Maine: A Novel Part 16

She stepped out of the shower and glanced in the bathroom mirror. The skin around her eyes was gray and lined. She really ought to apply some concealer, but she couldnat be bothered. She decided not to blow-dry, eithera"she was at the beach and her life was falling apart. Who did she have to impress? She toweled off and slid into a pair of jeans, taking note of the dresses she had pulled from Gabeas closet a few days earlier. Life could change so quickly; you learned that as you aged. Yet it never ceased to surprise her.

Maggie glanced at the pink alarm clock on the nightstand. Had it once belonged in her motheras old room at her grandparentsa house? She thought she remembered seeing it there. She felt like lying down, but instead decided to take a walk on the beach. Staying in motion seemed the best way to ward off insanity.

It was after eleven now. Maggie sat on the jetty, her feet immersed in the chilly water. A busted-up lobster trap had washed into sh.o.r.e and landed on the rocks. New York seemed a million miles away.

All around her were tide pools full of periwinkles and algae, which turned the water brilliant shades of red and green. She thought of childhood days, when Chris and her cousin Daniel would wrest the periwinkles from where they lay, grabbing hold of their sh.e.l.ls and dropping them into iced-tea bottles full of salty water, shaking them hard for no apparent reason, other than the fact that little boys sometimes got a strange kick out of being cruel.

The ocean stretched out before her, with nothing in the distance but a lone sailboat. Behind her, the cottage and the big house next door sat quiet and still. This place had been one of the few constants in her life. Perhaps next summer shead be sitting on these rocks with a baby in her arms. Maybe she could even stay in the cottage through the off-season, as her mother had done leading up to the divorce. It wouldnat be as gruesome as that spring had been. She could spend afternoons writing at the big table in the living room, while her child slept in a crib by the window, bathed in sunlight.

Maggie held a cup of herbal tea in her hand as she looked out over the choppy water. She wanted to tell her mother, but she felt terrified. Maggie knew all too well that Kathleen saw motherhood as the end of independence, growth, fulfillment. And yes, yes, we were at war, and terrorists might kill us all, and it seemed like a dreadful world to bring a child into. But when had the world been any better, really? When was it ever a safe time to create a life?

She took in a deep breath of ocean air and climbed to her feet, brus.h.i.+ng sand from her tree-trunk legs, which were entirely resistant to the elliptical machine, thank you very much Great-grandma Dolan. As she walked back toward the beach, she saw an elderly couple in the distance practicing Tai Chi. They looked ridiculous, adorable. Some annoying reflexive part of her wished Gabe were there to see them. He would have taken their picture, preserving the sight forever.

She went up toward the cottage, planning to enter through the side door so she wouldnat have to pa.s.s by her grandmotheras porch, where Alice was probably chain-smoking and reading a library book. Maggie felt guilty for avoiding her, but told herself shead go visit Alice later in the afternoon, maybe bring some fresh cherries from Rubyas Market.

As she came up the path from the beach, Maggie heard a repet.i.tive banging sound that seemed to get louder as she approached. Then she saw him: a handsome, dark-haired guy about her age, wearing a blue sweater over jeans. He was standing at the side entranceas railing with a hammer in his hand.

This must be the handyman Alice was yapping on about at dinner the night before, though he didnat appear to be Mexican. He looked like one of those das.h.i.+ng Englishmen Alice so loved in BBC adaptations of Jane Austen books.

aHi,a Maggie said, feeling her cheeks blush.

ah.e.l.lo there,a he said with a wide smile. aGorgeous day, isnat it?a aYes,a she said slowly.

aConnor Donnelly,a he said, extending a hand.

aMaggie Doyle.a aSo nice to meet you,a he said.

Attractive straight men rarely came across as friendlya"they usually either flirted or ignored you. Maggie felt skeptical.

aHave you seen my grandmother?a she asked.

aOh yes. Sheas around front,a he said. aUh-huh. Thanks.a Maggie turned the corner. Alice was down on her knees in the garden a few feet away, tending her roses and wearing a netted hat to ward off mosquitoes.

ah.e.l.lo there,a she said when Maggie approached. She struggled to get up, and Maggie rushed forward to help her.

aIam absolutely fine,a Alice said. aDonat make me feel like an old lady, please.a Even though Alice would never say exactly how old she was, Kathleen put her age somewhere around eighty. She didnat ever seem to change much. (aToo evil to grow old,a Maggieas father often joked.) But here in this moment, she appeared frail, fragile.

aYou look too thin, Grandma,a Maggie said, fully aware of the risk involved in making such a statement to Alice. aAre you eating enough?a Alice scoffed. aThereas no such thing as too thin.a aSeriously, are you eating enough?a Maggie asked.

