Authors: Lynda Simmons

Island Girl (32 page)

BOOK: Island Girl

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I smiled, imagining her walking back and forth under the lilac tree, shaking her fist and muttering threats. Determined to get that bird off her property one way or another because, by God, this was Donaldson land and no bird was going to get the better of her.

If nothing else, my mother was interesting. And I tried to imagine myself on the lawn with her, yelling at the bird, shooing it away. Trying to be the daughter she’d always wanted. The one who would bite her tongue until it bled while Ruby pointed out that she was shooing the bird the wrong way. Or wearing the wrong clothes, or thinking the wrong thoughts.

The daughter who would play lady-in-waiting to the queen bee. The girl who would march at the airport and live in the house and keep her mother alive and take away the tea bags and follow in her footsteps long after she’d buried her mother’s ashes in the garden. And that was where my stomach started to heave and that image, that horrible twisted image, faded to black. Because I wasn’t that daughter. I never had been. And Ruby and I both knew it.

I turned back to Mark. “As much as you’d like to believe otherwise, the last thing my mother needs is to have me in that house. Because if she didn’t kill herself, I probably
would
take her out and shoot her. I can’t move back to the Island, Mark. I simply can’t.”

Disbelief moved across his face, followed by disappointment. I’d expected both, was ready for both. It was the disgust that brought tears to my eyes.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He checked his watch, glanced back at the café. “I need to get back to work. I’ve arranged payment for lunch. Go ahead and order something else. Your pasta will be ice by now.” He hugged me briefly, as you might a cousin with an odd smell at Christmas. Then he released me, stepped back, putting distance between us. “You’re so alike, you and your mother. But as much as I love you both, the fact is that Ruby needs me more, and I won’t be the go-between any longer. You’re on your own, Liz. Take care of yourself.”

He turned and started walking away, and I knew a moment of real panic there on the lawn in front of the Rectory. Mark had never in my life turned his back on me. He had always been my champion, my white knight. The one man I could always count on, until now.

You’re on your own, Liz.

I ran after him. “Is that it then? You choose one of us and then just walk away?”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Just kept on going. I slowed down as a chill moved around me, through me. I picked up a rock and threw it, missed him by a good ten feet. “Fine,” I hollered. “Keep walking. I don’t need you or her. I fucking hate both of you. Do you hear me? I fucking hate you.”

“Liz?” I spun around, saw the feral cat crusader staring at me, open-mouthed. Benny on his bike across the road. Was it always Old Home Week on the Island?

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fucking perfect,” I said, and went back to the gate. Walked past the stuttering hostess. Between the tables of staring faces. Sat down with Jocelyn. “Where’s Grace?” I asked.

“Bathroom,” Jocelyn said. “They took your lunch.”

“Figures.” I reached under the table for my backpack. “We might as well go.”

“Or we could get you a new lunch.” She held up a credit card. “My dad left me this. We can order everything on the menu.” She smiled slowly. “Twice if you want.”

“You are my kind of girl, Jocelyn.” I smiled back and let my backpack slip to the ground as the waitress approached. “Bring us one of every dessert you have,” I said to her. “One at a time, and keep them coming. And while you’re in there, might as well bring me that double vodka. Don’t worry about the soda. I already have plenty.”

GRACE

My mom’s day off is Wednesday, but she doesn’t usually go anywhere. She usually stays here and does paperwork. Ordering stock, paying bills. “Mundane tasks that are part of running a business,” she always says, and then she smiles. “And you don’t have to worry about any of that. How lucky does that make you?”

Pretty lucky, I guess. Especially since it seems like all those tasks are getting harder and harder. She used to sit at the table with her laptop while I worked, talking to me and my customers while she wrote checks and studied bank statements and counted stock and she always finished before lunch. But just after Christmas, she started taking her laptop upstairs where it was quiet, and lately she was still counting stock at dinnertime.

“Banks and governments exist to make our lives more difficult,” she says when she finishes. “And I swear they’re getting worse every day.”

So I guess I was pretty lucky I didn’t have to worry about any of those things. But that didn’t stop me from wishing I knew something about it when she came back from canoeing with Mark this morning, and said she wasn’t doing paperwork today.

“Don’t make me any eggs,” she said when she came through the door. “Mark and I are going into the city, so we’ll grab breakfast over there.” She picked up the teapot and carried it with her to the window. “That stupid bird is barking like a dog. What kind of bird does that?”

“A smart one. But what about the stock order? We’re almost out of peroxide.” I went to the stock cupboard. Took out the bottle and shook it. “We’ll be in trouble come Saturday.” I set the bottle back on the shelf and picked up two bills from the table. The hydro bill and the telephone bill. “And you left these in the bathroom yesterday.”

She looked at me as though I was making it up, then laughed and gave her head a shake. “Well that is the quietest room in the house.” She opened the appointment book and stuck the bills inside. “I’ll take care of them when I get back.”

“What about the peroxide?” I asked.

“Grace, we’re fine. We don’t need as much now that summer is in full swing. You know that.”

Sure, I knew that. Business always slowed down when the days got hot. But still, it wasn’t like her to let the stock get this low. Wasn’t like her to leave bills lying around either. Something was wrong and my stomach did a flip-flop when I thought about it some more. Was she sick again?

“Now that silly bird’s got the real dogs barking.” She carried the teapot to the fridge. “Honestly, Grace you have to do something.”

I didn’t know what she thought I could do, or what she was looking for in the fridge. All I could think about was the color of her skin and the state of her hair. Both looked fine to me. Like she’d been using the sunscreen and wearing her hat, but what did I know? I’m not a doctor. Just a worried daughter.

