no relationship with you, well, that’s a no-brainer. “
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Daria said.
“Daria,” Rory said slowly, “I don’t mean to push you on this. But maybe Shelly is more capable than you give her credit for. Maybe she would be able to take care of a baby with Andy’s help.”
“You don’t know Andy well enough,” Daria said.
“He is nearly as… unreliable as she is. He’s a great carpenter, but he wants to be an EMT and there’s no way he’ll ever pass the test. And do I have to remind you of the accident with the pilot? Grace’s daughter? If it hadn’t been for Shelly’s lapse in judgment during that rescue, Grace’s daughter might still be alive. How can I be sure she’d use any better judgment in taking care of a child?”
What? Shelly raised herself to her elbows to hear better. What was Daria talking about? The pilot was Grace’s daughter? What had she done to cause her death? She searched her memory, racing back over those frantic minutes in the cold water. What had she done? And what was she doing to Daria? Daria was crying on the other side of the window because of her. She’d been the cause of Pete breaking up with her.
She’d had no idea. She’d just gone merrily on her way, thinking Daria was just as happy as she was in the Outer Banks. And now she was standing in the way of her relationship with Rory, as well. But there was no way she could leave the Outer Banks. No way. No way. No way.
If Daria had never found Shelly on the beach, the pilot would still be alive.
Somehow she’d killed the pilot. And she was slowly killing her sister, as well.
Ivory was beginning to get worried. He’d been on the beach nearly an hour, and there was still no sign of Daria or Shelly. He’d helped Jill and her husband build the fires and carry the picnic table from their house to the beach. People had arrived, including Chloe, who was carrying Daria’s baked beans, and Ellen and Ted, sunburned from their day on the fishing pier. Daria would be over soon, they told him; she was with Shelly, who was still a little groggy from her seizure that afternoon. Now he was wondering if he should go to the Sea Shanty to make sure everything was okay.
As darkness fell, Zack and the other teenagers loaded their plates and went off to their own bonfire, away from the adults and the Wheelers’ two youngest granddaughters, who at eight and nine, were caught between the older kids and the grownups and not very happy in either camp.
The adults started eating once the teens had moved away from the food-laden table, but Rory held off, still waiting for Daria. Coppery sparks rose into the sky from the bon fire, and he sat on a beach chair, talking to Linda and Jackie, their dog Melissa lying at his feet. He kept glancing toward the Sea Shanty, and finally spotted Daria walking toward him. He excused himself from Linda and Jackie and went to meet her. Only when he was next to her, did he see that Shelly was with her.
“Hi, Shelly,” he said.
Shelly gave him a halfhearted wave before walking away from them, toward the teenagers.
Putting his arm around Daria’s shoulders, he guided her to the picnic table, covered now with half-empty bowls and trays of food.
“I was getting worried about you,” he said.
“I didn’t want to leave Shelly,” Daria said, looking over her shoulder toward the group of teenagers.
“She hasn’t pulled out of her post-seizure fog the way she usually does.”
“She doesn’t seem like her usual perky self,” he admitted remembering the weak wave she’d offered him.
“She’s not. She’s very… subdued. And she’s not talking to me. She’s angry with me for blowing up at her, I guess. I still feel bad about it.”
“Isn’t she going to eat?” Rory asked.
“I doubt it. She said she’s not hungry.” “What is she usually like after a seizure?” he asked.
“Tired. She usually sleeps for a while, and then she rallies. Not this time, though.”
“Could her pregnancy have something to do with it? Either physically or psychologically?”
“I wondered that myself,” Daria said.
“I’ll have to do some research into seizures during pregnancy.”
Rory handed her a plate.
“The food is different than it was when we were kids,” he said, spooning some of her beans onto his own plate.
“Everything’s low-fat now. It’s all salads and couscous and tabouli.
What happened to the burgers and the barbecue? “
Daria smiled, and he was glad to see it.
“I didn’t realize it, but you’re right,” she said.
“I come to the bonfire every year, so the changes have been gradual for me. But com pared to when we were kids, this is completely different fare.”
“Except for your beans,” he said.
“They’re the only good, down-home cooking on the table. Your mother used to make these, too, didn’t she?” He ate a forkful of the beans before moving on to the next offering.
“Uh-huh.”
“I remember, because I wouldn’t eat them,” he said with a laugh.
“I
