The Lucky Ones Page 5

  “Cecile, how old?”

  The betrayal of it. She should have known. As long as it was a boy, Natalie wouldn’t care what he looked like. “Traitor,” Cecile said.

  “You always make such a big deal of everything,” said Natalie. “Stop being such a baby and tell me how old.”

  “That’s for me to know and you to find out.” Cecile turned and started up the ramp. “They’re ugly,” she said in too loud a voice when she reached the top. “And they’ve got big ears.”

  “Would you be quiet!” Natalie clamped a hand over the top of her suit as she sat up quickly. She yanked the sunglasses resting on top of her head over her eyes and glared. “They’ll hear you, you idiot!”

  “I hope they do,” Cecile said. “They deserve it.”

  “Cecile!” Natalie called.

  Cecile kept walking. She didn’t know who made her angrier: Natalie or the Interlopers. How could Natalie be interested in a boy she hadn’t even seen? Cecile fairly flew up the dock.

  The glare when she reached the top of the stairs halted her in her tracks. Shading her eyes with her hand, she blinked dazedly at the parking area sitting empty and calm in the midday sun.

  Hope flared up in her heart. They must have heard her. Heard her being rude and climbed right back into their ugly Interloper car with their big ears blazing with embarrassment. That would teach them to go to places where they weren’t welcome. Wait till Natalie heard. Who cared if she was furious?

  A noise on the drive made her look. The dark car had stopped halfway down the drive. If it kept going straight, it would mean they were leaving. If it turned left, it would take them to the cottage.

  Keep going, keep going, keep going…Cecile held her breath as the car started to roll. Then it turned at the discreet metal sign that said THE COTTAGE and disappeared behind the hedge.

  Their name was Cahoon. Sheba reported what she’d learned about them from Mr. Peabody at dinner that night as the children sat at the table in her spotless kitchen with the black-and-white tiled floor. There was a relaxed feeling in the air, the way there always was when their parents went out for the evening and they ate in the kitchen. Sheba didn’t mind if they came to the table barefoot, something that was never allowed when they ate in the dining room. She’d let Jack come to the table wearing only his shorts tonight, too, and bring his little men. He’d set them up in a circle around his plate: tiny gray men, some crouched, others standing, rifles aimed to protect his dinner.

  Lucy rested her head on her arm between bites and stared straight ahead. Her eyes were at half-mast, her mouth moved slowly. No one told her to sit up. Sheba had put their plates in front of them in an easy, careless way, as if dealing out cards. Now she was wiping the stainless-steel counters with slow, deliberate movements while they ate. Her gray uniform with its white collar and apron was spotless. Only the beads of sweat on her upper lip and forehead told of how long she’d stood over the hot stove.

  A large fan in one corner moved lazily back and forth, sending a stream of gentle air over the group at the table and rippling the pages on the pad next to the telephone. A small photograph of a little brown-skinned boy with a wide grin sat on the shelf above it. He was Sheba’s son, Joey, waiting for her at their apartment with his father until Sheba got her Sunday off.

  “William’s the oldest, then Jenny, then Leo,” Sheba said as she put the last of the pots upside down in the drying rack.

  “How old is William?” Natalie asked.

  “Sixteen. Same as Harry.” Sheba wrung out her dishcloth and draped it over the faucet to dry.

  “How come he’s not working and Harry is?” Cecile said. “He must be spoiled.”

  “Jenny’s a year younger than you, Cecile.”

  “What do I care? I’m not going to have anything to do with them,” Cecile said. “They’re Interlopers.”

  “They’re more interesting than anything else around here,” said Natalie. She aimed her ardent gaze at Sheba again. “Cecile said they were wearing uniforms. That means they go to private school.”

  “So, what’s so great about that?” Cecile moved her food around on her plate with her fork without eating. “They’re funny looking, Natalie. You should have seen their ears.”

  “Private school in New York City? Do you have any idea what that means?” Natalie said, dismissing Cecile with a look of utter scorn. “What does Mr. Cahoon do?” she asked.

  Sheba laughed her low, good-natured laugh. “Why?” she asked, her broad face amused. “Did this boy William ask you to marry him already? Is that why you’re so interested?”

