The weather had etched lines around his eyes, and he was already tan. Working at the boatyard meant a lot of time outside. There was nothing particularly special about his face—brown eyes, straight nose, normal everything else, but when you put them together, the porno music started playing distantly in my brain.
He was a man who said a lot with his eyes. They looked slightly amused with my ogling.
The porno music got louder.
“Right,” I said. “Here, want to take this to the table?” I handed him the bowl of steaming mashed potatoes.
“Adopting a puppy!” my mother shouted. Xiaowen gave her a high five.
“Dinnertime,” I said.
“Program’s over, anyway,” Mom said, clicking off the TV. “Speaking of dogs, where’s Boomer?”
“He’s with Bobby. Have a seat, everyone.”
“Who’s Bobby?” Amelia asked, weaving to the table and nearly missing her chair.
“Her boyfriend,” Mom said.
“My former boyfriend,” I corrected.
“Don’t sit next to me, Bob. I don’t trust you,” Xiaowen said. “Sully, sit between us, okay? Good man.” She steered him to where she wanted him. Not next to me.
I wondered what it would be like, not to hear everything, to perhaps be wondering why someone was moving you, to try to piece together the words you did hear.
I hoped he’d heard me say former boyfriend. His face was hard to read.
Bob slid past me, his cologne like a green fog. “This smells wonderful!” he said.
Maybe it did. My sinuses were clogged with Polo by Ralph Lauren.
“Where’s Jake?” I asked. Could’ve sworn he’d just been here.
He answered by opening the bathroom door. “Got any Febreze?” he asked.
“I told you this was a bad idea,” my mother said.
“Is this lamb?” Mr. Carver said. “My wife made the best lamb.” More tears. Jesus.
“Did I mention I’m vegan?” Amelia said merrily. “I told you that, didn’t I, Nora?”
“No, you did not,” I said.
“Is your vodka vegan?” Xiaowen asked.
“It is,” she said smugly. “Don’t worry, Nora, I’ll just have this beautiful asparagus.” Before I could stop her, she took a bite. “Oh! Delicious! You’ll have to tell me how you cooked it!”
In pig fat, I thought. Ah, well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Jake sat down next to my mother. When the potatoes were passed to him, he took a bite from the serving spoon. “I’ll get another spoon,” I said, hopping up. I went to the kitchen, came back, replaced the tainted spoon, then sat down. “I’m so glad you could all come.”
“Uh-oh. I better hit the head again,” Jake said. “I musta eaten somethin’ for lunch that didn’t agree with me, if you know what I’m sayin’.” He bolted from the table, knocking over his chair, which Sully righted.
I hoped I had enough bleach.
“Sharon, you look very beautiful tonight,” Bob said, leaning forward and folding his copper-clad fingers together with a faint clinking sound.
“Knock it off, Bawb.”
He turned his attention to Xiaowen. “You know, I’ve developed an interest in the Korean War recently.”
“And why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because you’re Korean?”
“I’m Chinese.”
“Do you like Chinese food?” Bob asked. “I’m a big fan of General Tso’s chicken.”
Xiaowen sighed. At least she and my mother were getting along like a house on fire—I even heard my mother laugh, which was a rare occurrence. Jake returned from the bathroom, then went again five minutes later. Amelia drank her vodka. Mr. Carver got it together enough for me to ask him how he liked retirement, but he just kept talking about his wife. One wondered why he wanted the little blue miracle pill.
“What was her name?” Sullivan asked him.
“Beatrice,” he said, tearing up again. “She was a wonderful woman.” He began to sob.
“Nora,” my mother said, “why don’t you get on with it so we can all get home?” She fixed me with her turtle stare—implacable and steady.
“Uh...get on with what, Mom?”
“You asked us here to see if we knew what happened to your father.”
Oh, right! My lie, back to bite me in the ass. Well, half lie. I did want to know about my father, of course. “Yes. Well, as many of you know, my father left the island when I was eleven. That was twenty-four years ago. I hoped one of you might remember where he went.”
“Kind of late to be asking now, isn’t it?” Jake said, coming out of the bathroom. “You need more toilet paper, by the way.” He grabbed a roll of paper towels from the kitchen counter and went back to the head. I smothered a scream.
“I remember your father,” Bob Dobbins mused. “A good man.”
“Jake’s right,” I said. “It was a long time ago, but I was wondering if anyone had heard anything. I’ve Googled him a thousand times, but he has a common name, and...well. I never found anything.”
Sullivan was looking at me intently. He didn’t say anything, though.
“No one’s got anything, then?” Mom said, clarifying for me.
“So many people gone,” Mr. Carver mused. “Your father. My Beatrice. My dog, Licorice, isn’t getting any younger, either.”
“Well, if my father’s...uh, passed away, I’d like to know that, too,” I said.
No one said anything for a second.
“So there you go,” Mom said. “Welp, thanks for dinner, Nora.” She pushed back her seat. “Can I help you clear? We don’t want to overstay our welcome.”
“I, um...” I’d managed to get one bite of lamb so far, but looking around the table, I saw that, yes, everyone’s plate was clean.
“There’s no hurry,” I started to say, then stopped myself. Jake was violating my bathroom, Bob was not a candidate for stepfather, and Mr. Carver was currently weeping into his napkin.
“I drove Amelia and Jake here,” said Bob. “Can’t have any DUIs under my watch,” he added. “Since I’m the first selectman and all. Can’t have that! Sharon, would you also—”
“No,” she said.
Fine. Everyone could leave. Maybe Xiaowen and Sullivan would stay.
Where was Amelia, by the way? I was terrified of going into the bathroom after Jake had been there. I knocked on the door. “Gimme a minute!” Jake called from inside. There were sounds that every gastroenterologist recognized. I flinched, then suppressed the urge to cry. Maybe I would just burn the houseboat.
Amelia must’ve gone onto the deck. Alternatively, she’d fallen in the water and drowned, which wouldn’t be great.
Nope. As I passed my bedroom door, I spotted her. On my bed. Fast asleep. Drooling on my pillow, in fact.
“Hey, Amelia. Amelia? Time to go.” I shook her shoulder gently. She didn’t stir. I shook harder.
“I’m very tired,” she said. “I worked so much this week.” She sat up, lipstick still perfect. “I don’t feel so well.” She put her hand on her stomach.
“Let’s get you home,” I said. “Bob’s ready to go.”