Life Happens Read online

  For some reason, she joined the other two, who were staring out the window over the kitchen sink. Reed and Sylvia’s backyard was a long sloping expanse of lawn stretching to the enormous gray rocks that made up the shoreline. The grass was green in places, brown in others, thanks to so many dogs, two of which were running in circles around the Laker males. Reed tossed a football and Dean carried four-year-old Dougie on his shoulder the way a lobsterman carried a barrel. Wearing his favorite Red Sox cap, Grady threw a Frisbee to his oldest nephew, the most sullen-looking boy of the bunch.

  “How is Cole handling his punishment?” Gretchen asked her sister-in-law.

  “As if taking away the car keys has ruined his life and we’re prison guards whose sole purpose is to make his existence miserable. How else?”

  Mya’s gaze went to the oldest boy, almost as tall as the men. He wore a Red Sox cap, too, but his was on backward. She wondered what he’d done.

  “Do you know why teenagers are so reckless?” Sylvia asked.

  “Because they’re stupid?” Gretchen answered.

  “I prefer to think of it as a medical condition.” Sylvia started the water running in the sink. “Their prefrontal cortex is still immature.”

  “Their prefrontal what?” Gretchen quipped.

  Mya wasn’t the only one who smiled.

  “Their prefrontal cortex,” Sylvia repeated. “It’s the part of the brain that controls emotional moderation, organization, planning and judgment. Unfortunately it isn’t fully developed at Cole’s age.”

  “So in essence, teenagers are brain damaged.”

  “That’s not the clinical interpretation.”

  “But it explains a lot, doesn’t it?”

  Mya thought it would be interesting to know these two.

  “The good news is,” Sylvia said, “they outgrow it.”

  “If they live long enough,” Gretchen added.

  Suddenly, all three were quiet, their ears tuned to what was happening in the dining room. Looking in that direction, Gretchen whispered, “Elle doesn’t look sick.”

  “I know. Surely, that means the chemo is working, right?” Mya thought about how quiet Elle had been these past few days.

  “God, Mya,” Gretchen said quietly. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”

  Mya had assumed they would take Dean’s side, blaming her for her decision all those years ago. But as suds filled the sink, they were all mothers.

  “Think I should go in there and rescue her?” Mya asked.

  “I’d wait until the bottle’s warm,” Sylvia said.

  Gretchen nodded. “She’ll be okay until then. Remember, Ruth’s bark is worse than her bite.”

  Kaylie banged the spoon on the wooden high chair. Alone with the woman who was technically her grandmother, Elle didn’t know where to look or what to say.

  “Bring the baby down here so I can meet you both properly.”

  Elle wasn’t accustomed to being bossed around.

  “Don’t be bashful,” Ruth said, patting the chair adjacent to her.

  Lifting Kaylie from the high chair, Elle said, “I’ve been called a lot of things, but I don’t think I’ve ever been called bashful.”

  “Are you saying you aren’t?”

  At Elle’s silence, the old woman laughed, the sound loosening the fist that had wrapped around Elle’s voice box.

  “There hasn’t been a child of Laker descent born without a dash of bashfulness and varying degrees of stubbornness. I’m sure you’ve already discovered those traits in that beautiful baby girl.”

  Elle took the chair Ruth had specified, settling the baby on her lap. “Kaylie is stubborn, but I think that’s a good trait. Last week I couldn’t keep hats on her. This week it’s shoes.”

  She was tying Kaylie’s shoelaces when she saw the hands reaching so gently toward Kaylie. Her baby stopped wiggling as Ruth trailed her fingertips up Kaylie’s chubby arm. From there she felt her way up to Kaylie’s hair.

  “All three of my babies were bald their first year, and none of them were blond.”

  For the first time, Elle looked directly into the older woman’s eyes. She took a quick, sharp breath.

  “They didn’t tell you, did they?”

  Elle shook her head. And then she shook herself. Ruth Laker was blind.

  “I guess Mya was trying to tell me something, but I told her I prefer to form my own opinions.”

