DEIRDRE SLADE GLANCED OUT HER UPSTAIRS BEDROOM window at the sound of an approaching motor. It was too foggy to see anything, even with the floodlights on the rocks and one out at the end of the dock. But she knew by the distinctive putt-putt of the motor that it was Amos McCullough’s ancient lobster boat. Nice of him to bring his granddaughter over on a pea-souper night like this. He may not have all his marbles, Deirdre thought, but by God, Amos McCullough still had his good old-fashioned Yankee manners.
She looked at her small diamond evening watch and rushed back into her dressing room, her cheeks expelling a little puff of air. Almost seven. She was going to be late if she didn’t get off island by seven-thirty or so. Invitation had said eight sharp and it was a good twenty minutes in the Whaler over to the Dark Harbor Yacht Club docks. Night like this, with the fog really socked in, it could easily take her half an hour.
The Old Guard still took invitations seriously up in this part of Maine. Show up a little late, or a little stewed, or, worse yet, not at all, and you are definitely going to be Topic A at the Beach Club next morning. Deirdre had, over the years, been guilty of all three transgressions.
Thank God Amos had made sure his granddaughter Millie, the babysitter, was on time. Charlie and Laura, five and six, had had their macaroni and cheese dinner and were already bathed and in their Harry Potter jammies. She and her two children had been having a ball here on Pine Island, the three sole inhabitants of the big old house up on the rocks her parents had bought in the fifties. It was the house she’d grown up in and she adored every musty nook and cranny.
Deirdre added a little gloss to her lipstick and stepped back to look at herself in the full-length mirror. Black Chanel dress. White pearls. Black satin Manolo Blahnik heels. Pretty good for an aging babe, she thought, fooling around with her shoulder-length blonde hair. Certainly good enough for the Maine Historical Society dinner at the Dark Harbor Yacht Club.
She took a quick sip of the glass of grocery store Chardonnay sitting on the mirrored top of her dressing table.
God, she hated these things. Especially when she had to go without her husband. Still, it was fun to bring the kids back to Maine for a couple of weeks. It was spring break at their school in Madrid. Evan was of course supposed to be here. But, at the last minute, his job had gotten in the way. He had promised to join them if he could duck out of some urgent Mideast talks in Bahrain a few days early. She wasn’t holding her breath. These were tough times for diplomats, and Evan took his job very seriously. He’d plainly been on edge on the phone tonight. Something was bothering him.
Something was going on in sunny Madrid.
He wouldn’t, or more than likely, couldn’t talk about it. What had he said to her when they’d said good-bye in the lounge at the Madrid Barajas airport? Keep your eyes open, darling. It’s going to get much worse before it gets better. She waited for more, but she could see in his eyes it wasn’t coming. Over the years, she’d learned not to ask. They had a good marriage. If there was something that needed saying, and it was something that could be said, it got said.
She’d replaced the receiver and sat on her bedside, staring out into the swirling fog beyond the bedroom windows. Keep him safe, she whispered, on the off chance that there really was somebody up there listening. You keep him safe.
“Hiya, Amos,” Deirdre said descending the stairway. All she could see at first were his yellow rubber boots and the legs of the foul-weather gear, but she’d know that stance anywhere. The wide-apart stance of an old man who’d spent years on the slippery wet deck of a wildly pitching lobster boat.
“And, hello, Millicent,” Deirdre started to say. “It’s awfully nice of you to—”
It wasn’t Millicent.
“Hi,” the girl said, coming towards her with her hand outstretched. She had some flowers rolled up in newspaper. “You’re Mrs. Slade. I’m Siri. A good friend of Millie’s at school. Here, these are for you.”
Deirdre took the flowers, then her hand, and shook it.
“Thank you, these are lovely. Iris. Truly one of my favorite flowers. Sorry, I didn’t catch your last name?”
“It’s Adjelis. Siri Adjelis. Millie couldn’t make it. She was so sick at her stomach and she was so upset, and, like, you know, worried about canceling at the last minute and everything. So, I was like, hey, why not, I could use the money. I hope it’s okay.”
“She normally calls if there’s a problem,” Deirdre said, now looking at Amos. “Is Millie all right, Amos?”
“Oh, she tried,” Siri said, interrupting. “Sorry, Mrs. Slade, but your line was tied up and then it was time for me and Mr. McCullough to get in the boat and head over here to the island or we’d be late.”
“Very kind of you to help out, Siri,” Deirdre said. “Funny. I’ve never heard Millie mention your name. Have you lived in Dark Harbor long?”
“No, not really, Mrs. Slade. My family just moved up here from New York six months ago. But Millie and I have homeroom together and we just, like, you know, bonded or whatever. We were like instant soul mates. You know?”
Deirdre was looking at Amos, who held his dripping sou’wester in his hands, turning it round and round by the brim, looking cold and soggy in his old blue flannel shirt and yellow foul-weather overalls.
“Amos, you look chilled to the bone. Come out in the kitchen and let me pour you an inside-outer. An old- fashioned stomach-warmer. Siri, the children are upstairs in the playroom. They’ve already had dinner and bathed. They’re allowed story time for exactly one hour. Not a minute longer. I’m halfway through Black Beauty and they love it. It’s on top of the dresser. Can I bring you up something, Siri? Water? Diet Coke?”
“No, I’m fine, Mrs. Slade. I’ll just go up and introduce myself to the kids. Larry and Carla, right?”
“Charles and Laura.”
“Oh, right. Sorry. Brain fade. My bad, totally. Millie told me Charlie and Laura. Is five dollars an hour too much?”
“I pay Millie four.”
“Four’s fine. I just didn’t know.”
“All right. You go on up and say hello. I’ll come up and say good-bye to the kids before I leave.”
“Amos,” Deirdre said in the kitchen, pouring the old man a tumbler full of Dewar’s. “How well do you know this girl?”
She poured a short one for herself even though she’d already had two glasses of chardonnay. The edginess in Evan’s voice on the phone had somehow been creeping around the corners of her mind ever since they’d hung up.
“Know her pretty well.”
“How?”
“How what, dear?”
“How? How do you know her?”
“Oh, you know. Over to the house all the time. Up in Millie’s room. Listenin’ to that damn M&M music.”
“Have you met her parents?”
“Yup.”
“Nice people?”
“Reckon so.”
“What does the father do?”
“Some kind of mechanic, I think.”
“Oh. Where?”
“Works on airplanes. Over to the airport.”
“And the mother?”
“Nurse over to General. Pediatrics.”
“Jesus. I’ll tell you something, this world is turning us all a little bit paranoid, Amos. I’m sure she’s perfectly nice if she’s a friend of your lovely granddaughter’s. Please tell Millie I understand and hope she’s feeling better in
