Nantucket Red (Nantucket Blue) (9 page)

Twenty-two

THE WAMP’S LOBBY DELIVERED
the classic New England elegance that its shingled exterior promised: wooden floors, white wicker furniture, a fireplace, vases of blue-purple hydrangeas, lush potted plants, and a coffee setup that with silver spoons, sugar cubes, and china cups, was at least 30 percent fancier than the one we had at the Cranberry Inn.

“I’m a guest of the Claytons,” I said to the front desk girl.

“Cricket, right?” When I heard her husky, party-girl voice, I realized she was Thonged Snoring Girl. “Jules is waiting for you on the beach.” From the way she was looking at me, it was clear she was trying to place me. I couldn’t wait to tell Liz.

“I’m a waitress at Breezes,” I said. “It’s my day off.”

“No wonder you look so familiar.” She lowered her voice. “Weren’t you gonna move into the Surfside house with us?”

“I found something else.”

“That’s too bad. It’s like a constant party. We didn’t go to bed until like five this morning.”

“Sounds fun,” I said.

“So, if you want to change into your suit, the Claytons’ cabana is number sixteen.” She pointed down a hallway. “Just go all the way to the end and make a right. It’s the last one.”

The cabana was actually a simple wooden changing room built right over the sand. The door to number sixteen was open. Inside were some little closetlike rooms for changing, a shower, and several hooks for bathing suits and towels. I knew that if Nina were alive she would’ve loved to decorate this little space. She would’ve hung the perfect photo or an antique mirror above the white dresser.

I could see how each of the family members had claimed some small corner for their own. Here was Jules’s nook, with her boyfriend jeans, shampoo, and razor lined up on a bench. There was Mr. Clayton’s corner, with his large flip-flops, sunglasses, and a vat of sunblock, SPF 75. There were Zack’s things, hanging on hooks: his blue bathing suit, still wet; the towel with the Tropicana logo that he’d used all last summer; his Whale’s Tale T-shirt, inside out.

I had been hoping Ben’s kiss would cure me of Zack. But I grabbed Zack’s shirt, brought it to my face, and inhaled until I was light-headed and flooded with memories of last summer.
Sunscreen, sand, salt water, him.
I flipped it over and smelled the back, coaxing every last bit of Zackness from its fibers.

Ben’s kiss was expert, just like his hands. He knew when to move in, when to pull away. He knew when to press and when to release. And it worked: my body responded without waiting for my thoughts. It had been different with Zack. We belonged to each other when we had kissed. I buried my face in the shirt one last time before reminding myself that he didn’t belong to me anymore. I was about to hang the shirt up on its hook when I decided to stuff it in the bottom of my beach bag instead. I folded my clothes and placed them over it and made my way down the pathway to the beach.

When I stepped onto the hot sand, one of the Wamp employees sprang to his feet and offered me a cup of ice water and a towel. I didn’t know if I was supposed to tip him. Since I was wearing only my bathing suit it was pretty obvious that I didn’t have any cash on me.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Are you looking for Jules?”

“Yeah.” Who was this clairvoyant beach boy?

He laughed. “She told me you were coming. She’s right there.”

He pointed and I saw Nina wearing one of her signature black bikinis, her hair in a messy bun and her sunglasses on her forehead. She was reclining in a beach chair under a yellow umbrella, reading a magazine. I couldn’t wait to tell her about Rodin at Cisco. I couldn’t wait to make her laugh.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Jules asked, startling me out of my mistake. I adjusted the beach chair next to hers. “Do I have kale in my teeth? I just had a salad.”

“No,” I said. “It’s nothing.”

“Whatever you say. Since when did everyone decide kale tasted good, anyway?” She handed me a magazine. It was
Vogue Paris
. “For you. It’s not like I can read it, but you probably can.”

“Cool,” I said, and opened it up, testing out my French.

“Parker brought it from Paris.”

I dropped the magazine on the sand, not even bothering to close it. I was about to ask Jules what she was trying to do in bringing up Parker, but then I noticed the page the magazine had opened to. It was a piece about Rodin. I couldn’t believe it.

“My mom loved this guy.” Jules picked up the magazine and dusted off the sand. Her eyes narrowed as she studied the glossy spread.

“I know.” I propped myself up on my elbow and debated telling her about the list. I’d already come up with a plan for the second item:
Learn to drive and then drive Route 1 to Big Sur.
Nina didn’t know how to drive, because she had grown up in Manhattan. I knew how to drive, but I didn’t know how to drive stick. I was going to ask Ben to teach me in the Land Rover.

Jules pressed her hands against the page, flattening it for the best view. “She doesn’t like art.”

