Meet Me at the Boardwalk (12 page)

I
felt reborn. I was glowing, trembling, laughing to myself.

Miles kissed me
. Miles
KISSED me
.

That was all that mattered. I wasn’t even nervous as I knocked on the door of the Roth’s rent-a-mansion.

Mr. Roth appeared in his signature getup. Only this time, he was holding a drink with a little umbrella. It wasn’t even noon. He gave me a quick once-over, and then scowled. “Lily-Ann isn’t home.”

He nodded toward his wife. It occurred to me that I’d never seen Mrs. Roth speak unless she had a cocktail in her hand, either—of the martini variety. She didn’t have one now. Only he did. Naturally, she turned and scrambled up the stairs.

I did the best I could to force my lips into a smile. “I totally understand and appreciate that, but I’m not here to see Lily-Ann. I’m here to see you. I want to apologize for what happened with Jade Cohen and Sean Edwards. I just want you to know that—”

“I’m glad you stopped by,” Mr. Roth interrupted. All at once, his demeanor changed. His jovial laugh was back. “I mean that.”

I peered at him as he ushered me in. I couldn’t quite bring myself to cross the threshold. “You’re…glad?” I asked.

“Yes. I was just on the phone with your mother, so I know that she knows I have no idea that you’re here. It took some initiative on your part to come down here and offer your apology on your own. And I appreciate that. I truly do.” He rattled his ice cubes at me and then plodded down the hall toward his magnificent beachfront living room, his bare feet smacking the tile. “And I’d like to apologize to you for yelling at you the way I did. Let’s sit on the deck. You want a glass of soda or something?”

“Can we just talk here?” I asked.

He paused and turned back toward me, frowning curiously. “Sure.”

“I…um…I also just think that this boardwalk idea is wrong,” I said. “I think you should look a little more at the town’s history first and what people feel.”

Mr. Roth nodded and leaned against the wall. He took a long sip of his highball. “Megan, I was like you when I was younger, too. And someday you’re going to learn what’s right, as opposed to what you think is right.”

“Wrong.”

His smile vanished. “I beg your pardon?”

“Jade swiped those keys from my skirt. But I egged her on. That’s why I’m still apologizing. I’m responsible.”

His face darkened. He jerked a finger toward the door. “I don’t know why you stopped by, but please get out. I’d prefer not to see you again unless your mother is present.”

“Fine.” I shook my head, my heart racing, and marched
toward the door. “But you should try saying ‘sorry’ for once in your life. It might feel good.”

“You expect me to believe that?” he barked after me.

I paused at the knob and turned. “Of course not. You’ve never said sorry.”

He twisted his lips. “Not about that. About this egging this girl on to steal your keys from your skirt?”

“It’s the truth.” I yanked my cell phone from my pocket. My hand was trembling. “Call her right now. Ask her what happened. Do it.”

He didn’t answer.

“It doesn’t feel good to be told what to do,” I said. “Does it?”

“No,” he said, turning his back on me. “It doesn’t. Not by a—”

I slammed the door.

I called Jade first.

“Psst, Jade?” I whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Jade asked.

“I’m calling from outside Clement’s.” I’d run there, because it felt like a safe haven.

“Why?”

“It doesn’t matter! Just throw your sister’s cheat sheets away, all right? I’ll do all the talking tomorrow at Clam-Fest. It was my mom who made this…this…”

“Faustian bargain?” Jade suggested.

“Exactly! Mom made this pact with the devil, and it’s up to me to fix it. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” I stopped talking. I was practically panting. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. “Jade? Are you there?”

“Yeah, I’m here. I’m just shocked. And proud. Why?”

“Because I want to be mayor of Seashell Point, remember?”

“Of course, I remember,” Jade said gently. “It’s just that you should be saying all this to Miles, not me. That’s just my opinion. You know, as a…yenta.”

Now I was silent.

“Meg?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you told Miles?” she asked. “About saving the boardwalk?”

I swallowed. “Not yet.”

