There had been a time, before Ginny dropped out of the all-women’s college they’d paid a fortune for, and before she sat Veronica down in White Eagle’s peach-and-gold sitting room and delivered the news she was pregnant with Tony’s baby, when Bob had spoiled their daughter. He sent Ginny and her girlfriends on luxury trips across Europe; tucked a purebred cocker spaniel (a red satin bow around the pup’s neck) under the Christmas tree; slipped velvet boxes with jeweled cocktail rings under her pillow every Valentine’s Day. One year opal, the next sapphire, then ruby and emerald, each stone hugged by a spiraling staircase of diamonds. He had ruined their daughter, Veronica thought, because throwing money at her was the only way he knew how to love.
“I heard from Peggy Brell,” a reinvigorated Ginny said, “who heard it from Elaine Lucas, that you can have lobster for every meal on the Queen Mary. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner!”
Ginny seemed so much like herself—pink-cheeked and giddy. And why shouldn’t her daughter have what she wanted, now that Veronica was in charge, no longer forced to grovel to Bob for the most basic things like a new washing machine or a dollar raise for Rosalita. She decided right then and there—she’d book a cruise for Ginny and Tony, surprise them with it before she departed this world, checked off the final to-do on her list.
“I promise, sweetie. I’ll do my best to give you everything you want.”
Ginny’s lips parted in surprise and then stretched into a smile. A toothy grin that reminded Veronica again of little Ginny. Pure and filled with hope.
She left a lipstick smudge on Ginny’s cheek when they kissed goodbye. Her daughter smelled sweet—too much perfume hung over a sickly odor like rotten fruit. The scent filled Veronica’s nose, her mouth, and she took a few stumbling steps toward the woods. Then she heard them calling. Cah-cah-cah.
“Listen,” she said.
They all turned to the lush, dark forest, which looked cool and inviting after the cottage’s stuffy heat.
“It’s the caterpillars,” Dom said, delighted.
Veronica strained to hear the insects’ breathy whisper. What were they saying?
Champ’s ears twitched and he howled before bounding off into the trees.
“Yuck,” Ginny said. “They’re chewing through your beautiful trees, Mommy.”
“That’s not chewing,” Veronica said. “It’s their excrement falling. Sounds like a gentle rain shower, yes?”
“You mean,” Maddie paused, “their poop?”
“I’m afraid so,” Veronica said. “Now we must get going. We old people need our rest. Ta-ta, all.” She made herself smile at her son-in-law. “Thank you for the scrumptious lunch, Tony!”
As she and Bob walked the uneven slate path leading from the cottage to the big house (Tony could’ve at least fixed the path, she thought), Dominic loped behind.
“Wait!” the boy called. “He’s not even going to do the inspection?”
Veronica laughed. She’d forgotten how surprising children could be.
“Would you prefer he did?” She nodded at the shabby gray cottage. “We can go back.”
“No, no!” He got her joke. Smiled. She saw he needed braces and added orthodontics for the boy to her list.
“Bob, why don’t you start home?” He was taking slow, careful steps toward White Eagle, where Champ sat at the top of the double staircase, his tail thumping against the intricately carved oak doors.
“I have a job for you, Dominic.” She curled her finger playfully. She remembered how the boy had gazed admiringly at Bob as he swore and ranted on his favorite topic—war. “It’s a mission actually.”
She knew this was the right word to use, always the best choice for a boy (or man) desperate to prove himself.
“Top secret?” he asked, confirming her suspicion that he was like all the boys who had followed the Colonel. Looking for someone to lead them, tell them how to think, feel, and act.
“The Colonel isn’t himself lately.”
Dominic looked alarmed. “Is he sick?”
“No, not exactly. He’ll be better soon. Don’t you fret.” She let her voice fall to a whisper and leaned toward the boy, who smelled tangy, like ketchup. “Can you watch your grandfather for me?”
“Me? Watch the Colonel?”
“Sure.” She laughed. “I think you’re cut out for the job. There are people on this island…” She paused, not used to talking to children, searching for appropriate words.
“Yeah?” His brown eyes—lovely, trusting eyes—widened, and she tried to remember the awe she’d felt when she first met Bob. When she’d misinterpreted his arrogance as courage.
“There are people out to get your grandfather. Prove he’s not fit to run the Ironworks.”
His lips parted in shock.
“Don’t go worrying yourself,” she said. “Just keep an eye on him. You’re my new lieutenant, deal?”
She winked. All those years spent with men—seamen, engineers, cigar-chomping executives—winking at her again and again. Every wink had felt like a dismissal. Now, as her grandson winked back, she understood. To be the winker was to be the secret holder. To be powerful.
He ran off to join Bob and Champ on the lawn. Bob was clearing twigs, bending slowly as if in pain. She’d have to give him two aspirin with his evening snack. He lobbed the sticks into the woods, where they fell short, landing in the orange tiger lilies. Champ leapt into the flowers, crushing the tall blooms.
“Atta boy, Champ!” Dom shouted.
She stopped herself from telling them to watch out for the flowers. What did it matter when there was so little time left?
There, she thought, maybe she wasn’t so coldhearted after all.
Kingdom: Animalia
Phylum: Arthropoda
Class: Insecta
Order: Lepidoptera
Family: Erebidae
Subfamily: Lymantriinae
Genus: Lymantria
Species: L. dispar
Subspecies: L. d. dispar
—Scientific Classification of gypsy moth, Lymantria dispar dispar (Linnaeus, 1758)
5.
Jules
He had wanted to hate the island.
When Leslie had returned from her mother’s funeral with news of the inheritance, he’d been sure she was messing with him. For weeks after, at night she whispered in his ear, her hand wrapped around his dick, tugging slow, slower, up and down. Is this good, baby? Is this how you like it? Like she didn’t know. After sex, his fingers and mouth smelling and tasting of her, they lay together, the city clamor knocking around on the street outside their apartment, and he listened as she described the Castle. She called it that—not a hint of irony—and slapped at him when he called her Princess Leslie.