Chapter Twelve

The next morning, Eleanor lay in bed taking stock of body parts that hadn’t fared well in the bike crash. The pain oozing along with pus from her many scrapes had kept her from deep sleep throughout the night. Which was actually fine—she’d taken advantage of her recurring wakefulness to revisit the scene from the bathroom, where Tessa had knelt before her and, with probing, gentle hands, tended to her injuries.

From her elevated position, Eleanor had noticed the sheen of Tessa’s hair, the muscles in her upper arms, the tiny freckles dotting her nose. She’d never noticed the freckles in any of Tessa’s many films or photos. Did she cover them up with make-up? Focusing on minute details had helped distract her from the feel of Tessa’s hands on her body. All in all, Eleanor thought, she had managed fairly well at pretending to be unaffected. At least, until The Hug.

Closing her eyes, she remembered the way she’d pulled Tessa against her. Tessa couldn’t have missed the intimacy of the gesture, the crossing of the employee-employer boundary. Then again, she was lucky she hadn’t gotten kissed. Eleanor hadn’t been that close to another woman in months. Not to mention she’d already wanted to throw herself at Tessa (preferably naked) before the extended feeling-up episode in the bathroom. Too late to take back the embrace now. Better just to pretend it had never happened. Judging from Tessa’s behavior at dinner the night before, that was the tack she was taking.

Eventually Eleanor heaved herself out of bed, showered briefly, wincing as she soaped the areas affected by road rash, and pulled on long khaki shorts and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She would have to be especially careful of sun exposure in the coming days—a sunburn on top of road burn was not a sensation she was eager to experience.

Downstairs, mother and daughter were seated quietly at the dining room table, Laya hard at work coloring a picture, Tessa reading the New York Times (delivered every day here and in L.A.). They glanced up in unison when Eleanor appeared, matching smiles on their faces, and she almost missed the single step down into the kitchen. The Flanagans were a beautiful lot.

“Hi, Elle,” Laya said. “Bawk, bawk, bawk,” she added, giggling almost too hard to eke out her poultry imitation. The joke apparently hadn’t gotten old yet—Laya had clucked and flapped around the house for much of the previous evening once she heard the reason for Eleanor’s bike accident.

Tessa cast her an apologetic look. “How did you sleep?” she asked.

“A little rough,” Eleanor admitted, and looked away from the appealing sight of Tessa in her pajamas, hair mussed from sleep.

Like the house in L.A., the kitchen here opened onto the dining room, which meant she could see Tessa and Laya as she made a quick breakfast of cereal and toast. Tessa had phoned in a massive food order their first night on the island. A uniformed boy from the nearest gourmet grocery store had carried in a half dozen laden bags, sneaking glances around the villa as if trying to memorize details. Eleanor had been playing a game of Uno with Laya at the dining room table and, sensing the boy’s eyes on her, had wondered idly if straight people knew of the rumors about Tessa’s flexible sexuality. Somehow it always seemed as if queer people knew who was and who wasn’t in Hollywood, while straight people had little clue. Perhaps this was a symptom of heterosexism: don’t ask on the part of the straight folks, don’t tell on the part of the gays.

Now she carried her breakfast to the table and took a seat next to Laya, who smiled distractedly at her and returned to her work of art—a drawing of a dark-haired woman on a bike, an impressive red rooster in midair beside her, legs and wings extended.

Tessa lowered her newspaper and they exchanged a knowing look—ah, the beauty of being six and having a one-track mind. And yet the picture was sweet too, because the fact that Eleanor was the subject of today’s art piece showed how important she was to Laya. They managed to communicate all of this without saying a word, and then, with an almost shy smile, Tessa went back to her paper.

Eleanor started in on her cereal. Leaving L.A., she was starting to think, was going to suck.

They took it easy the next few days, lounging around the grounds pursuing assorted pleasurable pursuits while Eleanor’s wounds healed: soccer in the driveway until the ball disappeared into a tangle of jungle vine; badminton on the garden lawn; junior rangering on every corner of the estate; reading and more movie-viewing in the studio. Tessa ignored the work demanding her attention and relaxed fully, enjoying the time they had together on the island, just the three of them.

But the week steadily dwindled until soon there were only two days left of their vacation. That morning, the sun had barely crossed the horizon when Laya shot into Tessa’s room. “Get up get up get up!” she crowed, pouncing on her mother’s inert form.

Blearily, Tessa sat up, holding her squirming daughter away with one arm. “Where’s the fire?” she asked, and yawned.