“Well, he’s the one who should really be hearing this. I’m just your old buddy who tries to get you to take care of your skin. Which reminds me, be sure to wear plenty of sunblock tomorrow. Pick up some extra at Clement’s while you’re there—”

“Jade?” I said, and I could feel a huge smile breaking across my face. “I kissed Miles. Or he kissed me. I don’t know.”

Jade laughed softly. “You don’t know, huh?”

My smile faded. “Jade…I really
don’t
know. I mean, what happened between you and Miles…I wish you had told me. I wish he had told me. I know you never knew I had feelings
for him—and, yeah, of course I do—but it still hurts like a mother to imagine you guys—”

“Meg, I feel terrible,” Jade interrupted. “You don’t know how sorry I am. I wish I had told you right then. I just felt so awkward about the whole thing. I think I thought it was best to pretend it had never happened. But the last thing I’d ever want to do is hurt you. You’re my…my other half. The sister I always wanted to have.”

My throat tightened. I wasn’t sure what to say.

“And that was last summer,” Jade went on, her voice plaintive. “And we were all messed up from the accident. It didn’t mean much beyond that.”

“I know,” I whispered. “You’re the sister I always wanted, too.”

“Meg, you know what’s weird?” Jade asked.

I could think of a thousand possible responses to that question. So I decided to keep my mouth shut.

“Here’s what’s weird,” Jade went on. “We don’t hug that much. And we’re best friends. We should hug more.”

I swallowed, laughing as my eyes moistened. “I fully agree.”

There was a pause, but not an uncomfortable one.

“Are you okay?” I asked quietly. “About me and Miles—”

“Meg, if you and Miles get together, then all will be right with the world. Even if the boardwalk does get torn down.”

And just like that, I knew she was right.

C
lam-Fest morning, Turquoise and I decided to go for a long swim in the ocean. I needed to clear my head, but I felt so much freer now that my secret was out in the open. If only I could calm my nerves. The water was gray and rough, like a certain morning last August. Bad omen? When we came back, we made breakfast. Nana was still asleep. But we were out of orange juice. “Don’t worry. I’ll go to Clement’s,” Turquoise said.

It was only then that we discovered the note on the front-hall floor, scribbled in what looked like lipstick, over the back of one of Turquoise’s law printouts.

Darlings,

My arthritis is acting up so I left. I should have said good-bye, but my return flight is at 3:19
P.M.
Monday. I wanted to catch the Saturday 5:23
A.M.
instead. I don’t have to pay extra if I get to the airport on time. I understand there’s some kind of procedure with the ticket lady. I don’t much care for this town. Awful thing to say, I know. Your father is upset with me, too. Did I already tell you that? He should get a haircut. He’s flying back soon. I can’t remember the date.

Love, Nana

P.S. Thank you for a wonderful visit. Never take me back to that restaurant.

I stared at Turquoise.

Nana had been gone for nearly four hours, and we hadn’t even realized it. We both rolled on the floor in hysterics for about the next twenty minutes. It helped.

“I
still don’t know about this.”

There we stood, Miles and me, in the midst of the enormous crowd on Main Street. Luckily, it was packed so tightly that we were able to hold hands without anybody seeing…although, I suppose that proverbial cat was out of the bag by now.

Nearby stood Jade, Turquoise, and Sean Edwards. When we’d met up that morning, Jade and I had hugged—a real, tight, you’re-my-best-friend-and-life-preserver hug. We needed that.

Now Jade and Sean weren’t holding hands, but they weren’t exactly
not
holding hands, either. I could feel the spark between them from where I stood. Maybe being in love makes you more attuned to other people being in love. Or, at least, in like.

I couldn’t believe that my mom and Lily-Ann’s dad had decided to make the announcement in the exact spot. I mean, it was right next to the giant bronze clam statue—where Donny would usually have sparked up a giant outdoor grill to hoots and hollers, kicking off Clam-Fest. The sad part was that all us Seashell Point locals knew Clam-Fest was nothing, just an annual excuse to bring even
more
people to the boardwalk. (Actually, in addition to preparing my cheat sheet about the true boardwalk facts, Turquoise did some other research. The tradition started because June 23 was supposedly the
day of the year when there were the most clams on the beach. I imagine this tradition started with drunk or hungover surfers.)

