And then his hand was open, palm flat, on her back, pushing her forward, out the door.
“I know,” said Mary hesitantly. She felt like an idiot, because she hadn’t known Josh had anything to do with drugs, taking or selling. How had she not known that? There were probably all sorts of signs that she hadn’t picked up on, but she didn’t even know what signs she could have looked for. Needle marks, chapped nostrils, what? Stupid, naive, plain, pregnant Mary Brown.
A little salt and sugar. What did that even mean?
“It’s just this one time. Once the fishing picks up I won’t need this anymore, I swear. It’s just been shit so far this summer, you know it has. It’s not my fault.”
She said, “Just this once?” Maybe it was true; maybe he didn’t use any drugs, maybe he just had to get himself out of the slump. But nobody else in town seemed to be in a slump. It was shit so far this summer just for Josh, apparently. Red flag.
“On my honor.” He let go of her back and held up his right hand like he was taking an oath.
——
Later, after the movie, after Josh had dropped Mary off, after Vivienne had gone to bed, Mary looked in the brown bag, which held another bag, this one clear plastic, secured with a black twist tie. Inside the plastic bag were dozens and dozens of orange pills. She untied the twist tie, took a pill, and laid it flat on the palm of her hand. The pill had an M on one side, the number 60 on the other. She took up her phone and searched: Salt and sugar. Street names. Drugs.
Google delivered her results, with a picture to match. Morphine. She felt sick to her stomach. She’d had only popcorn for dinner, maybe that was why. They’d barely made it to the movie.
But she knew that it wasn’t the popcorn. Was morphine even a street drug? How little she knew, about drugs, about everything!
From somewhere off in a great distance came that old familiar sound: warning bells, ringing like there was no tomorrow.
14
BARTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Eliza
Eliza was chopping vegetables for a salad while Judith enjoyed her own private happy hour at the kitchen island. Eliza had to go back up to Little Harbor the day after next, but for now she was home, preparing a picnic to take on A Family Affair for the holiday the following day. She was making grilled pork tenderloin and roasted vegetable salad with walnut pesto made from the basil in her herb garden. The idea was that Judith would come with them on the boat and that the next day Eliza would go over some details of the girls’ schedules with her before heading back up to Little Harbor. This would leave Rob free to concentrate on Cabot Lodge.
Immediately after they’d made their plan came the sense of dislocation.
There it was again, the sinister intrusion of Phineas Tarbox, with his tented fingers, his minty breath, his kind, knowing smile. Just sign the papers, Eliza. What are you waiting for?
“Where are the girls?”
Judith had just come from getting her eyebrows threaded. Sixty-five years old, and getting her eyebrows threaded! Did it never end, this quest for beauty? Eliza, for one, was hoping to stop trying by the time she was sixty-five. She was hoping to sit around watching all the television she had missed while her children were small and eating mini Kit Kats purloined from her grandkids’ Halloween bags and speaking with brutal honesty about everything she came across. Brutal honesty was expected of women in their sixties; it was part of their dubious charm, and that was one of the few ways Eliza would unequivocally look to Judith’s example.
“They’re around,” said Eliza. She felt the tiniest trace of irritation creep into her voice. Would it kill Judith to get up from the stool and offer to help? Would it kill her ever to say, You’re doing a good job, Eliza! Eliza knew that nobody could ever replace her own mother, but still. It might be nice if Judith tried to step into the role every now and then. Of course she’d be helping once Eliza returned to Maine, but really, did she have to take herself so blatantly off the clock when Eliza was home?
“You know, Eliza! I forgot to tell you this. I know someone who is summering in Little Harbor! Can you believe it? Gail Byron. No relation to Lord.” Judith laughed at her own joke. “She’s staying in a gigantic place, thirty bathrooms or something. Do you know it?”
“I think I know of it,” said Eliza politely. “But I don’t think it really has thirty bathrooms.”
“Well. Gail Byron has always been known to exaggerate. Perhaps you’ll run into her, though?”
“I’m sure I won’t,” said Eliza. Different social circles, for sure.
When Eliza became a grandmother she wanted to do for her grandchildren all of the things her own mother had never had a chance to do for Evie and Zoe, like dress them in glittery outfits and take them to see The Nutcracker in Boston at Christmas, buying them a whipped-cream-topped hot chocolate afterward.
“Look, here’s Evie!” said Judith lustily. She hopped off the stool and displayed her cheek to Evie. Evie hesitated, looked doubtful, and eventually produced an approximation of an air kiss.
What if Eliza had grandsons, though? She shuddered at the thought of it. She wouldn’t know what to do with boys, she’d never even changed a boy’s diaper. It seemed so complicated, having to tuck the little penis away before it sprayed all over you. And most boys would never want to go to The Nutcracker with Nana, of course. She hoped her grandchildren called her Nana. She would rail against anything else, particularly Granny. Granny implied a kerchief, osteoporosis, a walking cane. Judith had chosen to be called Grandmother. Of course.
Eliza moved on to the carrots and smiled at Evie. She was trying to appreciate every ounce of Evie’s prepubescence, because now that Zoe was in the throes of puberty Eliza realized what was coming. She hadn’t known enough to appreciate it when Zoe was ten, her body still seal-slick and with an adorable bit of pudge around her midsection. Evie stood next to Eliza, and Eliza placed a carrot round on Evie’s tongue the way she imagined Catholic priests did with the wafers at Communion. She’d always wanted to try Communion, but apparently Catholics weren’t open to feeding newcomers; you couldn’t just sidle up and partake. Rob and Judith weren’t Catholic either. They were elbows-off-the-table Protestants. Eliza’s college roommate Francesca had told her that the wafer tasted just like a bit of rice cracker, no big deal. Definitely light on the calories, Francesca had said. Francesca had later been discovered to have an eating disorder.
Evie chomped on the carrot. Evie had always been really good at eating all of her vegetables. Both girls had. Now Zoe was veering away from the vegetables; she wanted to drink four-dollar Starbucks concoctions and eat Cheez-Its all the livelong day.