The Lucky Ones Page 14

  Cecile stayed crouched until the car disappeared around the curve and then stood up slowly. She couldn’t go right back now—she’d have to give William time to walk Natalie to the door and give her a good-night kiss—yuck—before he’d finally, finally go home. Forever, she thought. Tomorrow, they’d have the Island back to themselves, at last! She could wait.

  She took her time, identifying constellations, as she wandered up the drive, receiving a small shock as she rounded the corner—the Cahoons’ car was parked in Mr. Peabody’s driveway. Its engine and lights were turned off; the murmur of voices came from inside.

  Tense as a wild animal who suddenly encounters humans, wary to think what Natalie and William might be doing inside, Cecile started to walk skit-tishly past when the car abruptly shook. Cecile couldn’t see their heads, but she heard Natalie’s laugh and William’s low voice. Then all was quiet again.

  When headlights coming from the dock suddenly lit up the drive, Cecile was caught once again. She darted onto the grass, but not before she saw William’s and Natalie’s heads pop up in the back-seat, the headlights of the limousines lighting up their startled faces as the cars slid past.

  Then the limousines disappeared around the corner and the world was plunged back into dark. “William, no!” she heard Natalie cry. Then a growl from William and Natalie’s laugh.

  How she hated them. William, sounding like an animal, and her own sister willing to lie on the seat of a car and kiss a boy she didn’t even care about, as if she was anybody; any silly girl in the world who kissed a boy, no matter how disgusting, just so she could say she’d made out.

  And on Gull Island, too.

  Cecile picked up a handful of shells and gravel and hurled it. The sound of the pieces rattling against the roof and the windows of the car sounded in her ears as she ran up the drive. Her mother had called her a prude. Fine. She’d rather be a prude than be like Natalie. Or even her mother, flirting to make her own husband mad. Cecile’s stomach and lungs felt as if they were on fire as she ran, but her mind was as cold as ice. It was a good cold; it made it easier for her brain to think.

  So what if Natalie and her mother were pretty? That didn’t make them more special than every other girl in the world, did it? Any girl could get a boy to pay attention to her. Cecile could herself. It all depended on what the boy wanted.

  No. Not what the boy wanted, what the girl wanted. What she, Cecile, wanted. What she wanted right now, here, this very instant, was to show the world what she thought of it. She didn’t know what she was going to do, or how she was going to do it, but she was confident it would come to her.

  A deep quiet and total darkness, except for a single strand of lights still sparkling on the bow of the Rammer, greeted her when she reached the steps. The dim security lights set low on the pilings were the only other light. They cast eerie shadows the length of the dock.

  Cecile walked slowly down to the dock, letting her hand drag along the railing until she heard a low cough, and then she stopped. Stefan was perched on the stern of the Rammer, watching her. His legs dangled over the edge of the boat, his bow tie was stuffed into the pocket of his shirt. He was smoking; the tip of his cigarette lit up his face when he inhaled. He paused, then let a thin curl of smoke escape his mouth to drift up in front of his face.

  Maybe because it was dark, or maybe because it was just the two of them, but Cecile wasn’t afraid. She walked to the middle of the dock, in front of the cabanas, and put her hands on her hips. She stared at him, good and hard for a minute, so he would know she saw him.

  Then she began.

  “Go back…go back…go back into the woods,” she said quietly. She crossed her arms in front of her body and took a step back. “’Cause you haven’t”—a slow slash with her arms—“you haven’t”—another slash—“you haven’t got the goods,” she said louder.

  Stefan was still, the cigarette held frozen between his thumb and forefinger in front of his mouth as he watched her.

  “Now you may have the spirit and you may have the pep,” Cecile said in a loud voice, “but you haven’t got the team that the blue team’s got!” She was shouting by the last words, feeling them in her gut, and then she was finished and her heart was racing and her spirits were soaring because Stefan had laughed, and inside, she was laughing, too, and then she ran. Up the steps, over the gravel, along the hedge and across the stinging grass, past the sleeping flag, and into the front hall, pausing only to catch the screen door so it would close silently behind her.

