Barely thinking about what she was doing, she got out of bed and went downstairs and outside. It was warm for a moment, and then the cold enveloped her. The grass crunched under her bare feet. That was not what she’d come for, though. She wanted to be part of the vast dark night. She’d never seen so many stars. Her neck ached and she shivered, but she didn’t want the moment to end. She shifted between her feet, relieving one and then the other, until the pain became so great that she had to go back inside. But she didn’t. She waited, and soon it was all right. It wasn’t as important to resolve the discomfort as it was to see what came next.
So many stars, and they were always there, whether or not she could see them. Not very profound, but not something to forget, either.
She looked over at Robert’s house. A light burned in an upstairs window. Maybe he was reading, or writing. He had asked her dozens of questions about Heidi, more even than Agnes, and told her his memories of their childhood together, including how she’d picked up a snake in the grass, and how rapt she was every day looking out the school bus window in spite of it being the same route. One day he’d asked her what she saw, and she gave him a list: tree, other tree, tree again, house, car, and so on. She was naming the world, and bringing herself into it as she went.
“She taught me to do that,” Maud said.
Robert smiled. “I can hear her say my name. Wobber.”
By the light of the sky, Maud named the night for the last time. When she finally did go in, it was with a new comprehension of her future. She couldn’t describe any specific goal or path, but she knew she’d never again walk home from work calling the world into being by naming its separate parts. That had been Heidi’s habit, a way of trying to stay connected to reality. Maud would simply live in it, somewhere between the stars and the cold earth, in a band of time she wouldn’t waste.
PART SIX A Gathered Meeting
CHAPTER 41 August, Fellowship Point, 2003
THE POINT PARTY WAS SWIMMING along until Hamm Loose Sr. arrived with his sons.
Agnes spotted them first: Father, Son, and Other Son. She was across the meadow near the ocean, chatting with James, which was bad enough as it was, when her skin sprouted gooseflesh. She’d predicted they’d show up. Her stomach flipped.
She wouldn’t speak to them. That was already decided. Earlier in the day, when they were going over the to-do list, she’d made it clear to Robert and Polly to come rescue her if the Looses managed to corner her. Yes, they’d get their paws on this sacred place, but they wouldn’t have the opportunity to see how she felt about it.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she said, and watched James’s face. He turned and spotted the Looses, and Agnes saw him apply effort not to raise his arm in salutation, and not to immediately ditch her and run off to play with his friends. He turned back to her with a flushed red neck.
They’d been discussing the neutral topic of the death of a tourist whose kayak had flipped.
“It’s more treacherous around here than people know,” Agnes said.
James got the dig and frowned into his G&T. “I’m not a water person,” he mumbled.
She was exasperated. She couldn’t talk to James, not even for Polly’s sake. “I must go,” she said abruptly. She’d been taught never to make an excuse, because of the rude burden it imposed on the other person to excuse her. And what excuse was ever really good enough, except dire illness? No one wanted to know what was more important than they were. James had been taught the same, and said, “Pleasure to have spoken.”
Agnes fled. The party didn’t need her for the moment. The laughter was gay, forks clinked with gusto against her good plates. The arms of the young bartenders from town—college students back for the summer—darted expertly among the bottles and ice buckets arranged along the tableclothed bars, and the music curated by the M girls wove ribbons of lively beats through the groupings of partygoers. Agnes, in khakis and a blue silk shirt and sandals, hair pinned up in a French twist, headed for the Sank.
Robert would be the one to greet the Looses. He had, at the beginning of the party, positioned himself at the top of the grassy way that guided guests from Point Path over to the party proper. He’d spent some time working out where this conduit should begin, walking from Rock Reed past Leeward Cottage several times to discover the natural turnoff where he’d mow a pathway. Hope accompanied him; she stood at Robert’s side now, greeting the guests, anxiously accepting the occasional pat on the head, taking quick looks up at Robert. It’s okay, Robert assured her, in tone and touch. Polly had wanted the party to happen on a spot between her house and Agnes’s but on the other side of the Path, and Agnes had wanted the byway to be obvious enough that no moron would end up in the graveyard. They’d always set up the party this way, and every year they’d swear they’d remember where they’d cut the path, but they never did. That was part of the tradition, part of the fun. After he’d done the mowing, Robert had taken pictures, and he’d also paced off the distance from Leeward’s driveway to the spot where the mowing began, so he’d know for next year—if there were a next year. But he would duly pretend not to remember, for posterity’s sake.
It was only the day before that they’d realized they had no one to greet the guests. Dick had served as the greeter ever since Lachlan died—for forty years. Ian Hancock hadn’t been trusted to do it, he was too likely to make a rude remark before people were fortified with drinks. Archie was too young, and his father—he’d done it once or twice, but preferred being the center of a rowdy group rather than a calm welcoming presence set apart from the gaiety. Dick had been good at it; he moved people along with a clap on the back and a compliment. They hadn’t had to deal with figuring out an alternative because there hadn’t been a Point Party since Dick died. The one that would have occurred in 2000 was canceled because of his death, and in 2001 Polly and Agnes hadn’t the heart for it because Robert was in prison and they were also nervous that Seela and Archie might show up. Then in 2002 Polly and Agnes weren’t on speaking terms—they laughed about it now, it seemed almost glamorous to have had a falling-out—until it was too late to plan such an event. What would they do? At the same moment Polly and Agnes said “Robert!” There had been many such moments this spring, since Robert had brought Heidi back to Fellowship Point. So it was decided, by mutual spontaneous concord.
Now here they were, finally, having the party again, and compensated for the wait by perfect weather, and good enough health. Heidi was dressed in one of her vintage dresses, this one striped in Fauve colors—she’d match the sunset later. Robert turned frequently between greetings to see where she was and to gauge her anxiety level. He was at the ready to rescue her. Polly and Agnes and Maud were looking out for her, too, but he considered them backup. His vigilance was what counted, as it had when they were children. He’d never believed she was dead. Not really. Now he was helping her come back to life.
When he spotted the Looses lumbering down the hill, he quickly turned and monitored Heidi. She was chatting to people. Fitting in.
The Looses looked like a pack of bulldogs, all three squat and wide and panting. Who had comb marks in their hair in 2003? They wore tan suits and open collars, no ties. Loafers. Robert, knowing they’d be a hot topic later when Agnes and Polly did the postmortem on the afternoon, took care to notice details so he could take part. Their pants were belted below their large, hard bellies. One wore white socks.