Now That You Mention It Read online

  Suddenly, Luke stood up and strode out of the gym, fury in every step. Dara, his girlfriend, followed, then Tate Ellister, who also played soccer, then the rest of the team. They said nothing. Amy got up and left, too.

  "Well, now," the principal said. "Uh, congratulations, Nora. Hard work pays off. You juniors and underclassmen, you listen up, all right? Next year, this could be you."

  With that, our assembly was over. "If you need anything, let me know," Dr. Perez said, handing me his card. "Good luck."

  A man of few words. "Dr. Perez," I said as he turned away. "You...you've changed my life." I paused. "And it needed changing."

  He looked at me for a long second. "Make the most of it." Then he winked, let the principal glad-hand him again and left me trembling, elated...and alone.

  My sister made her way up to me. "Congrats," she said. She looked me up and down, but there was some amusement in her eyes. "You look like you're about to pee yourself."

  "I feel like it, too," I said. My voice was still weird, legs still shaking.

  "So I guess you'll be in Boston next year."

  "Yeah." I would be. I'd be sitting on that perfect lawn. I'd have friends.

  I wouldn't be the Troll. Maybe. In fact, maybe...maybe I could be someone else entirely.

  "Gotta run," Lily said.

  "Bye," I said belatedly, but she was already halfway across the gym.

  A few teachers congratulated me in the hall. In homeroom--Luke was conspicuously absent--our report cards were passed out.

  I'd gotten perfect grades in everything except gym, which was the expected A-minus.

  Perfect exam scores.

  Mr. Abernathy, who was also our homeroom teacher, handed me my twenty-five-page paper. There were a few notes in the margins, but at the end, he'd written I'm proud of you, Nora. And the grade--an A.

  "Nora Stuart, please, come to the office," said the school secretary's voice over the PA. "Nora Stuart, to the office, please."

  I had a phone call--the admissions officer from Tufts, congratulating me, telling me they looked forward to seeing me at Accepted Students Day and how well all of the Perez Scholars had done. They had no doubt I would do the same.

  It was really happening.

  At lunch, rather than risk the cafeteria, where supervision was thin, I power walked down to the hotel, where my mother worked. "Mom, I got it!" I said, bursting into her office, sweat trickling down my back, thighs stinging from chafing the whole way there.

  "Got what, Nora?" She looked up expectantly from her desk.

  My God. She didn't know, because I hadn't told her. This whole semester, and I had never told her I was ranked second in our class.

  "The Perez Scholarship. I'm going to Tufts." I started to cry. "They called me. Tufts. I got in, and Dr. Perez is paying for everything."

  Her mouth opened, then shut. "Is that right?"

  "Yes. I have the highest GPA at my school."

  "Oh, Nora!" She got up and gave me an awkward hug. "Good girl. You've always been a hard worker. I'm proud of you." She paused. "Well. You'd best get back to school, hadn't you?"

  So that was it for celebration. It didn't matter. I was leaving this hellish little place, just like my father. And maybe, once off island, he'd find me. Okay, that was far-fetched, but anything was possible today.

  I walked back to school, hoping this wasn't a dream. I would make the most of it. I'd become a doctor. I'd reinvent myself, lose weight, have fun, maybe even have a boyfriend. I'd sit in the front of every class and raise my hand and not be shy about being smart. I'd introduce myself to my professors on the first day, and--

  "Think you're hot shit, huh?"

  It was Luke, waiting for me with his gang in front of the school. The cold wind gusted, cutting through my puffy winter coat.

  "Hi," I said, my eyes darting around.

  "Hi," he mocked in a whiny voice. "Don't say hi to me, fat ass. That scholarship was mine."

  "Apparently not." Seemed my confidence had been given a boost.

  "You cheated, didn't you? I don't know how, but you cheated."

  "I studied, Luke." My cheeks started to burn.

  "I studied, Luke," echoed Joey Behring.

  "You know what?" Luke said, a snarl twisting his face. "You might have won that scholarship, but you're never gonna be anything other than a troll. You know that, don't you, Nora?"

  "Leave her alone," someone said. It was Sullivan.

  "Fuck you," Luke said. He came closer to me and poked me in the chest, hard, even through the down. "You're a troll. You're fat, you're ugly, and everyone hates you. Even your sister."