  She flew up the stairs and opened the door to her room. She shut it softly behind her and threw herself on her bed. Her chest was heaving as she stared up at the ceiling, her face was split by a wide grin. I can’t believe you did that! her heart sang. That was so ridiculous!

  Maybe so, her head said calmly when her pulse had slowed enough so that it could be heard. At least now, Stefan had seen her, really seen her, enough to be able to pick her out of a crowd of rich children on the beach.

  Cecile woke to the sound of someone being sick in their bathroom. A sliver of light gleamed under the door.

  “Natalie?” Cecile whispered, resting her forehead against the door. “Are you all right?”

  When Natalie moaned, Cecile pushed the door open. Natalie knelt in front of the toilet with her forearms resting on the rim, her face bent over the bowl. Her hair fell around her face, dank and damp. Her body heaved, she gagged.

  “What happened? What’d you do?” Cecile grabbed a washcloth and ran it under cold water. Crouching down, she held it to Natalie’s forehead the way her mother did when she was sick. Natalie put her hand to it to hold it and moaned. Cecile smelled a heavy, medicinal smell and stood up.

  “So much for being drunk,” she said. “Sob, sob.”

  “Cecile, don’t,” Natalie groaned. She dropped the washcloth onto the floor and rose up on her knees to put her face over the bowl again. Cecile picked up the cloth and rinsed it under cold water slowly and carefully, listening to her sister being sick.

  When Natalie finally sat back and looked up, tears were running along her nose; her damp hair was plastered to her face. “Oh, Natalie,” Cecile said, and sank to her knees. She wiped Natalie’s hair away from her forehead and cheeks and neck. When Natalie rose up to be sick again, Cecile rinsed the cloth for a third time and stood waiting.

  “Oh, God,” Natalie moaned as she sagged against the bathroom wall. “You have no idea how horrible I feel.”

  “I thought it was what you wanted.”

  “Don’t be mean.” Natalie’s face when she looked up was so pale, the dark circles under her dull eyes so dark.

  “You’re an idiot,” Cecile said more gently.

  “Don’t remind me.” Natalie closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the wall. “That was you who threw the rocks at the car, wasn’t it?” she said, her eyes closed.

  “They were tiny pebbles.”

  “We almost had a heart attack. William was furious. He thought you might have cracked the wind-shield.” Natalie wiped her face with the washcloth. “This is all his fault, the pig.”

  “You led him on.”

  “Girls? Are you in there?”

  Cecile quickly slipped through the door and shut it behind her as their mother opened their bedroom door and peered in.

  “I thought I heard you,” her mother said in a low voice as she glanced at the bathroom. “Is everything all right?”

  Cecile stepped into the hall, pulling the bedroom door closed behind her. She leaned against it with her hand on the knob. “Natalie was just telling me about her party,” she said. “I was sound asleep, but she had to wake me up to tell me what a wonderful time she had. You know Natalie.”

  “I certainly do.” Her mother yawned as she reached up to take the combs out of her hair. It cascaded around her shoulders, hiding the strand of pearls that lay heavily along her delicate collarbone. “You’ll know how it feels someday, too,” she told Cecile with a lazy smile. “Someda
y soon, by the look of it.” She lightly kissed Cecile’s cheek. “Go to sleep now, it’s late.”

  “Did you have fun at dinner?” Cecile called quietly to her mother’s retreating back.

  “It was great.” Her mother stopped at her bedroom door. “I’ll tell you all about it in the morning. Night.”

  “Night.”

  Natalie was asleep. A faint sour smell rose up from where she lay in her bed. Cecile crawled under her own sheets and stared up into the dark. Someone closed the heavy front door. The lamps on the front porch were turned out. Slow steps sounded on the stairs, doors quietly closed, the house became still and dark. Nothing more would happen here tonight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The morning air was crisp and clear, the blue sky dotted with puffy clouds like dabs of whipped cream, a stiff breeze off the bay promising to blow away all humidity. The water sparkled; the flags on the back of the Rammer snapped jauntily in the wind. The high tide that had cleared the beach of all debris now lay lapping lazily against the clean sand. It was a brand-new day.

