The Sisters Chase Page 9

  “It was really good to see you, Stefan,” said Mary, skilled at letting her stare linger.

  “Yeah,” he said. “You, too.”

  Mary reached for her door handle and gave it a pull. “Come on, Bunny,” she said to Hannah, who was watching quietly from the back.

  “Here,” said Stefan, joining the girls in opening his door. “I’ll walk you in.”

  The girls got out, and Stefan crossed around the front of the car to join them. When they reached the stoop, Stefan glanced back at Hannah, who had been trailing just behind. “So you’re going to be okay?” he asked. “You can get to Spillane’s in the morning?”

  “It’s just a few blocks. Hannah and I can walk over there.”

  Stefan nodded, then glanced at the dented mailbox unit.

  “Thanks for everything tonight, Stefan,” said Mary, as she slipped the key into the front door and pushed it open with her hip. She ushered Hannah in ahead of her, flipping on the kitchen light, then turned back to Stefan. “It was good to see you again.”

  Stefan nodded. “Yeah, you, too,” he said. And suddenly he looked to Mary like a man who was about to let it all crash against the rocks for her.

  “Good night,” she said, moving to step inside the berth of the door and push it shut. But Stefan rested his hand against its glass, stopping it.

  “Hey,” he said suddenly. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

  Twelve

  1982

  Stefan came in the evening. He wore a camel-colored coat and smiled under the porch light. Mary opened the door, feeling the cold rush past her, breaking the apartment’s stale, warm seal. It had snowed that morning, and the brittle blades of grass stayed powdered with snow as crystalline ice floated lazily through the dark.

  Stefan held her gaze before speaking. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

  Mary smiled, her lips apple red, her black hair spilling over her white sweater.

  Then Stefan leaned past her to get a glimpse of Hannah, who was standing behind Mary’s hip. “I’m told there are a couple of ladies here who’ve never had the pleasure of dining at Willy’s.” Willy’s was a Northton institution, a family restaurant that Stefan had suggested, intuiting perhaps that babysitters weren’t in Mary’s budget or her plan.

  She nudged Hannah up in front of her. “What do you think?” she said, looking down at the top of her sister’s head. “You ready, Bunny?”

  Hannah was wearing a red-velvet dress that Diane had bought on clearance years ago knowing she’d grow into it. She looked up at her sister, then at Stefan, and nodded—her eyes wide, her lips tight.

  “Alright,” said Stefan, with a smile. “Let’s go.”

  As they made their way down the concrete path windswept with snow, Stefan asked Hannah questions about Northton Elementary, where he had also gone to school.

  “So you’re in kindergarten?” he asked, reaching to open the rear door to his car.

  Hannah nodded as she slid in, nestling her hands beneath her bottom. “I have Mrs. Murphy,” she said.

  Stefan groaned in sympathy. “Oh, man,” he said. “The Murph. She’s still around? Stealing joy from the hearts of children?”

  And Mary watched Hannah’s face brighten as she looked at Mary, pleased that they now had a comrade in their dislike of the teacher.

  He slid into the driver’s seat. “The Murph’s a legend,” said Stefan, buckling his seat belt and throwing his car into reverse, looking over his shoulder as he negotiated his way out of the spot. “I think she must be a hundred and sixty-three at this point.”

  Winding from Boosk Avenue to Northton’s elegant downtown, they pulled up to an old yellow colonial, illuminated and bright. Outside was a green and gold carved sign. WILLY’S TAVERN. FINE FOOD AND SPIRITS. PRIME RIB. LOBSTER. CHOPS.

  Stefan threw the car into park, looked at the sign, and smiled, his brow creased, realizing that he may have oversold the experience of Willy’s. “It’s kind of old-school. But it’s been around forever. And I grew up sawing through their prime rib every Sunday.”

