Nantucket Red (Nantucket Blue) (10 page)

Twenty-five

LATER, I COULDN’T SLEEP.
As I watched the sky lighten from black to purple, I debated as to whether I was making a big mistake by staying in Rhode Island for college. I pulled the sheet over my eyes and wondered if I even cared about lacrosse anymore. It was not like I’d even read the last two e-mails from Coach Stacy. I hadn’t gone running in over a week.
What did that mean?
I asked myself as I breathed under my cotton tent.

At three thirty I got out of bed, pulled out my acceptance letter to Brown, and turned on the kitchen light. I smoothed
out the letter on the kitchen table, reread it, and remembered
what it had felt like to get in. How Mom had screamed as the mailman called, “Congrats!” over his shoulder. How I’d slipped the letter to my dad at Jake’s Diner, telling him very casually that I had something interesting for him to read. He hooted, then popped a quarter in the jukebox and jitterbugged me around the restaurant. I remembered the new looks of respect I received from everyone I told. Mrs. Hart, the ancient English teacher, kissed me on the forehead. Jim and Rosemary were offering me eight thousand dollars so that I could have the full Ivy League experience. I remembered the speech Dad gave in my mom’s driveway at my graduation party, saying that he “couldn’t be prouder.”

How could going to Brown University,
the
Brown University, ever be a mistake? That was impossible any way you looked at it. And of course, I cared about lacrosse. Of course, I loved it. I poured myself a glass of cold water and drank it all. I closed my eyes and remembered the rush of scoring a goal, the smell of warm grass on a spring afternoon, the pasta dinners with the team the night before a big game. I laid my head on the cool, indifferent kitchen table and repeated the words
I’m doing the right thing. I’m doing the right thing. I’m doing the right thing.
I crawled back to my bed, the sofa, and fell asleep as the first birds were starting to sing.

“He’s going to propose!” Jules said as she flew through the door of the inn’s laundry room.

I was so in my own world, so exhausted, nursing a coffee as I folded yet another load of the inn’s signature cranberry-colored towels, and Jules was so out of context that it took a minute to register her as real and not a figment of my imagination. My arrangement of covering for Liz two mornings a week was great for my bank account, because I wasn’t paying rent, and I was still very grateful to her, but it was almost impossible for me to catch up on rest.

“Cricket, hello; did you hear me?” Jules asked, her fingers rigid and fully extended. She was dressed for work at the Needle and Thread in a white miniskirt, Tory Burch flats, and a scarf tied artfully around the handle of her purse. Her hair was blown out in perfect waves. But there was chaos in the details of her face: the wrinkled forehead, the frantic eyes, lip gloss that went just beyond the boundary of her lower lip.

“I’m sorry. Propose what?” I was so tired, so taken by surprise, that her words didn’t quite make sense.

“Marriage!” She huffed at my slowness.

“Who’s getting married?” Was she talking about Zack and Parker? Would that even be legal? My heart rate dragged, despite three cups of coffee. I leaned on the hot, rumbling dryer.

“Dad!” Jules said, the cords of her lean, pale throat tightening like strained wires. “Who else?”

“To that girl? Are you sure?”

“Yes. My dad is going to propose to Jennifer, a woman he met three months ago on Friendly Adults dot-com.”

“Oh, no,” I said.
Friendly Adults dot-com?
I wasn’t sure, but I thought that was a kinky Web site. Like, XXX. “You think, but how do you know?”

“I saw the ring.” She started to pace as much as the small laundry room would allow. “I was looking for this picture of Mom in her vintage von Furstenberg dress; you know, the one where she’s actually talking to Diane von Furstenberg at a party?”

“Yes,” I said. I knew the picture. Nina was wearing one of her signature wrap dresses and a dramatic necklace, holding a martini. I remembered looking at that photo and thinking,
This is what I want to look like when I grow up.

“I wanted to show it to Maggie, my boss. And for as long as I can remember, Dad kept it in a drawer by their bed. So I went looking for it. But I didn’t find it. Instead, I found a ring.” Jules began breathing rapidly, fanning herself. For a second I wondered if she was going to faint. I pushed a little stepladder toward her. “A big, fat, cheesy engagement ring.”