“Duh, Mom, there isn’t really a fire or you would smell smoke. Now come on. It’s time to get up!”

Laya wouldn’t tell her what the rush was, just ushered her out of bed and downstairs for breakfast. Eleanor was already there, prying her eyes open with the help of her usual dose of caffeine. She seemed to favor flavored creamer, and Tessa wondered absently if Eleanor’s lips would taste like vanilla or hazelnut this morning.

As Eleanor and Laya exchanged a significant look, Tessa glanced from one to the other. “What are you two up to?”

“Well,” Laya said, one hand on her hip, “it wasn’t fair that I got to have Eleanor-only and Mom-only days, but you didn’t. So today I’m going to Camp Hyatt and you’re having a Mom-Eleanor day.” She stopped and smiled up at Tessa. “Cool, huh?”

Tessa put on what she hoped looked like a genuine smile of pleasure. “Very cool,” she said. “You’re awfully sweet to think of such a thing.” She kissed the top of her daughter’s head and glanced up to find Eleanor watching her.

Laya prattled on through breakfast about Camp Hyatt and the plan she had concocted—with Eleanor’s help, of course. Apparently they had booked a full adults-only safari with the outfitter: hiking, ziplining, kayaking, swimming and canoeing. A pair of guides would accompany them every step of the way.

“It’s the same people we went kayaking with,” Laya said. “It was Eleanor’s idea to go there.”

Tessa glanced at Eleanor across the table. “Thanks for that.” She already had an NDA on file with Kipu Falls Outfitters that stipulated they couldn’t take any photos or other media recordings without her consent.

“No problem,” Eleanor said. “I know how difficult it is to find people you trust.”

Their eyes held, and Tessa felt her pulse speed up at the look in Eleanor’s eyes. She glanced away quickly, reaching for Laya’s crumb-filled plate. As she carried it to the sink, she said lightly, “We’d better get going. Don’t want to be late for Camp Hyatt, do we?”

“No way,” Laya said, and sprinted upstairs to change.

As Tessa rinsed her daughter’s plate and stowed it in the dishwasher, Eleanor approached, breakfast dishes in hand.

“You okay with all of this? I probably should have checked with you, but Laya really wanted to surprise you.”

She should have checked. “It’s fine.”

“You don’t mean that,” Eleanor said. “I’m really sorry. I asked Robert and he said Laya spends a couple of days at the Hyatt every summer. I thought it would be okay.”

Tessa was being a control freak and she knew it. Sometimes, though, it was hard to let go, especially when you never knew what—or who—might be lurking nearby. “It is okay,” she said. “One of the things I like about Kauai is how safe it is here. And anyway, the Hyatt is used to celebrity kids.”

“That’s what the woman on the phone said, but I’m glad you think so too. I know Laya is everything to you.”

They were standing close together at the sink, watching each other in the early morning sun beaming through the picture windows and across the dining room. Was Laya everything to her? Of course. But might there not be room for something else? For someone else?

Eleanor looked away first, the tips of her ears red. Tessa saw the color and hid a smile. Would she always have such an effect on Eleanor? Then, with a pang, she remembered that “always” in this case had a time limit.

“Anyway,” she said, “we should get ready.”

“Don’t forget your suit,” Eleanor said, rinsing out her cereal bowl.

“Don’t you forget sunscreen.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Upstairs, Tessa moved about her room, distractedly packing a bag for Kipu Falls Ranch. The day together, just her and Eleanor (and a pair of guides), stretched ahead wide open, and she had to admit she was glad for her daughter’s scheming. Did Laya sense something between them? Were soon-to-be first graders capable of such discernment? And what would she think if something did happen between her mother and her nanny?

That bridge, Tessa reminded herself, should never be crossed. But she was starting to think that crossing the Eleanor-Tessa bridge might be inevitable.

As they drove toward the southern side of the island in Tessa’s Volvo Cross Country wagon, Laya singing a made-up song to herself in the backseat, Eleanor tried to figure out what the actress was thinking. Eyes hidden behind her usual oversized sunglasses, lips pursed, brow slightly furrowed, Tessa might be considering firing her for helping Laya with her little plan, or she might be pondering who to hire to oversee her foundation. That was the problem with Tessa—she was impossible to read, and she looked out on everyone and everything with such wary eyes. What was she hiding? It could have been anything or nothing at all.

Eleanor glanced into the back of the car where Laya was buckled into the center seat, short legs dangling into space. She was dressed in board shorts and a matching Lycra surf tee, and with her brown skin and dark eyes, looked for all the world as if she belonged here on this tropical island. At least she hadn’t inherited her mother’s need for secrecy. Or maybe it just hadn’t had a chance to develop yet.

