When the Stars Sang Read online

  She headed up the path. Molly caught up to her.

  “You’re the one who wanted to live here,” Molly reminded her.

  “I didn’t think…” Kathleen slowed her pace. “Did my grandmother buy into all this spiritual stuff?”

  Molly shifted the torch to her other hand. “I think so. Especially after…”

  Kathleen bit her lip and then resumed her march up the path. Molly followed her.

  “She needed something to help her deal with it, I think.” Molly couldn’t see much of Kathleen’s features, obscured by her curtain of hair as she kept her head lowered. “Didn’t you?”

  She waited for a response.

  “I didn’t,” Kathleen said so quietly Molly wasn’t certain she’d heard correctly.

  “Didn’t what?”

  Kathleen slowed. “I didn’t deal with it.”

  “Ever?”

  Kathleen came to a halt, one hand shoved into the pocket of her jacket while the other balanced the plate. The dog whined and hurried back to sit beside her. She raised her head and, in the torchlight, tears shimmered in her eyes behind her glasses.

  Molly nearly reached out to brush her fingers over Kathleen’s cheek. She stuffed her own fist in her pocket.

  “This next summer will be twenty-five years,” Kathleen said softly. “In all the years since Bryan died, I’ve not felt the urge to come back here. Even wanting to see Nanna wasn’t strong enough to overcome what kept me away. But lately… there’s been this pull back to the island. I had to come.” She sighed, her breath forming a cloud in the cold air.

  She walked on. Molly followed her to the cottage. She kept her mouth shut as Kathleen fished a key from her pocket, deciding this wasn’t the night to tease her for locking her door.

  “You really didn’t have to walk me back,” Kathleen said, holding a hand out for the torch.

  “Well, I have to protect the island.” Molly walked past her into the house where she was surprised to find wood stacked and waiting in the fireplace.

  “Protect the island.”

  Molly heard the bite in the words. The dog trotted over and curled up in a dog bed, watching them with bright eyes as she knelt to stick the torch under the fireplace grate, letting the flames ignite the newspaper and kindling laid under the logs. They caught right away. Molly laid the torch on top of the logs and watched as the flames licked around it.

  Kathleen sat cross-legged beside her as the logs crackled and popped.

  “Yeah,” Molly said. She shifted to sit on the floor and pointed at the fire. “The whole tradition thing. What if you bring some kind of curse down on us? Plus, you came here all mysterious, leaving your old life behind. I mean, for all I know, you might be a serial killer.”

  Kathleen held a hand out to the warmth of the fire. “Hmmm. A serial killer.”

  “Or,” Molly continued, “maybe you faked your death to escape from an abusive husband or something. And now he’s on his way here to find you.”

  Kathleen laughed. “Yes, people confuse me with Julia Roberts all the time.”

  Molly grinned. “I mean, if I ran a background check on you, would I find that you didn’t exist until three months ago? And you’ve been working your way across the country as a truck stop waitress to escape him?”

  Kathleen shifted to hug her knees to her chest. The mantel clock ticked as she stared into the fire. “No,” she said at last. “What you would find is that I worked for a publisher with offices in Philly and New York before leaving them six months ago to start freelancing. And you’d find I have lived in Philadelphia for the past twelve years with a woman named Susannah Moore, whom I left to come here.”

  The only sound was the crackling of the fire as Molly absorbed this confession.

  “I can’t believe you said that,” she said at last.

  “What?” Kathleen’s expression when she turned was guarded, wary.

  “Whom. You said whom. Who says whom?”

  Kathleen stared at her for a moment and then snorted. The snort turned into a giggle and the giggle into a full-blown belly laugh. Molly watched her, her face lit by the firelight as she rocked with her laughter.

  The laughter faded, and Kathleen met Molly’s eyes. Molly heard her heartbeat pounding in her ears and felt herself leaning toward Kathleen. She drew back and cleared her throat.

  “Well, you’ve got your Samhain fire lit. The island is safe. That’s my job done.” She pushed to her feet. “I should go.”