“Hold the phone,” I said, using one of my mom’s phrases as Jules lowered herself onto the stepladder. “You don’t know he’s going to propose to her. That ring could’ve been your mom’s.”

“It wasn’t my mom’s. It was a new ring. It was tacky as fuck. I know it’s for her. It was just the kind of thing she thinks is beautiful. Mom would never wear it.” She shook her head and looked at her watch. “And now I’m going to be late for work.” She placed a trembling hand at her temple, grabbed one of the freshly folded Cranberry Inn towels, and held it to her face, shoulders shaking.

“It’s okay,” I said, rubbing her back as she let out a sob and blew her nose into the towel. “Go ahead. Make yourself at home.” We both laughed.

“I have to go,” she sighed.

“Call me later, okay? We’ll figure it out,” I said, although I wasn’t sure how. These were adult problems. I’d learned from my parents what could be controlled and what couldn’t. If Jules was right, this was one of those things that couldn’t, and she was just starting to get a taste of how much it was going to suck.

“Okay,” she said, holding her breath in an attempt to stop crying. She was looking at me as if I might actually be able to make this all right.

“So I’ve started the list,” Liz said as she walked in, a notebook under her arm. I had promised Liz that when she woke up we would make a list going over the pros and cons of her moving back to England or staying in America. She, too, was dressed for work, but hadn’t quite managed to pull herself together. What with the circles under my eyes, Jules’s runny nose, and Liz’s ill-buttoned shirt, we were a sad crew. “Oh, hello,” Liz said to Jules. “We can have fresh towels delivered to you. What room are you in?”

“I’m not staying here,” Jules said, dabbing her eyes with the towel.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked Jules.

“I just looked around. I opened doors until you were standing behind one.” I laughed. It was so Jules, so blazingly confident.

“Pardon, but who are you, exactly?” Liz asked.

“Jules.”

“I’ve heard about you,” Liz said and crossed her arms.

“Good things, I hope?”

Liz shook her head no.

“We had a rough time last year,” I said and shrugged.

“Yeah,” Jules said, as if last summer had been a very, very long time ago. “We did.”

“Hey,” I said. “What did Zack have to say about all this?”

“I didn’t tell him.” She watched sudsy sheets going around in the washer and said quietly, “I only wanted to talk to you. Hey, you know what I want, like, more than anything? One of our adventures.”

In the old days, our adventures involved sneaking into dances at the boarding schools within driving distance and playing “exchange student,” or putting balloons under our shirts and walking around the mall like regretful pregnant teens, or taking the bus to Boston and getting hot chocolates at the Four Seasons Hotel. During those excursions we created our own world. We moved in sync, spoke in code, and laughed so hard that hot chocolate came out of our noses.

An adventure with Jules would be the perfect escape. Between waitressing and covering for Liz, I hadn’t had a single day off since I’d landed on Nantucket. I had almost four thousand dollars, but I was tired. Tired of taking drink orders and carrying plates of calamari and never being able to catch up on sleep. And last year, Liz had been my wild yet sensible British ally, buying me lingerie and texting me sex tips. But ever since her breakup, she was in bed by eight thirty. She’d stopped wearing mascara. Her walk had lost its swagger. I’d seen my mom go through heartbreak. I’d watched her retreat into a mental castle and pull up the drawbridge, and something similar was happening to Liz. Once again, I was on the other side of the moat, unable to reach the lonely lady. Yes, an adventure was in order.

“I have the best idea,” I said. Our eyes met in mischief.

“Yay!” Jules gave me a quick, hard hug. “Text me.”

Watching her leave, I felt like I’d just heard an old favorite song on the radio.

Liz squinted in concern. “Be careful, insect.”

Twenty-six

“NASTY!” I SAID AS I SPIT
the Campari out in the Claytons’ kitchen sink and guzzled water directly from the tap to wash away the bitter, medicinal taste. Jules was laughing her really laughing laugh. The one that was mixed with snorts and gasps, and that I hadn’t heard in almost a year.

“Why did you get this stuf
f
?” Jules asked, wiping a tear away.

