever, Noah,’ right?”
She almost smiled. “Hot or skanky. What’s your choice?”
“Hot,” he finally said, sitting in the chair she’d indicated.
“Good.” She brushed his hair with deep, brutal strokes, untangling it until it fell in soft, straight strands to his shoulders. “Your mom shouldn’t have let you grow it this long. I guess she always liked it that way, though. I remember . . .” She realized what she’d been about to say and shut up and put his hair in a ponytail. “There.”
He looked up at her, said quietly, “Could you tell he was a killer, right from the start? I know he fooled Mom, but everyone says you’re so smart . . .”
Winona took a deep breath. Vivi Ann would want her to ignore the question, but she couldn’t do that. “No. I didn’t know.”
“He won’t let me visit him.”
“I think that’s probably for the best.”
He looked young suddenly, and vulnerable. “How come no one cares what I think?”
Before Winona could answer, there was a knock at the door, and she went to answer it.
Cissy stood there, wearing a string bikini the size of a postage stamp. “My dad said to tell you he’s ready.”
Noah got to his feet and walked toward them.
Winona watched Cissy stare at her nephew. She might not know the words the kids used these days—hot or cute or bootylicious or whatever—but she damn sure knew what it meant when a girl looked at a boy that way. “What grade are you going to be in, Cissy?” she asked.
“I’ll start ninth.”
“Really? That’s the same as Noah.” She turned to him, saw the blush on his sharp cheeks. “I guess you better work hard on that English assignment this summer.”
He blushed harder and mumbled something.
“Do you like school here?” Cissy asked him.
Noah shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“My grandmother says I won’t have any trouble making friends, but I don’t know . . .”
“Who is your grandmother?” Winona asked. “Do you have family in town?”
Cissy was so busy staring at Noah that it took her a second to answer. “My dad went to high school here. Our whole family is from Oyster Shores.”
“High school in Oyster Shores? You’re kidding. I should know him, then.”
“You probably know my grandma. Myrtle Michaelian. She lives on Mountain Vista.”
“Yeah,” Winona said, wondering if Noah recognized the importance of that name. “I know Myrtle.”
The summers were easiest on Vivi Ann. She woke early in the mornings, well before dawn, and began the long string of chores that occupied her days. There were lessons and clinics and jackpots to organize and run, animals to feed and exercise, horses to train, the fair to prepare for. She was busy from morning to night, moving too fast to think about much of anything, but even in the busiest of seasons there would sometimes be nights like tonight, when the ranch was quiet and dark and the sky overhead was a riot of stars, and she couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to sneak out of her bedroom and run across the grassy fields to this cabin. How it had felt to be alive, a being made of sunlight instead of shadow.
“Hey, Renegade,” she said, walking up to the fence.
The old gelding limped over to her, nickering a velvety soft greeting. She gave him an apple and scratched his ears. “How you feeling, boy? That arthritis acting up? Do you need some bute?”
Behind her a car drove up; twin headlight beams flared through the darkness, startling Renegade, who moved away.
Vivi Ann turned in time to see Winona and Noah getting out of the car. They walked close together, talking. Winona said something and pushed him away. He stumbled sideways, laughing.
Vivi Ann couldn’t believe her eyes. She wasn’t sure she’d
ever
seen those two actually talking, let alone teasing each other.
She walked up to meet them.
“Hey, Mom.” Noah grinned, and the sight of it took her breath away. Dressed in board shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, with his hair drawn back in a ponytail, he looked relaxed. Happy. “I learned how to waterski today. It was totally awesome. It took me a long time to get up, but once I did, I was
great
. Wasn’t I, Aunt Winona?”
“I’ve never seen so much natural ability. He was crossing the wake like a pro.”
Vivi Ann felt a smile start. For a perfect moment, everything was right with her world. “That’s great, Noah. I can’t wait to see you do it.”
“I’m gonna write about it in my journal,” he said. “Thanks, Aunt Winona. That was awesome.”
Vivi Ann watched him disappear into the house, then turned to her sister. “Where’s my son and who was that boy?”
