Summer People (18 page)

“I'm for play,” Nathan said.

“Me too, but it was the wrong book to bring to the beach.”

Nathan crouched down beside Eldwin's chair.

“So what have you and Mrs. Broderick been doing?” Eldwin asked.

“Not a lot. Mr. Buchanan's funeral, and then we've been taking a few drives, but that's about it.” Nathan considered telling him about the fire, but he couldn't figure out how to tell him without also mentioning his encounter with Mr. McAlister's wife. Nathan figured the less he talked about it, the less other people would talk about it, and the less likely it would be that he would end up in jail. Instead, he said, “What have you been doing lately?”

“You're looking at it.”

“Looks like a good life.”

Eldwin said, “Yep.” He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and stuck one in his mouth.

“Have you heard anything from Leah?”

“She's supposed to get back tonight.”

“That's good.”

“How are things going with her?”

“Okay, I think. Pretty casual. Has she said anything to you?”

“About dating you? I haven't asked her. I think it's probably good that you're keeping it casual, though.”

Nathan nodded as he watched the children lift shells out of the water and throw them back behind them into the sea. “Why do you say that?”

Eldwin answered quickly, as if anticipating the question. “I just mean that talking with her mother about her relationships in the past—I'm sure I'm not telling you more than you already know—she had this really serious boyfriend in high school and into college and then she started soon after with this musician guy who wanted her to move with him to New York
after they graduated, until they just recently broke up.”

Nathan nodded, and grunted affirmatively, trying to remember if Leah had ever mentioned the latter boyfriend.

“So I think Renee—Leah's mother—has just been hoping that Leah would have some time to not be in any serious relationship for a while.”

Nathan looked above the children's heads out at the ocean and wanted to be on the distant sailboat billowing across the horizon. “Yeah. It's not that serious. I was actually dating a girl for two years before we broke up a few months ago, so I'm not really looking for anything too hot and heavy, either.”

“That's good,” Eldwin said. But through his sunglasses it was difficult to tell if he'd been persuaded. To change the subject, Nathan asked about the differences between sea kayaks and river kayaks and this segued into a much more lighthearted conversation about where each of them would like to go kayaking if he had the resources and the time. Nathan thought of maybe paddling around the Pacific coastline of the U.S., but Eldwin talked about navigating through the middle of the country, following the route of Lewis and Clark.

“That'll have to wait for a while, though.”

“Because of the kids?”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding as if that wasn't the only reason. “That.”

“You could always store them in the hatch.”

Eldwin flashed a smile in acknowledgment of the joke, but Nathan sensed that jokes about storing children like supplies were probably not as funny to the children's parents. He glanced at Eldwin's watch and said he should probably be heading back to check on Ellen.

“Do you want to go kayaking later this evening?” Eldwin asked.

“What time is Leah supposed to get home?”

“I think not until late.”

“What time were you thinking of going?”

“Well, why don't you just come get me after Ellen goes to bed?”

“That sounds good,” Nathan said, feeling strangely resigned. For some reason, he had been trying to come up with an excuse for why he couldn't
commit to this plan. But what the hell was he afraid of? That Leah would come home early? That he'd be kayaking for an hour—something he had
enjoyed
doing the last time—instead of rushing immediately out to find her? He knew guys back home who were this way: so afraid of missing out on the possibility of something better that they could never say for certain if they would be at a party, or would be interested in hanging out on a given evening, and Nathan disliked this quality in them. He did not want to be like that himself, and for a few moments, while walking home, he was dimly conscious of the way in which a love of freedom can leave you standing still.

 

O
n the couch that evening, Nathan reread the letter Sophie had sent him. Then he just stared at the words. There were sentences he did not understand completely, but the general anxiousness of her tone left him feeling like a great weight had lifted from him. He did not want her to fall apart, but, by God, if she was experiencing a little of what he'd experienced—sleepless nights, vomiting due to anxiety, the perpetual hand-wringing over whether the person you love still loves you—well, fine! Wonderful! It was a balm to his heart to think that, when the summer was over, she would be waiting expectantly for him. He would let her sweat it out for a few more days then write a letter or call.