  Poor Jenny, Cecile thought as she headed back up to the house to see what Sheba had made for breakfast. What a horrible day to have to leave. She’d promised to meet Jenny inside the lilac bush at ten o’clock. Maybe one of Sheba’s muffins would cheer her up.

  “There you are!” her mother called cheerfully when Cecile stood at the screen door to the terrace. “Come out here! Dad and I have a surprise.”

  Cecile cautiously pushed the door open. From the sound of her voice, they must have declared a truce. Lucy was snuggled in her mother’s lap, her father was sitting at her side. “Guess who’s arriving on Thursday?” her mother said happily as she slid her bare feet under his thighs. He patted her ankle, smiling indulgently.

  “Who?” Cecile said.

  “Harry!” Lucy jiggled up and down in their mother’s lap with excitement. “Harry’s coming,” she cried.

  “He is?” Cecile looked from her mother’s radiant face to her father’s satisfied smile. “How’d that happen?”

  “Dad and King worked it out.” Her mother’s eyes glowed, her smile included the whole world. “Well, Dad worked it out,” she said, leaning out to put her slim hand on her husband’s cheek, “but with King’s encouragement, right, Drew?”

  “Your mother wouldn’t rest until Harry joined us,” he said. “You know what a mother hen she is. I sent a telegram to his employers saying we needed Harry at home.”

  “We do need him at home.” Her mother settled back contentedly. “It hasn’t been the same, not having him here, has it, Cecile?”

  It hadn’t been the same, no. “But I’ve been having fun,” Cecile said.

  “Oh, pooh to you.” Nothing could dampen her mother’s spirits. She was dazzling in her victory. She wrapped her arms more tightly around Lucy and noisily kissed her head all over, making Lucy giggle. “At least Lucy’s on my side. You missed Harry, didn’t you, baby?”

  “No,” said Lucy, pretending, which made Mrs. Thompson kiss her more.

  “Anyway,” Mr. Thompson said to Cecile when he could tear his eyes away from the happy picture of his wife and child, “your mother and I will pick Harry up at the airport on Thursday afternoon and bring him back here for a party.”

  “A welcome-home party,” shouted Lucy. “With balloons and cake!”

  Her parents looked so self-satisfied, it would have been bad manners for Cecile not to join in. “Have you told Natalie?” she said.

  “That sleepyhead?” Her mother laughed. “We won’t see her until noon.”

  “If we’re lucky,” her father added.

  The mere suggestion of a frown creased her mother’s lovely brow. “Cecile, say you’re happy,” she said. “You’re ruining all my fun with that disapproving face.”

  “I’m happy. I’ve got to meet Jenny now. She’s leaving today.”

  “Poor Jenny,” Mrs. Thompson said with a careless shrug. “Maybe they’ll come back next year.”

  King was driving past when Cecile reached the lilac. He stopped the car and leaned out, smiling as he said, “I hear there’s cause for much celebration in the Thompson household.”

  Cecile walked slowly to the car. “You talked my father into it, didn’t you?” she said, refusing to smile. “Because my mother always gets what she wants. Even if it means flirting with you to make him jealous.”

  King looked at his hands on the steering wheel for a minute and then back at Cecile. His face was kind. “You will learn, as you get older, Cecile, that there are people in this world who can make life miserable for everyone around them if they’re not happy, and that it sometimes is a greater show of wisdom if you can help them get what they want for the good of the whole.”

  “Give in, you mean.”

  “Ahhh…” King rubbed his hand over his chin and mouth as he thought. “Children should try not to be too judgmental as they grow up,” he said at last. “Especially not of their elders. There are things at work they can’t understand.” He gave a small nod of his head. “Although you certainly have a right to your opinion.”

  “I’m not a child, and I certainly do.”

  The stiff way she said it made King laugh. It was a real laugh, not a condescending adult’s laugh. “Right,” he said, slapping his hand on the steering wheel before he put the car into gear. “I will never make that mistake again. You’re a tough one, Cecile Thompson, I’ll give you that. You might be happier if you can think of it as taking back August. Your father and I took it back, and now,” King said, holding out his hand, palm up, like an offering, “I gladly give it to you.”