Alice sighed. aOkay, you got me. My secretas out. At the age of one hundred and five, Iave decided to become an anorexic.a It was a horrible joke, but Maggie couldnat help but laugh.

aWhereas your friend?a Alice asked.

aShe went back to New York,a Maggie said.

aYes, I saw her drive off very early this morning. Did you two have a spat?a aWhat? No.a How did she know?

aShe slept over; I saw her car,a Alice said.

aYup. It got late.a Alice nodded. aHow is it down at the beach?a aGlorious. Cold, but glorious.a aWell, thatas good,a Alice said. aDid you meet Father Donnelly on your way back?a aFather Donnelly?a aMy priest. Heas an absolute peach,a Alice said. aHe helps me with whatever I need done around here. He takes me to lunch.a He hadnat been wearing a white collar. Werenat they supposed to wear those at all times?

There were people, even now, who trusted a priest implicitly, based only on his vocation. And then, based on the same fact, there were those who instantly found everything he did suspect. Maggie fell into the latter category. Since when did priests make house calls to fix a wobbly banister? For less than an instant she envisioned him and Alice, wrapped up in some sort of intergenerational love affair, but then she willed the revolting thought to vanish.

aWeare going to a new place in Kittery around one oaclock if you want to come,a Alice said, smiling now, in one of her good moods.

Maggie exhaled a bit. aThat would be nice.a aGood. Thatall give you time to change out of those play clothes.a Maggie didnat see a reason to change out of her jeans and tank top in order to have lunch with her grandmother and a priest, but she responded, aYup!a Then she added, aIam sorry it got so tense last night. I should have warned you more directly that Gabe wasnat coming and Rhiannon was.a Alice waved her hand through the air in front of her, as if shooing away a fly. aWater under the bridge,a she said.

The three of them drove to Kittery Point at one oaclock sharp. Maggie sat in the backseat feeling a bit like a little girl, not minding the sensation at all. While Father Donnelly and Alice spoke about the women in Aliceas prayer group and their a.s.sorted ailments, Maggie stared out the window at the housesa"white and blue and pale yellow with American flags flapping in the breeze.

The restaurant they had chosen was right on the beach, with pink picnic tables out front. They ordered lobster rolls and chowder and iced tea. The waitresses wore crisp white shorts and pink polo s.h.i.+rts. Instead of MEN and LADIES, the signs on the bathroom doors read BUOYS and GULLS.

They took a table overlooking the water.

Maggie thought it sounded like the perfect setup for one of her grandfatheras bad jokes: An unwed mother, a priest, and an old biddy walk into a lobster pound a When the wind whipped up, threatening to blow the napkins away, the priest covered them with a saltshaker. Inside the gla.s.s shaker were grains of white rice. Maggie remembered asking her mother about this when she was a kid: the rice soaked up the moisture in the air, Kathleen had explained, leaving the salt dry. (But why? Maggie thought now. And how was she supposed to imbue herself with all that motherly knowledge? How did it happen?) Alice started in on the current family gossip, while Father Donnelly (aCall me Connora) went to ask for more tartar sauce for her sandwich. Little Daniel was getting married to someone named Regina, who everyone loved, though it seemed to Maggie that he had known her for all of nine minutes.

When she said this, Alice smiled curtly and replied, aWell, heas always had such a good head on his shoulders. I think heas the type who really understands what he wants from life. Heas settled, professionally speaking. Ready for the next step!a Unlike me, you mean, Maggie thought, but she pressed on, reminding herself that in her grandmotheras eyes, Ann Marie and Patrickas three kids could do no wrong.

aHow are Aunt Clare and Uncle Joe?a she asked.

aHow should I know?a Alice said. aThey never call me. Theyave always kept to themselves, you know, but lately theyave been worse than ever. Ann Marie told me sheas invited them over twice in the past month, and they havenat even called her back. So rude!a Maggie nodded. aAre they coming to Maine this summer?a aNo one tells me a thing,a Alice said grumpily, then, aAs far as I know, yes, theyall be here in August as usual.a Father Donnelly returned with two miniature paper cups full of tartar sauce.

aOh, thanks, Father, youare a doll,a Alice said. She gave him her brightest smile. She always was at her best around good-looking men. Maggie thought of her grandfather: even when he was young, he was never particularly handsome. She had seen old pictures. The women in his family came up thick and freckly. The men were spindly, pale. She wondered why Alice had picked him. Surely someone so vain would have been disappointed by such a plain-looking husband.

aWill you lead us in grace, Father?a Alice asked.

