Nantucket Red (Nantucket Blue) (8 page)

Twenty

I WAS IN THE WALK-IN FRIDGE
at Breezes, standing on my tiptoes and reaching for a fresh container of nonfat milk so I could stock the coffee station (nonfat milk is a lot easier to foam than whole), when I felt a sharp, searing pain in my neck. I gasped and clutched the place where my shoulder met my neck on the right side and which was now tight and throbbing.
Ouch.
My whole body contracted and curled. I was bent over, eyes squeezed shut, seeing yellow spots, when I felt a sure, calm hand on my back.

“Breathe.”

It was Ben.

“My neck,” I said, sucking refrigerator air in through my teeth.

“It’s probably just a muscle spasm,” Ben said, guiding me to a milk crate.

“It really hurts,” I said, sitting down on the crate.

“It’s tension. You need to relax.”

It was true. I was exhausted from seven consecutive days of waitressing, early mornings covering for Liz, and squeezing in lacrosse practice whenever I could, which had only been twice. My plan was working. I’d only been waitressing for a week, and I’d already made a thousand dollars—but as another flash of pain struck, I knew it was time for a break.

“I got ya,” Ben said, pulling up another milk crate and sitting behind me. “Let go of your shoulder.”

“I can’t.” I was afraid if I let go, the pain would spread.

“Breathe with me.”

I took a deep breath in and he rested his callused guitar hands on my shoulders, pressing his thumbs into my neck. We breathed together a few times.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh.” The pain changed color, broke apart. I risked turning my head. “Ouch!”

“Just focus on what’s right in front of you.”

“Mayonnaise,” I said, looking up at a wall of industrial-size jars of condiments. Ben laughed, and I could feel it in his hands as he continued to knead my shoulders.

“How’s it now?”

“Still pretty bad,” I said. Even though the pain had dissipated, I didn’t want him to stop.

“I know what you need. You need some time on the ocean. You want to go surfing tomorrow?”

“Yes,” I said, glad he couldn’t see me smiling. Neither of us had talked about our surfing date since the morning I’d canceled. I kept waiting for him to bring it up, but he hadn’t. Maybe he was waiting for me to bring it up. We were in some kind of standoff, and my interest in the date had risen an additional ten percent every day it went unmentioned. I had reserved tomorrow afternoon for running and going over lacrosse drills, but surfing was a form of exercise, wasn’t it?

“You’re so tense you’re like a shrinky dink,” he said just as the door was flung open.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Karla asked.

Ben lifted his hands. I instantly missed them. They were experts, those hands.

“I had a muscle spasm,” I said. “Ben was helping me.”

“I’m sure he was,” Karla said. Her glare scared me. Authority figures rarely looked at me with anything other than affection or relief. Her eyes were full of accusation. “You guys know my policy about staff relationships, right? You get into one, you’re outta here.”

“Um, I actually didn’t know that policy,” I said, standing up, no problem. My neck was miraculously healed.

“Karla,” Ben said, cool as a gimlet. He pulled a carton of milk from the high shelf and handed it to me. “I walked in here and she was doubled over in pain.”

“Well, just don’t make me call you into my office, okay? Ben, you of all people should know better, and that bar’s not going to prep itself. Cricket, you have a visitor.”

“I do?” I took my milk and headed to the floor. My heart pirouetted. For a second, I thought it might be Zack.

It was Jules, in her black bikini and paisley cover-up, all long legs, highlights, and freckles. I felt a kick of disappointment. Would I ever learn? She helped herself to a couple of olives from the bar and asked, “What happened to you?”

“What do you mean?” I nodded toward a table where a stack of napkins awaited folding.

“You’re all flushed and flustered and shit.”

I shook my head and waved my hand, like,
Oh, nothing
, but I must’ve glanced at Ben without realizing it, because Jules took him in, his magic hands full of lemons, and cocked an eyebrow. I shrugged. She grinned.