  “See? Sheba knows it’s snobby,” Cecile said. “If William went to East, you wouldn’t look at him twice.”

  “But he doesn’t, does he?” said Natalie.

  She was already planning her strategy. Cecile could see the gears of Natalie’s brain turning, figuring out what clothes she would wear tomorrow, how to do her hair, whether or not she should put new polish on her nails.

  As if Cecile had read her mind, Natalie splayed one hand in front of her, brought it closer to her face to examine her nails, and frowned. “I’m not hungry,” she said abruptly. “May I be excused?”

  “Leave your dishes next to the sink,” Sheba said, flicking her eyes over Natalie’s half-full plate. “I don’t know why I bother cooking for a fourteen-year-old girl.”

  “Fourteen and a half,” Natalie said happily. She put down her plate and glass and threw her arms around Sheba’s waist. “Oh, Sheba, I love you,” she said, smiling her dazzling Natalie smile.

  “What you love is getting your own way.” Sheba gently pried Natalie’s hands from around her waist and gave her bottom an indulgent pat. “Go on and let the others finish.”

  Another flash of her radiant smile, and Natalie was gone. The door swung closed on her heels. “I’m not hungry either,” Cecile said. She pushed away her plate and sagged against the back of the chair.

  “Now, don’t you start getting crazy on me,” said Sheba. “This family only needs one wild girl at a time.”

  “I’ll never be wild,” Cecile said.

  “You’ll be a teenager yourself, same as your sister.”

  “I’ll never be like Natalie.”

  “Nobody’s saying you will. Come on, baby, I’m taking you up,” Sheba said, lifting Lucy out of her chair. Lucy’s head promptly flopped against Sheba’s shoulder, her thumb went into her mouth. “Put your dishes on top of Natalie’s,” Sheba said. “I’ll take care of them when I come down. You can come back for dessert when I’m done putting your sister to bed.”

  “Do I have to finish the rest of my chicken?” Jack called.

  “It’ll fly away if you don’t.” Sheba’s voice floated back and was gone.

  “You don’t have to if Natalie doesn’t,” Cecile declared. “Come on.” She put her foot on the pedal of the garbage can to hold it open for Jack and then scraped the rest of her dinner in, too. Even though I love Sheba’s stew, she thought. Even though I’m still hungry. She let the lid mournfully down. Jack sat back at the table to continue his battle.

  The setting sun flooded the living room. Clusters of chintz-covered couches and deep armchairs were arranged in inviting circles. The jigsaw puzzle the children worked on with Granddad on rainy days lay half-finished on a card table in one corner. Cecile’s feet sank into the soft carpet as she crossed the room and collapsed onto a couch.

  Picking up a magazine from the coffee table, she flipped aimlessly through it, then threw it back down. She stretched out along the couch to discover the pillow for her head was flat. Peevishly, she sat up and plumped it up and lay back down, but it did no good. Natalie’s excitement had invaded her body like a germ.

  The Interlopers were already ruining everything.

  Natalie hadn’t even seen William and she had a crush on him. No, not a crush. She had set her sights on him. That’s what their father called it. He made it sound like hunting.

  Tomorrow Natalie would laugh at stupid
things William said that weren’t funny and toss her head to make her hair fly back over her shoulders; William wouldn’t be able to take his eyes off her. Cecile had seen it happen with the boys Harry brought home from prep school. Had sat in the living room, watching Natalie pretend to read, then suddenly jump up with a startled cry when the boys entered the room, as if she hadn’t heard them crashing around in the front hall and been lying there, waiting for them.

  A door closed quietly upstairs. Cecile pictured Lucy in her bed in their dusky room. Cecile had been happy to do that, too, when she was little. She’d lie between cool sheets and fall effortlessly into sleep to the sounds of life on the terrace. They made her feel safe.

  Oh, don’t be a baby, Cecile thought. Really, it was too annoying; the tip of a feather pricking the back of her leg through the fabric of the cushion was unbearable. She got fussily up and went into the dim front hall. Standing in front of the mirror over the sideboard, she stared.