  I flinched. Alcohol made his breath sweet and sickly. I tried to go around him, but he wouldn't let me pass.

  "You scared? You should be."

  "Luke, knock it off." Sully's voice was harder now.

  Luke failed to comply. "You better watch out, Nora. Something shitty might happen to you. You might get fucked-up. Bad things happen when guys get pissed off. I think you know what I'm saying, right?"

  I did. Rape. Assault.

  Worse.

  "Luke, get out of here," Sullivan said, coming up to his brother. "She won fair and square. Leave her alone."

  "Where the fuck is your loyalty?"

  "What's going on here?" Mr. Abernathy, thank God, was coming in from the parking lot. "Get inside, kids."

  "Fuck you," Luke said.

  "And you're suspended," Mr. A said. "Nora, you okay? Come on, dear."

  "Watch yourself, Nora," Luke called. "You never know what could happen."

  Mr. Abernathy stopped dead. "I'm attributing this to your deep disappointment over not winning the scholarship, Luke. Threaten her again, and I'll make sure you're arrested."

  And then, horribly, Luke began to cry. "She cheated. I don't know how, but she did. You did, Nora. You know it."

  Guilt twisted and flailed inside me, but it didn't get past the hardness. I'd won. Luke could've done that assignment, and he chose not to. So fuck him. Let him cry. I'd cried plenty, and no one cared about that.

  Sully went to his brother, put an arm around his shoulders. "Come on," he said. "Let's take the rest of the day off, go over to Portland, okay?" He looked back at us. "Mr. A, could you tell the office?"

  "Sure thing, Sullivan."

  Sully's eyes stopped on me for a second, and I thought he was going to say something.

  He didn't. Mr. Abernathy walked me inside, clucking about the passions of teenagers.

  *

  Sullivan and Luke Fletcher did go to Portland that afternoon. They stayed at a hotel and Luke used a fake ID to rent a car.

  At three in the morning, driving home from an all-night diner, the boys were in a car accident. It was a weird echo of my English class oral presentation, but in this version, the real version, Luke was the driver. He'd also snorted coke and had an alcohol level twice the legal limit. The boys had been doing more than eighty when they went off the road, bounced along the ditch for fifty yards and then hit a tree.

  Luke was fine.

  Sullivan sustained a head injury. He was in a coma. We were asked to pray for him.

  This was all told to us two days after the Perez Scholarship was announced, the second assembly of the week. Amy Beckman wasn't in school. The Cheetos were sobbing. One fainted. The soccer team was crying, as were several teachers.

  Sully was well liked.

  I thought about how he'd stuck up for me. Took his brother out of town for me.

  I stared at the floor, feeling the hot, sharp hatred of the student body slicing into me like arrows. This was my fault, they thought. Of course, they did. I stole the scholarship.

  I sort of had.

  Never had I felt so alone. As the assembly ended, someone spit into my hair. A boy kicked my chair. I got an elbow to the head.

  Rather than going back to class, I went outside, not even bothering with my coat or backpack. Walked the four miles home in the raw, damp weather, the wind making my ears burn
with pain, pushing tears back into my hair.

  The second I walked through the door, I picked up the phone and called Tufts. I had enough credits to graduate; would it be okay with them if I started classes this semester?

  It was. The Scupper High guidance counselor, who'd ignored me for three and a half years, said she thought it was a good idea when I called her, too. She contacted Dr. Perez, and that was that.

  And so, without a lot of fanfare, I left Scupper Island three weeks later, taking the Boston ferry with a suitcase and two boxes of my belongings. My mother and I stopped at a department store and bought supplies--that white comforter, the throw pillows, the whole lot, putting it all on the credit card Perez scholars were given.

  In the dorm room, my mom made my bed and said the right things as students came by to say hello. She watched as I hung up a poster of Casablanca, which I'd never seen, her arms folded.

  "All set, then, Nora?" she asked.

  "I guess so." I looked at her, my sturdy mother, the streaks of gray in her hair. Now it would just be her and Lily. For a second, I felt a flash of sadness.

