Compass Rose Part 30

"I'm talking about me. When I see Rose it goes fine, but it's not that often, so I feel kind of fragile."

"And you think I'll make you more fragile?" A bubble ran up her spine. Elsie found herself sitting up. "I see. I'm one thing, then I'm another. I show up looking amazingly like the girl of your dreams but it's just a spell and there's a flash, and presto change-o, I'm a terrible hag, I'm turning into the worst witch of all-Rose's mother."

"You can joke if you want-"

"No. That's not what I want." She turned toward him, leaning over him. "Where do you think Rose came from?" And then she said, "I want to be the one you feel fragile about. I want you to feel so fragile you're in awe. You should be in awe. You should be in awe of the white streak in my hair; you should be in awe of how I fell out of the sky, of how I was falling all day today." She lay back down.

d.i.c.k didn't say anything. She said, "We were peaceful. Just now, just before."

"I know," he said. "I know."

Elsie was dizzy and tired. She looked up. The stars seemed to be receding in a slow eddy.

He drove her the whole way. When he turned into the driveway he said, "I guess it'll be all right." The house was dark. He saw her to the door but left the motor running. He said her name, but it was too dark to see his expression. He got back in his truck.

She'd made her headlong desire come true, but having seduced d.i.c.k, she'd seduced herself. She'd seduced herself into wanting more, so much more that she'd blurted out a terrible selfishness-"I want to be the one you feel fragile about."

The taillights flickered as the overhanging brush popped back in place behind the truck. She leaned against the front door. So d.i.c.k thought Rose was an impediment. Of course, it wasn't as if she didn't know what he was talking about. Up in May's field she herself had wished it wasn't Rose who said out loud where d.i.c.k would be. Elsie felt dizzy again, more than with the simple tiredness that made the stars appear to swim away and up.

chapter eighty-six.

Jack buzzed the kitchen on the intercom and asked Mary to come up to his office.

He was sitting at his desk, his head propped on one hand. He got halfway to his feet and then plopped back down. He looked a mess. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair sticking out, a bit of white stubble on his face, one cheek dark red. He leaned it on his hand so heavily it squeezed one eye shut.

He said, "She called me a s.h.i.t."

Mary sat down.

"She's never said anything like that. I don't mean ..." He waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. "Of course, in a trivial way. But she said it deliberately. With due deliberation."

Mary had thought it might be Elsie; now she realized it must be Sally.

"She never said anything like that before. When she was angry at me about Jack Junior, she yelled and cried, and that was understandable, that was a mother's fear. But this is all about something she doesn't understand. I thought she was listening; she sat there as if she was listening-I grant you, it's complex-but without any regard for what I was saying, she said, 'You are a s.h.i.t.' "

It crossed Mary's mind that "due deliberation" didn't fit with "without any regard for what I was saying," but the man was at a loss. She shook her head and sighed. She also wondered how she came to be Jack's confidante. If he had only her, G.o.d help him. She said, "Had she been traveling all day or anything like that?"

"No," Jack said. "She just drove from Boston. She was perfectly calm when I showed her the drawing of the boardwalk to the nature sanctuary. She even said she was glad Eddie Wormsley got the job. It was when I turned the page and was explaining the new map ... I was pointing to it and I heard her suck in her breath, and I turned and she said it. I said, 'What?' and she said it again."

"And you?" Mary said. "What did you do?"

"I just stood there. She turned on her heel and went into the bedroom. I waited a suitable time, then I knocked on the door. There was no answer, so I said I thought she should come out when she was ready to ... I can't remember my exact words."

"Apologize?"

"No, it was more in the manner of ... I may have included the word apologize, but it was primarily a request that she hear me out."

"So it's about your getting d.i.c.k and May's house?"

"The Pierce Creek property, yes."

"And what did Sally say?"

"Nothing at first. And then something about how I'd finally cut her off from Elsie. That this was the one thing Elsie really cared about, and I'd done it when Elsie couldn't reach her, I'd done it behind her back, I'd arranged to have her leave. Of course, that's utter nonsense. She left of her own volition. And G.o.d knows I've done a great deal for Elsie."

"You said that?"

"I may have, very briefly. But I wasn't going to argue my case through a closed door. I said I'd be back when she wasn't hysterical. I said she could reach me here. That was yesterday. I spent the night." He nodded at the far side of the room. There were chair cushions on the floor.