“What do you think about this?” Ellen asked. She was sitting in her lounge chair, sifting through the other mail Nathan had tossed on the end table.

“What do I think about what?” Nathan scooted over to take one of the invitations from her. It was for a cocktail party at one of the houses on their street, scheduled for seven o'clock that very evening.

“Huh,” Nathan said, inspecting the card like an artifact while remembering his plans with Eldwin.

“Shall we go?” Ellen asked.

“We could. Do you want to wait a little while and see how we feel?”

Ellen pursed her lips and nodded, as if Nathan had just demonstrated excellent judgment. She returned to her book and he picked up a collec
tion of Jack London short stories he'd found while idly inspecting the living room shelves a few days earlier. They read for more than an hour, until Ellen's eyes closed. Nathan pulled himself quietly from the couch and in the kitchen he mixed a drink. Through the window, the first stars were appearing in the deep indigo sky. When he returned to the living room, he crouched down beside Ellen, and her milky eyes opened.

“Hey, Ellen,” he said, touching her arm.

Ellen eyed him blearily.

“You pretty tired?”

“I guess so.”

“Do you feel like going to bed?”

Ellen looked around as if searching for something that had changed, but then said, “Why not?” She smiled and patted his hand with such affection that Nathan almost convinced himself he was a quality caregiver after all.

 

W
ith Ellen tucked safely beneath her comforter, Nathan refilled his drink, then trotted upstairs to change his clothes. In the bottom of his closet lay the wet suit, but the rubber felt so cold and damp he decided to wear just his shorts and hooded sweatshirt.

Outside, the air smelled of cut grass and the sea, and despite the glow of nearby houselights, the sky looked heavy with stars. For a few moments on Harbor Avenue, the only sounds were a distant car starting, and the scuffing of his feet against the gravel, but he soon heard the murmuring of young men behind him. Nathan turned to see Thayer and two others on their way up Ellen's lawn from Parson's Beach. One of Thayer's companions was the handsome, lantern-jawed young man who had been wearing a bathing suit at Thayer's party; the other was a squat, dark-eyed juggernaut with thick lips and curly black hair.

None of the young men returned Nathan's smile when he raised his hand in greeting. “Hey, how's it going?”

Thayer said, “Don't fuck with me, cocksucker.”

Nathan watched the three men continue up Harbor Avenue toward him. “What?”

“I said don't fuck with me.” Thayer stepped in front of his two companions to put his clenching jaw in Nathan's face. “Just tell me why you were acting so fucking stupid.”

“So stupid about what?”

“I said don't fuck with me!” Thayer barked. He slammed his palms into Nathan's chest, propelling him backward a few steps so that Nathan had to wave his hands in front of him to keep from toppling over.

“What the fuck, man?” Nathan said when he had regained his balance. “You mean over at your grandmother's? I was just trying to get out of the fucking driveway. I wasn't trying to hit her.”

“Who said anything about trying to hit her?” Thayer asked, turning to both of his friends in mock inquiry. “I didn't say anything about trying to hit her. Why would you say something like that unless you were trying to fucking hit her?” Thayer's voice rose in anger as his hands flew up to push Nathan backward again.

“I wasn't trying to hit her! Mr. McAlister told me that's what you guys thought. But that's not what happened.”

Advancing toward him, Thayer said, “Yeah, he told me your bullshit story, but I want to hear the truth, okay? Just tell me the fucking truth and maybe I won't shit down your throat.”

“I was just trying to get out of there,” Nathan said, “but that driveway is so narrow, I came closer to her than I thought I was going to.”

“So why didn't you fucking stop and apologize?”

“I don't know. Your grandmother seemed so pissed off, man, and—I don't know—I should have. I'm sorry.”

“Did you ever think that maybe she was angry because you told her to fuck off?”

Nathan smiled at the misunderstanding. “I didn't tell her to fuck off.”

