Barefoot: A Novel

declaring she was not a thief and Ted rocking Porter and giving him a bottle (that he found who knows where). They were, al of them, familiar to her. This scene was so familiar to her that she felt she had witnessed it before —and she had, maybe, in her mind’s eye, when she’d imagined what this picnic might be like. They were having this picnic for her—to get her out—but there was also a summer-of-final-wishes element to it, a desire on everyone’s part for this to be a perfect beach picnic, memories of which Vicki could take to her grave. So although the bickering was unpleasant, Vicki was glad they were letting the fantasy go and being themselves.

But then something odd happened. Brenda and Josh and Ted froze, they became perfectly stil . Why? Vicki realized there was someone else among them, a foreign presence, the owner of the voice that had just spoken her name. Vicki? The voice was curious and kind, but with deep, authoritative undertones. She knew that voice, but how?

“Vicki Stowe?” the voice repeated. “Is that you?”

In general, Vicki hated to be recognized in public. (She thought back to the god-awful scene on the beach with Caroline Knox.) She didn’t like to be caught unawares, and whoever was standing before her now—it looked like a man, in waders, with a fishing rod—was interrupting her family picnic and had, on top of that, interrupted a family squabble. Who knows what this person overheard and what this person now thought of them?

Vicki squinted. The sun was behind the man’s head, radiating like a halo. “Yes,” Vicki said.

“It’s Mark.”

“Mark?”

“Dr. Alcott,” he said.

“Oh!” Vicki said. She leapt out of her chair. “Hi!” Once she stood, she could see him clearly: It was Dr. Alcott, but in his waders and Atlantic Cafe T-shirt and Red Sox cap, he was unrecognizable, and although she knew his first name was Mark, she had never once cal ed him that. Vicki wondered if she should shake his hand, and as she was wondering this, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and Vicki felt like she had just been kissed by a new boyfriend in front of her parents. Ted and Brenda and Melanie, and even Josh, were watching this exchange like it was something that was being shown on TV. None of them knew who Dr. Alcott was—not even Brenda had met him—and she was just about to make the introductions when she remembered about the previous morning. She had skipped chemo—and now here was Dr. Alcott, appearing out of the blue to blow the whistle on her. To inform her family that she was sabotaging her own care. To tel them that Vicki didn’t give a shit if she got better or not. At the very least, Dr. Alcott would ask Vicki where she’d been, and she would have no good answer; she would be forced to confess the truth in front of everyone. I skipped. The prospective humiliation of the moment was enough to leave Vicki temporarily tongue-tied.

Dr. Alcott took a step toward Ted and said, “Hi there. I’m Mark Alcott, Vicki’s doctor.”

“Aha!” Ted said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Ted Stowe.”

The men shook hands.

Vicki, realizing she had to take control of the conversation, jumped in. “And this is my sister, Brenda. My friend Melanie Patchen, and our . . .

friend Josh Flynn. And my sons, Blaine and Porter.”

“Quite a group,” Dr. Alcott said.

“Yes,” Vicki said. She fingered one of the tails of her scarf. Small talk! she thought. Smal talk might save her. “You’re fishing?”

“You bet.”

“Josh caught a fish,” Blaine said. “A big one. And Dad threw it back.”

“Good,” Dr. Alcott said. “Great. It’s a beautiful night.”

“Beautiful,” Vicki said. “We had lobsters.”

“Yum,” Dr. Alcott said. He eyed Ted’s fishing rods, poking out of the sand. “Those are some real beauties.”

“Thanks,” Ted said. He grinned. “We might try again in a little while.”

There was a beat of silence, then another beat. Vicki panicked. She was not a trouper, she was not a star patient—she was a fraud! Dr. Alcott had tracked her down, al the way out here on the far edge of the island, to cal her bluff. “Okay, wel ,” she said. “Don’t let us keep you from your fishing.” She cast around for someone safe to look at and came up with Melanie. “Dr. Alcott loves to fish.”

Melanie widened her eyes and nodded in a good approximation of interest.

“Okay,” Dr. Alcott said. He took a breath and seemed about to add something else. No! Vicki thought. He smiled at her blandly, and Vicki realized then that he didn’t know she’d skipped chemo. Didn’t know or didn’t remember . . . or didn’t care? “Good to see you. Nice to meet al of you.”

“Likewise.” Ted shook Dr. Alcott’s hand again.

“Bye,” Vicki said. She sat back down and exhaled as Dr. Alcott strol ed off down the beach. She knew she should feel relieved—she’d dodged a bul et—but instead, she felt hol ow. Here she was stil alive, stil among them—and yet, already forgotten.

Josh had thought that once they got back to Shel Street, he would be free to go. But everything had to be taken out of the car: the cooler, the chairs, the trash bag, the sleeping kids—and Josh offered to help. It was easy work, especial y since Ted Stowe insisted they do it with the aid of yet another beer, Josh’s sixth or seventh of the night. The beach picnic had been a success, or almost: There had been the fishing, the sunset, the lobsters—and later the fire and s’mores for Blaine. Melanie had made a big deal about going swimming in the dark. She’d changed into her suit behind the car and, despite protests from Vicki and Ted and Brenda, al of whom were pretty sure she would drown, charged into the water. She was gone al of thirty seconds before she returned, curled into herself, shivering and dripping. Josh handed her a towel, and he found himself gazing at her body—her breasts, the stil -smooth plane of her stomach, bare in the bikini, her curly hair hanging in dark corkscrews around her face.