  Inside, Willy’s was dimly lit with floral wallpaper interrupting the dark-stained wood trim. It had the bustle and din of a well-attended pub, and everything seemed coated in a thick varnish of time and spilled drinks. Men sat at the bar in starched shirts, sleeves rolled up to their elbows, sipping from napkin-wrapped rocks glasses under Tiffany-style lights. There was a wonderful shabbiness to the place, a grand old rot that Mary had come to identify with the truly rich. The gentleman at the maître d’ stand had a generous belly that stretched the confines of his blue-and-white-striped button-down shirt. He looked up from his seating chart and brightened as he saw Stefan.

  “Master Kelly!” he said, fiddling with his cuff links.

  They clapped each other on the shoulders, and pleasantries were exchanged. Stefan was urged to say hello to his parents. The maître d’ was assured Stefan would.

  When they took their seats at their table, leather-bound menus in hand, Stefan turned to Hannah. “Do you like Shirley Temples?” he asked.

  Hannah looked at Mary, who said, “I’m not sure you’ve had one of those, Bunny.”

  “We’ll get you one,” he said to Hannah, with a wink meant only for her. “My brother and I used to get them here all the time.” And Mary noticed the way his voice became quieter, if only by a shade.

  The waitress came and went and brought a delighted Hannah her Shirley Temple, followed by a beer for Stefan, a club soda for Mary. And as Stefan took a sip, he looked at Mary. The restaurant hummed around them; waitresses in black aprons balanced food-laden trays as they wound through the tables. “So,” he said, as if that single word summed up the beauty and improbability and wonder of sitting there with her.

  “So,” replied Mary.

  And Stefan smiled, his eyes focused only on her.

  “So you’re living in Boston?” Mary asked.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m in law school.”

  “And Beth,” Mary asked, as if she weren’t quite sure she recalled the girl’s name. “She’s there, too?”

  Stefan nodded. “She lives in Beacon Hill,” he said. “I’m in Cambridge.” It was an elegant way to let Mary know that whatever he and Beth were, they weren’t living together. “But what about you?” he asked, forearms on the table, leaning closer to her. “What have you been up to these last”—he shook his head—“six years?”

  “Going to school, working at the motel.” Mary’s eyes drifted to her sister, who was coloring on a photocopied children’s menu. “Helping my mom with Hannah.”

  “I’m so sorry to hear about what happened.” His voice was low and intimate. “Was it . . . sudden?”

  Mary let her eyes move to her drink. “It was a car accident.”

  “And are you guys entirely on your own now?” he asked, making a subtle reference to her father.

  Mary picked up her soda. “So it would seem.”

  “Do you still have the motel?”

  Mary shook her head. “We’re doing alright, though,” she said, looking at Hannah. “It’s actually easier to not have it.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” said Stefan. “In Northton, I mean. Besides the Murph, the schools are good. Or so I’m told.” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his arm slung across his chest, his hand nestled in the crook beneath his arm. “Everyone here is so fixated on that kind of thing.”

  Their entrees came, and as they ate, they talked about law school and Mary’s job, always circling the topic of their meeting, always lowering their voices when it came near. Their chairs moved closer and closer to each other’s around the circular table until they were beside each other, looking out at Hannah.

  “Did you ever make it down to the islands?” asked Mary, her head drifting to one side as she leaned into her chair. Stefan’s presence relaxed her, warmed her to her bones.

  “I did,” said Stefan. “Had to sail through a nasty storm, but I made it.”

  Mary smiled, re
sted her cheek on her hand. “I knew you would.”

  “I was a mate on a racing boat that summer. Sailed in the RORC for this insane Frenchman. It was a great experience, but I got a late start coming home.” Stefan pushed his empty beer glass forward, then looked at Mary. “I’m happy to be seeing you again.”

  And Mary shifted in her seat, letting her knees drift to the side, resting lightly on Stefan’s thigh.

  Dessert was ordered and the bill was paid, Mary offering to split it while Stefan chivalrously ignored her and Hannah sunk her spoon into an ice cream sundae. “Forget it, Mary,” he said. “This is my treat.” And they got back into the car, Hannah yawning in the backseat.

  “You tired, Bunny?” Mary asked, turning to look at her.