Maggie glanced around at the other patrons in their shorts and sandals and flimsy plastic lobster bibs. Grace? Really?

aIad be honored,a he said. To Maggieas horror, he extended his arms. They all joined hands.

Luckily, he spoke fast: aBless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bountiful hands through Christ our Lord, Amen.a They dropped hands. He immediately turned to Maggie and said, aSo how long will you be visiting?a She shrugged, glad that was over, at least. aNot sure. A few days, maybe.a aIs that all?a Alice asked. aI thought it was two weeks.a aWell, my plans changed, as you know, and Iam not sure exactly what Iam going to do.a aShe broke up with her boyfriend,a Alice said happily. aSheas hiding out.a Maggie laughed, because it was sort of true, and because laughing was really the only alternative to getting p.i.s.sed off at the comment. Besides, it was nice in a way, to pretend for a moment that the breakup was the worst of her worries.

aI canat think of a better place for it,a he said. He bit into his lobster roll, leaving a speck of mayo on his bottom lip. To Maggieas great amazement, Alice reached over and wiped it off.

aThanks,a he said.

Maggie wished she could stop time then and there, just to be able to call her mother and report on this immediately.

aWhen do you have to get back to work?a he asked.

aTechnically Iam only on vacation these next two weeks, but my boss doesnat care if we work from home as long as we show our faces in the office, say, once a month.a Though I do have to be back in New York by July eighth for my next gynecological visit. You see, Father, Iam knocked up.

aThat sounds like quite a job,a the priest said.

aIt is nice. Though I pretty much always go into the office anyway.a aWhat kind of work is it?a he asked.

aWell, itas a TV show, um, a crime show,a she said. Talking to priests was incredibly weird. Every word you uttered had to be filtered twice through an appropriate censor. You could basically talk safely about Care Bears, Jesus, or the weather, and that was it. aIam a fiction writer, too, though.a aOh, I know; your grandmotheras told me all about it,a he said.

She had? Maggie felt so touched she might cry, and then she was immediately annoyed at herself: Why were her own affections so easily won? It wasnat really such a grand gesture on Aliceas part.

aI think itas fascinating youare a writer,a he said. aI dabble in fiction myself.a aReally?a aYes. I used to write lots of short stories. I still write them once in a while. Though the fact of it is, Iam too thin-skinned for your line of work.a aThin-skinned!a Alice said. aI donat think so. You should see him with the sick paris.h.i.+oners, Maggie. Heas a saint.a aSainthood aside, itas true,a he said. aI submitted two or three stories to The New Yorker and I got these form letters back. They really b.u.mmed me out. I knew The New Yorker was a long shot, but all my hard work, and then a form letter? I didnat write again for months. And I sure as heck never submitted anything.a aAh yes, Iam very familiar with the form letters,a Maggie said.

aI could picture myself going crazy, gluing them all over the walls of the rectory, scaring the other priests.a aI once considered decoupaging a table with mine.a He laughed, a real, deep belly laugh. His smile was warm. There was something almost old-fas.h.i.+oned about his looks. Or maybe cla.s.sic was a better word.

Perhaps shead underestimated him. He seemed friendly and genuine, though she reminded herself that now would be an especially inconvenient time to fall in love with a Catholic priest.

aYou write such lovely sermons, though,a Alice said.

aYes, and not a one has ever been called derivative or stale or not quite plumped up.a Maggie grimaced. aThey said all that, huh?a aYup. That was the only nona"form letter I got.a aNever mind those ninnies. What did Gabe do is what I want to know,a Alice said, dragging out the words. She was a champion subject changer and apparently she was bored.

aHe made promises he couldnat keep,a Maggie said.

aHe wouldnat give you a ring!a Alice said proudly, like she had just guessed the correct answer in Double Jeopardy.

aHa, no,a Maggie said. And though it was by all means the wrong crowd for talk of cohabitation, she continued, aWe were supposed to move in together and at the last minute he changed his mind.a Aliceas face crumpled. She looked genuinely injured. aThat littlea",a she started, then, looking over at the priest and perhaps deciding to tone down her language, aWhat a rat.a aI thought you were going to say we shouldnat be living together before marriage anyway,a Maggie said.

aOh, pish posh,a Alice said. aI think itas essential! You have to get to know a person. And that city is so expensive, why not have a roommate? As long as youad be sleeping in different bedrooms.a Had she meant that last part as a joke? Maggie couldnat be sure.