“We need milk,” she said, and closed the fridge. “Can you put that on the list for me?” She carried the teapot back to the stove. “Do you want a cup?”

“Sure.” I unclipped the list from its spot on the fridge and wrote
milk
underneath
salt
. “But I still don’t understand. We’ve never had so little stock any other summer.”

She turned me around and laid her hands gently on each side of my face. Smiled and drew me closer so our noses were touching. “Grace, honey, trust me. We’ll be fine.”

I couldn’t understand how that could be, but Mark and Jocelyn were coming through the gate and there was no more time to talk. So I quickly added
peroxide
to the bottom of the shopping list and stuffed the page into her ant bag.

Maybe if she saw it written down, she’d change her mind. And I could ask her later if she was sick. Hope she told me the truth.

“The lady mockingbird looks great,” Mark said as he came inside. “She was even poking her head out when I came up the stairs. Jocelyn’s waiting to see if she does it again. Who knows, this might be the day she flies.”

“We can only hope.” My mom opened the ant bag to throw in her Tilley, saw the shopping list, and pulled it out. “Grace, what’s gotten into you?” She scratched the line off the bottom and stuffed the list back in her bag. “Sometimes I swear you do things just to annoy me.”

My face got warm and I wanted to ask why she was being so stubborn, so stupid about a bottle of peroxide. But Mark shook his head behind her back and made “calm down” motions with his hands. So I said, “Fine, no peroxide.” But it still didn’t make any sense.

“Who’s that going by the gate?” my mom asked, pointing out the kitchen window.

I took a quick look. “Kylie and Brianne. They’re getting really good on those stilts.”

I was surprised when they stopped and Kylie called, “How’s the mockingbird?” to Jocelyn.

I was even more surprised when Jocelyn said, “Good,” and walked a little closer to the gate. “She’s even poking her head out of the cage. Do you want to see her?”

“We can’t right now,” Brianne said. “Our summer camp is having a garage sale at the clubhouse this weekend and we said we’d help put price stickers on stuff.”

“But we can come later if that’s okay,” Kylie added.

Jocelyn smiled. “Sure. I’ll be here.”

I shook my head. Was everything going to be weird today?

The girls waved and stilt-walked down the street. Jocelyn was still smiling when she sat down at the table. “The lady mockingbird is almost all the way out. She’s going to fly soon, I know it.”

My mom poured a glass of orange juice for her. “I hear that garage sale is an important fund-raiser for the theater camp. Without it, they can’t afford new costumes or sets, and I’ll bet someone with something great to donate would be a big hit with everyone over there.”

Jocelyn looked up at her. “What are you saying?”

My mom smiled and sat down. “I’m saying I have a shed full of brand-new power tools that you can take over there. And I guarantee you’ll be the hero of the summer.”

“Are you sure?” Mark asked. “Those tools are worth a lot of money.”

“Which is exactly the point.”

“And I can just take them?” Jocelyn asked. My mom nodded and Jocelyn narrowed her eyes. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’ll just be happy to see them gone.” She rose and picked up the ant bag. “You don’t have a lot going on today, Grace, so have some fun.” She kissed my cheek on her way to the door. “And don’t worry about the peroxide. We’ll be fine.”

Jocelyn waited until they were gone, then turned to me. “That was weird. Nice but weird.” She skipped over to the toaster and popped in two slices of bread. “Will you help me take the tools over?”

“As soon as I’m finished working.” I took a sip of the tea and put the cup right down again. It was stone cold. She hadn’t waited for the kettle to boil.

“I’ll need a wagon or something.” She opened the fridge door and stuck her head inside. “Do you have any of that good jam?”

“Not till they get back. It’s on the shopping list.”

“Shoot.” She closed the door and went to the cupboard for peanut butter. “And what was that about peroxide?”

“We’re almost out, but she won’t order any more.” I carried my cup to the sink and plugged in the kettle. “And I don’t know why because we can’t do any kind of color without it.”

“Then order it yourself.” The toast popped. She grabbed the slices and juggled them over to a plate. “Do you want one of these?”

“No, thanks. And I can’t order anything. That’s my mom’s job. She handles the business side of things. I just do the hair.”

“Well, if your mom’s being stupid, it’s your duty as a responsible partner to order the peroxide.”

“I’m not a partner. I only work here.” It didn’t matter that I was right, that we were going to be in trouble by Saturday. What she said was what we did. Always and forever, amen.

So I focused on setting up the shop for the day instead—something I could definitely do on my own. Pulling the kitchen chairs out of the way and shoving the table back against the wall, making room for Chez Ruby while Jocelyn hummed and spread peanut butter on her toast.

“Are your friends coming today?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Who knows. They never make plans till the last minute. It used to be okay when I was in the city, but now it makes me crazy. Speaking of crazy ...” She grinned at me over her shoulder. “I believe this is the day I get my iPod back.”

I’d been hoping she’d forget and I’d have another day or two of music on my morning bike ride. I was getting really good at loading songs, and I had a whole section just for myself now. But she was right, today was the day.

“How much are these things anyway?” I asked as I handed it back.

“About sixty bucks.”

Sixty bucks. Did I have that much in tips? Maybe by the end of today.

Her phone jingled with another text message. She flipped it open, grunted at the screen, and closed it up again.

“Are they coming?”

“They’re still deciding.”

“You’re allowed to ride the ferry alone now. Why not go across and surprise them?”

She stood at the counter, eating her toast. “Not a good idea. I could get there and be really surprised to find out they’ve planned something great and didn’t invite me.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because they can be mean.”

BOOK: Island Girl

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