“It looks so pretty,” I said, admiring the ruby liquor with the stylish, European label. I couldn’t tell her that it was because it was number three on Nina’s life list:
Drink Campari on the Amalfi Coast with Alison
. Even after her laundry room breakdown, even though I’d felt comfortable enough to spit in her sink, I was still scared she’d tell me that Nina was her mom and I had no right—
no right at all!
—to follow that list, copy it, inhabit it, make it mine.

“You’re not supposed to drink it straight. It’s one of those things you mix.”

“Why didn’t you tell me as I was pouring myself a whole glass?” I asked, holding up the juice glass I’d filled three-quarters full without even an ice cube. “I mean, it looks like fruit punch.”

“I wanted to see what happened,” she said, and laughed again. “Besides, you never drink. I wasn’t about to stop you. You missed that night at the secret bowling alley. And tonight is all about fun!”

We’d been texting for a few days, trying to plan our adventure. Since Liz seemed to have secret connections everywhere, I had asked her to get me a bottle of Campari. And then tonight, when it was slow enough to send one of the waitresses home early, I’d volunteered and texted Jules immediately.

Me: Are you up for some Campari and a midnight dip?


Jules: Hells yeah! Come over. Dad in NYC.


Mr. Clayton had said he was on a business trip. Although Jules’s theory that he was going to propose hadn’t been confirmed, it seemed pretty likely that it was true and was going to go down soon, maybe even this weekend. Jennifer was with him and the ring was missing.

I headed to the fridge to find a mixer for the Campari. Jules turned on her iPod and played an old Katy Perry song we used to dance around to. I noticed a picture of Zack and Parker on the fridge. Their arms were around each other and they were in front of some ivy-covered building at their boarding school. He’s probably with her right now, I thought. I flipped it over and stuck the magnet back on it. I opened the fridge, grabbed a can of Sprite, and drank it down. The Campari flavor mixed with the sweet soda.

“Sprite and Campari is a different story,” I said. Jules was dancing around the kitchen. I poured the Sprite into a glass, added Campari, and took a long swallow. “Yum.”

“Make me one,” Jules said. I poured her a taste.

“Nice,” she said, taking a sip and considering. “Tart and fizzy. I know. I’ll fill up thermoses. We’ll take our drinks with us.”

“Sassy and classy!”

“Goofy and glamorous!” She hit
repeat
on the Katy Perry song.

“Bitter and sweet, like love!” I added dramatically, and I spun out of the kitchen, right into Zack. Our eyes met and locked.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Jules said to Zack. “Did you have a fight with Parker?”

“None of your business,” Zack said.

“Whatever. We’re leaving.” Jules grabbed a monogrammed canvas bag that she’d had as long as I’d known her and put the thermoses in it.

“Where are you headed?” Zack asked.

“None of your business,” Jules said, mimicking his tone.

“We’re going on an adventure,” I said. “We’re going to Steps.” I wanted him to know that if he could traipse all over our magical island, well, so could I.

“Oh, yeah?” Zack said, leaning against the door frame. “What are you going to do there?”

“We’re going for a swim,” I said, raising my eyebrows, a hand on my hip. Teaming up with Jules had given me a dose of my old confidence. “A midnight dip.”

“Towels! Can’t forget the towels.” Jules took off for the laundry room.

“Hey, have you seen my Whale’s Tale shirt?” he called after her.

“No!”

“Steps, huh?” He asked me. The night we’d gone skinny-dipping there was the moment I knew I was in love with him. It had been a perfect night. Bright moon. Summer air. Dark water. When we moved, the water glowed with phosphorescence.

“Yes. Steps,” I said, watching a slow smile spread over his face.

“I saw you the other day. Like maybe a week ago. Out on Milestone Road. You were, like, jumping into a Jeep with some guy?”

“Ben.” I nodded. Tucked my hair behind my ear. “He’s teaching me how to drive stick.”

“Ha! I bet he is,” Jules called from the other room. “Woo-hoo!”

“That guy works at Breezes, right? At the bar?”

I nodded again. Zack crossed his arms and shook his head. “I’ve seen that dude around.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “You’re not falling for that shit, are you?”

“You just don’t know him,” I said, throwing what he’d said to me about Parker back at him. “You haven’t given him a chance.”