aA lot of girls in my generation married a man just because he was going off to war,a Alice said. aThey hardly knew those fellas to begin with, let alone what they became once they returned. And most of us went straight from our parentsa houses to our husbandsa. We never got the chance to live alone until we were decrepit old ladies. Young people are smarter now. Although I think you all get love backward.a aHow so?a Maggie asked.

aYou all seem to think that you should marry someone when you feel this intense emotion, which you call love. And then you expect that the love will fade over time, as life gets harder. When what you should do is find yourself a nice enough fellow and let real love develop over years and births and deaths and so on.a Maggie looked over at Father Donnelly.

aPretty impressive, isnat she?a he said, giving Aliceas arm a friendly squeeze. aI keep telling her she should get a TV talk show.a aIs that what you did, Grandma?a Maggie asked, holding her breath, remembering Aliceas closed-offness at dinner with Rhiannon the night before.

Alice looked thoughtful. aI suppose so, yes, to some extent.a That was all she could give, but that was enough. She switched the topic then, to a news item she had read about the inventor of Silly Putty.

Maggie sat back and listened, feeling more content than she had in weeks. This was exactly what she had come for, one of those Alice interactions that was actually fun, that made her feel welcome. She considered staying longera"the cottage would sit empty for the rest of June otherwise. And perhaps there would be more lunches like this, and time to write and to plan. Her child could grow in the salty sea air, under a roof where generations before had spent their happiest summers.

She looked out over the water. aI love it here,a she said.

aSo do I,a said Father Donnelly. aI canat imagine why anyone lives anywhere else.a aDid you grow up in Maine?a Maggie asked.

aYes, further north. In a village about three hours toward Bangor.a aSounds nice.a aIt was a simple, no-frills kind of house,a he said. aNo TV or anything like that.a aHis parents were in the Church too,a Alice said. aHis father is a deacon.a Maggie started to romanticize his childhood: a log cabin in the woods, a young boy reading the Bible by a crackling fire.

aNaturally, my brothers and I raised Cain,a he said with a smile. aWe would speed down these long country roads and bash peopleas mailboxes with baseball bats.a Maggie wanted to know how on earth he had gone from that to becoming a priest, but it seemed rude to ask.

aSounds like my three,a Alice said. aDid they put me through the ringer! Especially Patrick and Kathleen. Clare was the quiet one. But sometimes the quiet ones are the wildest, and you never even suspect. I know she smoked like a chimney in high school. Always out the bedroom window. She ruined my white curtains!a Maggie had heard all the stories of late-night parties at the house in Canton when her grandparents were away, and the time her mother and Uncle Patrick were pulled over with two open beers in their hands. There was the incident of Daniel tossing and turning one night and deciding to take a late walk around the block to cure his restlessnessa"as soon as he made it to the front lawn, he heard a noise from above and saw a boy climbing the trellis toward Kathleenas open window. She was guiding him in whispers, as if she herself knew the route well: aStep to the right, now over toward the left.a Then there was the time Uncle Patrick drove back drunk all the way from Cape Cod at midnight, pulled into the driveway, and promptly plowed Danielas new Cadillac straight through the garage door. (To this day, whenever the story came up, he maintained that in that light, the door had looked open.) It sometimes seemed to her that previous generations had had more opportunities to mess up big and still bounce back. Whereas Maggie had always felt like one misstep, and she would be ruined.

aWe torture our parents,a Father Donnelly said. aBut then we get older and wiser and we give them the adoration they deserve. At least, we ought to.a Alice beamed. aIad like to meet your folks one day. They really raised you right.a The conversation wound on, and Maggie tuned out for a few moments, watching a toddler and his father launch a toy sailboat at the edge of the bay. When she tuned back in, it was because she heard her name. Somehow they had arrived at the topic of the cottage schedule.

aMaggieas mother, Kathleen, gets June, but you wonat be seeing her because she hates me,a Alice said.

aGrandma!a Maggie said. aShe does not! She lives all the way across the country, thatas all.a Father Donnelly grinned. aWell, Maggie, if you have the whole of June set aside for your mother and her kin, I donat see why you wouldnat stay all month. It seems like the perfect place to get your writing done.a Was he flirting? No, that was ridiculous. He probably had old ladies and young ones all over town imagining that he was desperately in love with them. For some, she thought, the priest was the ultimate s.e.x symbol: a really consistent, kind man, who was always happy to see you or to listen to your worries. Completely unthreatening, yet vaguely s.e.xual, his vow of chast.i.ty serving the opposite of its intended purpose in that way, making everyone think about s.e.x.

aIave been thinking the same thing,a she said.

aWell, thatas good,a Alice said. aYouall stay! Iam glad.a History had shown that when Alice was kind, she would soon be something entirely different. But right at this moment, she wanted Maggie here, needed her, maybe.

