I ran a large arc through the bay water and back into the canal. I slowed the motor to a gentle sputter as I carefully steered the runabout into our dock. I cut the motor, tossed the half-spent mosquito coil into the canal, climbed out of the boat and tied it to the dock.
I was still trembling as I opened the screen door to the porch. The fake Isabel had not moved in her porch bed and my arrival did not seem to have awakened anyone. I put the flashlight back in the kitchen and climbed the rickety stairs to the attic. Lucy’s breathing was soft and regular. I tiptoed past her bed and into my curtained bedroom. I did not let myself think about what I had witnessed until I was under my covers.
One sentence kept clanging in my brain: Were Isabel and Ned going all the way? I did not even know the term “making love.” I knew the basic elements of intercourse, but I did not know exactly how it was done. I let my imagination take me back to that platform, myself in Isabel’s place. My breasts, somehow larger and fuller, were bare, as hers had been. Ned’s hands were on them. He took off the rest of my bathing suit, then lay me down on the damp wood of the platform and kissed me tenderly. He took off his own bathing suit, and I spread my legs and invited him in, and somehow he was able to fit his penis inside me, penetrating that brick wall. That seemed an impossibility to me, but people did it somehow and Ned would know how. He would shoot sperm inside me and tell me he loved me. My body ached to be in Isabel’s place on the platform, moonlight on my breasts, going all the way with my lover.
I sneaked the boat out to the bay several more times that July. I only took it out once in August, and that had been a mistake.
CHAPTER 12
I was in the basement of the Methodist Church in Westfield getting ready for my band to perform at a Coffee with Conscience concert. I stood next to the pillar near the small stage, watching the place fill up. This would be the ZydaChicks last concert of the season, and we always liked to end the year locally, performing for our supporters in Westfield. Proceeds for the Coffee with Conscience concert would go to charity, which was the way we liked to operate. Our music was the feel-good variety, a happy fusion of zydeco, folk, and rhythm and blues, and only three of the five of us were “chicks,” a fact that always required me to provide a long explanation somewhere midway through our performance.
The scent of coffee was thick in the air as I watched some of my old Westfield neighbors slip into their seats at the round tables. I saw a few of my Plainfield friends walk in, and best of all, several of my ESL students showed up. Three boys, two girls, all Hispanic. The kids spotted me standing next to the pillar and waved, grinning. It touched me to see them there. They looked out of place, a little uncomfortable, but sporting their usual “don’t mess with me” bravado. Two of my former lovers were there, as well, and I was glad to see that they took seats at tables on opposite ends of the room. I made a mental note to be careful after the concert. Most of my previous boyfriends knew about each other and were cool about it, but those two had a rather hostile relationship. I would have to greet each of them individually.
Finally, just minutes before we were to go onstage, I spotted Julie and Shannon entering the room. I knew that Julie had picked Shannon up at Glen’s and I wondered how that had gone. I’d gotten a ride to the church from one of my band members, and Julie was going to take me home. I was hoping the three of us could stop off someplace for dessert. I wanted to try to facilitate a discussion between mother and daughter. I knew Shannon hadn’t told Julie about her pregnancy yet, and she wasn’t going to get any skinnier.
Julie looked a bit tense from where I stood, but then I saw her laugh as she exchanged a few words with a woman she must have known. The laughter made her look pretty and ten years younger, and I was relieved to see it.
My gaze dropped to Shannon’s midriff. She was doing an excellent job of hiding her pregnancy. She had on a loose white peasant blouse, a gift I’d given her years ago when I’d returned from a trip to Guadalajara. I’d never seen her wear it before, but it was perfect as camouflage. Loose and airy, the blouse drew the eye up to the elaborate embroidery at the neckline. Shannon was not smiling, and I wondered if she ever smiled these days. Her life had taken quite a serious turn. Maybe she smiled when she talked to her twenty-seven-year-old boyfriend, Travis. Or Taylor. Or Tanner. Whatever his name was, I did not trust him.
The house was packed and too warm by the time we took the stage, and I blocked everything but the music from my mind. I can’t say that our performance was seamless. Something happened at the end of every season: We tended to get too cocky. We didn’t practice enough and then we screwed up in the middle of an old song we should have been able to play in our sleep. I doubted that the audience knew or cared, though. They were drinking iced coffee, tapping their toes, and some of our most devoted fans sang along. A lot of people were on their feet and the energy in the room was high. I loved it when an audience responded that way.
Afterward I chatted with my students and some of my friends—neither ex-beau hung around, which was a blessing—and then met Julie and Shannon by the front door.
“Great concert,” Julie said. She took my violin case from my hand as though she knew I’d appreciate a break from it.
“You just need a cellist,” Shannon teased me. It was her contention that every band on earth could be improved through the addition of a cello.
I gave her a one-armed hug. “How about we get some ice cream?” I said, as we walked outside into the warm night air.
“I need to go straight home,” Shannon said, then caught herself. “I mean, straight to Dad’s.” She’d been living with her father for four days, and I’d been glad that she’d agreed to go out with Julie tonight. Apparently, though, she wanted to make a short evening of it.
“Oh, come on, Shannon,” I said, my arm still around her shoulders. “Just for a while.”
“I’m expecting an important phone call,” she said, giving me a look that told me who the important call was from, just in case I hadn’t guessed.
“You can call them back,” Julie said. “Lucy’s probably starved.”
“It’s true, I am,” I said. “You know I don’t like to eat before a concert.”
If I hadn’t piped up, Shannon probably would have argued with her mother over stopping for dessert, but once I’d made my case, she gave in.
“Westfield Diner?” Julie asked as she opened her car door.