  Hannah nodded.

  “We’ll get you home,” Stefan said.

  Jazz played softly over the radio as they drove, Mary sinking into the leather passenger seat. It was so unusual to not be the one driving. And she let herself watch as the town rolled past. She watched the big front windows filled with evergreens strung in white lights; she watched the garland-wrapped streetlights, the stately old homes. They passed by her like memories, like flashes of present moving to past. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. And Mary felt that if she was capable of truly making any place her home it would be Northton.

  Hannah was asleep in the back by the time they returned to Boosk Avenue, her head flopping awkwardly to one side, her skirt up above her white-stockinged knees.

  Mary opened the rear door and unfastened Hannah’s seat belt, then bent down to scoop her up. “You sure you got her?” Stefan asked, as Mary gingerly coaxed her arms under Hannah’s body.

  “I got her,” replied Mary, as her sister’s weight shifted and fell against her chest.

  “Do you have the keys?” Stefan asked. “I’ll get the door.”

  “They’re in my pocket.” Mary smiled and tilted her head down to her coat. “If you can get them.”

  And Stefan reached inside, the warmth of his hand filling the thin lining of Diane’s old tweed, the intimacy of the touch a palpable thing. “Got ’em,” Stefan said, his voice quiet.

  He walked with her, bursting ahead to prop open the door as Mary made her way up the path with Hannah, a concerned expression on his face. The walkway was slippery. And Mary’s steps were tentative as she moved with her sister in her arms, her breath clouding then vanishing in front of her face.

  Mary stepped in ahead of Stefan and brought Hannah to their small bedroom. “I’m just going to set her down,” she called behind her.

  In their room, the nightlight was on, casting stars about the room. She placed Hannah in bed, took off her shoes and stockings, then pulled up the covers.

  “Night, Bunny,” Mary whispered, her hand skimming her sister’s forehead.

  She walked back through the apartment, knowing Stefan would be there, knowing he would wait. And when she rounded the corner to the tiny kitchen, she saw him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The lights were off, and the only illumination came from the streetlamps outside, the blinds on the windows casting a ladderlike shadow on the wall.

  When he saw her, he walked across the room without a word and stopped in front of her. They stood there for a moment facing each other, the space between their bodies creating something that had its own physical presence, its own charge.

  He brushed the hair off of one of her shoulders, exposing the moon-white curve of her neck, and took a breath, admiring this one small part of the creature that was Mary. Moving his hand to her lower back, he pulled her toward him. And still they stared at each other. Then his head inclined and his lips moved against hers and Mary closed her eyes, feeling Stefan open her mouth with his own. She loved him already, of course. She had loved him since the night she had lain down under a swath of stars, feeling his weight on top of her and the sand below. She’d loved him since he pushed inside of her and crimson ran out, as if he’d pierced her heart.

  Thirteen

  1976

  Mary walked quickly, hugging the road but keeping to the sand, which shifted under her steps. A car whizzed by and she tucked her chin, the wind whipping a strand of hair across her face as it burst out of the darkness. She was out of range of headlights, but everyone in town knew her. If they saw her out alone, they’d call Diane.

  The dunes were to her right, and beyond them, the ocean churned and crashed, barely distinguishable from the black sky. She always loved the beach at night. When it was empty and ungoverned and wild.

  He told her that he’d meet her at the Perkins Break near the lifeguard chair. He had some beer. They could drink it. The older kids in town always drank on the beach, sitting in quiet circles and passing joints, Budweiser cans between their crossed legs. The first time Mary joined them, the police came with spotlights that sent the group scattering, tripping and stumbling with pounding hearts as adrenaline surged into their fingers and toes. Only Mary stayed still. She simply leaned back with her hands planted into the sand and stared into the bright light. After that, Mary’s presence, which seemed to inspire fear or deference or both, was never questioned.

  She had met the boy that day. He had come to the Water’s Edge to use the pay phone. Mary had been sitting at the front desk reading Carrie. She didn’t look up as the bell on the door chimed.

