Murdered. By a woman.
That part Chase found entirely unsurprising.
He wondered who she was, what could have ignited an anger so white-hot it had driven her to plunge a knife into his brothers chest. Oh, he could make an educated guess. An affair turned sour. Jealousy over some new mistress. The inevitable abandonment. And then rage, at being used, at being lied to, a rage that would have overwhelmed all sense of logic or self-preservation. Chase could sketch in the whole scenario. He could even picture the woman, a woman like all the others whod drifted through Richards life. Shed be attractive, of course. Richard would insist on that much. But thered be something a little desperate about her. Perhaps her laugh would be too loud or her smile too automatic, or the lines around her eyes would reveal a woman on the downhill slide. Yes, he could see the woman clearly, and the image stirred both pity and repulsion.
And rage. Whatever resentment he still bore Richard, nothing could change the fact they were brothers. Theyd shared the same pool of memories, the same lazy afternoons drifting on the lake, the strolls on the breakwater, the quiet snickerings in the darkness. Their last falling-out had been a serious one, but in the back of his mind Chase had always assumed theyd smooth it over. There was always time to make things right again, to be friends again.
Thats what he had thought until that phone call from Evelyn.
His anger swelled, washed through him like a full-moon tide. Opportunities lost. No more chances to say, I care about you. No more chances to say, Remember when? The road blurred before him. He blinked and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
He drove on, into the morning.
By ten oclock he had reached Bass Harbor. By eleven he was aboard the Jenny B, his face to the wind, his hands clutching the ferry rail. In the distance, Shepherds Island rose in a low green hump in the mist. Jenny Bs bow heaved across the swells and Chase felt that familiar nausea roil his stomach, sour his throat. Always the seasick one, he thought. In a family of sailors, Chase was the landlubber, the son who preferred solid ground beneath his feet. The racing trophies had all gone to Richard. Catboats, sloops, you name the class, Richard had the trophy. And these were the waters where hed honed his skills, tacking, jibbing, shouting out orders. Spinnaker up, spinnaker down. To Chase it had all seemed a bunch of frantic nonsense. And then, thered been that miserable nausea.
Chase inhaled a deep breath of salt air, felt his stomach settle as the Jenny B pulled up to the dock. He returned to the car and waited his turn to drive up the ramp. There were eight cars before him, out-of-state license plates on every one. Half of Massachusetts seemed to come north every summer. You could almost hear the state of Maine groan under the the weight of all those damn cars.
The ferryman waved him forward. Chase put the car in gear and drove up the ramp, onto Shepherds Island.
It amazed him how little the place seemed to change over the years. The same old buildings faced Sea Street: the Island Bakery, the bank, FitzGeralds Café, the five-and-dime, Lappins General Store. A few new names had sprung up in old places. The Vogue Beauty Shop was now Gorhams Books, and Village Hardware had been replaced by Country Antiques and a realty office. Lord, what changes the tourists wrought.
He drove around the corner, up Limerock Street. On his left, housed in the same brick building, was the Island Herald. He wondered if any of it had changed inside. He remembered it well, the decorative tin ceiling, the battered desks, the wall hung with portraits of the publishers, every one a Tremain. He could picture it all, right down to the Remington typewriter on his fathers old desk. Of course, the Remingtons would be long gone. Thered be computers now, sleek and impersonal. Thats how Richard would run the newspaper, anyway. Out with the old, in with the new.
Bring on the next Tremain.
Chase drove on and turned onto Chestnut Hill. Half a mile up, near the highest point on the island, sat the Tremain mansion. A monstrous yellow wedding cake was what it used to remind him of, with its Victorian turrets and gingerbread trim. The house had since been repainted a distinguished gray and white. It seemed tamer now, subdued, a faded beauty. Chase almost preferred the old wedding-cake yellow.
He parked the car, grabbed his suitcase from the trunk and headed up the walkway. Even before hed reached the porch steps the door opened and Evelyn was standing there, waiting for him.
Chase! she cried. Oh, Chase, youre here. Thank God youre here.
At once she fell into his arms. Automatically he held her against him, felt the shuddering of her body, the warmth of her breath against his neck. He let her cling to him as long as she needed to.
At last she pulled away and gazed up at him. Those brilliant green eyes were as startling as ever. Her hair, shoulder length and honey blond, had been swept back into a French braid. Her face was puffy, her nose red and pinched. Shed tried to cover it with makeup. Some sort of pink powder caked her nostril and a streak of mascara had left a dirty shadow on her cheek. He could scarcely believe this was his beautiful sister-in-law. Could it be she truly was in mourning?