“Who?”

“Jennifer. I’m not sure what she’s into besides my dad.”

“He’s probably just having a fling.”

“He’d better be.” She flipped the page and inhaled a perfume sample. “Do you hate Polly?”

“No,” I said, thinking. “It’s just, she’s not my family, and my dad wants me to pretend like she is, and I have to do it all the time.”

“That sucks,” Jules said, flipping through the pages. “But she is family, right?”

“She’s
his
family,” I said.

“But he’s
your
dad.”

“I don’t want to think about it.” I stared out at the water. “Let’s go for a swim.”

She got up and I followed her, but turned back when I realized I was still wearing my sunglasses. I could see the Breezes staff setting up for dinner. I could see Amy looking out at me from the porch, a hand on her hip, her bright red lipstick visible from here. I wondered if Ben had told her that we’d hooked up. I wondered if I was her Parker. I was not going to be anyone’s Parker. “Hey,” I called. I smiled and waved.

“Is that girl giving you the finger?” Jules asked.

“Yup,” I said, continuing to wave. “She sure is.”

Twenty-three

“NO, NO,” BEN SAID,
as the land rover stalled yet again. “You need to lift your foot off the clutch while you put your foot on the gas.”

“I did.”

“You have to do it
at the same time
. Like I’ve been telling you. For an hour.”

“That’s what I was doing,” I said, tapping the steering wheel with my palms.

It was the first time I’d seen Ben tense. Even on Saturday nights when the bar was slammed, he moved as if knowing that the world was going to wait for his easy smile, sun-lightened hair, and faded shirts. Now, on these sandy back roads, a little furrow disturbed his smooth brow.

“I was lifting my foot gently off the clutch just like you said,” I insisted. He pointed at my foot, which was still depressing the clutch. I jerked it away. “I mean that’s what I
did
. Seriously, when it was happening, that’s what I was doing. I swear.”

He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe me. I sighed, trying desperately to appear even-tempered and in control. I was going to drive this Land Rover if it killed me.

“Here’s the thing. If you don’t lift your foot off the clutch, the gear can’t catch,” Ben said, sounding like someone’s dad. “Want me to draw you a picture?” I glared at him. “Whoa. Okay. You want to take a break?” He put a hand on my knee. “Sadie is expecting us for dinner soon.”

“No,” I said, pushing his hand away. “I can get this.”

His cell phone rang. He paled as he glanced at the number and silenced it. Was it Amelia?

“I’m ready when you are,” he said.

I took a deep breath and turned the key. It wouldn’t start. “Shit.”

“You’re foot isn’t on the—”

“I know!” I took another breath and pulled an old lacrosse trick: visualizing. In lacrosse, it was the ball landing in the net I saw in my mind’s eye. Now, it was the car traveling effortlessly down the road. I started the car again, releasing the clutch as I applied my foot to the gas—
at the same time
—and we started to move.

“Yay!” I said. “Yay, yay, yay!”

“All right, nice job.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now we’re cooking with gas.”

“Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit,” I said as I saw another car approaching. These back roads had been ours alone for an hour now. Why did other people have to show up now? “There’s another car on the road.”

“That’ll happen from time to time, but you got it,” he said, tilting the steering wheel toward him to give the other car, which was full of kids headed to the beach, enough room to pass.

“Good work. Now you’re going to shift into second gear. This is easy, since you’re already moving.”

“Okay.” I pressed on the clutch and shifted. Ben whistled.

“I like second gear,” I said, unable to suppress a huge smile. “Second gear is, like, my favorite.”

“You want to drive all the way to Sadie’s?”

“I’ll try,” I said, exhilarated by my triumph. He directed me down a few roads and casually turned on the radio. Fleetwood Mac was singing “Gypsy” on the classic rock station from the Cape. Mom loved this song. I knew every word. I was so focused on the task at hand, so deep in my concentration, that I started to sing along quietly without even realizing it.

“You have a pretty voice,” Ben said. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

“Thanks, but I can’t. My mom’s the singer.”

“You sound good to me,” he said, tossing off one of his gorgeous smiles.

“I don’t have perfect pitch,” I said. Mom had checked my pitch a few times and even though she tried to hide it, I knew it disappointed her that I hadn’t inherited her gift. Somewhere along the line, I’d decided that if I couldn’t sing perfectly, I wouldn’t do it at all.

“It’s not about perfect,” Ben said as the road changed from dirt to paved. “It’s about expression.”

Two trucks peeled out from a big driveway and trailed us. Ahead, a stop sign loomed. My grip on the wheel tightened.