"You must be exhausted. Have you had something to eat, then?"

"No."

"I can bring something up in no time at all."

"No, thank you."

He got up and began to put the cushions back on the chairs. He held the last one against his face. He wheezed three times, his body jerking a bit after each one. She thought he was smothering a sneezing fit but then thought he was crying. He gave a groan and dropped the cushion. She got up and patted his back. She said, "She's still feeling the shock of Jack Junior. Him being pulled out of the sea. Sally was there by the radio, her and Elsie. And didn't it turn Elsie's hair white, and didn't she faint dead away? And Sally was surely clutching herself just as hard at the thought of her son. It took her that way, and it took you another, and there you went making yourself feel better the only way you could think of. But you've tried to make amends; at least there's May with her five acres." Mary wondered at herself. Why was she granting this man absolution? Was she a sucker for a few moans from a great hulk of a man? She said, "Of course you shouldn't have called her hysterical."

She gave him another pat. He clung to her, saying, "Oh, G.o.d, Mary, you've got a good heart." And there he went squeezing the breath out of her, and sure enough, there went his hand onto her bottom.

"None of that now." She gave a good shove to his shoulder with the heel of her hand, and another for good measure.

He dropped his hands and said, "No, no, no, I didn't mean ... I'm sorry. You're so tall, your waist is higher. Completely inadvertent. Your goodwill. I'm grateful for your goodwill." He pulled the cuffs of his blazer down and went back to his desk. "You're right, we should call down for something to eat. Don't you go; one of the girls can bring it up. What would you like? I think just a sandwich and some coffee for me. Same for you?"

"I should be getting back to the kitchen."

"Not just yet if you don't mind. There's something I thought of. Won't take long."

He ordered his club sandwich and coffee. When he was done he said, "What I was thinking-and you can help me with this-is that my explaining everything to Sally won't be enough. But if Sally could hear how pleased May is with her garden project, it would demonstrate that I haven't laid waste to the community. So I thought that I'd invite all the parties involved for dinner here. Everyone who may have felt a little bit nicked but for whom in the long run I've done something. The whole Pierce family, Eddie Wormsley and his partner-she's a friend of Mrs. Pierce's. And Elsie and Rose. The show will be closed by then, so Rose is free. And Johnny Bienvenue and his new bride-I'm looking forward to getting to know her, particularly if she takes after you. And, of course, you-not just in your capacity as aunt but because you're close to everyone involved-a matrix, as it were. And we'll invite your friend Mr. Callahan. We'll have a big table out on the screened porch; it'll be like those big family celebrations Captain Teixeira has down on the town dock for his tribe. When you think of it, almost everyone is related to everyone else-there you are Elsie's old friend and housemate and the new Mrs. Bienvenue's aunt and practically a second mother to Rose." He c.o.c.ked his head. "Indeed, Rose. Rose is actually part of everybody's family. Who can say no to a party for Rose? So I thought we might do it on V-J Day-we're going to have fireworks, launch skyrockets from the beach. I've always liked that about Rhode Island-I believe we're the only state that officially celebrates V-J Day. Of course, that's not until August. The Fourth of July would do. So-fireworks, perhaps a poem from your friend, a song from you and Rose, and a general feeling of reconciliation. What do you think?"

Mary laughed.

"I see I've taken you by surprise," Jack said. "But I've been mulling over a gesture of goodwill for some time. The effect that it will have on Sally is a fortunate addition. The sign of a good plan is that it has coincidental benefits."

What was taking her by surprise was how quickly he reinflated himself. He was at it again, certain that what suited him would suit everyone.

"So we should think about the menu," he said. "Of course, you're one of the honored guests, so whatever we plan should be something you can prepare the day before. Maybe a bouillabaisse? Doesn't that just simmer all day?"

"Speaking as the cook," she said, "that's easier said than done. You have to add different fish at different times. I'll think of something."

"I'm sure you will. Shall we plan it for the Fourth of July or V-J Day?"

"The Fourth," she said. "If you pick V-J Day someone might think you're celebrating dropping the atomic bomb."

He squinted at her but opened his eyes wide at the knock on the door. He boomed, "Come in!" And then, "Ah, splendid!" as the waitress set the salver before him and lifted the lid.

chapter eighty-seven.

d.i.c.k told May no. But then Phoebe called May and said, "Oh, let's go! Among other things, it's to honor Rose."

d.i.c.k heard May out, looked away, and said, "Up to you."

