It was entirely the wrong tactic. “I think, Suzy, there are a lot of things about this situation that you don’t fathom at all.”
“Oh, don’t give me that shit when—”
“That’s it, right now. I don’t want to hear any more. This conversation is over.”
Bud stood for a moment, staring down his daughter, then turned to Roddy, a few feet off, as though it were Roddy he’d just been chatting with all the while, and said, “I’ll be up at the house with my wife if anyone needs me,” and then he turned and walked away.
Roddy and Suzy just stood there in Bud’s wake, waiting for him to clear the threshold, for the slam of the kitchen door marking his exit. They stood a moment longer as the room settled, and looked around as though remembering the shape of the place, the smell of sea air and furniture polish.
Suzy let out a breath. “I need a drink.”
Roddy laughed before he could catch himself, before he thought to wonder if it was OK to laugh. Suzy stared, disbelieving, her mouth open slightly. “Should I make you one too, or are you just going to stand there mocking me?”
“Oh,” said Roddy. “I got it.” He went toward the bar as if to beat her to it. “What do you want? What can I make you?”
She flung up her hands.
“OK,” he said slowly. “Anything you’re particularly in the mood for?”
“Jesus!” She laughed. “Just hand me a bottle.”
And he was able to laugh too. He grabbed a bottle. Lorna was dead. Bud was an asshole. And Roddy Jacobs and Suzy Chizek were about to share a bottle of Maker’s Mark in the dining room of the Lodge at Osprey Island.
“Did you want some peanuts or anything?” he asked.
She gaped. “You are really one of the oddest people I think I have ever met.” His expression sank. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.” A pause. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s OK. Not like I haven’t heard that before.” He came toward the table she’d chosen, the bottle of Maker’s under his arm and a glass in either hand. He went to pour, and his grip was visibly shaky. Suzy laughed again. “You need a drink more than I do.”
“You’re right.”
She took the bottle, poured both glasses, passed one to him, and they drank. The large room was strangely stilclass="underline" a fleet of empty tables, a few sconces glowing dimly along the far wall. Outside, through the panoramic sliding glass doors, the lights across the bay in Menhadenport were beginning to go on as the sky pitched from blue to black. Suzy took a sip from her glass, then set the drink down decisively. “You kissed me this morning.”
Roddy sucked his lips. He was nodding continuously, almost rocking. “I guess I did.”
She waited for more. They drank.
“Is that . . .”—she pawed for words—“is it something I should be on the lookout for . . . something I should be warned you might do again?”
He rocked. He didn’t answer.
She sent a quick push of air through her nostrils. A minute passed. “What exactly are we doing here?” she said.
“Having a drink.”
“Why?”
He waited. “Because you said you wanted one . . . ?”
“Why’d you stay away so long?” she asked him suddenly.
He bristled. “I don’t really want to talk about that, OK?”
She felt a little cowed and covered it with brassiness. “Why’d you come back, then?”
He looked at her. “It’s home . . .”
“Not my home,” Suzy said.
“You can say that.”
“You don’t know me,” she said, her tone meaner than she’d intended.
“You’re right.” He stood up. “I don’t.” He pushed in his chair. “Sorry to bother you.” He turned away.
“Wait,” Suzy said. “Wait!” Her voice got louder. “Please . . .”
Roddy stopped and faced her again. “What?” It came out sounding like, What more do you want from me?
“Come back.” Her voice was gentle, but awkward. “Stay. It’s not the kind of night to be alone.”
Roddy snorted a laugh. “You mean, you don’t want to be alone.”
“I don’t,” she agreed.
He nodded once. “Yeah. I’m not some guy to fill in the time for you. Sorry.” He turned again and went out the sliding door.
Suzy stared for a minute. Then she got up and went after him.
Suzy found Roddy sitting in his truck in the north parking lot. The keys were in the ignition, but he hadn’t turned the engine over, was just sitting there, hand at the starter, one leg bouncing like crazy, his body hunched forward as if he were driving in a snowstorm, struggling to see the road ahead. The windows were open. Suzy knocked on the passenger door, then opened it and climbed in. “What the hell is going on?”
His leg stopped for a few seconds as he paused to look at her, then resumed as he spoke. “OK, let’s not even do this.” He tried to hurry the words out of himself and will them far away. “No one kissed anyone, OK? I can’t be thinking about that, all right? Lorna’s dead. We’ve got to build the new laundry. Guests might as well start arriving in ten minutes for how ready we’ll be. I don’t know what the fuck’s going to happen to Squee. To fucking Lance. The poor pathetic bastard. What the fuck is going to happen to Lance?” Roddy’s voice was breaking.
Suzy stared down at her hands in her lap. She said, “I don’t know.” Then she lifted her head, unclasped her hands, and turned on the seat to face Roddy, who was still staring straight ahead, navigating that imaginary dark and winding road.
She slid over, took his head in both her hands, turned his face to hers and kissed his mouth. She pulled back, looked in his eyes, then did it again.
He pulled away. “We’re in the parking lot . . .”
Suzy’s hands slumped to her lap. “I’m sorry.” She reached for the door. “Good night.”
Roddy sat alone in the truck for a long minute before he turned the keys in the ignition and drove home.
On the porch of the Lodge, the staff members were drinking as usual. Suzy nodded as she passed, a sad, acknowledging smile. Jeremy raised a hand. He was sitting on the deck, close with Peg, their backs propped against a pillar. Suzy lifted her hand to return the greeting, but it was Peg who spoke. “It’s true, is it, that you’re taking over for Lorna, then, Miss Chizek? As the head of housekeeping?”
“Suzy, please. Please: Suzy,” she said. Then, “Looks like it. At least until we find someone else.” She shifted her weight. “I feel bad for you guys,” she said. “I’m no housekeeper . . .”
Peg laughed a little. They were all self-conscious: Was it ruthlessly inappropriate to smile when someone was dead? Peg glanced around, noticing Suzy was alone. “Mia?” Peg said. “How’s she been holding up, then?”
“She’s OK, I think. She seems OK. I’m not sure how she’s supposed to be dealing, really. She’s sleeping upstairs.” Suzy gestured in the direction of the Lodge above them.
Peg was extraordinarily poised and efficient. Even lounging on her boyfriend, she held herself in good posture, straightening even taller as she spoke. “Please,” she said to Suzy, “if you’re ever in need of someone to mind her, I’d be pleased to. She’s a lovely girl.”
“That’s very sweet of you.” Suzy was used to such offers at the Lodge. She pushed it aside in her mind. Babysitters weren’t particularly necessary when you had your mother living up the hill. Except perhaps if that mother was temporarily, incapacitatingly drugged up and knocked out. Or when you didn’t much feel like explaining to your mother, as was often required, where it was you thought you were going at such an hour and when exactly you expected to be home. “Actually,” Suzy said, taking a step closer to Peg and Jeremy. “Actually, were you planning on hanging out here awhile tonight?”