  "Well. See you this summer," she said. "Work hard." She kissed me goodbye, a quick peck on the cheek, and I watched from my dorm-room window as she got into her battered car.

  But she wouldn't see me that summer, because I didn't go home to Scupper Island again. I got a job at a hospital as an orderly and stayed in Boston. At Thanksgiving, a storm kept me from taking the ferry home (and I was grateful). When Christmas rolled around, I came back for thirty-six hours, claiming I had to finish a lab report, which was true.

  The truth was, I was terrified to be back on the island, afraid someone would see me--especially Luke or Sullivan (who had "mostly recovered," according to my mom). I felt like a thief, sneaking to my mother's house and back to the ferry, and yes, I wore a hat and a coat and a scarf both ways so no one could see my face.

  I didn't go back again.

  I couldn't make it back for Lily's graduation, because of finals, though she came to Boston the following September and stayed with me for an overnight before getting on a plane to Seattle. At some point over the summer, she'd gotten a colorful sleeve tattoo and had studs through her nose, lip and eyebrow, and she still was double take beautiful.

  I made Mom come visit me, feigning my desire for her to see the city, which she hated, citing my heavy course load and my job as a research assistant as reasons not to go to the island. Once or twice a year, Mom would take the ferry and meet me. She always went home before dark.

  Lily got pregnant my junior year and had Poe, and Mom and I flew out to see her. I went out again a year later, then two years after that, and called often, usually getting voice mail. I sent presents for the baby, who was beautiful and smiley in the few pictures Lily sent.

  But when Poe was about five, Lily changed her phone number and failed to give it to me. She would occasionally answer an email. I'd ask to come visit, and Lily allowed it once or twice more, the last time when Poe was ten. Lily went out with her friends, leaving me with my niece, and didn't come back till the next day.

  I got the message. My sister didn't want anything to do with me. Our magical childhood was a memory and no more.

  The truth was, I had done what Dr. Perez told me to do--I made the most of my scholarship. In my first semester at school, I became that girl I'd pretended to be during my English class speech--outgoing, wry, friendly. Maybe it was age, maybe it was being off the island, but I shed thirty pounds in six months, joined the crew team (I'd always been strong) and started running along the Mystic River.

  I made friends. I bought them pizza. I was kissed for the first time, dated and eventually lost my virginity to a nice guy. My professors loved me. I did well enough to get into med school right after graduation. Ironically, I did the first year of my residency in Portland, three nautical miles from Scupper Island, until Boston City Hospital poached me with a nice fellowship.

  I called my mother every other Sunday, asked after Lily and Poe; my sister had stayed in better touch with our mother than with me. Mom was allowed to visit, and every year I gave her a plane ticket for Christmas. Poe and Lily were fine, from what she could tell.

  As for me going back to Scupper Island, no. I managed to stay away for fifteen solid years.

  Until now.

  9

  Dear Lily,

  It's rained a lot the past few days. I forgot how loud it is on the roof of our room. The wind was wild, and a dead pine tree cracked in half. Sounded like a gun went off. Poe slept right through it. Did I tell you I have a big dog named Boomer, who sleeps in our room? Sometimes he puts his nose on Poe's bed, like he's tucking her in.

  Love,

  Nora

  The wall between my mother and me was not going to be scaled, it seemed. I tried to talk to her a few times, ask her how she was. I wanted to know if she was lonely or sad or happy or whatever, but any people skills I'd developed in Boston had no effect on her. She ignored my questions on the hug therapy sessions, telling me I should have better things to do than bother her.

  As I'd done in college, the only way I could have a conversation with her was if I pretended she was someone else...someone who wanted to talk to me. The result was that I ended up doing all the talking, and she would occasionally grunt or nod or say, "What was that, Nora? I wasn't paying attention."

  The night after my first trip into town, I tried to engage both my mother and my niece, as well as ignore Tweety, who stood next to my mother's plate, staring hate at me.

  "Have you made any friends on the island, Poe?" I asked, dragging my eyes off the evil yellow bird, taking a bite of dry chicken. This could be you, Tweety.

  "No."

  "I bet everyone thinks you're really cool. You know. Coming from Seattle and your--" piercings "--style."

  She didn't answer or make eye contact.