Thayer's hands hammered Nathan's chest, sending him backward again. “Don't fucking laugh at me, cocksucker. You think this shit is funny?”

“No, I don't think it's funny. We were just—I just mumbled ‘Fuck this' or ‘Fuck that' or something, because the whole situation was so fucked up.
Ellen didn't know what the hell she was doing, and I was just—”

“Bullshit she didn't know what she was doing! She was up there trying to play some fucking head game, and you were helping her!”

“Man, I'm just her driver.”

“You're her fucking bitch is what you are. But you didn't expect to see me there did you, motherfucker?”

Thayer deflected Nathan's outstretched hands to shove him so hard it was like two simultaneous punches that forced Nathan off his feet and into the white cedar hedgerow lining the road. The branches clawed under his sweatshirt and raked his back, but after he sat on the ground a moment, stunned, he pushed himself back up.

“C'mon, you bitch,” Thayer taunted. He stood with his feet spread apart, fists raised in anticipation of Nathan's counterattack.

The juggernaut shouted, “Hit him!”

Nathan shook his head and muttered, “Fuck this, I'm not fighting you.” He took a few steps toward Ellen's house, but heard crunching gravel and heavy breathing as Thayer sprinted toward him. Nathan swiveled and held his hands close to his head—a defensive posture he'd seen boxers use on television—but it didn't work. Thayer's fist connected just beneath Nathan's right temple and he staggered backward once more into the row of trees. He heard a roar, as if a wave had knocked him over and was still swirling around him. The moist earth soaked through his shorts, and gauging the stiffness of his jaw, he opened his mouth as if to sing his own requiem.

Thayer stood a few yards in front of him while the juggernaut yelled at Nathan to get the fuck off the ground. The lantern-jawed young man stood about thirty yards up Harbor Avenue, nervously glancing at well-lit neighbors' houses. In a loud whisper, he pleaded, “C'mon, dudes, let's just
go!
”

Thayer nodded at his friend's suggestion and took a few steps backward, but then, as a parting gesture, he chuckled, “Stupid fuck,” and spat. The wax-colored strand of mucus landed on Nathan's cheekbone just as he was pushing himself out from the hedgerow.

Nathan wiped his cheek with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, then clenched
his fists and screamed, “Motherfucker!” as he hurled himself up the hill. He punched the muscled thickness of Thayer's neck while Thayer swung and missed and hooked his arm around Nathan's head to drag both of them onto the gravel. Wrestling with each other on the small, jagged stones, Nathan struggled free and was halfway into a standing position when Thayer yanked the hood of Nathan's sweatshirt over his eyes and punched him squarely in the forehead.

Nathan managed to stay upright, but his feet worked back and forth beneath him as if trying to balance something very heavy. He pushed the hood off his head and struggled not to go down. He focused on a small willow tree in a neighbor's yard and tried to stop the roaring world from lurching. His jaw ached and his lungs burned and he wondered with contempt why no one had stepped out of a house to rescue him.

The juggernaut snarled, “Now finish the fucker!”

Thayer stood and advanced with a bobbing, fist-raised posture that made Nathan wonder whether they might have taught boxing at Thayer's boarding school. His approach was impressive and fear inspiring, so Nathan crouched, grabbed a handful of pebbles, then whipped them at his opponent's head. Most of the stones missed him entirely, landing softly in the grass or sounding off the clapboards of a nearby house, but a few struck their target. Thayer crumpled, his hands on his face, like a man wracked with grief, and Nathan ran at him, low, wrapping his arms around his midsection and driving them onto the neighbor's lawn.

They landed in a jumble of flailing arms and legs. But seconds later, the juggernaut's hamlike forearms dragged Nathan from the melee to where he could be more easily kicked. The young man's tennis shoe buried itself once in Nathan's stomach, robbing him of his breath, but then Nathan got an arm down to deflect the blows as he inched backward on his side. Unable to see Thayer, Nathan waited for the kick from behind that would rupture his kidneys, or irreparably damage his spine, but in the midst of this panic, he heard an old man's voice.