“Well,” she said, folding her slender hands on the table as we sat down. “I’m here for a few reasons. There’s something about Parker—”

“Jules, I can’t even…” I trailed off as Jules knocked some sand off her foot onto the floor. Karla had warned us that club members acted like they owned this place.
And that’s good,
she’d said.
That’s how they’re supposed to feel.
Still, I had to bite my cheek to stop myself from making a face. I’d swept that floor twenty minutes ago. I peeled a napkin from the stack and started folding. “I don’t want to hear about them.”

“It’s just that, well, it’s complicated,” Jules said.

“Yeah, you’ve both told me.”

“And, like, so stereotypical.”

“I don’t want to know,” I said. The last thing I wanted was a whiff of hope. I’d volunteered to take the indoor section every night, the one nearest the entrance. It was the least desirable. The big spenders all wanted to sit on the porch or the patio, but I was willing to take the less lucrative section if it meant I didn’t have to risk seeing Zack and Parker frolicking on the beach.

“Okay,” Jules sighed. “If you say so. Do you want to go to the beach tomorrow?”

“I’m going surfing,” I said, and I nodded in Ben’s direction.

“How old is he?” she mouthed.

Twenty-two,
I mouthed back.

“Then the next day,” she said, standing and tossing her bag over her shoulder. “We’ll have lots to talk about. Meet me at the club at noon.”

“Will they let me in?”

“Of course.” Her laugh was as sunny as her freckled face. Never had she looked so pretty. Never had she sounded more grown-up. “Just tell them you’re with me.”

Twenty-one

FROM FAR AWAY,
surfing looked like a graceful activity, but now that I’d lugged the long, unwieldy board over the sand and was paddling ineffectively, Ben pushing me from behind, it didn’t feel elegant or smooth. Cisco was a different beach from Jetties or Steps. It was on the ocean side, and I realized that what I’d sometimes been calling the ocean at Steps wasn’t the ocean at all. It was the Nantucket Sound, protected and sheltered. Out here, on the southern side of the island, the waves were big. You could feel them rolling in with power and force, pushed from a wild place.

I was lying on the surfboard just like Ben had showed me when he’d given me a little lesson on the sand. We were headed out to beyond where the waves broke. We weren’t even surfing yet, but it was already hard. A big wave, one that I wouldn’t have attempted to body surf, was coming right at us. “Point the nose straight ahead,” he said, swimming right behind. Water crashed over me and filled my nose and mouth. I held on tight to the board, even as my body lifted and slammed back down again. I’d always thought of myself as so courageous, but I felt small. Tiny even. I coughed saltwater.

“You okay?” he asked when we finally got to the place where the water rolled, soft and lilting. Ben held onto the board and shook his hair from his face.

“I’m fine,” I said, even though I wanted to turn around.

“That was kind of big,” he said, “but don’t worry. Once you get up, you’re going to love it. It’s all about trusting the unknown.”

I nodded as if I totally got it, wishing we could just stay right there, drifting and floating in the sun.

“So, what’s going on with you and Amy?”

He sighed. “Nothing.” I raised my eyebrows. “Not anymore. We were together, but it didn’t work out. She’s looking for something I just can’t give.” He shifted so that his torso rested on the board.

“I have this weird feeling she’s really smart. Besides, I think she really likes you. You sound a little insensitive, you know.” I splashed him. He didn’t splash back.

“I came to Nantucket to get away from a complicated situation, not to get back into one.”

“What do you mean?” The afternoon sun was strong. It pressed on my back. “What was your situation?”

“I was engaged,” he said, looking away.

“Really?”
I was old enough to know someone who could be engaged?
“Like, to be married?”

“Yes,” he said with a sad laugh. “We broke up in April.”

His face shifted into an expression that seemed ancient. Even though I barely knew him, I imagined that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had also looked like this at certain moments in their lives.

I scooted up on the surfboard. “What happened?”

“She cheated on me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

He squinted, looking out in the distance. “Okay, a set is coming, are you ready?”

“I guess. Listen, I’m sorry if I brought up—”

“No worries. So, it’s going to be just like I showed you on the beach.” He turned the board around, pointing it toward the shore. “You’re going to paddle, paddle, paddle, and when I say ‘pop,’ you hop up on your feet. Super fast.”

“How will I know if it’s the right time to pop?”

