Chapter Thirty. Rose
CHAPTER THIRTY
ROSE
“It’s too hot,” Ella complains, lifting her dark hair off her neck.
The air on the terrace is soupy—sweltering—oppressive. The weathermen say there’s a storm coming, but they haven’t decided if it will make landfall in the mid-Atlantic or farther northeast.
“You hardly touched your breakfast.” Ella’s picked the fresh strawberries out of her cornflakes, but the cereal remains a soggy clump in the bottom of her bowl.
“I’m not hungry. I didn’t sleep well.” A frown flickers over her face. Plum-colored circles shadow her eyes. I’m tempted to feel her forehead, but I suspect she’d only bat me away. And we’re all hot, anyhow.
“What are your plans for the day?” I ask. Auntie’s gone inside to work; Lou’s gone to fetch the reading primers I had sent from the house in Washington.
“Maggie and I are going to listen to some records.” Ella brightens. “I’ve hardly seen her all week. Isn’t it mean that Mr. Harrow wouldn’t let her come to Stan’s funeral?”
I shrug. “I hate to agree with that man about anything, but there was a real crowd at the service. What if someone had recognized her? I’m not sure Father would approve of you spending so much time with a girl like that.”
“‘A girl like that’? Don’t be such a snob, Rose. He wouldn’t approve of you going out with Coop, either.”
“You can hardly compare the two!” I say hotly. “Coop’s character is exemplary.”
“All you know about Maggie is that she’s in a fix,” Ella snaps.
“Do you know more? Don’t tell me you believe her sob story about being a widow.” I sip my cold coffee. I started drinking it when I was twelve, purely to irritate Millie, because she said I was too young. I doctor it with loads of cream and sugar.
Ella narrows her eyes at me. “I’m not as book smart as you, but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid, Rosie.”
“I never said that!” I protest, stung. I’ve never even thought that. Maybe I am more book smart than Ella, but she’s better at athletics, at music, at making friends.
Have I never told her that?
“Her name is Mary Margaret, but she goes by Maggie at home, too. She’s from Richmond.
She did attend the Glenarden School for Girls till last spring.
She was in the glee club and all their theatrical revues.
” That explains her dramatic bent. “Her mama died when she was seven. Her father remarried a year later, and her stepmother makes Maggie call her Mama Betty. Maggie hates her guts.” Well, that sounds familiar.
No wonder she and Ella have become fast friends.
“She has two little brothers who are five and six, and she loves them, but her father doesn’t pay any attention to her.
Except he was really pleased she was dating the son of his boss at the bank.
Richie’s a senior, and tall—the forward on the basketball team.
She thought he loved her, Rose. She said they only did it twice.
She thought he’d propose when she told him she had a bun in the oven, but do you know what he said? ”
I wince. It can’t be good. “What?”
“He said he couldn’t be a father, he was going to Duke in the fall!
He said he’d get money from his dad to”—Ella lowers her voice—“get rid of it. I didn’t even know you could.
Maggie says it’s not legal, but if you’ve got the money, there are doctors who will do it.
She wanted to keep the baby, but her father said it would ruin her life and Mama Betty said it would ruin their family’s reputation.
They told everybody she’s visiting her mama’s aunt on a horse farm in Kentucky.
She’s been writing her friends about her new horse, Sapphire Breeze. ”
Sapphire Breeze. Good Lord.
“Maggie tried to see Richie before she left, but he wouldn’t come to the door. Coward!” Ella scowls. “His mother said they couldn’t be sure it was his, because if Maggie would do it with one boy, she might have done it with others! Maggie was humiliated.”
I’ve been so interested in the girls of the Harrow Home’s past—Daisy, Dovey Mae, Dessa, Sadie—that I haven’t spared any sympathy for the one who’s been right in front of me. “You’re right. I saw Maggie’s belly and I didn’t look any further. I just don’t want you to think…”
“That sinning before marriage is glamorous? Hardly! Maggie has to pee every half hour. And the other day, the baby kicked and I could see its entire foot through her stomach.” Ella shudders. “It was like something out of a horror novel. Like Frankenstein’s monster!”
Ella isn’t a big reader, but she loves Frankenstein and Dracula and other scary stories.
I smile. “I suppose I didn’t want you to get too worldly yet.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. “You’re so condescending, Rose.
You’re not that much older than me. And you’ve been palling around with Grace.
Maggie says there’s no way that Grace and Stanley never…
” She trails off, raising her eyebrows. At least she’s not so grown-up that she can say it without blushing.
I flush. “That’s none of Maggie’s business. Or ours.”