“Oh, god,” I said, eying my rearview mirror. One was a gigantic Suburban and the other a Ford Expedition.

“One foot on the clutch, one foot on the brake,” Ben said as we approached the stop sign.

I did what he said, and miraculously, the Land Rover came to a halt.

“I did it! I did it!” We high-fived. Once the road was clear, I stepped on the gas, forgetting all the little steps I was supposed to do between. Something screeched. I tried to get us going again, choosing two different pedals. The car lurched.

“My transmission!” Ben said. My back was sweating. My thighs were sticking to the seat. I couldn’t remember which pedal was which and I didn’t want to touch any of them. Behind me, the driver of the Ford Expedition leaned on his horn.

“What the hell?” the driver called out the window.

“Calm down, dude,” Ben said under his breath.

“Can we switch?” I asked Ben as the guy pressed on his horn again, this time sticking his middle finger out his window. He kept jabbing it higher and higher. “Uh, we have to switch.”

“Okay. Turn the car off.”

I did and we both climbed out of the car. But then the car started to roll onto whatever main road I’d been trying to turn onto. It was moving on its own! An oncoming car slammed on its brakes, forcing the car behind it to do the same.

“Jesus,” Ben said, as we ran alongside the car, opened the doors, and climbed inside. It wasn’t rolling fast, but it was the first time I’d ever jumped inside a moving car. Ben did whatever it was people who drive stick know to do, and we pulled over to the side of the road. The Expedition guy shouted something as he turned in the opposite direction.

“I, um, forgot the emergency brake,” I said.

“I know,” he said. And we burst into laughter as he started the car. I was laughing so hard that I almost didn’t notice that it was Parker’s car that had slammed on the brakes and was now passing us. Her dark hair streamed out the window like a raven taking flight. Zack was in the passenger seat, craning his neck to get a better look at me. I knew in my gut that he’d seen the whole thing. The Rolling Stones came on the radio. I turned up the volume, put my feet on the dash, and sang my heart out.

Twenty-four

“AND THESE WERE MY PARENTS,
Harriet and Bernard,
Broadway actors. They were part of the ’Sconset Actors Colony back in the Roaring Twenties,” Sadie said, pointing to a photo of a dramatic woman with a draped Grecian dress and a wreath of flowers in her hair, striking a pose next to a man who was lounging on a porch looking both guilty and delighted with himself. “My parents built this cottage themselves.”

“That’s this cottage?” I asked, taking a closer look at the picture. “Where we are right now?” Ben sat next to me with a fresh beer, and I tried not to squeal as he slipped a cold hand between my lower back and the sofa. Sadie’s house was tiny, with one bedroom, one bathroom, a little kitchen, and a living room that doubled as Ben’s bedroom at night. We were both couch surfing this summer.

Sadie was older than I’d thought. From the way Ben had spoken about her, swimming in the ocean every day and peppering her speech with her favorite four-letter words, I’d imagined her to be the same age as Polly’s parents, Rosemary and Jim, and neither of them had gray hair. But Sadie was old-lady old, with white hair and watery eyes, even though she’d lit up like a teenager when she’d seen Ben waving to her as we headed into the driveway.

“You don’t recognize it because so much has been built up around it,” she said. “You used to be able to see the ocean from the porch.”

“And there was an actors’ colony on Nantucket?”

“There certainly was. And what free spirits they were,” she said, turning the page to reveal a sepia-toned group hanging out on a porch. Some were smoking pipes, some were wearing crazy hats. Some were in costumes and others in bathing suits, but they all looked like they were having the time of their lives. “They came out here to write and act and make music and, let’s face it, get laid.”

“I warned you about her,” Ben said, smiling, sipping his beer, and sliding that hand farther down my back.

“I had no idea. I’d always thought of Nantucket as a vacation spot, not a place where artists go.”

“Nantucket has always been a place for oddballs and wanderers; that’s the nature of an island.” She turned another page, to a picture in which a busty girl in a bikini posed in the sand. “Oh, that’s me, the summer I met Ben’s grandfather. We made love for the very first time on that beach.”

“Wow,” was all I could think of to say.

“We had fun in the old days,” Sadie continued. “Now I don’t know what young people want.”

“We want the same stuff,” Ben said.

“But these kids driving seventy-thousand-dollar cars? It’s like they’re already middle-aged. I didn’t want fancy cars when I was young. I wanted adventure. Sex. Romance. The open road.”

“Cricket almost got us killed on the open road today,” Ben said, and I pinched his leg.

“But it takes money to travel and be free,” I said, thinking of Parker and her new Parisian wardrobe, Jules’s graduation car, Nina on the Amalfi Coast.