They took the back roads toward home. A ways out of town the houses got shabbier, closer together, and every so often there was a trailer wedged between two trees. In front of one little house, Maggie saw a man and a teenage boy sawing at what remained of the trunk of an old pine. It looked like they were sculpting a giant squirrel.

Alice swiveled her head, gesturing toward them. aYear-rounders,a she said, and shrugged her shoulders like, What can you do?

The houses eventually gave way to a field of wildflowers on the far side of a low stone wall. Off in the distance stood a stately red barn and a roofless silo that had been struck by lightning the summer Maggie turned ten.

Soon the two-lane street became a narrow dirt road. There were no streetlights here, only a wall of pine trees on either side that nearly blocked out the sun. She wondered if the locals realized how beautiful it was, or if they were immune. In New York, icons faded into the background most of the timea"then one day youad look up and notice the Empire State Building and it would take your breath away.

They drove until they came to the turnoff for Route 1, and there they sped up, joining the motorists rus.h.i.+ng in both directions. Suddenly the world changed. The trees vanished. Two bright yellow lines popped out against black tar. Here the quaint and the garish were entwined in a decades-old wrestling match, so that the stately Ogunquit Playhouse with its forest-green marquee and white clapboard walls was offset by a strip of neon motels with pools out front, enclosed by chain-link fences. There was a ma.s.sive liquor store, a place selling homemade quilts, Floas hot dog stand, and a junk shop with tables out front, which were crowded with hundreds of gla.s.s bottles. At night, a wooden box by the curb said, BOTTLES, $2 EA., PLEASE OBSERVE THE HONOR SYSTEM.

They took another turn, and a few minutes later they had arrived at the fork where Perkins Cove met Sh.o.r.e Road.

aShall we walk in the Cove for a bit?a Alice said. aI donat feel quite ready to go home.a The place had once been a quiet fis.h.i.+ng village, but now the lobstermen unloading their traps on the docks were outnumbered by tourists waiting in line at the old-fas.h.i.+oned ice cream shop and buying magnets and candles and trinkets in the gift stores. Maggie bought a giant box of salt.w.a.ter taffy to mail to Kathleen and a necklace made of pure blue sea gla.s.s for Alice.

They ambled toward the entrance to the Marginal Way, chatting as they went. When they reached the mile-long path that wove through the sh.o.r.eline cliffs, Alice said to the priest, aWay back when, this was just a stretch of dirt for farmers to walk their cattle on. Then some nice local bought it and dedicated it to the town, and the path was built. That happened the year after we got here. There was a big to-do.a aWere you there?a Maggie asked.

Alice shook her head. aIt sounds silly now, but I was tired, Iad been up all night with a baby. I think your grandfather went, though.a They hardly said a word to one another as they walked the path, humbled by the natural beauty. You couldnat come here and not be absorbed by it. Off to the left on the other side of a fence stood stately homes with big front porches and Adirondack chairs on the lawns. To the right there was nothing but the pounding surf below, cras.h.i.+ng against the rocks, the tide swaying back and forth like a dance. It made you feel as though you were a part of something more important than just you. Like even if there was no G.o.d there was always the oceana"before you and after you, breathing in and out for all eternity.

Maggie and Gabe had walked the Marginal one night last summer. It was darker than any night she could remember. There were so many stars. A Jimmy Buffett song drifted out to the path from the poolside bar of a resort in the distance, and they danced to the sound, laughing and singing along. Part of her wished she had never brought him here.

Aliceas knees were sore by the time they reached Ogunquit Beach, so instead of turning back on foot, they hopped one of the trolleys that puttered around town. The last time Maggie had ridden one was when Pat and Ann Marie rented the entire Ogunquit fleet for her cousin Pattyas wedding. Maggie thought now of Pattyas husband, Josh. He was a sweet guy, and he had been so happy on that day. aI just married my best friend and my dream girl,a he had said when they pulled away from the church, as if he simply could not believe his own good fortune.