  Okay. Moving on to the other Stuart woman at the table. "Mom, guess who I saw today?"

  She shrugged, chewing.

  "Darby Dennings, remember her?"

  "Ayuh. I see her all the time."

  "Right. I also saw Sullivan Fletcher."

  Mom nodded. I wondered if she and Poe ate in silence every night, or if, as I suspected, I was their buzzkill. After all, they had more of a bond, since they'd been allowed to stay in touch.

  "Yeah," I said. "So, uh...how's Luke Fletcher? How's he doing?"

  My mother glanced at me. "He's all right."

  "Does he still live here? On Scupper?"

  "Ayuh." I waited for more. More failed to come.

  "You'll never be accused of gossiping, Mom."

  "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

  "Who's Luke Fletcher?" Poe asked.

  Wow, a sentence. "He and I went to school together."

  "Was he your boyfriend?"

  I snorted, inhaling a piece of chicken, choking a little. "No. We were both up for a scholarship, and I got it. He...he was upset."

  "My mom told me about that."

  "She did?" Lily knew that Luke hated me? Had yelled at me and threatened me?

  "She said you went to college and never came back." Her blue eyes were flat with accusation.

  I took another bite of the life-sustaining, flavorless food. "Well, your mom went to Seattle and never came back. I did visit you. Do remember the time--"

  "Whatever." And that was the end of the conversation.

  "So I got a place to rent, ladies," I said, still pretending we were the type to converse. "It's really cute. A houseboat, actually."

  "Is that right?" Mom said. "The one down near the boatyard?"

  "Uh...yeah. In Oberon Cove." Which was, now that I thought of it, about a half mile from Scupper Island Boatyard, owned by the Fletchers.

  "Then you'll see Luke all the time," my mother said, giving a kernel of corn to Tweety. "He lives there."

  Shit. The remembered fear of him and his gang of sycophants made my knees tingle. Not in the good way. Tweety gave a squawk, then fl
ew up to the light fixture.

  "When do you move out?" Poe asked.

  "A few more days, I thought." Boomer's tail thumped on the floor. "There's a second bedroom, Poe, if you want to sleep over. I would love that."

  She glanced at me, the patented incredulous disgust widening her blue eyes. "Sure."

  "You, too, Mom. We could have a girls' night. Popcorn, movies." After that, we could fly to Mars, which was just as likely.

  "Ayuh. Sounds fun." She took a bite of corn, which squeaked on her teeth as she chewed. "By the by," she added, "the clinic here could use a doctor. If you're stayin' awhile, that is."

  "Really? Wow, yeah! That'd be great!" Something to do until Lily got out. "Do you know who's in charge?"

  She did, of course, and after dinner, she found the number and handed it to me. The clinic was an extension of the Maine Medical Center, where I'd done a brief stint.

  When I was a kid, the clinic hadn't existed. Dr. Locke saw everyone from newborns to those dying of old age. The Ames family put up the money for a clinic about ten years ago (something Mom had never mentioned). Dr. Locke had just retired, and the same hospital in Portland where I'd done a year of residency had been supplying newly minted doctors to cover the clinic.

  I still had my Maine medical license, just in case my mom ever needed me in an emergency, though she wasn't the type to have emergencies, and certainly not the type to call me if she did. Say a grizzly bear came down from Canada and bit off her arm. Mom would just shoot the bear, sew her arm back on with the thick black thread she used to sew our buttons back on when we were kids, then butcher the bear, make it into chili and use the skin as a rug.

  It would be nice, working a little bit. Living alone again (which I could totally do, no matter what my hummingbird heart kept saying). Being useful.

  For the first time since coming back, I felt a little flush of hope.

  *

  A few days later, Poe drove my belongings and me to the houseboat. I still wasn't driving, though I was pretty sure I could. But Poe had her learner's permit and needed the hours behind the wheel. I figured I'd need a car for the summer; I didn't have one, since I was a big fan of public transportation. So I'd taken the ferry to Portland, rented a dark green MINI Cooper for the duration. Poe was duly impressed, and so we could continue our bonding (ha), I suggested she drive.

  Bad idea. She hovered on the brake, stomped on the gas, blew through a stop sign, then screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection, causing my dog to lose his footing on the back seat.