got vertigo.Ever heard of that? I saw that movie, you know, the old one, but I didn’t think people still suffered from that, you know?” He talked and talked and talked, so much that Rebecca didn’t have to respond, for which she was grateful. She stared out the window at the passing scenery, at life speeding by—meandering by, really—and realized that as long as she was in this car, with this chatty middle-aged man, she was somewhere .
“And here you are,” he said, pulling up at 52 Maple Lane in Wiscasset.
It was very strange to stand in front of the house knowing that Joy wasn’t there, wasn’t inside, that she was miles away, and Rebecca had been banished, basically, from there. From Joy’s life.
As she got into her own rental car, she took one last look at Joy’s sweet blue Cape Cod and then drove back to the center of town with the idea of finding a motel or a cute bed-and-breakfast, anywhere she could throw herself into a bath and think. Was she supposed to go home? Home to Michael and the firm and Marcie’s smug face? Home to a life that felt off size, off-key, off everything? There was no family anymore, just Michael, and the more Rebecca got to know him, really know him, understand him, how his mind worked, the less like family he seemed.
She had nowhere to go, she realized as she arrived in the center of town. Mama’s Pizza was aglow with lights and Rebecca could hear music, strange music, like a polka, maybe. Arlene would know where Rebecca could go, at least for the night. A few nights, maybe.
Inside, the restaurant was crowded with a party—heliumballoons imprinted with HAPPY 60TH TRUDY! were everywhere. The polka music was loud, and a makeshift dance floor was crowded with mostly the senior citizen set. She’d crashed a party. Just as she turned to go, Arlene sashayed over.
“Rebecca! Nice to see you again,” Arlene shouted. She wore a dark fuchsia fuzzy sweater dress with a big flower pinned at the chest. “Come have the last slice of cake.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude on a private party,” Rebecca told her. “I’ll head out.”
“Don’t be silly. And I baked this cake myself. Trust me, you want some.”
Rebecca smiled and accepted a plate of chocolate cake with pink icing, the edge of the letter Y adorning it. She took a bite and it melted in her mouth. Her mother had made cake this good, a skill Rebecca hadn’t inherited.
“Told you,” Arlene said.
The music changed from polka to square dance, and the crowd curtsied and do-si-doed. Arlene explained that Trudy was her sister and taught “Dance Styles Through the Ages” through the Wiscasset Recreation Department.
Rebecca had to shout to be heard over the music. “Arlene, could you recommend a hotel or an inn nearby? For a night or two?”
Arlene nodded. “Finch’s just down Water Street is closed for the season, but the owner is an old friend. I’ll call if you’d like. Why don’t you go on out to the deck till I get a hold of her. There’s a path leading down to the beach, but I’d better warn you that the water will be too cold for toe dipping.”
Rebecca hadn’t met many people like Arlene in her life,kind for no reason. The woman’s warmth and motherly spirit were so comforting at the moment that Rebecca didn’t want to leave her presence, but Arlene was already heading to the counter and the telephone. She was spun around a few times along the way.
Rebecca headed outside to the deck with her cake. A man sat alone at a far table, a bottle of Sam Adams beside him and his feet up on the railing. She’d know that hair anywhere. Thick, dirty-blond, sexy. Underneath, the tanned neck, the broad shoulders in a dark green T-shirt.
“Theo, right?” she asked.
He turned around and smiled at her, his dark brown eyes sharp and intense. “Rebecca, was it?”
She nodded. “Nice view.” Not that she could see much of anything. The deck lights barely lit up the grass below, and about a hundred feet away
“And here you are,” he said, pulling up at 52 Maple Lane in Wiscasset.
It was very strange to stand in front of the house knowing that Joy wasn’t there, wasn’t inside, that she was miles away, and Rebecca had been banished, basically, from there. From Joy’s life.
As she got into her own rental car, she took one last look at Joy’s sweet blue Cape Cod and then drove back to the center of town with the idea of finding a motel or a cute bed-and-breakfast, anywhere she could throw herself into a bath and think. Was she supposed to go home? Home to Michael and the firm and Marcie’s smug face? Home to a life that felt off size, off-key, off everything? There was no family anymore, just Michael, and the more Rebecca got to know him, really know him, understand him, how his mind worked, the less like family he seemed.
She had nowhere to go, she realized as she arrived in the center of town. Mama’s Pizza was aglow with lights and Rebecca could hear music, strange music, like a polka, maybe. Arlene would know where Rebecca could go, at least for the night. A few nights, maybe.
Inside, the restaurant was crowded with a party—heliumballoons imprinted with HAPPY 60TH TRUDY! were everywhere. The polka music was loud, and a makeshift dance floor was crowded with mostly the senior citizen set. She’d crashed a party. Just as she turned to go, Arlene sashayed over.
“Rebecca! Nice to see you again,” Arlene shouted. She wore a dark fuchsia fuzzy sweater dress with a big flower pinned at the chest. “Come have the last slice of cake.”
“I didn’t mean to intrude on a private party,” Rebecca told her. “I’ll head out.”
“Don’t be silly. And I baked this cake myself. Trust me, you want some.”
Rebecca smiled and accepted a plate of chocolate cake with pink icing, the edge of the letter Y adorning it. She took a bite and it melted in her mouth. Her mother had made cake this good, a skill Rebecca hadn’t inherited.
“Told you,” Arlene said.
The music changed from polka to square dance, and the crowd curtsied and do-si-doed. Arlene explained that Trudy was her sister and taught “Dance Styles Through the Ages” through the Wiscasset Recreation Department.
Rebecca had to shout to be heard over the music. “Arlene, could you recommend a hotel or an inn nearby? For a night or two?”
Arlene nodded. “Finch’s just down Water Street is closed for the season, but the owner is an old friend. I’ll call if you’d like. Why don’t you go on out to the deck till I get a hold of her. There’s a path leading down to the beach, but I’d better warn you that the water will be too cold for toe dipping.”
Rebecca hadn’t met many people like Arlene in her life,kind for no reason. The woman’s warmth and motherly spirit were so comforting at the moment that Rebecca didn’t want to leave her presence, but Arlene was already heading to the counter and the telephone. She was spun around a few times along the way.
Rebecca headed outside to the deck with her cake. A man sat alone at a far table, a bottle of Sam Adams beside him and his feet up on the railing. She’d know that hair anywhere. Thick, dirty-blond, sexy. Underneath, the tanned neck, the broad shoulders in a dark green T-shirt.
“Theo, right?” she asked.
He turned around and smiled at her, his dark brown eyes sharp and intense. “Rebecca, was it?”
She nodded. “Nice view.” Not that she could see much of anything. The deck lights barely lit up the grass below, and about a hundred feet away
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