  Kathleen followed her to the door. “Thanks for seeing me safely here.”

  Molly simply nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She almost ran down the porch steps into the starlit night. Halfway down the drive, she turned and looked back. Kathleen was on the porch, watching her.

  Molly stood still for a moment. Go back to her, urged a part of her. She lifted a hand and jogged out to the road.

  KATHLEEN SAT AT THE kitchen table, cradling her head, while the steam from her coffee cup rose to fill her nostrils with a scent she usually loved. She had a damned hangover. From one sip of that moonshine—poitín, Molly had called it—and whatever had been in that pipe. She pushed the cup away.

  Blossom looked up from his food bowl. Leaving his kibble, he came to her and sat with his head resting on her thigh. She smiled and patted him, playing with his soft ears. He closed his eyes contentedly.

  But Kathleen felt no sense of contentment.

  “It was all those suggestions of stupid visions,” she mumbled, rubbing her fingers against her forehead.

  The whole night had been filled with dreams so that she felt she’d hardly slept. Dreams of Nanna and Bryan, but not the Bryan she’d seen in her nightmares after that summer. It had been months and months before she stopped having those nightmares—of his body, the way it had looked when the ocean finally gave him up. She still had them occasionally, but mostly, she’d stopped dreaming of him at all. Not just dreaming. You haven’t let yourself think of him for years.

  Last night had been different. Bryan and Nanna, sitting and laughing together on the cottage’s front porch. They stopped when she approached.

  “Hey, squirt,” Bryan had said, grinning.

  Nanna held out a hand, more gnarled and arthritic than Kathleen remembered. “We’ve missed you.”

  She sat down with them, it seemed for the whole night. Nothing happened, just talking and laughing and… they were happy, she realized.

  Kathleen rubbed her eyes now, pressing her fingers hard to them. And what was up with Molly Cooper?

  God, her face last night, first around the bonfire and then here at the cottage, the way Molly’s eyes burned into her, as if they could see straight through her. And then she had just blurted out her relationship with Susannah, and Molly had practically run from the house. What the hell did that mean?

  “It was just the pipe and the moonshine,” she said aloud.

  Blossom’s tail thumped on the kitchen floor. She patted his head.

  “Go finish your breakfast. I’m going to shower.”

  By the time she came back downstairs, her head felt a little clearer. She warmed up her coffee and forced herself to eat a piece of buttered toast.

  She went into the dining room and stared balefully at her computer. She had work to do, but she reached for her jacket.

  “Let’s go for a walk.”

  The cold air felt wonderful—the sharp bite of autumn, the sky a brilliant blue with just a few puffy clouds.

  Blossom raced down the drive and back, jumping playfully at her. She laughed and followed him out to the road. As it meandered, she came to an overlook where she could see Big Sister in the distance. Blossom sat to bite at his haunch. Miranda had said there was a vet on Big Sister. Maybe she should see about getting Blossom checked out. He lifted a back leg to scratch.

  “Let’s add neutering to the list of things to talk to the vet about,” she said, averting her eyes.

  She walked on and circled around to the cemetery, pausing there to clean Nann
a’s grave of leaves and sticks.

  “Were you really visiting me last night?”

  There was no answer but the sigh of the breeze through the trees.

  Kathleen shivered and decided she needed to be among the living. She brushed her knees off, whistling to Blossom who was sniffing around the grave markers.

  Together, they followed the island’s ring road.

  “Yoo-hoo!”

  Kathleen turned to see Miss Olivia hailing her from outside a rambling house that seemed to be a hodgepodge of additions. The wooden shingles covering different sections of the house were varying shades of gray and brown, as they clearly hadn’t all been exposed to the weather for the same amount of time. The roof also was a patchwork of black and gray shingles.

  Olivia was wearing faded dungarees with muddy Wellies and a red and black flannel jacket. Kathleen smothered a laugh at Louisa, wearing a similar pair of Wellies under her flowered cotton dress with a heavier wool coat against the morning’s chill. Her outfit was set off by the floppy straw hat on her head.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just gathering the last of the potatoes and carrots and turnips,” said Louisa, pointing to three overflowing bushel baskets. Nearby was the wooden box of ashes, sitting in the sun.