  Ruth nodded. “That’s the islander’s way, too. We’re no strangers to gossip, and if they ever make complaining about the weather a crime, we’ll all go to jail. But we leave the truly important discoveries to be made in their own time.”

  Elle had been trying to imagine what this family had been like twenty years ago, but she couldn’t picture it. It was something she’d noticed since her diagnosis. She didn’t dwell on the past or imagine the future. At first that had terrified her. But living in fear was no way to live, so instead, she lived in today. And today, Ruth Laker wore a sweater, navy slacks and flat shoes. Her gray hair was short and simply styled, her face not deeply lined. Her brown eyes had probably been beautiful once.

  “Something on your mind, child?”

  There was a lot on her mind. But Elle said, “How did you know Kaylie’s hair is blond?”

  Ruth laughed. “How do you think?”

  After a time, Elle said, “Dean told you.”

  “Smart girl. Now, child, what else would you like to hear about?”

  In Elle’s experience, old people liked to do most of the talking, and yet Ruth drew Elle out of herself. She’d never experienced anything quite like it. They spoke about babies and teething and the ocean and Elle’s mother’s tragic car accident and Ruth’s husband’s tragic aneurysm.

  “You haven’t asked, Elle, but I know you must be wondering about my blindness. My condition has a very long and unfriendly name. Acute zonal occult outer retinopathy. Most people who experience symptoms recover. I didn’t. There’s always a rainbow, I suppose, and in this instance it’s the fact that my blindness isn’t hereditary. Here comes Mya with that warm bottle.” As if sensing Elle’s surprise, she said, “You wouldn’t believe the things I hear, feel and smell.”

  Ruth opened her arms to take the baby. When Kaylie was settled on her lap, she held out her free hand for the bottle. Gently offering it to Kaylie, she said, “It’s too nice a day to spend indoors, Elle. I’m sure the others would welcome the chance to get to know you.” She turned toward Mya. “If we stall long enough,” Ruth said, motioning to the chair Elle had vacated, “Sylvia and Gretchen will have those dishes done.”

  Dismissed, Elle went outside.

  And Mya sat.

  It was her turn.

  Kids played. Dogs barked. Wind blew and waves broke. Dean knew there was nothing unusual about any of those things, or about the way Reed and Grady ribbed him, or about the way Gretchen and Sylvia watched him, either. It was just another Sunday like a hundred other Sundays on the island.

  Liar.

  It was May first. Spring was finally in the air. The afternoon was winding down. Soon, it would be time for Mya, Elle and Kaylie to leave. He hadn’t felt dread like this in a long time.

  Brad, the resident ocean-watcher, had spotted a pod of dolphins in the cove. Sitting out of the wind with Dean’s mom, Elle had continued to rock Kaylie in Reed’s favorite Adirondack chair. Everyone else had gone to the lawn’s edge for a better look. Discovering an audience, those dolphins had put on quite a performance, jumping and flipping and generally showing off. Eventually they moved on, and Sylvia and Gretchen insisted the boys return to safer ground.

  “Are you coming, Mya?” Gretchen asked.

  “Hmm?” And then, “Oh. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

  The others went, but not quietly.

  Staying behind, too, Dean watched Mya’s gaze return to the ocean. Like Brad, she loved the sea. She’d always said she could never live anyplace else. And yet she’d left. Even as a child, she’d been an en
igma. She was afraid of spiders, but not of heights, timid in crowds, but fierce when cornered. He remembered the first time he saw her, and the day they became friends. His brothers had teased him, and his parents had worried. They’d worried about him a lot. It hadn’t mattered. He and Mya had been inseparable, “for life,” they used to say. They were fourteen that summer when he’d reached for her hand, holding it. That day, their friendship changed. It had taken him six more months to build up enough courage to kiss her.

  The hold she’d had on him was strong. Strong enough to last three more years. Strong enough to nearly break him when she left.

  He’d hated her for that.

  “Whatever you do, Dean, don’t make a scene. I’m sure they’re all watching.”

