It Comes In Waves (9 page)

Listening to Jill, Claire had to admit it sounded like fun. Playing house, their own apartment, their own rules. Certainly more fun than being shipped off to another country, miles from any surf. But weren't any of them planning to go to college in the fall?

The boys swung back into the booth.

“Good news, babe,” Shep announced to Jill. “Biff says the Glasshouse is ours.”

Claire looked between them. “Do y'all call it that because it's made of glass?”

“No, glasshouse is a surfing term for being inside a big wave,” Foster explained. “You know, like the green room.”

“It has one of those too,” Shep added. “A green room, I mean. One of the bedrooms, painted bright green. And it's got this huge deck for parties. And plenty of couches for people to crash on.”

“It's not nearly as disgusting as it sounds,” Jill whispered to Claire, leaning in. “I've seen it and it's really very cute.”

“Aw, babe, come on,” Shep whined. “You don't call a surf house
cute
.”

Foster chuckled into his soda. Jill shrugged sheepishly and delivered Claire a conspiratorial smile. “Oops.”

•   •   •

A
n hour later, all four spilled out of the Crab Trap into the afternoon air.

The sun was lower, signaling the afternoon's passing to evening. Claire knew she'd pushed her luck far enough.

“I should really get back,” she said.

Shep hooked his arm around Jill's waist. “We can give you a ride,” she offered.

“It's okay, I have the Pod,” Foster said, reaching for Claire's hand and threading their fingers.

“It was great meeting you, Claire,” Jill said. “Make sure Foster gives you my number in case you change your mind about next summer.”

Foster steered them toward the parking lot. “What about next summer?”

“Jill said she'll be looking for a roommate.” Claire smiled. “She wasn't serious.”

“Jill's always serious, believe me,” said Foster. “Too serious sometimes.”

“She seems nice.”

“She is. She's can't surf, but no one holds it against her.”

Your mother does, apparently,
Claire wanted to say but didn't. The urge to defend Jill was strangely reflexive. “Most girls can't surf.”

“I know, why do you think I'm so excited to find
you
?”

To find you.
Claire flushed appreciatively as Foster opened the passenger door and closed it behind her. She loved the phrase, that she was a treasure to be held on to.

He slid the key into the ignition but didn't start the car. “So . . . ,” he began, twisting in his seat to face her. “I guess it's all set.”

“What is?”

“Next summer,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You can room with Jill and work with me and my mom at the surf shop.”

Claire stared at him. He
was
kidding, wasn't he? He had to know she couldn't possibly spend the summer after her first year of college working at a surf shop. Even if she wasn't already set to go abroad, her father would never agree to it.

“I'm serious.” Foster's eyes danced feverishly. “We always need extra help teaching surfing classes—and I bet we'd get a ton more girls trying to carve if they saw you on your board.”

“I don't know.”

“I do. Us meeting like this, your dad almost crashing into all of us—don't you see? It's fate.”

Fate. A glorious word. Staring into his eyes, a person could believe in almost anything, Claire decided. Even fate.
Especially
fate.

“Say yes. Say you'll come back next summer.” Foster leaned in, his arm a barricade. “Say it, or I won't let you leave this car and a week from now they'll find us in our seats, all shriveled up like two strips of bacon.”

When she laughed, he swooped in and kissed her hard enough to steal her breath. He tasted of soda and tartar sauce and salt water. She swallowed, as if she could draw the flavors inside her lungs and exhale the memory of him all night.

He released her mouth but didn't move back. Claire looked up at him, their faces so close that she could see the crisp rings of turquoise around his pupils. She reared up and kissed him back.

“You'll forget me tomorrow,” she whispered against his lips. “You'll forget this plan.”

He smiled that big smile she'd wanted to crawl into that morning.

“I don't forget things,” he said. “Not things like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like you. Like us.”

Us
. He said it as if they were already joined, dovetailed after just one hour on the water, one meal in a fish shack.

“I can't come back next summer,” she said. “It's not possible.”

“Everything's possible, Pepper. Heck, if a dude can fly to the moon, you can figure out a way to spend next summer here with me.”

Claire stared up at him, lost in his infectious smile; he might as well have drawn up the ends of her mouth with his thumbs.

Was it true? Could it be that easy?

Maybe. Plans changed, deposits were reimbursed.

Claire looked out and saw Shep and Jill nearly at the end of the sidewalk, Shep's arm draped over Jill's shoulder with a certainty that Claire craved. She looked back at Foster, one arm resting on the wheel, the other slung across the back of her seat; how easily she could imagine them fitting around her, his shoulders the hinges that would hold her in, his arms the doors, his fingers the lock.

Claire's pulse raced with possibility, even more than she'd felt during her talk with Jill. Only a few hours in Foster's company, and she'd fallen into a whole new world. His mom, pulling her into their circle without hesitation. Ivy was so independent, so bold. What would it be like to have a mother with that kind of energy, that kind of carefree joy? Claire wanted to know. She hadn't felt this certain about anything in her life, least of all which was enrolling in college, and she was about to devote four years to that endeavor.

