Morning Read Free Page B

their walled gardens and winding stone paths next to snug cottages with blue doors and window boxes still spilling over with flowers. The lamplights and shop lights glowed golden across the cobblestones as she turned down Main Street, where, this time of year, she saw more people walking their dogs than driving cars. She slipped into the Hub to see what new magazines were in, then wandered on down to the Atlantic Café.
    The group was already there, laughing, at several tables they had pushed together; Sara eyed them with nervous uncertainty.
    “Hi, Sara!” Carole Clark called. “Sit here!” She beckoned, indicating a chair between her and Steve.
    As Sara squeezed into place, Steve pulled her to him. “Hi, babe,” he said, nuzzling her ear. His skin was silk over steel; he was as strong as a lumberjack but he looked like a lawyer with his thick blond hair and perfectly regular features.
    “Ahh, don’t give me that crap, he’s a scumbag!” Mick roared from across the table, and Steve released Sara and turned back to a discussion of a local real estate agent.
    Sara ordered a glass of white wine, then settled back to watch and listen, trying to keep a smile on her face. At least, she thought, relaxing, at least, thank God, The Virgin wasn’t here tonight.
    The Virgin was Sara’s secret nickname for Mary Bennett, a woman Sara’s age who had been Steve’s serious girlfriend for years. They had broken up just a few months before Steve and Sara met. Now Steve was married to Sara and Mary was married to Bill Bennett, but Mary never let a meeting pass by without referring in as many ways as possible to the old days when she and Steve were lovers.
    “Remember—he was that guy who sang folk songs at the beach party at Cisco?” she would say to Steve. “That party where we slipped off and—” Mary would stop talking and just grin.
    “Oh, yeah, I remember that guy,” Steve would say, not returning Mary’s conspirator’s smile.
    Or, “Steve, where did you get those turquoise-and-silver earrings you gave me for Christmas a while ago?” she would ask, right in front of Sara and Mary’s husband, Bill.
    Steve, embarrassed, uncomfortable, and aware of Sara’s feelings about Mary, would mutter, “Oh, I don’t remember, Mary. That was so long ago.”
    “Not so long ago,” she would say with a smug smile.
    The first few months Sara had lived on the island, Mary had been openly, if sneakily, hostile to her. If they passed each other on the street, Mary would look the other way, or, if Sara spoke first, Mary would only look at her, unspeaking, sometimes with contemptuous surprise on her face as if she were thinking “Who is this dreadful person and why is she talking to me?”—sometimes with simple blank dislike. She had pretended for a long time not to remember Sara’s name: “Hi, Shari,” or “Hi, Susie,” she would say when she found it necessary to acknowledge Sara’s presence.
    In defense, Sara came up with a nickname of her own for Mary: The Virgin, because even when taunting Sara, wide-eyed Mary looked and acted as pure and perfect and maternal and loving as a saint. Mary had the sweetest face on earth, heart shaped,with a pointed chin and huge soft brown cow eyes. She had lots of long curling brown hair that framed her face and feathered around her head and shoulders like a halo. She spoke in a high, breathy, little-girl’s voice with never a hint of harshness or sarcasm, so that her question, “It is Susie, isn’t it?” seemed as innocent as an angel’s.
    Everyone else seemed to adore Mary. Four years ago, when Steve and Sara were living together in Boston, Mary had married Bill Bennett, a tall handsome angry man who wanted to be a novelist. Mary devoted her life to helping him; she supported them entirely by running a day-care center in her home. It was no wonder everyone adored her; she took care of everyone’s children with love and tenderness and sympathy and everlasting patience.