When they got back into the car, for the first time in three days, Maggie didnat bother to look at her phone.

a a a After sunset, she walked the beach in front of the cottage alone. In the city, Maggie almost forgot about stars; you could hardly see them against the glow of the streetlights. But here there seemed to be millions, sparkling everywhere she looked. Her grandfather had made a big show of pointing out constellations to them when they were kidsa"the Three Sisters, the Four Leaf Clover, the Big Dipper, Maggieas Pigtail, and Fionaas Big Toe. She couldnat recall when she had realized that half the names were made up.

The night air was chilly. Maggie pulled her sweats.h.i.+rt tight around her shoulders.

She was really going to do this, and do it alone. It felt exhilarating and terrifying. She walked faster. Soon she had pa.s.sed a dilapidated jetty. The jetty was a mile and a half from the cottage. Had she really walked that far? The Kelleher children rarely went to the public beach on the other side, but Maggie kept walking now. It was low tide, and all around her feet were nests of seaweed full of tiny sh.e.l.ls. She picked one up, rubbed it between her fingers.

Up ahead there was a lifeguardas chair. At the height of the season, two tanned and toned teenage locals (always a guy and a girl, who you could only a.s.sume were sleeping together) sat there in the afternoons in their red bathing suits, occasionally looking up from their conversation to blow their whistles at some kid who had swum out too far. As adolescents, Maggie and Patty had wors.h.i.+pped the lifeguards from a distance, and sometimes after dinner they would climb up into the chair and look out over the ocean, silently pretending to be two gorgeous beach creatures with perfect thighs.

Maggie walked toward the chair. At its splintering bottom, she climbed the ladder slowly, one rung at a time, until she had reached the top. The wind whipped against her face, blowing her hair back. She listened to the waves, feeling like nothing could ever get to her as long as she had this to come home to.

After a while, she felt sleepy and knew she ought to return to the cottage. But she decided to wait a bit, remembering how creepily quiet the house was at night. It was funny how a place could represent both your best and worst memories. The cottage was where she had been happiest as a child, happiest with Gabe. But it also reminded her of the painful months that had led up to her parentsa divorce, spent here between those four walls, praying to the Virgin Mary to keep them all safe.

They lived in the cottage for the entire spring and summer before the divorce, because theyad had to sell their house.

For three months, Maggie and Chris didnat go to school. They hardly ever took baths or brushed their teeth. Kathleen didnat seem to notice. Uncle Patrick and Aunt Ann Marie had offered to take Maggie and Chris in through the end of the school year, but Maggie knew her mother wasnat speaking to them, and she had thrown such a hysterical fit at the prospect of staying with them that Ann Marie seemed terrified she might burn their house down. It wasnat that she didnat want to: Maggie loved the thought of sleeping in her cousin Pattyas bunk bed, under flowered sheets that Ann Marie had just pulled from the dryer, and the possibility of waking up to waffles and Hi-C, which her aunt served every morning of the week.

Maggie liked the way Ann Marie kept house and praised normal behavior, rather than constantly trying to stir things up. Kathleen always told her, aDonat be a sheep.a Maggie hated that phrase. She wanted to be like everyone else.

But Maggie knew, even at ten years old, that her mother couldnat be alone. And so they went to Maine.

She still vividly recalled that spring, chasing her brother through the rooms of the cottage, which made a perfect circle, a sort of track for them to scuttle through. She remembered running on the beach, making forts in the dunes, das.h.i.+ng into the frigid ocean and right back out in her jean shorts, her lips tinged blue. They kept moving all day long, as if they might outrun the reality of what had pa.s.sed: Their father had left, seeming not to care what happened to them. Their mother was falling apart.

At night, Maggie would grow terrified without her father there. Unlike at home, there were no streetlights to soften the darkness from outside. If you looked out the window, all you could see was a meddlesome sheet of black. Giant white moths flapped against the lamps, somehow sneaking into the house, though she tried to plug up every crack. She could swear she heard footsteps in the loft overhead.

The cottage was freezing after dark. Even wearing long johns under piles of blankets, it was impossible to get warm. In the bedroom where Maggie and Kathleen slepta"the one where her grandparents slept in the summertimea"her grandmother had placed an Infant of Prague statue on the dresser. The two-foot Jesus stood straight, covered in an elaborate embroidered robe and a golden crown. In the daylight, Maggie thought the statue was funny: she pretended he was the king of whatever town her Barbies lived in. But after dark, he took on a sinister look, and she turned his face to the wall.

In the middle of the night shead wake to find herself alone. She would creep from her spot in bed and into the living room, where her mother sat at the big oak table with papers everywhere and a bottle of red wine on the floor by her chair.