  “We’ve already canned our tomatoes and beans,” Olivia said.

  “And put up strawberry jam and rhubarb and a few peaches,” Louisa said.

  “Sure we got that done ages ago,” Olivia said with a dismissive wave.

  “I didn’t say we just did it,” Louisa argued.

  “Well it sounded as if that’s what you were saying,” Olivia countered.

  “Looks like you’ve been busy,” Kathleen said to interrupt them.

  “We must give her some, Ollie.” Louisa brushed the dirt off her hands.

  “Oh, no, you don’t have t—”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” Olivia said. “We’ve more than we can eat, and you can’t do better than home-grown and canned in the middle of winter.”

  “Can I at least help you here?” Kathleen asked.

  “Oh, Katie, you are a dear,” Louisa said. “I think we’ve got everything dug up, but if you could help carry these baskets to the house while we put a few things together for you.”

  Kathleen went to pick up the basket of potatoes and felt a fresh pounding in her head as she bent over. “Aren’t either of you feeling the effects of last night?”

  Olivia cackled. “Got a bit of a head this morning, do you?”

  “Oh, we’ve just the thing for that.” Louisa picked up the box of ashes. “I’ll take Daddy inside. You come on in with that basket, Katie, and we’ll get you taken care of.”

  Kathleen lugged the heavy basket up onto the porch and through the house into the kitchen. She looked around curiously at the mishmash of antique furniture scattered about, and paintings covering almost every inch of wall space. There was even a piano, its top occupied by an array of framed photos.

  “Do you play?”

  Louisa glanced over. “Oh, yes. Just for Daddy and Ollie now, but we used to have the gayest parties.”

  She stopped abruptly, sweeping the straw hat off and patting her hair. “I suppose I shouldn’t say that nowadays.”

  “What?”

  “Gay. People might get the wrong idea.”

  Kathleen felt her heart drop to the vicinity of her stomach as she followed Louisa into the kitchen, painted a cheerful butter-yellow. “And what idea might that be?”

  “Just set that down here,” Louisa said, pointing to the kitchen floor next to the sink. “That we care about such things.”

  Kathleen straightened. “You don’t?”

  “Oh, heavens no,” Olivia said, coming in behind them carrying the basket of turnips and carrots, Blossom on her heels. “The First Ones always had those who preferred to be with their own sex. Some never had children. Others wanted children, so they, what do they say now, hooked together? Just until they got the job done and then went back to their loves.”

  “We’ve never been bothered by that here,” Louisa said from the pantry where she was up on a step-stool, plucking jars off the floor-to-ceiling shelves and putting them in an empty cardboard box.

  “Love is love.” Olivia found a smaller basket and filled it with onions and turnips and carrots and potatoes.

  “Life’s too short and this island too small to make a fuss about such things,” Louisa said. She held up a jar filled with something pink. “Do you like rhubarb?”

  “I don’t know,” Kathleen said, her heart much lighter than it had been a moment ago. “I never remember having it.”

  “Well, you take a jar. And this jar of strawberry preserves. Look for Maisie’s recipe for strawberry-rhubarb pie. There’s nothing like it.”

  “Now,” said Olivia, going to the stove. “Let’s get your head cleared up for you.”

  She ladled some pale green liquid from a pot simmering there. She pushed the cup into Kathleen’s hands. “Drink this down.”

  Kathleen stared at it dubiously. “What is it?”

  “Our island brew for the morning after,” Louisa said. She carried her box filled with canning jars and set it on the table. “We’ve already had ours. Some make their own, but most come by here for ours.” She winked. “We add a few secret ingredients that make ours better.”

  Olivia tipped the cup to Kathleen’s mouth, just as she had the bottle of poitín last night. Kathleen took a cautious sip, expecting something bitter and medicinal, but it was cool and refreshing.

  “This is good.”