I knew youd come, she whispered.
I left right after you called.
Thank you, Chase. I didnt know who else to turn to. She stood back, looked at him. Poor thing, you must be exhausted. Come in, Ill get you some coffee.
They stepped into the foyer. It was like stepping back into childhood, so little had changed. The same oak floors, the same light, the same smells. He almost thought that if he turned around and looked through the doorway into the parlor, hed see his mother sitting there at her desk, madly scribbling away. The old girl never did take to the typewriter; shed believed, and rightly so, that if a gossip column was juicy enough, an editor would accept it in Swahili. As it turned out, not only had the editor acquired her column, hed acquired her as well. All in all, a practical marriage.
His mother never did learn to type.
Hello, Uncle Chase.
Chase looked up to see a young man and woman standing at the top of the stairs. Those couldnt be the twins! He watched in astonishment as the pair came down the steps, Phillip in the lead. The last time hed seen his niece and nephew theyd been gawky adolescents, not quite grown into their big feet. Both of them were tall and blond and lean, but there the resemblance ended. Phillip moved with the graceful assurance of a dancer, an elegant Fred Astaire partnered with well, certainly not Ginger Rogers. The young woman who ambled down after him bore a closer resemblance to a horse.
I cant believe this is Cassie and Phillip, said Chase.
Youve stayed away too long, Evelyn replied.
Phillip came forward and shook Chases hand. It was the greeting of a stranger, not a nephew. His hand was slender, refined, the hand of a gentleman. He had his mothers stamp of aristocracy straight nose, chiseled cheeks, green eyes. Uncle Chase, he said somberly. Its a terrible reason to come home, but Im glad youre here.
Chase shifted his gaze to Cassie. When hed last seen his niece she was a lively little monkey with a never-ending supply of questions. He could scarcely believe shed grown into this sullen young woman. Could grief have wrought such changes? Her limp hair was pulled back so tightly it seemed to turn her face into a collection of jutting angles: large nose, rabbity overbite, a square forehead unsoftened by even a trace of bangs. Only her eyes held any trace of that distant ten-year-old. They were direct, sharply intelligent.
Hello, Uncle Chase, she said. A strikingly businesslike tone for a girl whod just lost her father.
Cassie, said Evelyn. Cant you give your uncle a kiss? Hes come all this way to be with us.
Cassie moved forward and planted a wooden peck on Chases cheek. Just as quickly she stepped back, as though embarrassed by this false ceremony of affection.
Youve certainly grown up, said Chase, the most charitable assessment he could offer.
Yes. It happens.
How old are you now?
Almost twenty.
So you both must be in college.
Cassie nodded, the first trace of a smile touching her lips. Im at the University of Southern Maine. Studying journalism. I figured, one of these days the Heralds going to need a
Phillips at Harvard, Evelyn cut in. Just like his father.
Cassies smile died before it was fully born. She shot a look of irritation at her mother, then turned and headed up the stairs.
Cassie, where are you going?
I have to do my laundry.
But your uncle just got here. Come back and sit with us.
Why, Mother? she shot back over her shoulder. You can entertain him perfectly well on your own.
Cassie!
The girl turned and glared down at Evelyn. What?
You are embarrassing me.
Well, thats nothing new.
Evelyn, close to tears, turned to Chase. You see how things are? I cant even count on my own children. Chase, I cant deal with this all alone. I just cant. Stifling a sob, she turned and walked into the parlor.
The twins looked at each other.
Youve done it again, said Phillip. Its a lousy time to fight, Cassie. Cant you feel sorry for her? Cant you try and get along? Just for the next few days.
Its not as if I dont try. But she drives me up a wall.
Okay, then at least be civil. He paused, then added, You know its what Dad would want.
Cassie sighed. Then, resignedly, she came down the steps and headed into the parlor, after her mother. I guess I owe him that much.
Shaking his head, Phillip looked at Chase. Just another episode of the delightful Tremain family.
Has it been like this for a while?
Years, at least. Youre just seeing them at their worst. Youd think, after last night, after losing Dad, we could pull together. Instead it seems to be driving us all apart.
They went into the parlor and found mother and daughter sitting at opposite ends of the room. Both had regained their composure. Phillip took a seat between them, reinforcing his role as perpetual human buffer. Chase settled into a corner armchair his idea of neutral territory.
Sunshine washed in through the bay windows, onto the gleaming wood floor. The silence was filled by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. It all looked the same, thought Chase. The same Hepplewhite tables, the same Queen Anne chairs. It was exactly the way he remembered it from childhood. Evelyn had not altered a single detail. For that he felt grateful.