“No, it doesn’t. During these summers, I didn’t have a dime,” Sadie said. “No one did. Didn’t bother us. Look.” She pointed to a picture of a bunch of people standing around a fire on the beach. Some were drinking beer. Some were laughing. Some peered pensively at the fire. A handsome guy with one of those rockabilly hairstyles was playing the guitar. She tapped the face of a girl who was dancing. “That’s me, in a dress I made from Mother’s curtains. Fun is free, as they say, and adventure is there for those who look for it. Especially on a warm July night in Nantucket.” She placed a cool, soft hand on my cheek.

Sadie loved Nantucket as much as Nina did, but in such a different way. Nina had worn designer clothes and wanted to join the most exclusive club. Sadie was a waitress, dancing on the beach in a dress made of curtains.

“Okay, kiddos, I’m going to turn in. Up she goes,” Sadie said, hoisting herself off the sofa. “I didn’t have my nap today, and I’m tired. Benjamin, take Amelia to the beach and show her the stars. Somehow, on Nantucket, the stars are closer.”

“This isn’t Amelia,” Ben said. His voice lowered. “She’s gone, remember?”

“Sorry.” Sadie shook her head. “Of course. Force of habit.”

Did I look like Amelia? Had she come here with Ben? How many times? I wanted to ask Ben, but his mood had downshifted. His eyes had darkened and were far away.

“There’s a comet that’s supposed to be visible soon,” I said, grasping for the lightness that had been present just moments ago.

“Larsen’s Comet. It’s visible now,” Sadie said. “Great idea! Go have a look.”

“I think she’s kicking us out,” Ben said as Sadie headed into her room with a glass of water and a book under her arm.

“Can we go to that beach and build a bonfire?” I asked, pointing to the picture of Sadie and her friends.

“We’re not supposed to,” Ben said, sounding like himself again. “But we can.”

Ben led me down a path through a grove of trees to a fire pit in the sand. The breeze off the water was chilly. I sat down in the sand and pulled my Brown sweatshirt over my knees. I stared up to see if I could spot the comet, but it was cloudy. I could only see the moon and a couple of very bright stars. Ben unloaded some wood and newspaper from a canvas bag and built a mini-tepee with wood. As he lit the newspaper, he explained that fires weren’t allowed on the beach without a permit, but that it was almost impossible to see the bonfire from the road.

“What would happen if we got caught?” The flame caught the paper and jumped to life. Ben’s face was focused and glowing in the firelight. There was something about watching him build a fire that was making me aware of my breath, my heartbeat, and the way they worked together.

“We might get arrested.”

“What?”

“Yeah, they’re cracking down,” he said, enjoying my discomfort. “And it all goes in the newspaper.”

“Really?”

“Karla does not like to see her staff in the
Inky
.” Ben stood up, admired his work, and dusted off his hands. Normally, information like this would have made me want to snuff out the fire and head back home, but I fought the impulse. Ben said no one could see us from the road. And besides, he had picked up his guitar, and the fire was dancing. The air was swirling with cool, salty breezes and heat from the flames, and the surf was whispering,
Stay, shh, stay, shh, stay, shh, stay.

I realized Ben was strumming “Gypsy.” He started to sing and I joined in, thinking that the words reminded me of Nina. But no. They didn’t. They reminded me of Sadie. No. They reminded me of my own mom, singing in the kitchen and in the car. They reminded me of myself, dancing around the living room when I was a little kid. I was remembering a part of me that I’d forgotten about, or maybe I was seeing a glimmer of the person I might become. A girl who was free. A girl on the open road. A girl singing on the beach. I felt connected to something. Something in the moon and the fire and the ocean. I felt a light stream of electricity in my limbs. A sense of belonging to this moment, this place on earth—an ancient kind of happiness.

“What are you thinking about?” Ben asked. “Scoring lacrosse goals at Brown?”

“No. Not at all.”

“When do you start practice?”

“I don’t know.” The idea of lacrosse startled me out of my open-road reverie. I hid my face in my palms, feeling guilty. Lacrosse. I’d put off practice for weeks now. I dug my heels into the sand and inhaled the beach air. The dagger of panic was sharper than ever. It was pointed right at my throat.

“What?” Ben asked.

“Nothing,” I said, burying my head in my arms. The future was vast and open, so why was I headed back to Providence, to do exactly what I’d done all through high school, in the same small city I’d lived my whole life?

“What is it?” he asked.

I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud. I shut my eyes as that feeling of connection, of inexplicable security and feather-light joy, vanished like a wisp of smoke into the night.