  He waited for a moment, with a dollar bill in his hand, to get her attention. Then he playfully cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” he said. “Can you change this?”

  Mary took a slow breath, then looked up, revealing nothing of what she felt the moment she saw his face. Like a chemical reaction, her attraction was instant and unadulterated. He had a regal look to him despite his wild sun-bleached hair. And in his eyes there was a pulsing life that Mary had come to identify with intelligence. Whether it was a girl’s fancy or some deeper intimation of things to come, she saw lives unfold before her. And so it was that her young, ferocious, and flawed heart began to splay itself open.

  She dog-eared her book, set it on the desk, then licked the tip of her finger and took the bill from him. “What do you need?” she asked.

  “Dimes,” he answered, the single word already sounding flirtatious. “For the phone.”

  Mary turned the key that sat sunk into the wooden desk drawer where they kept the on-hand cash at the Water’s Edge and pulled it open. She counted out ten dimes, then dropped them smoothly into Stefan’s hand.

  Stefan paused, looking for a reason to linger in front of the beautiful girl at the front desk. “Hey, how much are rooms here?”

  Mary cocked her head. “Well, they’re actually extraordinarily expensive. This is one of Sandy Bank’s finest motels.”

  Stefan dropped his chin and laughed, then extended his palm full of dimes, his expression roguish and playful. “Will this do it?”

  Mary smiled, unleashing her full capacity for charm. “That’s plenty,” she said.

  Stefan never did make his phone call. He and Mary talked, his elbows resting on the ledge in front of the desk, she leaning back in her chair. She soon learned that he was sailing alone down the coast to the Caribbean and back, that he was taking the fall semester off from college to do it. He would be working on a racing boat this summer.

  “How old are you?” she asked.

  “Nineteen,” he answered. In his eyes was a playful challenge. “How old are you?”

  She hesitated for only a moment. “Seventeen,” she replied.

  Stefan smiled. “When do you get off of work?”

  A single shoulder lifted in a shrug. “I can leave right now,” she said.

  With her dog-eared copy of Carrie in her purse, Mary locked the door to the Water’s Edge front office and followed Stefan to his boat. It was May, the true start of the tourist season still a few weeks away, and so the marina was comfortably quiet, the weathered gray boards of the dock groaning beneath their feet.

  “Here she is,” said Stefan, as they approached a trim, elegant bo
at, its white mast extending into the bright blue sky. On the transom, in stately gold letters, was written LäUFER, NORTHTON, RHODE ISLAND.

  Mary stopped. “What’s Läufer?” she asked.

  Stefan stopped and brought his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the salt-soaked tanned skin. “My mom’s German,” he said. “Läufer means runner. But she always liked that it sounds like loafer in English.” He smiled, grabbed the boat’s silver railing, and ably pulled himself aboard, then reached back for Mary. “She says that describes me perfectly.” Mary took his hand and he pulled her up, resting his hand on her hip as she stepped down. “American and German. A loafer and a runner.”

  They stayed on the boat all afternoon, lying on the bow under the late-spring sun. Mary pulled up her T-shirt so that the rays could warm her belly, and she noticed the way Stefan’s eyes found it, that soft expanse of skin. Mary was used to men wanting her. But the boys she had let touch her had spasmed with pleasure, wasting themselves and collapsing on top of her with damp breath and quivering bodies before much of anything happened. They’d cup their now-limp penises and whimper their apologies until she pushed them off of her, feeling as though whatever it was that she possessed had the power to decimate, to deny her pleasure and give others more than they could endure.

  So when Stefan’s hand slid over to her stomach, when his fingers slipped just under the waistband of her jean shorts as he told her about his route down the coast, when he didn’t convulse and then spend himself from simply touching her skin, Mary wanted him all the more wholly.

  “When did you start sailing?” Mary asked, letting her head roll toward his as they lay side by side.

  His position mimicked hers. “I was a kid,” he said. “I used to go out with my dad. Then I started to take his boat out without his permission.” He smiled. “Used to piss him off.”