It didn’t take long to change my mind. To do the things I swore I would never do. Just one hundred years—but what is that in the face of twenty thousand, four hundred, ninety-six?
SEVEN
Willa
The party got to me before I got to it. Music echoed down the beach, and people were laughing. Somebody threw another log on the bonfire, and a cloud of fire swirled toward the sky. Silver ash drifted over the water, disappearing into the dark.
Across the waves, Jackson’s Rock loomed in fog and shadow. Couldn’t even see the slender body of the lighthouse, just the beam as it swung over us. The pines were brushstrokes jutting from the mist; the cliffs seemed to rise from nothing.
When the foghorn sounded, its call rolled through the dark and the haze. Like it was alive; like it might draw me across that light bridge and into the secrets of the Rock. Harbor bells rang, like church bells on a wedding day.
I stood for a minute, staring like I’d never seen my own harbor before.
My head was so clear; I wasn’t thinking about anything. Aware, yeah, of the six-pack dangling from my fingers, and the steamy scent of hot rocks and boiling water. But I was alone in myself for a minute. No guilt, or anger, or fear.
Then something glittered on the island cliff. My imagination rushed up to name it the Grey Man. Fantasy tried to fill in the shape I’d seen on Jackson’s Rock—out there, fishing alone, and that reminded me. I was guilty. Afraid. Angry. That’s all that put me on the beach. I gritted my teeth; going to this party was like going to war.
I was going to drink and laugh and dance. Burn my fingers on littleneck clams and steamed corn. If somebody wanted money for a grocery run, I had it. If Seth wanted to disappear into the caves with just us and a blanket, I was up for it.
Circling the fire, I raised my hand when Cait Toombs looked up from a kiss. She was all soft and twined around Bailey. Her wispy hair floated around her face, shimmering from the heat. Instead of waving, she smiled. Her lips moved, and then Bailey looked back at me too.
“Well, look who graced us,” Bailey called.
I flipped her off and pressed my way through the crowd to get to her.
“Dad home yet?” she asked when I got closer.
“Uh huh, this morning sometime.”
“Is he okay?”
With a shrug, I said, “Fine. You know how he is.”
Cait tried to make room for me, which was sweet, but it wasn’t gonna happen. Since we used driftwood for benches around the fire, there was always a free one for the taking. Dragging a piece over, I arranged it so I could put my back to the fire and my face to them. And to the sea behind them, to the fog rolling in.
Sitting, I gestured at Bailey and said, “I’m pissed at you for messing with my head.”
Bailey read my tone better than Cait did. While Cait stiffened, Bailey kicked my boot. “Good. Which time?”
I lowered my voice. “I went out today by myself.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, my gaze trailing past them, to the shadow of the island in the distance. The flick, the glitter, was gone. “So I’m getting ready to haul some traps, over on the far side of Jackson’s Rock. Minding my own business.”
Bailey smirked. “Uh huh.”
“I go and look up, and pow. There’s the Grey Man. Watching me.”
Dissolving into laughter, Bailey leaned into Cait. Lacing their fingers together, she settled. She managed to kick my boot again first, though. “Oh, kiss it, Dixon. If you’re seeing things, that’s your problem.”
Part of me was relieved. Legends weren’t real, and I was crazy to think I’d seen one. Hearing Bailey say so made me feel better. There was still a part left over, quietly urging me to look toward Jackson’s Rock. I thought as long as the fire burned and the music played, I could ignore it.
“I have an uncle who saw the Grey Lady,” Cait said.
Bailey looked at her, amused. “Is that crazy Uncle Jon?”
“No, crazy Uncle Jon swears that time-traveling Navy ship capsized his dory.”
Caught up in the absurdity, in the absolute normalcy, I laughed. “What the what?”
Cait shrugged. “I can’t remember, it’s a city and a worky word. The Manhattan Project? The Philadelphia Experiment? They were inventing invisibility and disappeared in time.”
“I’m pretty sure one of those is a movie.” Amused, I held up my hands and swore, “I’m not judging.”
Cait stuck out her lower lip and blew her bangs out of her face. “Anyway, that’s Uncle Jon. Great-Uncle Dalton’s the one who saw the Grey Lady.”
“Wait, the raisin?” Bailey asked. Then, incredulously, she informed me. “He’s a thousand years old.”
“He’s ninety-eight.”
“Same thing. He’s the mummy at Thanksgiving.”
“That’s my family, Bailey,” Cait said, but she rolled her eyes and smiled about it. In reply, Bailey crinkled her nose, and I looked away to give them some privacy. As much as they could get making out on a beach in the middle of everybody we knew, anyway.
Before they forgot I was there, I cleared my throat. “So was there more to this story?”
Cait smoothed her knit cap. “Not really. I mean, there is, but he mumbles—”
“And smells like rum,” Bailey added.
“Who doesn’t?” I asked, and hauled myself up. Dangling the six-pack near them, I waited until they waved me off to look into the crowd. “You guys seen Seth?”
“I don’t think he’s here,” Bailey said.
Then she frowned, and so did I. Seth loved a party, being in the middle of it. Choosing the music and getting people new drinks. Surrounding himself with people kept his light going. After a nor’easter, Seth was the first person out of the house, visiting everybody he knew. Not me; I was the last one to open the door. I liked the quiet. I liked wide-open space and sea around me.
I stood up, nodding toward the fire. “I’m gonna make the rounds.”
Leaving Bailey and Cait, I followed the sound of alt rock, lingering here and there to talk to people. Mostly “what’s up, how’re you doing?” stuff. Everybody in Broken Tooth was fine, it seemed, and none of them had seen Seth.
A waft of steam hit me, full of good smells. The canvas over the clambake pit was still tight. I wondered if I could get away with breaking into it early.
While I contemplated bake robbery, Nick loped toward me. His black hair gleamed in the firelight, long and cascading into his eyes. He slung an arm around my shoulder and took my beer. “Seth said you weren’t coming.”
“Guess he was wrong.”
Ripe with sweat and cologne, he banded his arms around me. Not because he was hitting on me, but because that was the only way to peel a can off the rings without letting me go. “How’s your dad?”
It was normal for Nick to be all up on me. He was like that, a big sheepdog who loved everybody. Especially up close. Most everybody loved him back. But even as I let him give me one of the beers I’d carried in, I felt uneasy. “Fine. Sat on his ass all day. Expect he’ll be out tomorrow.”
“Huh,” Nick said. “Miz Pomroy said the Jenn-a-Lo was out this morning. Surprised me and Seth both.”
I shrugged. “Musta been seeing things.”
“You know her. Probably got started early.” Nick held up his can and took a deep drink to demonstrate. Then his expression scrambled. Too fast, too loud, he went on, “I’m getting a student license.”
“’Bout time.”
Brightly, Nick nodded. One brown eye appeared from beneath his messy fringe. “Maybe if you get your own boat, you can hire me.”
My skin prickled, and I lifted Nick’s arm. Slipping under it, I backed toward the fire. Other people’s conversations were tangled in this one. It unnerved me, seeing my life from slanted angles. “Where’s Seth, anyway?”