“Uh-huh. The only difference is that Maggie got caught out.” Ella’s right. Grace isn’t any better, only luckier. Neither of them deserves my judgment.
I glance down at my serrated grapefruit spoon and startle.
There, in the concave gleam of metal, her red mouth gaping, is the ghost.
Is she crying out for help? For vindication? Who is she?
I take a deep breath, in and out. Look back at Ella. “Poor Maggie.”
But I’m distracted, and I don’t sound like I mean it.
“Please. You don’t care about anybody whose name isn’t Harrow!” Ella stalks inside.
That’s not true. I want to go after her, but what would I say?
A few hours later, I’m sitting on the hotel’s new dock, my bare feet dangling out over the Bay, as Lou wades waist-deep in the waves.
The pool was drained after Stanley’s accident, and I think Auntie is waiting until the hotel’s Grand Opening to refill it—or until the image of Stanley’s waterlogged body has faded from our memories, whichever comes first. We told Lou the pool was broken, and Eddie rebuilt the old wooden dock with some help from Coop, who’d been passing by on a run.
It’s resulted in a swimming pier for us and a place where future hotel guests can tie up their sailboats.
!
Footsteps shake the dock. I turn to see Coop, sack lunch in hand.
Eddie offered Coop a job on his crew. Said he was a hard worker, eager to learn. I think Auntie encouraged it. She knows life isn’t easy for the twins.
“Hey.” Coop grins at me. Judging from the colorful drips and drabs on his denim overalls, he’s been painting in the south wing. “Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all.”
He unpacks two ham-and-cheese sandwiches. I’m terribly conscious that I’m still in my damp bathing suit. Coop’s seen me in my bathing suit dozens of times, I remind myself. But only inches separate my bare thigh from his jean-clad leg.
“How was your first morning?” I ask.
“Great. The guys are nice. And Eddie set up some big fans to help the paint dry. Helps keep things a little cooler, too. It sure beats hauling bags of feed. Pays better, too. I’m going to try to do both till football camp starts,” he says. “I could use the money.”
“Is Myrtle being troublesome?” I tease, while Coop practically inhales the first sandwich.
“I mean, always.” He laughs, then looks at me bashfully behind those long lashes. “But I was kinda hoping to take this girl I like out somewhere nice. Maybe the Oyster House.”
He wants to go out with me again! I grin. I’d hoped, after that spectacular good night kiss—but then, after his father interrupted—and then blackmailed me—and then Stan turned up dead in the hotel pool—well, I wasn’t sure what Coop might be thinking. “She must be pretty special. Anybody I know?”
His eyes are warm on my face. “She is really special. Pretty. And smart. She thinks fast. She’s saved my sister’s bacon more than once.”
I flush. “I bet she’d be perfectly happy to go Dutch.”
“Nah. You’ve got to let a guy have some pride.” Giving up the pretense, he looks down at his paint-splattered knees. “If you’ll go out with me again, I mean, after how things ended last time. I’m really sorry about my dad.”
“Of course I will,” I say. “That’s not your fault.”
But if Coop knew that there was no stray cat—that I was the one who scratched his dad’s face—that I’ve been possessed by a ghost—would he still want to go out with me?
My breath catches, remembering Mr. Harrow’s burning blue eyes.
If you don’t listen to reason—if you’re not gone in one week’s time—I’ ll show them these letters.
What will they say when they discover that the pretty girl with all her fine manners and her modern ideas is actually a disgusting deviant?
That was last Sunday. Today is Friday. Maybe, with all the furor over Stanley’s death, Mr. Harrow has forgotten his threats.
I doubt it.
“How was your morning?” Coop shovels his second sandwich into his mouth.
“Well, I got some of my old reading primers, and this morning I taught someone how to spell cat and rat and hat and bat,” I say, loud enough to catch Lulu’s attention.
“Me! It was me! C-A-T, cat!” she shrieks. “B-A-T, bat!”
I clap. “Brava!”
“That was swell. You’ll be reading in no time, Lou.” Coop bumps his warm shoulder into mine. “Good job, teach.”
He is so sweet to her. He’s so sweet to me. I beam at him.
“Have you gotten any more postcards from your dad?” Coop asks.
“Not since Paris. Auntie phoned him at the Excelsior in Rome to tell him about Stanley. I guess two fatal accidents on the property wouldn’t look very good if the press caught wind of it.
She thought he might cut his trip short, but I doubt his new wife would like that …
Although apparently it was Lena’s idea to buy this property.
Auntie said she liked the idea of a place close enough for weekend getaways …
I’m surprised she didn’t suggest Cape May or the Poconos.
A few of my friends from school summer there. ”