In the dorm room, my mom made my bed and said the right things as students came by to say hello. She watched as I hung up a poster of Casablanca, which I’d never seen, her arms folded.
“All set, then, Nora?” she asked.
“I guess so.” I looked at her, my sturdy mother, the streaks of gray in her hair. Now it would just be her and Lily. For a second, I felt a flash of sadness.
“Well. See you this summer,” she said. “Work hard.” She kissed me goodbye, a quick peck on the cheek, and I watched from my dorm-room window as she got into her battered car.
But she wouldn’t see me that summer, because I didn’t go home to Scupper Island again. I got a job at a hospital as an orderly and stayed in Boston. At Thanksgiving, a storm kept me from taking the ferry home (and I was grateful). When Christmas rolled around, I came back for thirty-six hours, claiming I had to finish a lab report, which was true.
The truth was, I was terrified to be back on the island, afraid someone would see me—especially Luke or Sullivan (who had “mostly recovered,” according to my mom). I felt like a thief, sneaking to my mother’s house and back to the ferry, and yes, I wore a hat and a coat and a scarf both ways so no one could see my face.
I didn’t go back again.
I couldn’t make it back for Lily’s graduation, because of finals, though she came to Boston the following September and stayed with me for an overnight before getting on a plane to Seattle. At some point over the summer, she’d gotten a colorful sleeve tattoo and had studs through her nose, lip and eyebrow, and she still was double take beautiful.
I made Mom come visit me, feigning my desire for her to see the city, which she hated, citing my heavy course load and my job as a research assistant as reasons not to go to the island. Once or twice a year, Mom would take the ferry and meet me. She always went home before dark.
Lily got pregnant my junior year and had Poe, and Mom and I flew out to see her. I went out again a year later, then two years after that, and called often, usually getting voice mail. I sent presents for the baby, who was beautiful and smiley in the few pictures Lily sent.
But when Poe was about five, Lily changed her phone number and failed to give it to me. She would occasionally answer an email. I’d ask to come visit, and Lily allowed it once or twice more, the last time when Poe was ten. Lily went out with her friends, leaving me with my niece, and didn’t come back till the next day.
I got the message. My sister didn’t want anything to do with me. Our magical childhood was a memory and no more.
The truth was, I had done what Dr. Perez told me to do—I made the most of my scholarship. In my first semester at school, I became that girl I’d pretended to be during my English class speech—outgoing, wry, friendly. Maybe it was age, maybe it was being off the island, but I shed thirty pounds in six months, joined the crew team (I’d always been strong) and started running along the Mystic River.
I made friends. I bought them pizza. I was kissed for the first time, dated and eventually lost my virginity to a nice guy. My professors loved me. I did well enough to get into med school right after graduation. Ironically, I did the first year of my residency in Portland, three nautical miles from Scupper Island, until Boston City Hospital poached me with a nice fellowship.
I called my mother every other Sunday, asked after Lily and Poe; my sister had stayed in better touch with our mother than with me. Mom was allowed to visit, and every year I gave her a plane ticket for Christmas. Poe and Lily were fine, from what she could tell.
As for me going back to Scupper Island, no. I managed to stay away for fifteen solid years.
Until now.
9
Dear Lily,
It’s rained a lot the past few days. I forgot how loud it is on the roof of our room. The wind was wild, and a dead pine tree cracked in half. Sounded like a gun went off. Poe slept right through it. Did I tell you I have a big dog named Boomer, who sleeps in our room? Sometimes he puts his nose on Poe’s bed, like he’s tucking her in.
Love,
Nora
The wall between my mother and me was not going to be scaled, it seemed. I tried to talk to her a few times, ask her how she was. I wanted to know if she was lonely or sad or happy or whatever, but any people skills I’d developed in Boston had no effect on her. She ignored my questions on the hug therapy sessions, telling me I should have better things to do than bother her.
As I’d done in college, the only way I could have a conversation with her was if I pretended she was someone else...someone who wanted to talk to me. The result was that I ended up doing all the talking, and she would occasionally grunt or nod or say, “What was that, Nora? I wasn’t paying attention.”
The night after my first trip into town, I tried to engage both my mother and my niece, as well as ignore Tweety, who stood next to my mother’s plate, staring hate at me.
“Have you made any friends on the island, Poe?” I asked, dragging my eyes off the evil yellow bird, taking a bite of dry chicken. This could be you, Tweety.
“No.”
“I bet everyone thinks you’re really cool. You know. Coming from Seattle and your—” piercings “—style.”
She didn’t answer or make eye contact.
Okay. Moving on to the other Stuart woman at the table. “Mom, guess who I saw today?”
She shrugged, chewing.
“Darby Dennings, remember her?”
“Ayuh. I see her all the time.”
“Right. I also saw Sullivan Fletcher.”
Mom nodded. I wondered if she and Poe ate in silence every night, or if, as I suspected, I was their buzzkill. After all, they had more of a bond, since they’d been allowed to stay in touch.
“Yeah,” I said. “So, uh...how’s Luke Fletcher? How’s he doing?”
My mother glanced at me. “He’s all right.”
“Does he still live here? On Scupper?”
“Ayuh.” I waited for more. More failed to come.
“You’ll never be accused of gossiping, Mom.”
“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Who’s Luke Fletcher?” Poe asked.
Wow, a sentence. “He and I went to school together.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
I snorted, inhaling a piece of chicken, choking a little. “No. We were both up for a scholarship, and I got it. He...he was upset.”
“My mom told me about that.”
“She did?” Lily knew that Luke hated me? Had yelled at me and threatened me?
“She said you went to college and never came back.” Her blue eyes were flat with accusation.
I took another bite of the life-sustaining, flavorless food. “Well, your mom went to Seattle and never came back. I did visit you. Do remember the time—”
“Whatever.” And that was the end of the conversation.
“So I got a place to rent, ladies,” I said, still pretending we were the type to converse. “It’s really cute. A houseboat, actually.”
“Is that right?” Mom said. “The one down near the boatyard?”
“Uh...yeah. In Oberon Cove.” Which was, now that I thought of it, about a half mile from Scupper Island Boatyard, owned by the Fletchers.
“Then you’ll see Luke all the time,” my mother said, giving a kernel of corn to Tweety. “He lives there.”
Shit. The remembered fear of him and his gang of sycophants made my knees tingle. Not in the good way. Tweety gave a squawk, then flew up to the light fixture.