Slow Dancing on Price's Pier (10 page)

Thea hesitated. She wanted to be a good example to her daughter. To show that she was not so petty that she refused to talk to him. But she didn't want to make him uncomfortable either. “He's tying up the boat right now, hon. Let's just give it a minute, okay?”

Sue and Ken came up the dock, their arms full of bags. Sue wore a white visor and capris; Ken's seersucker shirt was half-open across his burly chest, and his face was mottled where his sunglasses had left the faintest tan lines.

They both kissed her on the cheek, and Thea smiled, glad for their kindness. She hadn't been able to go with them, but they weren't acting strange now that she was there.

Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. She found herself wondering if her khaki shorts were too short for a woman over thirty. When she glanced toward the boat, she saw that Garret had stopped working and was staring at them—but especially at her. There was something disconcertingly feral about him—the way he stood half-bent over a coil of rope, his head lifted, his eyes focused—like some wild animal catching the scent of danger in the air.

“Did Irina tell you what we did today?” Sue asked.

Thea reined in her focus. “No. What?”

“Tell her, Rina!”

Irina took Thea's hand. “I caught a huge fish.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Grampa Ken helped me.”

“That's wonderful!”

“Dad took my picture with it, and then we let it go!”

“That's great,” Thea said, her voice slightly tight. She could envision the scene perfectly. It was so very normal—for the family to be rallied around Irina, cheering her accomplishments. The only thing that wasn't normal was that Thea hadn't been there.

“Well, we're about to head off to the Merrys' house. Thanks for coming here to get her,” Ken said.

“You're welcome,” Thea said cheerfully.

Sue shuffled the bags in her arms to reach out and squeeze Thea's hand. “See you soon,” she said so softly it was almost a whisper.

Thea's heart cracked. She hadn't realized how badly she'd needed to be reassured. “Hope so,” she said.

A moment later they were gone, and Irina was tugging on her arm so hard it pulled all the way to her shoulder joint. Then she let go and ran ahead. “Come on, Mom! Let's go tell Dad bye!”

Thea resisted only a moment. She wanted to see Jonathan. She missed him. There was something open and unresolved between them. She took a deep breath and began to walk slowly forward, to the white boat that was rocking gently in the coal-dark water. With each step, her courage built. Something deep within her cried out in gratitude, already rejoicing in the decision she'd made.

 

 

As the months of their junior year passed, Thea did her best to keep her feelings about Garret to herself—to hide the ebullient joy that bubbled up within her when she heard him shout to her in the hallway, to secret away the intense desire of something she couldn't quite name. Garret had been her hero from day one; he was bold, friendly, and he loved to make people happy. When his mother was having a bad day, he cheered her up, teasing her until she laughed and shooed him away. When a favorite teacher was taking flack from an unruly student, Garret wasn't afraid to step in and put his own reputation on the line.

Much as Garret enjoyed helping those around him, it was the way he'd helped Thea that truly touched her. On their junior class trip just before summer break, he waited in line with her, stifling hot and unspeakably thirsty, for a roller coaster that no one else in her group would ride. When she forgot her lunch money, he bought her a sandwich, whether she wanted it or not. As the daughter of working-class parents—the girl who didn't have a future in Ivy League colleges or sorority halls—only Garret's public support saved her from complete outcast status.

Once, when they were at a party together, some kids playing volleyball on the beach, others surfing small waves along the shore, and others grilling burgers and shish kebab, someone had thought it would be funny to tell Garret that Thea “liked” him. She sat with her plastic plate on her lap, her face turning red as ketchup while everyone laughed, and she couldn't even find the poise to lie and say “That's not true.”

Garret had saved her then. He'd gone to sit by her, to turn the whole thing into a joke. “As if I'd be that lucky,” he'd said, and he put his arm around her, her skin and his separated only by sticky, gritty sand.

He spared her the mortification of having her secret displayed like the banners flown by planes above the beach—and yet some part of her felt that he'd failed her. Someone had told him she loved him, but he hadn't cared enough to ask if it was true.

As the sailboat approached the docks, Garret had spotted Thea before anyone else had—just a blotch of white against the landscape—and since that moment he hadn't stopped watching her, if only from the corner of his eye.

He'd seen more of Thea in the last few weeks than he'd ever thought possible, especially since he'd never wanted to see her again. She brought out the worst in him—everything that was cynical, begrudging, and snide. He knew that in some twisted way, his discomfort wasn't a fear of seeing her, but a
hope
of seeing her—she, the woman who'd torn him from his family and broken his heart.

He watched Irina charging down the narrow dock toward her father, her footsteps clomping along the wood and resounding against the night. Thea, in shorts that showed more of her skin than he could stand to see, was following.

Oh no, you don't,
he thought.

He jumped from the boat, landing on one foot and immediately moving into a jog. His brother and Irina didn't notice him, but Thea did. At the other end of the long and narrow dock, her walk slowed. Her eyes widened. She pulled herself up straight, as if she knew she was about to cross a line.

“What's going on?” He stood before her, blocking her way.

She peered around his shoulder. “I'm trying to collect my daughter.”

“She'll be done in a minute,” he said.

Thea crossed her arms, looked up at him. Her hazel eyes glinted green and gold in the light above them. “So you're protecting him from me now? You're his bodyguard against his intimidating soon-to-be ex-wife?”