  What did people see when they looked at her, with her sharp chin, her untamable hair, her eyes too wide apart? And her nose. Cecile despaired over her nose. Natalie said it was a boy’s nose—straight and plain like their father’s. Natalie’s nose, on the other hand, was a ski-jump nose, Natalie said; she ran her finger along it lovingly to show its graceful curve. All the prettiest models had ski-jump noses, Natalie said. Cecile, glued to Natalie’s side, believed every word.

  Her mouth was all right, though, wasn’t it? Couldn’t anyone smile a dazzling smile if they practiced? Cecile smiled at herself and then frowned; smiled again to show her teeth this time and shook her head, laughing silently as if a boy had said something funny. The boy on the boat, maybe.

  But no, he wouldn’t fall for a phony smile. Something about the way he’d stood there told Cecile he’d think she was an idiot if she were to smile at him that way. She could never respect a boy who would actually fall for it.

  Did all boys fall for a girl’s fake smile as long as she was pretty? And what if the girl wasn’t pretty? What then? Surely it was only the dim light of the foyer that made her look so pale and insignificant.

  Defiantly Cecile gathered her hair on top of her head and turned her face from side to side, checking to see which was her better profile. Natalie said girls needed to determine which one was theirs, and then make sure they sat on the right side when they were on a date so that it was the one the boy would look at.

  Both her profiles were ordinary. She let her hair fall.

  At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, Cecile looked up. “I’m going to the dock,” she said as Sheba came slowly down.

  “No dessert tonight?”

  “No.” Cecile sagged against the banister. What if she went to the dock and the boy was there, with the Rammer and the tiny lights lining the bow sparkling in the night and the people on board laughing and talking? What would she do or say? “Well, maybe,” she said listlessly.

  “That’s a girl.” Sheba swept the stray rose petals that had fallen on the table into one hand. She wiped its gleaming surface. “You come sit with me in the kitchen,” she said. “You’ve had enough for one day. It’s time for you to be settling down for the night.”

  “But I’m not even tired,” Cecile protested feebly as she followed Sheba’s wide back through the swinging doors. The warm air rushed out to greet her.

  Chapter Six

  They had to come down sooner or later. Cecile climbed on a piling and held her arms out for balance. It was tricky, keeping one eye on the stairs while trying to stand as still as a statue. It wasn’t the same, either, playing statues by herself. The whole point was to see who could stay frozen in their pose the longest without falling into the water.

  “Yeah, right,” Natalie had said earlier this morning when Cecile asked if she wanted to play. Natalie tilted her chin and held up her right arm as if she were holding a torch, the pose they used to imitate the Statue of Liberty. “Hi, William,” she said in a mocking voice. “You can call me Liberty.”

  “We’re not going to let them change everything,” Cecile said.

  “Maybe you’re not.”

  Who did Natalie think she was fooling, pretending to sunbathe? The sky was overcast; the sun’s weak rays held no warmth. Cecile shivered, wishing that Harry was here. Harry would play with her. He never passed up the chance to show off the pose of The Thinker he’d perfected over the years. Watching him stand calmly on a piling, with one leg crooked and the other leg resting on his knee, his forehead on his fist, pretending to be deep in thought, always made the rest of them laugh so hard they lost their balance long before Harry did. He won every time.

  How cold the inky water looked! Cecile rubbed her thin arms. She needed to be hot before she could jump; she dreaded the shock of it even on a hot day. The rest of them always leaped ahead wildly, shouting, “Slowpoke!” and “Chicken!” to goad her on. The icy drops they splashed on her feet alone were enough to make her climb down.

  People couldn’t help being cautious; they were born that way. Of course, it would be worth it when she finally jumped and made it back to the surface. But first would come the slight feeling of panic when the water closed over her head. She’d squeeze her eyes shut against the riotous, noisy bubbles and kick as hard as she could to rise up…up, only feeling safe again when the sun was on her face and she could breathe.

  But there was no sun this morning to reward her, no jeering siblings. Cecile was about to climb down when she heard voices. Whipping her head around, she saw the Cahoon children filing down the stairs behind their mother and quickly put her foot down to steady herself. How embarrassing it would be to fall in front of them!

  “Leo, come back here,” Mrs. Cahoon called when Leo started toward the float with a fishing pole in one hand. He must have spotted Jack. Cecile could tell the pole and hook were plastic. Wait until Jack saw it.

