“Whatcha want, deah?” asked the bartender, a woman who must’ve weighed three hundred pounds, body mass index of at least forty. Hypertension, judging from her weight and flushed face, and diabetes on the horizon if she didn’t have it already.
“Uh...a beer?” I was not about to order a pomegranate martini in this place, that was for sure.
“What kind? Bud, Bud Light, Miller, Miller Light, Genesee, Old Mil.”
“Old Mil,” I said, not that I’d ever had it. I didn’t even like beer.
Luke turned his head toward me, then did a double take. “It’s you.”
“Hey, Luke, how’s it going?”
He seemed pretty wasted; bleary eyes and slow to answer. “Just great.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I was wondering if I could talk to you.”
“You already are.”
The bartender put a beer in front of me. It was the color of urine from a severely dehydrated person—dark yellow and, well, disgusting.
“Luke, I know we have a little history between us about the Perez Scholarship, but I’d like it if we could be friends.”
“A little history? Why don’t you tell me how you got it? You did something, I know that. Some fat little trick up your fat sleeve.”
What a prince. “I worked really hard, Luke. I’m sorry you didn’t get the scholarship, but I’m not sorry I did.”
“Well, that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Anyway, maybe I can buy you a drink.” I paused. “Are you driving home?”
“No,” he said sullenly. “I lost my license.”
Good. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.” I gestured to the bartender. “Another one for my old classmate, please?”
The bartender squinted at me. “Holy crap. I’m Luke’s classmate, too. Who are you?”
“Nora Stuart.”
Her mouth dropped. “Whoa! So you lost all your fat, and I found it and then some.” She laughed. “I’m Carmella Hurley. Long time no see.”
One of the Cheetos back in the day, along with Darby Dennings and Amy Beckman. Except she didn’t seem mean anymore.
“Is it true you’re a doctor?” she asked, pulling a beer for Luke.
“I am,” I said. “I’m working at the clinic this summer.”
“Cool! Good for you! You always were smart. Maybe I’ll stop by. Do you do gastric bypass?” She laughed again. “Just kidding. But seriously, maybe you can put me on a diet. I keep meaning to drop a few pounds, you know? Oops, Froggy there needs another drink. I’m coming, Froggy. Jesus. Don’t wet yourself.” She looked back at me. “Beer’s on the house. I was kind of a bitch to you back in school. In fact, I probably owe you a keg.”
And just like that, a wound closed up. People did change. The thing about mean teenage girls—they were never happy. There was pressure and darkness in being a Popular Girl—I knew, because I’d watched Lily peel away her soul in exchange for hanging with the in crowd.
But from here, it looked like Carmella found her way to happiness, even if it did entail gaining 150 extra pounds.
“So what do you want?” Luke said.
I turned to look at him.
He was still ridiculously handsome, even now, even drunk. The irony was, he had what seemed to be a kind, happy face, always verging on a smile. Even when his eyes were bloodshot and his eyebrows drawn, it was impossible not to want to like him, to see a better version of himself hiding in there somewhere.
Poor Luke. He’d had so much potential.
“I don’t know if you remember,” I said, “but my father left Scupper Island a long time ago. When you and I were in fifth grade.”
He frowned. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. Jake Ferriman said you and your mom were on the boat to Portland that day. The day he left.”
“I don’t remember.”
I nodded. “It was a long shot.”
“My mom might, though. Ma! Come here!”
I blinked. I hadn’t seen Teeny Fletcher when I came in, and the truth was, she scared me more than Luke.
When she saw who was sitting with her baby boy, her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?” she asked. “Why are you botherin’ my boy? Rubbin’ your fancy job in his face?”
Lee Harvey Oswald also had had a shitty, overprotective mother, they said.
“Hi, Teeny,” I said. “No, I just had a question about my father.”
Her overplucked eyebrows rose. “What would Luke know about that?”
“I understand you were both on the ferry the day he left. Jake Ferriman said you were going to Portland. My dad talked to you both. He was upset.”
Her lips narrowed in a hateful smile. “Oh, yeah. Ayuh. We were there.”
“We were? I don’t remember,” Luke said, finishing his drink.
“I’m hoping to find out what happened to him,” I said to Teeny.
“And what’s in it for me?”
Sweet woman. “What would you like?” Damn. That was a mistake. I should’ve offered her twenty bucks.
“What would I like?” she screeched. “I’d like my son to go to Tufts University, that’s what I’d like. But you killed his chance, didn’t you? And now you want something from me? I doubt it, flatlander.”
Ooh. The ultimate insult, calling a Mainer a flatlander.
The bar had gone more or less quiet.
“Mrs. Fletcher, I’m sorry you’re still under the delusion that I stole anything from Luke. As you well know, the Perez Scholarship goes to the student with the highest GPA. I was that student. I understand, however, that Luke got a nice scholarship to the University of Maine, which is another fantastic school. Xiaowen Liu got her doctorate there, and look at her now. So whatever happened to Luke since high school isn’t any of my doing, and all of his.”
“Fuck you,” Luke said, draining his drink.
“You’re a snotty little thing, aren’t you?” She rubbed her son’s back in a way that was quite icky, given that he was thirty-five. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Thanks for your time,” I said. “Carmella, nice seeing you again.” That, at least, I meant.
And I went to my car, more angry than shaken.
Teeny Fletcher had said not a damn thing about her other son. The one who was completely innocent. She could’ve said My son had a TBI because of you, and he’s losing more of his hearing every day. While not completely accurate, that sentiment would at least be understandable, a mother grieving her child’s injury and difficulties.
Instead, she was still fixated on a stupid scholarship.
Nope. She hadn’t mentioned Sullivan at all.
17
On the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend, Roseline came to Scupper, just about fainted with glee at seeing the houseboat and said she was never leaving. We killed a bottle of rosé, ate coconut cake and watched movies till 2:00 a.m.
In the morning, we got dressed, guzzled some coffee and took Boomer downtown to see the boat parade. It was one of Scupper Island’s biggest deals. More than a parade, it was our way of welcoming back the summer people, letting them show off their pretty wooden sailboats and Chris-Crafts, their small yachts.
Main Street was decked out in red, white and blue, and Lala’s had a sign out front that said Show You Love America: Eat a Donut. Roseline and I had proven our love of country and now made our way through the crowds of people to sit on the rough wooden town dock.