“When he wants to see you, he'll let you know.”

She put her hand on her hip—frustration making her toes curl in her sandals—and he thought of how many times she'd given him that pissed-off look when they were kids. “I don't want to chew him out—certainly not in front of my daughter. And I don't want to ruin anyone's day. I just . . .”

“What?”

“I just . . .” The frustration in her face slowly abated, leaving something sorrowful and yearning in its wake. “I just wanted to say hi.”

Garret felt the clouds gathering in around his heart. He hated to see any softness in her. He liked her better when she was mean and hard and angry. Like him. At least then he knew how to relate to her—and how to feel.

“Please don't do this,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Try to cast me out of your family. I won't go down without a fight.”

Garret pulled himself up straighter. “If standing between you and my family is what it's going to take to keep this family together, then that's what I'm going to do.”

“I see,” she said, her eyes narrowing. “It's me or you, is it? You're afraid if Sue and Ken still want to see me after the divorce, you'll be forced back into your self-imposed exile again.”

“You honestly think they'll pick you over their own son?”

Thea looked at him a long moment. “I wouldn't ask them to—”

“What's going on here?” Jonathan stood at Garret's side, Irina's hand in his. Her wide eyes were filled with a kind of mystified attention.

“Hi, Jonathan.” Thea offered a friendly smile. “Was Irina good for you today?”

“An angel,” he said. He kissed the back of his daughter's hand.

“You all set, hon?” Thea asked.

Irina nodded.

“Okay then. C'mon, Irina. Bye, guys,” Thea said, as cheerfully as if she departed from them all the time. As if nothing extraordinary had passed. Irina followed behind her, making big loops with her glow stick and skipping along the boards.

Garret watched them go. What had he hoped would happen? And why did every encounter with her leave him so furious—and yet ready for more?

“What the hell was that?” Jonathan asked.

“Nothing,” Garret said.

 

 

In the following days, Irina began to have trouble sleeping. Firecrackers popped and boomed in the streets and in the sky overhead, leftovers from the holiday, and the lingering daylight hours meant the sidewalks beneath Irina's bedroom windows were busy with pedestrians. Irina flailed and screamed at bedtime, begged to watch one more TV show, demanded one more glass of milk, or refused to brush her teeth. The babysitters threatened to revolt.

One slow night at the coffee shop, Thea left Lettie in charge of the open mike and headed home early in an effort to spend as much time with her daughter as possible. Surprisingly, Irina was on her best behavior once the babysitter left. When it was time for bed, she got herself into her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and then asked Thea for a story so sweetly that there was no way she could have said no.

Thea sat on the edge of her daughter's bed, speaking quietly, hushing her when she tried to ask questions or interject. The story she told was an old one she'd learned from her mother, about a Turkish princess who was “as beautiful as a fourteenth of the moon.” To test the character of a suitor, the princess dressed up as a peasant, and she wasn't surprised when the prince rejected her and sailed away.

“She has to teach him a lesson,” Irina said, her sheet drawn up to her nose so only her eyes showed.

“That's right,” Thea said. They both knew how the story ended. One day, the princess sailed to the prince's island in a ship made of diamonds, and when she waved to him from beneath the shimmering sails, he fell desperately in love with her. Luckily, the princess was as generous as she was beautiful, and once she'd taught him a lesson, she forgave him. Their wedding was celebrated for forty days and forty nights, and they lived in great happiness for a long time.

Thea had started to say the traditional closing for a Turkish story when Irina interrupted. “But what happened after?”

“There is no after. That's the end of the story.”

“But you said they get married. Do they stay married?”

“Of course they do,” Thea said.

Irina's eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That's only in stories.”

“Now, that's not true. Look at Grampa Ken and Grandma Sue. They've been married longer than you've been alive.”

Irina sat up, throwing the covers off so fast that the air stirred the hair around her face. “So then why did you have to make him go away? Why can't Daddy live here with us anymore?”

“I didn't make him go away . . .”

“Yes, you did!”

“Irina.” She touched her daughter's arm. “I didn't kick him out.”

“Well, can he move back in?”

Thea shook her head.

Irina's eyes began to fill with tears. “This is all your fault!” She dove into her pillow, burying her face.

“It's no one's fault.”

She pulled the covers up over her head. “I don't want to talk to you right now. Go away.”

Thea stood up from the bed. She knew that Irina was angry—and that she had a right to her anger. Anger was a stage in dealing with what was happening, and Thea would be wrong to take that away.

But she couldn't allow Irina to be disrespectful either. She stood in the middle of the room, a hand pressed to her forehead, uncertain about what to do.

“It's no one's fault,” she repeated gently. “Not your father's or mine. And not yours either.”

Irina kicked her foot against the wall but said nothing.

“I promise you, it's all going to be okay.”

Thea waited for a long moment, and when Irina didn't answer, she walked to the doorway and turned out the light. In the dark, she could hear Irina's uneven breathing. She couldn't bear to end the day on such a sad note.

Quickly, she walked across the tiny room, stepping over splayed books and a teddy bear that Irina had pulled the stuffing out of, and she bent down to rub what she thought was her daughter's back through her blankets. “I love you,” she said. “Nothing will ever change that.”