Talk about bad luck with men. Only it wasn’t bad luck. It was poor choices. You didn’t need a psychologist to see Roz had a problem in that area.
Mark could see the black eye she had tried to cover up with makeup. And the nervous tic with her eyes. . that was something new.
“I’m giving up men,” she had said as he and Lea helped carry her bags into the house. “Maybe I’ll try women.”
“What does that mean?” Ira had asked.
“She’s making a joke,” Mark told him.
Her son, Axl, with the bush of curly brown hair and the pudgy cheeks and freckles, started to cry.
“Naming your son Axl is looking for trouble.” Yes, Mark had really said that to her over the phone the day after Axl was born.
Of course, Roz had laughed. She always laughed at Mark when he was too earnest. “If Axl has problems, I’ll send him to you, Doc,” she said.
They had a strange relationship, he thought. She was the older sister but in many ways he played the older brother. Not the older,
It worked. They had always been close. Their parents had been so absent, they had to cling together from the time they were little, and that habit stuck. Now here she was with the black eye and the trembling chin, holding back her tears with all her strength.
Her boyfriend, Axl’s father, had left and taken her car and her savings.
Lea said, “The guesthouse in back is empty. Why don’t you live there for a while, Roz, while you’re getting yourself together? Ira and Elena will love having Axl around.”
“Only if I can do something to earn my rent.” From Roz. “You know. If I can help out somehow?”
Which is how she got to be the nanny. And damned good timing, too, since Lea and Mark were traveling so much lately. The kids didn’t take long at all to adjust to little cousin Axl. Now age two, he was so cute and so preposterously curious. How could anyone resist him?
“What that mean?”
“Why?”
“What you doing? Why you doing that?”
It was so interesting to see the little guy’s brain churning away. Ira and Elena didn’t question much. They seemed to accept everything as it was. They had always seemed too into themselves to be explorers.
Roz seemed happy in the little guesthouse with its single bedroom and bath. In fact, Mark had never seen her so consistently cheerful. She had her straight black hair cut short and bought some young-looking clothes.
She found a part-time job doing office work for some real estate lawyers in Sag Harbor. And she proved to be an efficient and loving nanny. The kids quickly learned to laugh at her sarcasm and sharp insults. They ate all their meals together at the long wooden table in the kitchen. One big happy family.
Of course, Mark was wary. He always began to feel wary whenever things began to go right for his sister. He knew that a new boyfriend on the scene could change it all.
He wanted Roz to have a real life of her own. Actually, he felt the house was a little crowded with the two of them always there, and it was harder to spend quiet time with Lea or with Ira and Elena. He didn’t want to keep her there forever as a kind of indentured servant. But he knew Roz needed time to heal before heading off to the next chapter of her life.
All these thoughts while sailing his small BMW through the dark waves of Route 114, squinting through the rain-washed windshield. The rapid
No phone. No phone ringing.
And then a sharp turn through the opening in the low brick wall. The crunch of the gravel driveway beneath the tires. Mark eased the car to the side door. Cut the lights. Turned off the engine. Watched the wipers settle down into place.
Then he pulled the raincoat over his head and burst out of the car. To the door on the run. Shoes skidding on the wet gravel.
He reached for the knob but the door swung open. A sliding rectangle of light revealed Roz in jeans and a long, baggy brown sweater. Her eyes were red-rimmed. He smelled alcohol on her breath.
“Oh, Mark.”
“Roz, hi. Have you heard from Lea? Has she called here?”
Roz gazed at him for a long moment. “I don’t think she can,” she said finally, her voice a whisper.
9
With the winds rattling the windows, Lea stood with her phone pressed to her ear. “The connection is lost.” She turned to the Swanns, Martha and James. “I heard Mark, but I don’t think he could hear me.”
An explosion of thunder made all three of them jump.
The lights flickered and went out. “I have plenty of candles,” Martha said. “And a kerosene lantern.”
She had more in common with Martha Stewart than just her first name, Lea thought. She seemed to be a perfect host and homemaker, calm and competent, despite the howling winds that made Lea want to scream.
James was soft-spoken and low-key, too. “No phones, no internet,” he said calmly, like checking off items on a grocery list. “We probably won’t have power for long. We won’t be able to communicate with anyone for days.”
“How can you be so calm about it?” Lea’s voice came out shrill, tight.
James’s slender, lined face flickered into view as Martha got one of the candles glowing. His eyeglasses reflected the orange light. “Martha and I have seen a lot of storms since we moved here.”
“Maybe none like this,” Martha murmured. Another candle flared.
The Swanns had lived in Charlotte, North Carolina, all their lives. James owned three pharmacies there, two of them inherited from his father. But he never really enjoyed running a business. When Walgreens made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, he sold them his stores and retired.
Martha, a photo researcher, freelanced for Reuters and other news agencies. The internet meant that she could work anywhere, so it was no problem for her to move. Ten years ago, the two of them had picked up and moved to Cape Le Chat Noir, just because it seemed the wildest, most unpredictable thing they could do.
A crash outside-shattering metal and glass-made the candlelight flicker.
“Whoa. That sounded like a car. Think this wind is strong enough to pick up cars?” James shook his head.
The oil lamp sent an orange glow over the Swanns’ front room. Long blue-black shadows crept over the floor and walls.
The room had an arching, dark wood cathedral ceiling. Two rows of track lights beamed down on the living room area, all wicker and blue and green aquatic colors, in the front facing the road. A long dining room table, covered in a flowery tablecloth, divided the living room from the kitchen.
Sliding glass doors and an enormous kitchen window revealed a panorama of the beach and ocean inlet out back. James had boarded up the window against the approaching storm. But the glass doors showed the tossing, battling waves, an eerie, unnatural green against the charcoal sky.
The shifting shadows on the walls made Lea think of Halloween. She realized she was still gripping the cell phone and tucked it into a pocket, surprised at how hard her hand was trembling.
She stared through the glass doors at the dark ocean waves raging high, foaming angrily.
“People are going to die,” she said.
The Swanns nodded but didn’t reply. James fiddled with the neck of his black turtleneck sweater. Martha carried a flickering oil lamp to the window ledge in the kitchen.