Sally called Elsie. "I don't know, I don't know," Sally said. "I think he's trying. We had a terrible fight. I honestly thought it was the end. But then I let him come back and talk, and it's more complicated than I thought, and he seemed truly miserable. I think he really cares about you, and he cares about you and me. And I said everything's flying apart, and he said all he was asking was that I just please, please, let him try. So I don't know, but I couldn't stand it if you're mad at me."

Elsie waited a second too long, and Sally cried. Elsie said, "No, I'm not mad at you." And then, "Yes, I'll come."

Mary said to JB, "You don't have to come. You could say you have a business appointment."

"On the Fourth of July?"

"Some sort of writing deadline, then."

"You don't want me to come?"

Mary sighed. "I have to be there. You don't. That's all I'm saying."

"I think you're still worried I'll put my foot in my mouth. You forget I've been up there clearing rocks with half the people coming to the party." He shot his white eyebrows up and c.o.c.ked his head.

She knew him well enough by now to see he was filling up with a compliment to himself. She said, "I'm sure they were all amazed at how you made the day pa.s.s so brightly."

"You're very close. What they actually said-what they actually said at the end of the day as they hoisted me on their shoulders-was 'Lucky Mary Scanlon-no wonder she's never looked happier.' And then we all sang 'Bringing in the Sheaves.' "

"Never mind, then. There's no p.r.i.c.king your balloon."

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake. I just said that because you said ... Look. I live here now. I'm living here with you. I'm getting along with your friends. We had a fine time up there in May's field. It was two days, by the way. Now that there's this stranger occasion, you're worried. You've been worried before-you worried that I'd talk too much and May wouldn't like it. It turns out May and I get along just fine. You can't keep on poking me at every turn-watch out for this, watch out for that. You've told me the stories. I can take it from here."

"All right, all right. I'm glad you're finding your way. That's not what I was talking about at all. I was only offering you a way out of an evening of Jack's telling us he means nothing but the good of all his subjects."

"It's a party," JB said. "You like everyone else who'll be there. The food will be splendid, the fireworks spectacular. Listening to a bit of his hypocrisy is a small price-"

"He's not a hypocrite. A hypocrite knows he's pulling the wool over our eyes. Jack is devious enough, but he truly believes that everything he does is for an almighty good-if fools like us could only see. There's days I feel sorry for him, him living in the middle of a little ball of his own notions. There's not a glimmer of anything else. Oh, he knows there are other creatures who have to be dealt with one way or another. And he's good at that-I mean, skillful at keeping on in his own direction. It only occurred to me the other day-he never really apologizes. He says, 'I'm sorry, but sometimes a good storm clears the air.' Or he says, 'I'm sorry you were offended.' He's like one of those little Coast Guard boats-all sealed up and self-righting."

"So why is he throwing this party? I mean, if he's that oblivious ..."

"Ah, well. That's me going on about him as a loonie. He's not altogether oblivious. There's him wanting his way no matter what, but then there's him feeling an ache he doesn't know much about except it's an ache. Of course he's upset that his wife's upset, and he means to show her that he's taken with one hand but given with the other. He knows how to keep a wife, at least a wife who's got no other way to live. It's people like Elsie and d.i.c.k who puzzle him. He looks down on their messy lives, and at the same time he has a suspicion that they have something, some wild nerve, that makes them ready for anything. Each time some tail end of their doings floats in, he wonders if they're getting more out of the world they live in than he gets out of his." Mary sighed. "If he knew them better, he'd see the long stretches of their ordinary days, he wouldn't envy their giving off the odd spark. It's as though he thinks Elsie had Rose or d.i.c.k had a shipwreck to make him feel dull. But he keeps that ache of envy buried. He thinks to himself he's bringing pieces of land into a proper order. He doesn't see he's got another motive. He's trying to make everyone in his life subordinate to him-to owe him money, to be on his payroll, to be bound to him. That's one thing this dinner is about-here you all are at my table, there's Eddie working on the gazebo and May in her garden, and I've put in a word for d.i.c.k with the insurance company, and Mary's cooking, and there's Elsie with a job at our school, and Johnny Bienvenue is looking forward to our fund-raiser, and let's not forget Rose's success in our show, and she certainly deserves every penny of the Aldrich scholarship. Of course, he won't say that out loud, but he'll have a moment of seeing himself as the great heart that's pumping the blood through the system, and it's only decent to hope that that moment will do for him and that he won't look around the table and see something else. And it's not resentment that would do him in-that would mean he's still part of the mix-it's that he might see that whatever he's taken and given is taken and given. Now we've all had ourselves a shake and we're back to living our lives with each other and he's just something that happened."