All of her life, she'd been given orders, not choices. This was her time to choose.

Foster traced the collar of her dress, sliding just his thumb beneath the seam. “You and me, and Shep and Jill. We'll be unstoppable. We'd be perfect.”

And just like that, Claire felt the natural sliding of their places into formation, like pieces on a chessboard, settings on a table. They were four people, but they could be like two, the way couples who were destined might become. Not vicious or sad like her parents or the Danverses, not people who had no business being bound, but kind and loving partners who fit into one another seamlessly, permanently. Beautifully.

That afternoon they became what they would surely always be.

Foster and Claire.

Shep and Jill.

How could the math of the universe have so miscounted?

F
or the next year, Claire wrote Foster every week. Long, luscious letters meant to be fondled and smelled, paper like flesh. When Claire could catch a ride off campus, she'd meet Foster in Folly and they'd spend the afternoon surfing or visiting Ivy at the shop, then a final hour lying on the sand, rolling toward each other for sticky, lazy kisses with salted breath and reciting the details of their precious plan for the coming summer when Claire would share an apartment with Jill and work at In the Curl. It was like living dual lives: one of her going to lectures and study sessions while the other one of her, the one that was alone in her bed or walking to classes or meeting her parents for church and brunch every Sunday, would live with the promise of a new world on the shore, kept in constant company with Foster King. She plotted in secret, knowing all the while that one morning she'd have to get out her knife and cut the other life loose, set it adrift, and hold fast to the one she wanted.

•   •   •

Y
ou're not working at some sleazy surf shop and that's final.”

Claire had managed to get two sentences into her plea before her father had cropped her proposal short with the snap of his napkin over his lap, the sound as definitive as the crack of a whip.

But this horse, Claire had decided months earlier, would not go.

“You haven't even let me tell you all of it,” she said firmly.

“Lord help us, there's
more
?”

Their waiter arrived with a fresh carafe of coffee. Her mother thumped a pair of sugar packets and tore them open.

Claire took a breath to find her balance. The many times she'd rehearsed this speech, all the ways she'd imagined her father derailing her, bullying her. For every possible dismissal, she had an answer waiting.

“I'll be giving lessons too,” she continued, and the unabashed way she spoke of it as fact, not a possibility but a certainty, made her father's scowl deepen.

“Eat, Claire Louise.” Her mother tapped Claire's plate with her fork. “Before everything's cold.”

Claire pushed her plate away, wanting the space to plead her case. She leaned forward, her fingers laced in what she hoped her father might take as a gesture of prayer. “I want to earn my own money, Daddy. I would think you'd be proud of that.”

“I'm very proud. I just don't want you earning it around a bunch of thugs who nearly took out my windshield.”

“You mean the ones you almost ran over?”

Her mother cut Claire a fierce look over her coffee.

“We're not sending you to school to be a beach bum, young lady,” said her father. “You don't need a degree to be lazy.”

Claire glared. “Not going to college doesn't make someone lazy.”

“If you don't want to go abroad, then you can stay here.” Her father gestured for the waiter to bring more cream. “But I'll not have you commuting out there every day in summer traffic. It's out of the question.”

“I know,” Claire said quickly, “which is why I'd be living with a friend.”

Her mother's eyes lifted. “What friend?”

“A girl I know. Her name's Jill. Jill Weber.”

Her father eyed her cautiously. “This is someone from your dorm?”

“Not my dorm, no.”

“But she's a student?”

“Yes,” Claire lied, deciding it wasn't entirely untrue. Surely Jill had been a student somewhere, at some point in time?

“And this girl's family is from Folly, you say?” Her father swung his gaze to her mother. “Then Bibi and Pierce probably know them.”

Claire kept her expression even, not wanting to complicate things any further. The mention of Bibi Danvers had improved her father's opinion of the proposal considerably.

“I
could
give Pierce a call, I suppose,” her father said, wiping his mouth. “But I'm not agreeing to anything, understand?”

Claire speared the soft center of her egg, biting back a smile and thinking that the sunny filling that ran out was the most beautiful yellow she'd ever seen.

•   •   •

C
laire would never know if it was the mention of Bibi Danvers that turned the tide, or simply her father's dogged belief that indulging his daughter this one request would eliminate the need for any others, but she didn't care. Three days after their brunch debate, he consented to Claire's plan.

Two months later, she arrived in Folly Beach in the same car that had first carried her to Foster, this time with three bags and a heart that beat so fast Claire didn't dare open her mouth for fear it would fly right up and out her throat.

Jill Weber had found a garden apartment with a tiny deck a few blocks from Center Street and a few more from the beach.

Jill met Claire and her mother at the door, looking as flawless as the interior behind her. Claire stepped inside and smiled. Her new home.