  He hadn’t planned to make a scene, damn it. He considered walking away, and leaving her standing there alone, the way she’d left him. He might have been able to do that if he hadn’t seen the tears on her face. His mood veered from anger to helplessness.

  “Don’t mind me,” she said. “It’s been an emotional day.”

  She knew. She always knew.

  “I saw you talking to Mom,” he said. “Did she say something to upset you?”

  Mya shook her head. “We had a nice visit.” Actually, that conversation was part of the reason for Mya’s melancholy. It had been beautiful, and she would never forget Ruth’s words, or the heartfelt way she’d spoken them.

  “I didn’t have the chance to say this before you left the island, Mya. And by the time I returned from the Institute for the Blind, you and your mother had gone, your baby had been born, and what was done was done. It was a difficult time for all of us,—Lord, what an understatement—but I never blamed you or held your decision against you.”

  “Dean blames me,” Mya said.

  “Does he?”

  Mya had done a double take.

  And Ruth had said, “Dean has always been fiercely loyal, obstinate and proud, kind and trustworthy, but from the time he was small, there was a shadow in his eyes that terrified me, a deep sadness I could see but couldn’t reach. You reached it, but I think even you knew you couldn’t fill it.”

  “He wanted to marry me, Ruth. Keep our baby. I’m not naive enough to believe he’s gotten over it.”

  “Somebody had to do what was best for Elle.”

  Ruth had made it sound as if she believed Mya had done the right thing. Not even Mya’s own mother had ever said that to her.

  What was done was done, Ruth had said.

  Nineteen years was a long time to hold a grudge, to cast blame. People changed. Mya didn’t know Dean anymore, what he thought or how he felt.

  She had done what she believed was best. From the moment of Elle’s conception, there had been no turning back. Elle’s return to Maine had set something in motion, setting a new course for all of them. Once again, there was no turning back.

  “Your mom asked me to tell her about Brynn’s, and in the process she had me promising to bring her a scarf the next time I visit. And then she asked me what the island looks like today.”

  She sensed more than saw him come closer. “What did you say?”

  They faced the horizon, their arms close but not quite touching. “I told her the sun is glaring off the ocean with so much vehemence it makes your eyes water, then compels you to look again. I told her the dandelions are just starting to pop their heads above the grass and the forsythias are in bloom and the clouds are moving fast from east to west and the new birch bark is pristine white. I told her each of the dogs takes after one of her grandsons, and Grady’s oldest looks exactly like you. She chuckled about that.”

  “I’m glad I’m so amusing.”

  She felt him looking at her. “How do you know it wasn’t a compliment?”

  Being on the island again, and describing it to Ruth had brought it all back. Mya had always felt part of the harsh beauty of the rugged shore, the water, the sky and the isolation. It had always seemed that if she stared at it all long enough, it all might make sense. “It’s going to be difficult to leave.”

  “You’ve done it before.”

  He blamed her. For leaving. For her decision. For everything. She should have remembered how bad he could make her feel. Forget crying. She seethed. “Of all the—oh, why do I bother? Forget it.” She spun around.

  He grabbed her hand, halting her.

  She almost forgot their audience. Shaking her hand free of his, she stormed to the relative privacy of a small stand of fir trees.

  “You make me so mad, Dean Laker. Do you think it was easy for me? Do you think getting over you was easy for me? It took me years. And don’t ask me why, either. There’s no damn accounting for taste. I’ll have you know I didn’t stay away all these years to punish you. There. Now are you happy?”

  With every I and you she uttered, she poked his chest with one finger. Dean took her hand in self-defense. He’d set out to provoke her. He didn’t know why the hell he did that. He’d left her stinking few choices back then. And then he’d blamed her for giving up their child. He’d blamed her because it was easier than blaming himself.

  Her hair was tousled, her cheeks pink, her eyes large and brown, and God, her lips. “Happy?” he quipped. “Oh, yeah, I’m rolling in clover. Can’t you tell?”

