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“Always with the pin-ups…and the bath tub faucet.”
“Shut up, cow! That’s secret!” Her hand slaps my shoulder, and I curl myself up more tightly. “I’ve the least options of anyone, being born at the worst time.”
I can’t argue that. Everyone within five years of Dot is female—just a stroke of poor fortune.
Fog rolls over the windshield. Through the haze, the amber lights adorning each stoop still shine brightly in the misty semi-darkness. As autumn marches on, the days grow even rainier. I get a deep, quiet breath and move my hands off my face. Must behave like normal.
“I don’t know, Doro. He’s…like a man. He’s actually quite kind. He worked tirelessly to dig us out.” It’s not untrue. He was frantic to free us before the dawning of the werewolf hour, as I’ve come to think of it.
“After the first day, we assumed you likely were together, seeing neither of you surface.”
“What sort of talk was there?”
“Only a few talked.”
“The usuals, I suppose.”
“But most felt he’d protect you. Baseball players, they’re an honorable sort, after all. I think no one worried for your virtue.”
I nod, staring at the glove box in front of me.
“Tell me, though—was it simply glorious to be so near to him? I’d never tell a soul, but even so, who
wouldn’t understand if you admit it was?”
I shut my eyes so I can’t see the lovelorn look on her face. “It wasn’t glorious, Dot. We were trapped there.”
She sighs, and guilt moves through me. Guilt and a twisting sort of sensation, like my insides being tied into a knot.
“I’m glad you made it back in one piece,” Dot says finally. “If you’d seen us when the two of you were missing…” She smiles faintly. “I’m not sure what was worse: the desolation over losing you or the horror at losing a Carnegie.”
We both have a good cackle at that.
“Old Tom was going wild, raving about you ruining the island, were he to perish. Quite the fury he was in.”
“Miserable old clod.”
By the time Dot parks the Bronco at Gammy’s, we’re wiping laughter tears from our eyes. Dot hugs me, and I cling to her. I shut my eyes and tell myself nothing’s amiss. No matter what’s said to him, he’ll be discreet about what went on between us. It wasn’t purely lustful. It was comfort and…companionship. The sort of incident that occurs at times that are difficult and fear-filled.
I banish the topic from my mind because my belly feels as if it’s dropped into my thighs. I can’t breathe properly as Dot knocks on the door, bearing a covered pound cake in one hand and a basket of jams in the other. Her back is straight, her chin held high as misty wind tousles her updo. When he doesn’t answer, she knocks twice more.
Then I realize— “The Land Rover isn’t here.”
She whirls around. “Where is it?”
We turn toward the village as horror falls through me. I’ve this primal fear he sailed away while I was resting last night—or somehow passed.
Dot steps off the porch, and I squint through the misting rain.
“I see! I can see that green of his Land Rover at the café,” Dot says.
“The café?”
“Oh I’m sure Miss Alice has done breakfast. No surprise there really. Someone—likely many someones—came and dragged him out of bed.”
“Contrary to the doctor’s advice!”
She snickers. “Quite an awful lot, these scoundrel breakfast-makers.”