  It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anybody’s fault. “Very well,” Cecile said haughtily, pretending to snatch it. “But next time, I’ll want something more expensive.”

  “A diamond necklace, I promise!”

  She grinned to hear King laugh as he pulled away. Then she spun around, arms out, face to the sky. It really was a beautiful day, and she, for one, wasn’t leaving. She settled herself inside the lilac bush to wait for Jenny. They were going to decide what to do with Jenny’s last morning. Cecile put two of Sheba’s warm sticky buns, nestled in a napkin, on a stump.

  She’d go along with whatever Jenny wanted to do, she decided. Go swimming, maybe, or look for shells? But when Jenny arrived, it was obvious she wasn’t prepared to do either one of these. She wore a starched smocked dress with a round collar and puffed sleeves. And shoes with socks.

  Lucy wore smocked dresses, for heaven’s sake. Cecile watched with amazement as Jenny smoothed her dress around her as she sat carefully down.

  “We’re stopping at my grandmother’s house for dinner on the way home,” Jenny explained primly when she was finally settled. She adjusted her velvet headband in case it had slipped. “I had to get dressed so my mother can pack up everything.”

  “Here,” Cecile said, holding out the napkin. “I brought you a sticky bun.”

  “I already brushed my teeth.”

  “More for me then, I guess,” Cecile said.

  She eyed Jenny warily while she ate. Jenny looked so odd, sitting there. It was as if one minute, she’d been sitting in a church pew, and the next, she’d been magically transported here, swept up by Dorothy’s tornado, maybe, to end up sitting on a stump inside a bush. All she lacked were white gloves.

  “There’s not too much you can do this morning, dressed like that,” Cecile said.

  “I know.”

  Jenny patted her hair and smoothed her dress again. She looked important and self-conscious, as if she were the keeper of a wonderful secret.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Cecile finally asked.

  Jenny let out a short burst of air and sat up straight. “The reason why my mother made me get dressed like this is because she’s worried I might do too much with you. Well, not you, I mean, with your sister. Things that would get me in trouble.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Natalie, I mean.” She looked at Cecile with suspense-filled eyes. “My mo
ther says Natalie’s fast.”

  Cecile had sat up very straight, too. “Fast at what?” she said.

  “Kissing. William came home with lipstick on his face last night. He told my mother it was Natalie’s.” Jenny’s eyes were gleaming. “He had a dark mark on his neck, too.”

  “And he told your mother it was Natalie’s fault?” Cecile said, feeling anger and amazement rising inside. “Why would he tell her anything?”

  “She asked.” Jenny had slipped back into her prim-and-proper posture. “He always tells my mother things when she asks.”

  “Why didn’t your mother say William was fast?”

  Jenny’s eyes opened wide. “Because he’s not…I mean, I don’t know,” Jenny sputtered. “My mother said boys are supposed to want to kiss girls at his age, but that girls are supposed to be slower and wait. Natalie’s only fourteen, you know.”

  “I know how old my sister is,” Cecile said. “And your mother’s an idiot.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “Well, she is. Saying girls should be slower than boys. Do you think girls should be slower than boys?”

  “No…”

  “Neither do I. And I think your brother’s an idiot, too, for telling your mother. What kind of tattletale is he?”

  “A tattletale with a hickey on his neck,” Jenny said. She clamped both hands over her mouth, her eyes laughing.

  “Oh, gross,” Cecile said. It was such a stupid picture, such a silly thing, to think of horrible William with his horrible neck, telling his mommy everything. She suddenly felt like laughing, too. “I’m so sick of all this ridiculous conversation about girls and boys, aren’t you?”

  Jenny nodded.

  “Listen.” Cecile leaned forward. “I’m going to go and get you a T-shirt and a pair of shorts so we can do something fun.”

  “You mean, you want me to change out here?” Jenny cried, looking excitedly around. “In the open?”

  “No one can see. I’ll bring a hanger, too,” Cecile said as she stood up, “so you can hang up your dress.”