“You don’t know about what?” Miles asked.

“My plan.”

“You’ll do great.” He kissed my cheek. I wondered when Miles’s kissing me was ever going to
not
make me grin from ear to ear and blush. Possibly never.

Mr. Roth stepped to the small wooden podium, dressed in his perennial seersucker-blue-shirt combo—though this time, he’d added the jacket to the suit pants as well. He tapped the microphone:
Tat-ta-tat. Tat. Tat.
The sound echoed across the loudspeakers mounted on either side of him. My jaw tightened. The guy even had the nerve to co-opt Donny’s signature mic tap—the one he always gave before kicking off Clam-Fest. (The opening clap soundtrack to a seventies song called “Car Wash,” which was also the theme song to a seventies movie about community involvement. Not that Arnold Roth would have the slightest clue about that.) Crime upon crime…

“Megan?” Miles whispered.

“Yes?”

“Shut this idiot up.” He kissed me lightly on the lips. He took my shoulders in his hands. “You can do it,” he whispered. “This is what you were born to do. When you were a kid, you said you wanted to be mayor of Seashell Point, remember?”

“Miles, I—”

“GOOD MORNING, SEASHELL POINT!”

Mr. Roth’s voice thundered across the crowd. There were a few scattered claps, but not many. Mom stepped up beside him (clad in pearls and the smart pink Donna Karan suit, of course) and clasped her hands behind her back with the phoniest smile I’d ever seen. And speaking of mayors, the
real
mayor—Evan Wells—was nowhere to be found. Who takes a vacation from a resort town during the height of the season? Oh, right…Evan Wells, the one local who somehow managed to buy property in five other states. Maybe going after his conspicuous absence would be my next civic project.

“Happy Clam-Fest!” Mr. Roth continued. “Today, however, in a break of tradition, I am pleased to announce that Clam-Fest will begin on the beach outside the house I’ve rented this summer—a lovely house in a beautiful town. Please bring your appetites. The nice part is that we’ll be able to walk the entire length of our boardwalk…A little exercise always encourages an appetite. Ha!”

Nobody laughed. There were a few hushed murmurings. Miles took my hand again and squeezed it.

“Now…I’m happy to announce that Seashell Point has made a bold decision,” Mr. Roth went on. “It’s one that will not only benefit its citizens and visitors in the short term, but make Seashell Point, truly, THE premier East Coast hot spot in the long term. As I’ve maintained ever since I’ve chanced upon your lovely town, the boardwalk, while aesthetically beautiful, isn’t safe. Its support beams are rotting.
Accidents happen as a result of surfing…In a word, the boardwalk is
unsafe
—and let’s be honest with ourselves: outdated. It’s time to bring in a breath of fresh air.”

I held my own breath. I think Miles was holding his breath, too.

“Now, imagine, your boardwalk on the water,” Mr. Roth plowed on, “
truly
on the water, a floating palace with all that the current boardwalk has to offer—and I mean that sincerely—all the games, shops, restaurants…and yes, even a petting zoo and a haunted house.” He chuckled to himself again. “Now, I am happy to take any questions, because I’m sure you have some.”

Miles nudged me in the ribs.

My hand shot up.

Mr. Roth grinned at my mom. “Yes, Ms. Kim?”

“What’s your favorite food?”

Mr. Roth laughed. His eyes roved the crowd, deliberately avoiding mine. “Clams, darling. Any other questions?”

“No, seriously—just work with me here for a second,” I called back.

A few people turned to me. I could feel Jade’s eyes on me, which made me feel better. I yanked Turquoise’s cheat sheet out of my pocket and held it in front of my face. The sheet rippled. But I couldn’t tell if that was because of the breeze or because I was so nervous. Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to rely on the cheat sheet. I knew it by heart anyway. “Let’s take clams. Do you think it’s okay to eat fried clams every day of the week?”