  “Well, of course it is,” Olivia said with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t do to drink something awful to make the aftereffects go away.”

  Kathleen took another drink. “It tastes of… spring. Flowers and sunshine.”

  Louisa beamed. “That’s my doing.”

  “It is not,” Olivia said. “I thought of adding the elderflower.”

  Louisa sniffed. “It’s the lavender, not the elderflower that gives it sunshine.”

  Kathleen drained the cup and closed her eyes. “Oh, that feels better already.”

  “That’s just what Molly said.” Louisa closed the flaps of her box.

  Kathleen’s eyes flew open. “Molly was here?”

  “Oh, yes. She came by early before she left.”

  “Left? Where did she go?”

  Olivia glanced up from where she was stirring the liquid that remained in the pot. “She said she was going to the mainland for a few days.”

  “Come, Katie,” Louisa said. She handed Kathleen her box of preserves. “Ollie, you get the potatoes and such. We’ll drive her home with these.”

  MOLLY SAT AT THE bar in a dark club in Ogunquit, nursing a cold Sam Adams. She normally liked these clubs better than the ones in Portland. The problem was, she didn’t seem to like any of them at the moment. This was her third stop tonight. The music pulsed, the bass vibrated in her gut, and the dance floor was full of people, mostly guys, gyrating and grinding.

  “Hi.”

  Standing beside her was a cute young woman with short, spiky, pink hair.

  “Hi.”

  “Want to dance?”

  “Uh… not tonight.” Molly decided she looked like a fairy escaped from some animated movie.

  The fairy pointed at her beer. “Can I buy you another?”

  “How about I buy you one?”

  “Sure. I’m Caitie, C-A-I-T-I-E.” She hopped up onto the next barstool.

  Molly felt her face freeze. “Of course you are.”

  “Sorry, didn’t hear that.” Caitie leaned closer. “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” Molly waved a hand in the bartender’s direction.

  “Gin and tonic,” Caitie said to the bartender. “And you are…?”

  “I’m Mary.” Molly forced a smile as she shook Caitie’s hand.

  The gin and tonic appeared, and Molly slid a bill across the bar.

  “Let’s find a table,” Caitie said,
nearly shouting to be heard. She took Molly by the hand and tugged her off her stool, weaving through the tables to an empty one.

  “So what do you do?” Molly asked to make conversation.

  “I’m a waitress,” Caitie said. “But I’m saving up to go back to school in January. I moved back in with my mom and her boyfriend, but I have to get a place of my own.” She sipped from her gin and tonic, draining nearly the entire drink while she went on and on about how her mother’s boyfriend kept hitting on the women she brought home with her, and how her last girlfriend had actually hooked up with him. Molly had stopped listening a long time ago so almost missed it when Caitie asked, “What about you? Where do you live?”

  Molly quickly congratulated herself on having the foresight to lie about her name. “I live in Freeport. Just visiting up here for a few days.” She chugged her beer and set the bottle down.

  Pointing to the rear of the club where the restrooms were, she said, “Be right back.”

  She made her way through the crowd to the dark corridor where she had to squeeze past couples kissing and groping each other. She passed the restrooms and almost ran out the back door into the cold night.

  She scanned the parking lot, nearly panicking when she couldn’t find her Toyota, and then she remembered. She dug the keys out of her jeans and had to inspect the key under the parking lot’s light. A Ford. She was driving Bobby’s extra car he kept at the ferry landing in case one of them boated over and needed a vehicle while they were here. She found the blue Escape and jumped in, starting the little SUV and peeling out of the parking lot before the fairy could come looking for her.

  “God, what was I thinking?”

  She quickly dismissed the thought of going to another club. Three in one night was enough. So were the three possible women she could have gone to bed with. What is wrong with you? She’d come here hoping for some fun, maybe some sex. She could have had it with any of the women she’d met tonight, but she’d run from each of them.

  “I must be getting old,” she said to no one but herself.

  Only that wasn’t the problem. Siobhan was right. The problem was back on Little Sister Island, living in her grandmother’s cottage with a stray dog she’d adopted.