Jules returned, the canvas bag now stuffed with towels, and tripped over the threshold. “Whoops!”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Zack asked. “You guys seem kind of drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” I said, though I could feel the Campari warming my joints. Tipsy,
I thought, as Jules linked an arm in mine and I leaned on her; I’m tipsy.

“Besides, it’s late,” Zack said.

“We’ll sleep when we’re dead,” Jules said, and we marched out the door, soldiers of silliness.

“So, what’s going on with this Ben guy?” Jules asked as we kicked off our shoes and descended the stairs to the beach. “Is he your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” I said, though I wondered if I would I have answered the question like that if he had been standing next to me. “Are you and Jay going to stay together next year?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “That’s why we’re going to school in Boston.” As soon as we hit the sand, we stripped to our suits, took sips from our thermoses for courage, and made a run for it into the water. We screamed with delight as we dove under the surface. We shut our eyes against the salt and kicked up into handstands and floated on our backs.

“I could just forget everything out here,” Jules said, breaking the silence. “Maybe when we’re both in college next year we can come here for a weekend. Like when it’s snowing.”

“We’ll go for a polar bear swim,” I said, and dove back under, sliding through the water like a fish. I grinned at the thought of being grown-up enough to have a weekend away with just my friend. I grinned because we were talking about our future as friends, and I knew that we had surmounted the hurt that had fallen like a massive tree between us last summer. I grinned because I felt free for the first time since I had arrived on the ferry. Held by the Nantucket Sound, I unhooked myself from my worries. Water filled my ears, closing out the world. Lacrosse didn’t exist here. Brown was far away. I felt cleansed.
Sadie was right,
I thought, and came up for a breath,
fun is free.

“I’m getting cold,” Jules said when I resurfaced.

“Okay. Let’s head in.” My bottom lip was trembling, too. Also, I was starved. I hadn’t eaten since the staff meal at four. I noticed we were farther from the shore than I’d realized. “Whoa. We drifted.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” Jules said, her face serious. We were both good swimmers, and made silent and effortful progress to the beach. I could feel myself working against the tide, and the Campari, and was relieved when we finally reached the shallow water.

“Holy shit,” Jules said, “There’s a man on the beach and he’s looking right at us. Cricket, we’re going to die!”

“That’s no man,” I said, laughing. “It’s Zack.”

“What are you doing here?” Jules called to Zack as we climbed out of the water, teeth chattering.

“Every summer there’s a story about someone who drowns,” he said, and handed us each a towel. “I didn’t want it to be you guys.”

“Thanks,” I said, shivering and wrapping the towel around me. For a minute, I saw the old Zack: unguarded and kind.

Jules looked at him sideways as she roughly dried off her legs. “Since when did you get so concerned with my safety?”

“I’ve always been concerned with your safety,” he said.

“Turn around. I’m going to change,” Jules said. “Don’t want a yeast infection.”

“Why do you have to be so nasty?” Zack said, turning around and shielding his eyes with his hands like we were going to play hide-and-seek.

“Well, Zack, it’s what happens to girls when they walk around in wet bathing suits. And we all know you’re no stranger to fungus,” she said. She turned around, ripped off her bathing suit, and put on her underwear and bra. I wrapped the towel under my arms, tucking it in on itself so it wouldn’t fall off, and slid my wet bathing suit off under it.

“You’re never going to let me forget about that, are you?” Zack asked.

“Nope,” Jules said, laughing as she hopped into her jeans.

“You know, that was over a year ago, and the doctor said it was perfectly—” he said, turning around. “Normal.” We made eye contact. Jules was facing away. I watched his gaze travel from my discarded bathing suit to my bare shoulders. When our eyes met again, his were soft, pleading. A blue flame burned in my chest, but I signaled for him to turn around. He did. I let my towel fall, stepped into my shorts, and grabbed my T-shirt.

“There’s something else you should know,” Jules said, pulling her shirt over her head, “since we’re on the subject of ugly truths and you’ve decided to care. Dad is proposing to Jennifer.”

I froze. I really had been the only one she’d told. Zack turned around.

“What? Are you serious?”

“I found an engagement ring,” Jules said. “It wasn’t Mom’s.”