Mary sat down. When she caught her breath, she looked at JB. "What?" she said. "And all you wanted to know is if you should wear a coat and tie. You poor man, you didn't know what you were getting into."

"I didn't know I was taking up with a Greek chorus."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you have uncanny sympathy for everyone."

"That's just the inside out of 'Everyone loves Mary Scanlon.' I'm not sure that that says much for my brain."

"Then you missed what I just said about your brain. I love your brain. Forget what I just said about your poking me. I'm glad you're telling me things. I'm glad I'm here with you. I've never been gladder about anything."

It took Mary a moment to let go of the rhythm of their back-and-forth-and, deeper than that, her worry that everyone else was bobbing up and down ... They could wait this once while she sat still for this breath of pleasure.

chapter eighty-eight.

All by herself in her house, Elsie argued with d.i.c.k. She let d.i.c.k argue back. When she said, "Maybe Rose is more like Tom. Tom's happy to live and let live," she imagined d.i.c.k's saying, "Yup. Tom's a happy-go-lucky guy. Nothing against Tom, but just as well he makes his living on land, don't need to be so strict. Rose is Charlie's sister, too."

Elsie argued that she knew d.i.c.k in a way that no one else did, that she needed him as much as anyone, that she only wanted a part of him, that she was part of his life, that they were bound together in their own way ... And d.i.c.k said, "I won't argue about that. It's just that arguing doesn't get as deep as how I ought to get along with Rose."

"We'll see," she said out loud. The sound of her voice startled her, then made her laugh at herself, then made her worry that she was getting too crazy.

She needed to get outside. Not through the woods to May's field. Down to the salt marsh? No-someplace she hadn't been with d.i.c.k.

She went for a slow jog on the beach, swerving away from the spill of waves, swooping back onto the hard, wet sand as they slid away. Just enough of a dumb game to keep her half alert, half lulled, her eyes half closed against the westering sun. Sandpipers skittered away from the reach of a wave, skittered back to peck at sand-flea holes. Gulls lofted themselves, hovering until she jogged by. Familiar rhythms, familiar colors, even the inch of shadow cast by half a quahog sh.e.l.l and then another and another. Everything was as repet.i.tive as the stir of small waves breaking, the hiss of their receding. She saw a small boat coming toward her alongsh.o.r.e, sixty yards or so out. It was dark against the glare off the water. Someone was rowing. As it came closer to being abreast of her she saw it was two people rowing, the oars in the air together, dipping together. She stopped, raised a hand to shield her eyes. Looked like they knew what they were doing. When the boat was straight out from her she saw that it was white. She watched the port-side oars swing toward the bow, pull harder toward the stern. As the boat moved past her the sun lit up the colors of the rowers' shirts and then their faces. d.i.c.k and Rose.

When they got farther away the sunlight struck the water behind the boat and she lost their faces in the brightness that trailed them. And then all she could make out clearly was the blinking of light on the narrow transom as it rose and settled in the easy swell.

A wave she didn't hear foamed over her running shoes. Her feet sank into the sand. She stood so still that sandpipers ran close by her.

She didn't understand her astonishment. It was like and not like seeing the indigo bunting, drab in the shade, electric blue as it flew into the light. It was like and not like the time she watched d.i.c.k weave the strands of a cable splice, his blunt fingers intricate in a way she didn't know. Like and not like Rose making her entrance onstage, the laughter from the audience alarming until it was clear that Rose knew what she was doing.

The litany of what she'd seen and what she made of it blurred. Good. Let d.i.c.k and Rose alone. She knew, without argument, that she wouldn't mention seeing them to either of them. She knew in spite of what she'd wished for, what she would not stop wishing for, that she could also wish not to cast a shadow on her daughter, on her daughter's awkward father, on that graceful man.

chapter eighty-nine.

Elsie had misgivings. What good could come of all those people crammed into one room?