Like Bringing Home a Good Report Card
Regina had instructed me to report back to her whenever I came up with relevant findings, and though at first I’d been hesitant to share with her what I’d learned about Forrest and Brenda, it was different now.
As sickening as Brenda’s words had been, I felt excited to tell Regina what I’d learned at the tennis court that night.
The next morning—not a tennis day for the children, for once—I headed up to her bedroom again. She was leaned up against her pillow with a tray Prudence had made for her—half an English muffin, no butter, a glass of grapefruit juice—and her knitting. No evidence of progress on that front.
I handed Regina the notebook with my observations of Forrest and Brenda’s most recent rendezvous. I studied Regina’s face as she turned the pages. At one point, as she was reading, she actually let out something approximating laughter.
“I want to have your baby,” Regina read out loud, delivering a surprisingly accurate Brenda imitation.
She let out a kind of snort. When she got to the place where Brenda raised the possibility of Regina committing suicide, though, the bitter smile disappeared. Her mouth formed a hard, straight line.
When she was finished going over my notes, she set them on her little bed tray next to the uneaten muffin. “Great job,” she told me. She could have been the coach of a girls’ basketball team that just won their game in overtime.
I couldn’t help myself. For all the discomfort I had felt about the assignment Regina had given me, a warm feeling passed through my body.
It was almost as if Regina was my mother, and I’d brought home a good report card.
Which I always did, actually. My real mother just never said anything about those.
“We’re finally getting someplace,” Regina said. “But we need more concrete evidence. You need to catch them in the act. And we need pictures. Recordings. The two of them, in the act.”
“What do you recommend?” I asked.
Regina drew in her breath, as if the very thought brought her physical pain.
“They’ll meet up on the island,” she said. “I should have realized this sooner, but the island’s a sacred place for me. For the two of us. I guess I didn’t want to picture Forrest there with anyone but me. But if I know my husband, that’s where he’d bring a lover.
“I’m guessing he’ll pick her up first so they can motor over together to their little love nest,” she said. Her voice, which more often than not came across as sneering and bitter, had a different tone this time, and her eyes had taken on a crazed look.
Now came the sadness. That moss was hers. So was the island. For generations it had belonged to her family. “Private property” signs lined the shore.
“We need to get you onto the island,” she said. “I have a feeling that’s where they go.”
It had been a long time since Regina had set foot on the island. Still, she knew every inch of it.
“There’s a little cove on the far side,” she went on.
“There’s all these blueberry bushes. If you drag the boat up onto the land, it won’t be difficult to conceal it in the brush.
Then you can stake out the place where they’re likely to go.
It’s all the way over on the other side.
Wait in the blueberry bushes till they show up.
Just keep an eye out for poison ivy. It’s everywhere on that island. ”
Even to me, a girl with a big capacity for drama, this sounded like a wild scheme. This idea of Forrest and Brenda going to the island was just a hunch. They might not show up at all, and if they did, what if they spotted me? Not to mention, the island was a long way from shore.
“How am I supposed to get there?” I asked her.
“You know how to paddle a canoe, right?” she said.
“I guess so.” I didn’t add that I’d only done it once.
“Our Old Town is totally reliable,” she said. “And if anything happens, you’re a good swimmer.”
None of this reassured me. But when you’re a spy, you don’t ask questions. You fulfill your assignment.