“I’ll tell you,” he said, and I was off. He was pushing me and I was paddling, paddling, paddling. “Pop!”

I tried to stand but hesitated, and when my body froze up, I fell off. I hit the surface and the wave swallowed me. Salt stung my throat as I tumbled, inhaling water. I spat it out as my head popped up, gasping. The leash that tethered me to the board tugged on my ankle, yanking me forward, and I was back under, feeling sand and pebbles and water spinning, churning over me. When I tried to break through the surface again, the board swung back and hit me in the ribs. A second wave rolled in and dragged me backward by the waist.

Stay calm,
I told myself,
relax.
And calling up ancient information from some long-ago swimming class at the Providence YMCA, I allowed my body to move with the water instead of against it. Finally I felt the sand under my feet. I stood up and took big swallows of air. I held on to the board and let a smaller wave push me toward the beach.

By the time I was in the surf, Ben had caught up. “Hey, you okay?”

“I think I’m done,” I said. I reached down and pulled the Velcro leash off, stumbling as another wave frothed around my legs. Ben carried the board to the beach.

“The good news is you look okay,” he said, gazing into my eyes with a soft smile. “A little scared, but okay. We can try some smaller, gentler waves if you want.”

I didn’t want smaller waves. I didn’t want gentler waves. I didn’t want any waves. My inner forearms were raw and chafed from holding on to the board so tightly. I was out of breath. I was on the brink of tears. My ribs hurt.

“I’m going to rest,” I said and peeled off the girls’ wet suit lent to him by some surfer friend of his. I didn’t even care what my bathing suit looked like or that I could feel the bottoms riding up my butt. I shook out the towel I’d bought from the thrift store and sat down on the warm, solid sand.

“You sure you’re okay?” He crouched next to me.

“Yes,” I said, digging my heels into the sand. I didn’t want to let on how shaken up I was. I wasn’t used to being physically scared or intimidated. I laid a cold hand over my left rib, where I felt the beginnings of a bruise. “You go ahead. I’ll watch. Really, I’m fine.” His eyes met mine. I wanted a few minutes alone. I put some confidence behind my shaky voice and a reassuring smile on my face. “I swear. I’ve just had a long week.”

He went. A few minutes later, after I’d shaken the water from my ears, I watched him surf. He paddled and popped and rode. I stood up to get a better look. Usually Ben had his watchful spot from behind the bar and I was in his view as I waitressed. But now I was the watcher. I placed one hand on my forehead like a visor and the other on my aching side. Ben wasn’t in a wet suit, so I could see the strength of his legs, the power of his core, and the beauty in his balance. His body was both familiar and foreign. He was a living Rodin.
The Walking Man
.
The Thinker
.
Saint John the Baptist
. He was all of them, but not made of marble, stuck in a museum in Paris. He was in motion. He was alive in the Atlantic.

I thought about Nina’s list, and a great idea came to me, the kind that feels like opening a window. I didn’t need Parker’s money or connections. Screw that. I could live Nina’s list, here on Nantucket. I could follow it and see where it led me.
Rodin is at Cisco,
I thought.
I don’t need to go anywhere. I just need to open my eyes.

A few good waves were Ben’s medicine, because an hour later, when he emerged from the water with his board under his arm, he had that wicked grin on his face. And as the late afternoon sun caught the drops of water that slipped down his skin, he was actually sparkling.

Ben’s car was an army green Land Rover from the 1970s with a canvas top that rolled up in the back. It belonged to his grandmother Sadie, whom he described as Joni Mitchell meets Rosie the Riveter. He was staying with her for the summer. I changed in the back, under the tent of my towel. I checked my side and saw that a bruise was forming where the board had hit me. It was sore, but it was going to be okay. We drove out to Madaket, the westernmost part of the island, and ate fish tacos at a place called Millie’s, where Ben knew the bartenders.

Later, we sat on the beach and watched an orange sun drop into the sea. I’d never seen a sky so red. It was as if the sun had left a memory of flames that was brighter than actual flames. The lowest sky glowed like coals. Above it, hot pink clouds skidded into a purple night. As the sky darkened, the ocean carried the colors in ripples and shocks.