“What?”

“You swing by Sonny’s Clam Shack almost every afternoon to order a two-dollar bucket, do you not?”

“Well, yes. I enjoy the—”

“Now let me finish,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry. But you know what the health hazards of eating a bucket of cheap fried clams every day are?”

His face reddened. He shot a quick glance at his wife. “Yes, but I don’t finish the bucket. I just nibble on a few. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Maybe not. But we have the statistics, care of certain concerned citizens. Grams of fat, and this is trans fat, mind you—forty-five per serving. Cholesterol: I can’t quote the number here, for decorum’s sake.” I glanced up from the paper. “Should I go on?”

“I’m in the middle of an important civic announcement,” he said.

“Right. You’re breaking the law.”

“Pardon?” he asked.

“Let’s get back to the clams. Hypothetically? Say we make up a little story with a tragic ending. Say you come to Sonny’s Clam Shack, and you nibble on clams every afternoon—and then you drop dead on the last day of the summer from clogged arteries.”

“Young lady, please. That’s not funny. That’s sick.”

“I agree completely. But my question is, would it be fair to say that Miles and Donny, those who sell you the clams, are in any way responsible?”

He smacked the podium with his fist. “Of course not! I would never—”

“Exactly!” I shouted over him. “Because eating clams is
your
choice. You
choose
to poison yourself with that luscious, deep trans-fat flavor. I don’t blame you. I would eat a bucket of fried clams every day, too, if I could.”

Miles’s grip tightened on my fingers. Some people clapped and laughed.

“Will you get to the point?” he snapped. “You were my maid, for the love of God. I’m in the middle of something here.”

At the word
maid,
everybody fell into a strange catatonic silence.

It was a bit surreal, almost magical. But in that silent split second, it was as if all the self-righteous tourists and the self-righteous locals had magically joined forces.
Maid
was a term nobody used anymore…was it? I held Turquoise’s cheat sheet in front of my face with my still trembling hand, keeping my other hand firmly clung to Miles’s.

My mom fidgeted beside Mr. Roth on the platform. She finally cleared her throat and stepped to the microphone. “Megan? You were saying?”

“Yes, I was saying…your casino boat,
The Royal We
, when it’s idle at the dock, will still dump more than ninety gallons of waste in the water per day. I’m not talking just gasoline, either. I’m talking
human
waste. The gasoline is far over the limit, too, but that’s a whole other issue. You see, this is where all of us locals will still be swimming and
hopefully surfing. Seashell Point local law specifically states that no more than one gallon of waste be deposited within a quarter mile of the beach. You know, in the late sixties, they even set up a perimeter of buoys to demarcate the ‘safe’ zone for dumping waste. Mr. Browning and Donny have both provided affidavits.” I dug the other papers out of my back pocket and waved them in the air, along with the cheat sheet.

“This is all very interesting,” Mr. Roth said, his voice echoing through the loudspeakers. “I still don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I’m telling you that there won’t be a dock. The boardwalk will stay.”

“And I’m telling you that
you’re
a smart, idealistic—if somewhat naive—high-school girl with no idea of what she’s talking about. We’ve signed contracts.”

I laughed. “Great. Then you’re going to jail. Mom?”

The collective gasp in the crowd grew louder. I tried to ignore all the stares. I tried to focus on Miles’s hand. I focused on the reassurance of his skin pressed against mine.

Mr. Roth turned to my mom again. He cupped the microphone, whispering something in her ear.

“Excuse me, Mr. Roth!” Sean yelled from the audience.

I burst out with a grin.

“Yes?” Mr. Roth said, uncovering the microphone.

“So…like…Let me get this straight? You have this mansion with a greenhouse. I mean literally like a
biosphere—and I know, because I was the gardener. It’s totally enclosed and protected and everything—what I mean to say is…you’d be willing to dump toxic waste and fecal matter onto our beach, but keep your little garden safe?”

At that point, pandemonium erupted.