“You ready to have some fun?” Eleanor asked, flashing on Sasha and Luis as she held up her hand for a high five.

“Heck yeah,” Laya said, slapping her palm as she uttered one of the many adult-isms that Eleanor knew simultaneously amused and dismayed Tessa. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tessa flinch a little.

“What’s your favorite thing to do at the Hyatt?”

“Last year we got to talk to this parrot and he could talk back and I got to hold him on my arm and I asked Mom if we could get one but she said no. Did you know parrots don’t really talk? They whistle the words.”

“I didn’t know that.” Laya’s ability to retain information about any and all animal species continued to amaze her. She wondered if the girl would maintain her creature interests throughout childhood or succumb to peer pressure and abandon her somewhat nerdy naturalist tendencies, then realized she would probably never know. Once the summer ended, she would only learn how Laya fared from the occasional celebrity news item.

“What else did you do last year?” she asked.

Unsurprisingly, Laya had numerous Camp Hyatt stories in her arsenal—hula and archery lessons, lei making and other crafts activities, not to mention the ever popular waterslide at the pool. She kept up a steady chatter until they reached Poipu.

Eleanor waited in the parking lot while Tessa met with the Camp Hyatt director and got Laya settled. Then Tessa returned, slid behind the wheel again and guided the Volvo away from the hotel. Eleanor sat silently in the passenger seat, noticing how much quieter the car’s interior seemed without Laya’s energy to fill it. As they headed back toward the main road, Tessa turned the stereo on. An old Indigo Girls CD started playing, one Eleanor had listened to compulsively her freshman year of college.

“Is this okay?” Tessa asked, eyes on the road.

“Fine,” Eleanor said, singing along softly as Amy and Emily described looking back on their lives every five years or so and having a good laugh.

Whenever she heard this song, one of her favorites, she tried to look back on her own recent past with humor. Right now, though, all she could think of was realizing that her mother would die and then waiting for it to happen, neither of which was remotely amusing. During the most recent half decade, she used to catch herself laughing or enjoying a particular moment and feel indescribably guilty. Hard enough for a native New Englander to let herself enjoy life, but for one whose mother was terminally ill, taking pleasure was unacceptable.

This, she knew, must have made her not-so-great as a girlfriend. Poor Laurie—which seemed strange as Laurie had left her for another woman only a week after her mother’s funeral. But looking back now, Eleanor could see she hadn’t given her ex much choice.

The November night she ran into Laurie with her new girlfriend, Eleanor had left the club and made her way alone into the blustery Boston night. Laurie caught up with her at a nearby T station, touching her arm hesitantly as Eleanor stood waiting for the train to take her back to their half-empty apartment, the rent for which she couldn’t afford on her own. At Laurie’s touch, she’d turned to face the woman she’d spent the last three years with, and tried to figure out how she should react. But she didn’t feel anything. Her mother hadn’t been gone long and she was still numb. Or maybe she’d been numb for a while.

“I’m so sorry, Elle. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Laurie said as they stood together on the platform. “But you haven’t really seen me in months. Each night I would wait for you to look at me, really look at me, and you know, you almost never did. Justyn sees me. She wants to see me.”

“Good,” Eleanor replied, aiming to wound, “because I don’t care if I ever see you again.”

This wasn’t exactly true, but the knowledge that Laurie would go home that night with Justyn and sleep in a strange bed in an unfamiliar apartment while Eleanor went back to the home they’d built together, the home that Laurie had recently dismantled, was enough to induce her to break one of the cardinal rules of dating women: staying friends after a break-up.

Laurie’s eyes filled with tears and Eleanor turned away, looking down the tracks for the next train. She didn’t see Laurie walk away. The air just felt different, emptier. When she glanced over her shoulder, Laurie was gone. They hadn’t spoken since.

In the past few months, Eleanor’s numbness had thawed, and now when she remembered the tears in Laurie’s eyes it actually hurt. Laurie was right. She’d been nearly consumed by her mother’s cancer, a collateral victim of the voracious cells. Laurie had been right to leave her, just as Eleanor had been right to leave her old life. The six months she’d spent away from the East Coast had been good for her. By immersing herself in an entirely new environment, surrounding herself with different people and plants and trees, changing her diet and the way she exercised and now, briefly, the continent she resided on, Eleanor had found the change she’d craved. She wasn’t numb anymore, not by a long shot.