  She tugged on her hand. “Well, pardon me all to hell.”

  He tugged back, gravity and momentum bringing her up against him. It brought a rush of feeling and a stampede of hormones. He heard her take a sharp breath, and then he was lowering his face and covering her mouth with his, all in one motion. With the first brush of his lips against hers, the anger seeped out of him. He kept the contact gentle, drawing the kiss out, and in doing so, it drew some long-buried emotion out of him, as well.

  Mya sighed, her lips parting slightly. She knew better than to do this. And yet she couldn’t seem to pull away. The kiss was barely a brush of air, a mere hint, like a promise of more, if more was what she wanted. God help her, she always wanted more.

  Dean kept her off balance. He always had. He could be dark. He could be difficult. By their very nature, they sometimes brought out the worst in each other. And because of that, they’d hurt each other. They’d been bad for each other from the start. She breathed deeply, the pine scent of his aftershave making her sigh. He was bad for her. And yet the shoulder beneath her palm felt solid and strong and good. He was bad for her. And yet the way his chin rasped against hers brought a rush of feeling that resembled joy.

  She didn’t know who broke the kiss, or if it simply ceased the way it began. “You shouldn’t have done that, Dean.”

  He straightened first, pulling her hands from around his neck. How had her hands ended up around his neck in the first place?

  “It will only confuse us,” she whispered.

  A muscle worked in his cheek. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  She didn’t appreciate being referred to as an old habit, and she bristled. Spinning around, she started back up the way they’d come. He was bad for her, all right. But he brought out something inside her no other man ever had. She could have lived out the rest of her days without being reminded of that.

  Elle sat out of the wind, quietly watching the Lakers interact. Ten minutes ago the littlest one had run outside wearing nothing but his T-shirt. Sylvia had chased after him, scooping him up, laughing as she carried him back inside. He reminded Elle of her little brother, except Trevor had Brunhilde, whose pinched expression and open disapproval in that situation wouldn’t have been the least bit funny. And Dougie Laker had Sylvia. The right mother made all the difference. She looked at Kaylie, aching.

  “Here comes Uncle Dean and Mya.” The eldest of the Laker boys motioned to the pair finally coming up from the shore. “They must have loved each other an awful lot.”

  Dean and Mya walked side by side, both stiff, neither touching. They didn’t look particularly cozy. “Why do you say that?” Elle asked.

  “Neither one of them ever married an
ybody else.”

  That was the thing Elle had noticed about boys. When it came to matters of the heart, they were often clueless. And then, out of the blue, they noticed things that were so obvious women sometimes overlooked them.

  Looking around the yard at all the Lakers, Elle wondered what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been adopted. She tried not to feel guilty for thinking it, and hoped her mom understood. Would it have been so bad for Mya and Dean to have kept her? Why hadn’t they?

  “How long has your grandmother been blind?” she asked.

  “She’s your grandmother, too,” Cole Laker said.

  Forget what she’d just thought. Most of the time guys just plain had to be right.

  She cast him a withering stare.

  He shrugged as if he was accustomed to withering stares. But he said, “I don’t know. Since before I was born, I guess. Nineteen or twenty years, maybe.”

  “Since before I was born, too,” she said quietly. She’d watched Ruth Laker a lot this afternoon. The woman moved with such elegance and grace it was impossible to tell she was blind. For some reason, Elle felt a connection, like an age-old kinship with her.

  “It must seem weird,” Cole said.

  She braced herself for difficult questions about her childhood and her illness and her life. “What?” she asked, assuming he would start at the beginning. “Being adopted?”

  He made a sound universal to guys. “I should be so lucky. I meant having a kid.”

  She knew better than to try to explain how much she loved Kaylie to somebody who didn’t have any children yet. As if on cue, Kaylie let out a belly laugh. She’d been hauled around by the Laker boys all afternoon, her flowered hat in stark contrast to so many baseball caps. Elle thought about those Red Sox caps Dean had given them. Were she and Kaylie more Laker than Donahue? More Donahue than Fletcher?