I thought of those salmon-colored pants called Nantucket Reds. They were a copy of a copy of a copy of the most tepid version of this sky, the real Nantucket Red. I thought of Zack, acting like nothing had happened between us, treating me as if I were any old girl, despite the fact that we had been in love.
In love.
And it just seemed so lame to me, lame like those stupid fucking pants.

Ben put an arm around me, resting his hand on my hip. He was here. His arm had weight and warmth. He was real. His heart was alive enough to have been broken. He leaned into me. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

He pulled me close, tilted my head back, and pressed his lips to mine.

We kissed on the beach until a dad approached us, several toddlers in tow, and told us this was a “family setting.” We burst out laughing. He grabbed my hand as we walked to the car and we barely let go on the drive back to Fair Street. Then we kissed in the Land Rover in front of the inn as we shared the most basic details of our lives, the kind of stuff I’d known about Zack forever. Ben told me he was twenty-two.
Kiss.
He grew up in Maine.
Kiss.
He graduated from Sarah Lawrence College last year.
Kiss.
He was helping Sadie fix up her house.
Kiss
. He’d lived in Brooklyn until May, when he came to Nantucket.
Kiss.
He didn’t think he was going back.

“Because of…what’s her name?”

“Amelia.” He disappeared for a second.

“What about you?” He touched my neck. “Where are you from?”

“Providence.”

“Go on.” His hand traced my collarbone.

“I’m eighteen.”

“Thank god.” His finger dropped to my breastbone, outside the T-shirt.

“Nineteen soon. I’m going to Brown.”

“We’ve been over that.” We both laughed.

He ran his hand through my hair, tugging on it a little as he went for another kiss, and I had the feeling that guys his age either kissed or had sex but didn’t do anything in between. But before I even had a chance to tell him to slow it down, he surprised me by transitioning into a hug, telling me he had to go check on Sadie, and planting a chaste kiss on my burning forehead.

Liz was drinking wine out of a jam jar, making her way through a sleeve of Oreos, and watching
Big Brother
.

“Holy hair extensions,” I said, as the girl on the TV twirled her mane and addressed the camera. I sat next to Liz on the sofa.

“Yeah, but Shayla’s really cool,” Liz said. “She’s going to win this whole thing. What’s going on? Did you do it with Mr. Bartender?”

“No. I’m just getting to know him.”

“Watch out. He’s probably a right ass.” Liz refilled her jam jar with wine and reached for another cookie. “They all are. Men are not to be trusted.”

I didn’t have the heart to remind her that she was the one who had told me I didn’t need to be such a very, very good girl. And I wasn’t going to ask her i
f
“right asses” spend their summers fixing up their grandmothers’ houses.

“You’re probably right,” I said. I snuggled under the covers with her and laid my head on her shoulder. She passed me the Oreos and I took one. “Liz, are you okay? I heard you crying last night.”

She paused the TV. “I keep going over it in my head, trying to locate the moment.”

“What moment?”

“The moment I lost him. But I can’t find it. Where did I go wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I said, as fat tears rolled down her pink cheeks. “He lied. He’s a right ass, remember?”

“But why doesn’t he want to be with me?” she asked, hiccuping. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you.” I handed her a tissue. She blew her nose loudly.

“I sound like a stupid, stupid girl. I sound like a bloody Phil Collins song.”

“You aren’t stupid. Shane’s stupid. You’re badass!”

“Do I look badass?” she asked, gesturing to her oversize Cranberry Inn T-shirt and pajama bottoms with kittens on them.

“You look…casual. Hey, remember when you bought me that thong last year? And made me unwrap it in front of Gavin?” She laughed, snorting a bit. “Or how everyone on this island, including the rich and famous—
especially
the rich and famous—know and love you? Or the fact that you stayed out on Nantucket instead of doing what everyone expected?

“I suppose that was adventurous.”

“It was badass! You’re only twenty years old and you’re running an inn.”

“A stupid person might have more trouble, it’s true.”

“See? Exactly.” I turned back to the TV and grabbed an Oreo. “Now, tell me why Shayla’s going to win.”