She smiled as Tessa turned the car onto a road marked by a subtle sign, “Kipu Falls Ranch,” and navigated down the unpaved driveway.

“What?” Tessa asked, glancing over at her.

“Nothing. I’m just happy to be here.”

Tessa didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then she nodded. “Me too. You and Laya did good.”

Eleanor looked out the window and watched the tropical jungle drift past as they wound along the road. It was good to be alive, she decided, gazing up at the patch of sky visible through the thick vegetation. Hope you’re with us today, Mom, she thought. Back in Boston, she would have been terrified to even think about trying something like ziplining, where you could most certainly die if something went wrong. But right now she wasn’t in the mood to give in to “what-if” fears. And anyway, she didn’t feel like she was going to die anytime soon. At least, she hoped not.

At the end of the long drive, a rustic building with a covered veranda and a much larger sign came into view. Tessa parked the Volvo in the crowded parking lot—looked like Kipu Falls Ranch was popular. Two guides were waiting for them on the veranda, both men. The older one, John, greeted Tessa familiarly and shook hands with Eleanor. He was polite and jovial, his skin dark from the summer sun, a canvas fisherman’s hat protecting his balding head from the UV rays. The younger man, Christian, looked like he had stepped out of a surfer movie complete with a blond ponytail and an open shirt that revealed a six-pack Eleanor would have killed for. Somewhat predictably, he eagerly shook both their hands but his gaze kept returning to Tessa. When he called her “Miss Flanagan,” Eleanor expected Tessa to tell him to call her by her first name. But she only nodded coolly and turned back to John.

“I understand my daughter wanted me to experience the full safari adventure she isn’t old enough yet to try herself.”

John laughed. “She’s a spitfire, that little girl. Wanted to make sure you got the whole kit and caboodle today—kayaking, ATVing, ziplining, hiking, canoeing. She especially wanted to know if there would be a rope swing over a swimming hole. I told her there would be two.”

“Guess I can’t disappoint her, can I.”

“Wouldn’t if I were you,” he said. “You know, in another couple of years she’ll be old enough to try the safari herself.”

“Look out then,” Eleanor said. She could already see Laya flinging herself through the air on a zipline, hooting and hollering high above the treetops.

“Your daughter sounds like a handful,” Christian put in.

Tessa eyed him. “She’s got a mind of her own.”

Like mother like daughter, Eleanor thought, relieved that Tessa didn’t appear overly impressed by the young guide’s muscle-bound body. Despite the Finding Nemo incident, she still didn’t know for sure which way Tessa swung the bat. For all she knew, the actress might be a switch-hitter.

Inside the main building, they dodged other tour participants, Tessa’s floppy hat and sunglasses guarding her identity while they picked out gear and signed waivers. After a brief safety and instruction course in the clearing behind the “kayak shack,” they were ready to put their two-person crafts in the water and head downriver. John suggested they each ride with a guide, but Tessa said she’d rather share a boat with Eleanor.

“Since I just kayaked this stretch of river a few days ago,” she added, “I’ll take the back. That way, Eleanor, you can see what’s coming.”

“Sounds good to me. Does this mean I get to sit back while you do all the work?” she asked teasingly.

“Hardly,” Tessa said. “I expect my partners to work just as hard as I do.”

Eleanor held her breath as Tessa brushed past her, wondering if she’d imagined the flirty tone. Christian moved into her line of vision, weighed down with paddles and PIDs. He met her gaze and smiled innocently, white teeth blinding in the sun. She didn’t trust men who bleached their teeth. At least, not straight men.

They pushed away from shore and floated down the peaceful Hule’ia River, sun shimmering on the surface, calls of birds and insects on the air. It took some practice, but after snorting with laughter as they turned their kayak in a full circle, she and Tessa got the hang of paddling together and soon were gliding smoothly with the current. John described the area’s ecology as he and Christian drifted along beside them. Eleanor remembered Laya’s enthusiastic description of the Hawaiian stilt they’d seen in a pool on this same river. For a moment, she missed Laya’s ebullient presence. She glanced over her shoulder to catch Tessa watching her, feeling her chest tighten as Tessa smiled at her, a slow, lazy smile that hinted at something more to come. Then again, it was nice to have an adults-only day every once in a while too.

Sunshine warmed her skin as she listened to John wax eloquent about the jungle-lined river that stretched out before them, the endangered birds who made the wildlife refuge their home, the dark green mountain towering in the distance, and for a moment, she could almost convince herself that this vacation from reality wouldn’t ever have to end.

Date: 2015-02-28; view: 620