Winona laughed. “He was actually a lot of fun.”
Vivi Ann slung an arm around her sister. “I’m buying you a beer. Come on.”
They got two beers out of the fridge and went back outside. Sitting in the porch swing, side by side, shoulders touching, they stared out across the sleeping ranch.
“It’s like a miracle, seeing him laugh again.”
“He’s a pretty decent kid, under all that attitude.” Winona paused. “He’s got a lot of questions about his dad.”
“I know.”
“It’s hard enough to be a teenager without also looking different, feeling different, and hearing all the time that your dad . . . you know.”
“I’ve always been afraid of that conversation. I know why we have to have it. He’ll ask me if Dallas did it, though.”
“What will you say?”
“If I say his father did it, then Noah’s the son of a murderer. If I say Dallas didn’t do it, his father is rotting in prison for another man’s crime, and injustice is hard to live with. Believe me: I know. So, you tell me, Obi-Wan, what’s the right answer?”
Winona seemed to think about that. “When I was a kid, Mom used to tell me that I was big-boned and beautiful. I knew it wasn’t true: I had a mirror. But I also knew she believed it, and that was what mattered. I knew she loved me.” She turned to Vivi Ann. “Let him know he’s a good person in spite of what people may think. Tell him it doesn’t matter who his dad was. What matters is who
he
is.”
Vivi Ann leaned against her big sister. It was times like these that made her glad she’d chosen all those years ago to forgive Winona. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. What should I do if he asks me stuff?”
“Answer him, I guess. Maybe it’ll help.”
Winona stared down at her beer.
“Okay,” Vivi Ann said when they’d been quiet awhile. “Spill the beans.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re never quiet that long. What are you trying to figure out?”
“The guy we went skiing with today is Mark Michaelian. Myrtle’s son. He graduated about five years before me.”
“Oh.” Vivi Ann took a long drink of her beer.
“He asked me out on a date. Do you care if I go?”
Vivi Ann leaned back and pushed off; the porch swing glided back gently.
The familiar sounds of the ranch were all around—the distant purr of the waves and the clomping of horses in the field and the creaking of the metal chains behind them.
“If you want me to cancel the date, I will,” Winona said.
Vivi Ann knew it was the truth. One of the things about their past was this: the baggage might be stored in the dark, but it was still in the house. They were all very careful not to haul it out. The same mistakes couldn’t be made again. “You haven’t dated anyone seriously in, what, two years? Not since that marine biologist was here for the summer.”
“Thanks for pointing that out.”
“I didn’t mean that. I meant . . . sure. Go out with Mark. You have my blessing.”
“Really?”
Vivi Ann nodded. “Really.”
It felt good, that decision, made her feel as if she’d finally let go.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It’s all in the past.”
Today was such a totally tight day that I don’t even need one of Mrs. I.’s dorky questions. I feel like if I don’t get all this down on paper I’ll forget it and I DON’T EVER WANT to forget
.
It started out sucky. I totally didn’t see how anything was ever gonna change. I showed up at Aunt Winona’s house and she acted as stuck up as ever, all up in my grill, giving me that I just ate a bad piece of fish look. I pulled my pants down as far as I could just to piss her off and it musta worked cause at about lunchtime she came running down to the dock with this long piece of duct tape that I was supposed to use as a belt. I would have told her to take a flying leap but she started talking about the fair and the riding outfit my mom made me wear last year and I chickened out. I pictured Erik Jr. and Brian and all the rest of those assholes seeing me showing horses with a bunch of little girls and I figured the duct tape was better. I felt like a total loser after that but so what? I’m sorta used to that and no one was there to see anyway. I slowed down my bird shit scraping, tho, just to piss her off, which I know it does. Sometimes I see her standing up there on her crappy deck watching me work and I can practically hear her grinding her teeth. She wants to fire me but she can’t and that’s cool
.
Anyway, I was just smoking along, doing practically nothing when I looked up at the house and saw some strangers in the yard, talking to my aunt. That was weird, so I put down my scrapey-thing and went up, even tho my aunt hates it when I stop working
.