“Isn't your father coming in?” Jill asked, looking behind them.

“He's moving the car,” Claire said.

“He doesn't have to do that. There's plenty of parking.”

“It's fine, dear. He likes doing it,” Claire's mother said absently, scanning the room. “It's quite small, isn't it?”

“There's only two of us, Mom.”

Her mother wandered into the kitchen. “So, how do you like school, Jill?”

Jill looked at Claire, her eyes flashing with confusion. Claire widened her eyes, hoping Jill would catch the signal. “Oh, it's fine, Mrs. Patton,” Jill said. “I've got some sweet tea made up if you'd like some.”

“None for me,” said Maura. “What sort of phone do y'all have here?”

“Excuse me?” said Jill.

“Is it cordless?”

Jill smiled politely. “I think it's on the wall, Mrs. Patton.”

“Then it's not cordless. Claire, I can come back next week with one of your father's old phones.”

“That's not necessary, Mom.”

“How will you answer if you're on the deck?”

“I'm sure we'll hear it, ma'am,” said Jill. “It has a very loud ring.”

Thirty endless minutes later, after an exhaustive tour of the bathroom and the kitchen appliances, Claire's mother gave the apartment a final disparaging look from the doorway, and left.

“Lord,” Jill said, joining Claire at the window to wave the car off. “No wonder you wanted to live in another country.”

“And she's not nearly as bad as my father.”

“I can't imagine.”

“I'm sorry about all that with school,” Claire said. “I just figured they'd be more agreeable if they believed we met at college.”

“I thought it was something like that,” said Jill. “But you should know I'm a terrible liar, so if you want me to keep this up, you'll have to remind me before we see them again.”

Claire collapsed on the couch. “If we're lucky, we
won't
.”

“Speaking of luck . . .” Jill reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white Zinfandel, the soft pink of the wine nearly matching her lipstick. “One of the bartenders at the Trap snuck it out for me. Want some?”

Claire drained her first glass quickly, probably too quickly, and took a second to her room to unpack, but she didn't get further than stuffing a handful of underwear into one drawer. She felt like a spun top, unable to sit still. Jill made them sandwiches, possibly the most exquisite-looking sandwiches Claire had ever seen outside a restaurant, thick slices of baked ham stacked between creamy chunks of Brie cheese and crisp wedges of pear, but when Claire joined Jill at their café table to eat, Claire couldn't manage more than a bite before she gently pushed the plate away.

Instead of being insulted, Jill just laughed.

“Come on,” she said. “We can take my car.”

•   •   •

T
he Glasshouse was everything—and nothing—like Claire had imagined. Squat but wide and painted sloppily in shades of green and taupe like an anole lizard caught between dirt and leaf, its skin not sure which color to commit to. Music spilled out every open window, the bass so loud that Claire swore her bones shuddered when they reached the porch.

“Just a word of advice,” Jill said as she opened the door. “Breathe through your mouth.”

Claire laughed, but the house could have stunk with the smell of a burst sewer pipe and she wouldn't have cared. Inside, Shep and Foster flew across the living room floor, skidding through piles of clothes and towels, to greet them.

Foster kissed her without warning, hard and fierce. “Ready for the grand tour?”

Jill disappeared with Shep around one corner and Foster pulled Claire around the other. The tour was a brief one, kitchen, bathroom, porch, deck, and Claire took it all in like water, a necessary substance but utterly tasteless, until he stopped them in front of a closed door.

“And now,” he said, “the most important room of all.” He gave the door a quick shove and it creaked open, revealing a wide swath of dark. Foster felt the wall for a switch, and with a snap, the room bloomed into full light, the walls and ceiling painted a shocking turquoise green.

“Behold . . .” He smiled proudly. “The Green Room.”

Claire looked around, startled at the bleakness of it. A bed hugged one wall, unmade and covered in only a wrinkled sheet. On the opposite wall, a dresser held a lamp and a scattering of loose change, crumpled receipts, and other indiscernible items that would find themselves stuck in a nineteen-year-old's pocket. The walls were bare, the floors too. Even the ceiling fixture had been removed, leaving a naked bulb.

“Where's all your stuff?” she asked.

Foster shrugged. “Like what? I keep my suit and board and all that out in the shed and under the house.”

“But . . .” Her eyes drifted back to the bed. “You don't have any blankets.”

“I don't need any. I'm like a furnace all the time. You'll see.”

The suggestion of his rising body temperature under that wrinkled sheet ignited the air around them. Foster came toward her. Ten months of letters and plans and secret meetings and now they were here, together at last.

Her new life had arrived.

Foster took her cheeks in his hands, tilting her face gently as if trying to decide where to kiss her first.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

Claire shook her head.

“Tired?”

Again she shook her head.

Her searched her eyes. “What, then?”

She smiled up at him, knowing exactly what she was.

She was
ready
.