  Mrs. Cahoon put her large straw bag down in front of the cabanas and took out a tube of lotion. She could have been in the city, the way she was dressed. Her flowered dress was belted at the waist; a sweater hung over her shoulders. She wore a hat, too, and, oh my gosh…(Cecile wobbled and almost fell again at the sight of them) high heels! No one wore high heels to walk down to the dock. They’d make walking on the drive impossible. Had Mrs. Cahoon expected the Island to have sidewalks?

  How funny! If only this were last summer and she and Natalie had been hiding in the lilac tree when Mrs. Cahoon wobbled by. It would have been all they could do not to laugh out loud. Mrs. Cahoon didn’t look like a person who would appreciate wobbling. Maybe that was why she looked so severe and hadn’t called hello to Cecile when she saw her. Because she did see me, Cecile thought, but she ignored me. And I ignored her.

  Mrs. Cahoon squirted a thin stream of lotion into the palm of her hand and motioned for Jenny to turn around. What a baby, letting her mother do that. Cecile watched as Mrs. Cahoon slid her hand under the straps of Jenny’s suit and ran it over Jenny’s back and shoulders briskly and efficiently. When she tapped Jenny on the shoulder, Jenny turned back around and lifted her face so her mother could spread more lotion over her cheeks, nose, and forehead.

  Mrs. Cahoon motioned to William next. Cecile couldn’t stand it for another minute. They weren’t just babies; they hadn’t even been born yet.

  “Geronimo!” she cried, exhilarated, and jumped.

  Shocking, how dark and cold it was. Cecile burst back up to the surface, gasping. Then the thrill of it: of not being a pale, pudgy child who was afraid of the sun, and the triumph of having jumped, took over. She treaded water and tilted her head back until it reached her hairline, then quickly lifted her head up again, plastering her hair away from her face so it rested sleek and heavy on her neck.

  Natalie and she used to call it their seal look. Whoever had the smoothest hair won. Now Cecile tilted her head back again and again with her back to the dock; she wondered if anyone was looking. She moved her arms and legs to make herself spin in circles. She closed her eyes. She was a mermaid.<
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  “Isn’t it freezing?”

  Jenny was sitting on the edge of the dock. A white smear ran along one side of her nose, her stomach in her bathing suit rose round and comfortable as a pillow. She was even paler and softer than she’d looked in clothes. Her brown eyes were filled with admiration.

  “Not really,” Cecile said. Then, “Well, sort of. It’s still early.” She swam quickly to the ladder and grasped a rung to pull herself up. The warm air folded around her skin as she rose.

  “It’s freezing,” Jenny cried, putting up her hands to shield her soft self when Cecile stepped onto the dock, sprinkling water. “I can’t believe you jumped from the top of that thing.”

  “What, the piling?” Cecile said carelessly. She adjusted the legs of her suit, shook her arms. “It’s nothing.” She felt Jenny’s eyes on her back as she climbed up on the piling again. William passed her on his way to the end of the dock, glanced at her, and looked away.

  “Is your brother girl crazy?” Cecile asked.

  “You’d better believe it.”

  “Then he’s going to like my sister.”

  “They’ll be flirting before you know it,” said Jenny.

  Cecile glanced at her, alert.

  “Don’t you know what flirting is?” said Jenny.

  “Of course I do,” Cecile said, and jumped. The bubbles roared around her head as she sank down. Who did Jenny think she was, assuming Natalie would have anything to do with a boy who had such ears? When her feet touched bottom, she pushed back up.

  “My sister doesn’t flirt with just anyone, you know,” she said as she neared the ladder.

  “My brother does.” Jenny watched as Cecile climbed the ladder. “Which one are you?”

  “Cecile.” Cecile pulled herself up, adjusting the legs of her bathing suit. “And you’re Jenny and your brothers are William and Leo.” She strolled toward the piling, climbed up, shook her hair.

  “How do you know?”

  “It’s our island.”

  Cecile jumped again, higher this time, and spun in the air like a top. That ought to show her, she thought smugly as she sank down, down, down. Interloper who thinks she knows everything.