The Love Season (15 page)

1:14 P.M.

Madequecham Beach was just beautiful enough to improve Renata’s attitude. It was a party, a carnival, a scene from
Beach Blanket Bingo
. No
wonder her mother had come running down this road. Even in the dead of winter, the beach would have been breathtaking. At the edge of a dirt parking lot was a bluff, and spread out before them the blue, blue ocean and a wide white swath of beach. Renata descended a flight of rickety stairs while holding on to the ass end of Sallie’s surfboard. Sallie held the top of the surfboard like a mother dragging an unruly child by the neck. Renata, in addition to watching her step and engineering the descent, was soaking in the action below her: the beautiful young people with their Frisbees and dogs and brilliantly colored beach towels and umbrellas, the radios playing Jimmy Buffett and U2, the beer cans popping open in a sound of serious Saturday celebration. Sallie, meanwhile, was focused only on the waves.

“Hurry up, Renata!” she said. “The surf is screaming my name!”

Renata quickened her step as she felt the surfboard being tugged from her grip. Miles was somewhere behind her. She didn’t care where he was. She had left her good sense back on Hulbert Avenue and her heart back at the white cross in the road, and without those two things she felt curiously clean and empty, as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

Once they reached the soft, hot sand Renata let go of the surfboard and Sallie raced for the water. Somebody called to her; she waved and pointed at the waves. She stopped suddenly and jogged back to Renata. She handed Renata her sunglasses.

“Hold these,” she said. She kissed Renata on the jaw.

“Whoa-ho!” Miles said as he came up behind Renata with the towels and the cooler of beer and sandwiches. “I think she likes you.”

She feels sorry for me
, Renata thought. Together she and Miles watched as Sallie lay down on her board and paddled out. Renata slipped Sallie’s sunglasses into her bag.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Renata asked.

Miles laughed. “She likes women,” he said.

“Really?”

“Really.”

Renata felt funny in a way she couldn’t name. “Where do you want to sit?” she asked. “Do you know anybody here?”

“A few people,” he said. “This is where I hang out when I’m not working. But I don’t feel like getting into it all today. Let’s just sit here.” He plunked the cooler down on a plot of unclaimed sand, several yards away from four girls, tanned and oiled, lined up on a blanket like so many sausages across a grill. Renata stood by as Miles spread out a towel for her; then she slipped out of her skirt and lay down. Miles dug two beers out of the cooler and opened one for her. Renata didn’t normally drink in the middle of the day, but she was dying of thirst and today, it was becoming clear, was not a normal day. She took a taste from the sweating bottle and instantly her mood improved. Miles lay down next to her on a second towel. He removed his shirt and every one of Renata’s impure thoughts returned. His body was gorgeous—not pretty, like a model or a movie star, but muscular and rugged. Renata’s experience with male bodies was limited to Cade, who was lankier than Miles. Cade had long, skinny legs and knobby knees. He had big feet and freakishly long toes that Renata teased him about; as a result, he’d stopped wearing flip-flops. Cade had a farmer’s tan. He’d spent the summer with Renata in the city, working at Columbia’s business school, and the only time he spent outside was the occasional lunch hour on the steps of Uris Hall and weekend afternoons, when he and Renata ate take-out food in Sheep Meadow, waving away the gnats. It wasn’t at all fair to compare Miles to Cade or vice versa, and yet Renata found herself wondering what it would feel like if Miles leaned to his left and then leaned again so that he was lying on top of her. Would his weight
feel different? How would he taste if she kissed him? Would sex feel different?

Renata drank her beer with purpose until it was gone. Miles had his eyes closed. Renata raised her head an inch off the towel and became light-headed. She scanned the water beyond the breaking waves for Sallie. There were a lot of people surfing and Renata thought she saw a woman with long hair, but it could just as easily have been a man.

“So,” she said. “I’m missing lunch at the yacht club.”

Miles didn’t open his eyes. “That you are.”

“Suzanne will be mad.”

“Quite possibly.”

“Have you worked for them a long time?”

He opened his eyes and looked at her. Was he annoyed? Was she keeping him awake? She was about to tell him to relax, she would be quiet, when he did half her bidding and leaned to his left, propping himself on one elbow so that he was gazing down at her. He sipped his beer. Renata felt a wave of desire so strong she nearly fainted away. She closed her eyes.
Oh
, she thought.
Oh, oh
. An engaged person should not feel this kind of insane hunger for the houseboy of her fiancé’s family. There was something wrong with her.

“Three years,” he said. “This is the first summer I’ve lived with them, though. Suzanne loves it because I’m always around.”

“You live there by yourself?”

“No,” he said. “I have a roommate.”

“Who?” she said.

He licked his lips and twisted his beer into the sand.

“Let me ask you something,” he said. “Why do you want to get married?”

“I don’t,” she said. She sat up and squinted at the water. The surfers
were fun to watch once they finally decided a wave was worth pursuing. Renata located the person she thought was Sallie—long hair, bare midriff—and saw her crouch on her board, then stand, shifting her weight, steadying herself with her arms as the board careened along the smooth inside wall of the wave. Then crash. Time to start over. Renata wondered how surfing could possibly be worth all the time spent waiting for a decent wave. Were those seconds of riding just unbelievably rewarding? Was it like the thrill of a first kiss? “I think I’ll have another beer,” Renata said. “Please.”

“Sandwich?” Miles said.

“Not yet.”

Miles flipped the top off another beer for Renata and one for himself. Renata’s guilt was at a ten; surely it couldn’t get any worse than this. She had denied her own fiancé.

“It’s not that I don’t want to marry
Cade
,” she said. She nearly added,
I love Cade
, but at the last minute she changed her mind. “Everybody loves Cade.”

“He’s a great guy,” Miles said. “Very upstanding. Very upwardly mobile. Lots of money.”

“That’s not why—”

“Oh, I know. That’s not why I work for them, either. I work for them because I like Mr. D., and he’s sick.”

“He’s sick,” Renata said. “Cade wants to get married before anything happens to him. Before he’s too sick to enjoy a wedding.”

“Like I said, upstanding fellow.”

“He was president of the student body at Columbia,” Renata said. “And captain of the lacrosse team. He graduated Phi Beta Kappa.”

“All very admirable.”

“All very admirable,” Renata repeated. Cade Driscoll was a catch, and
she had spent the past ten months in a daze of pride and disbelief that he had chosen
her
, a lowly, motherless freshman, a relative nobody. And yet now the awe she’d felt had been displaced by something else. She feared him a little bit, his permanence in her life, the
finality
of it all. Marriage. “I guess I’d rather just stay engaged for a while.”

“How old are you?” Miles asked.

“Nineteen.”

“You’re
kidding
,” he said. He looked genuinely aghast. “I’m going to have to confiscate that beer.”

“How old are you?” Renata asked.

“Twenty-four,” he said. He gazed at Renata’s chest. “You’re getting pretty red.”

“No lotion,” she said. She pressed her fingers against her skin and the fingerprints turned white. She was frying like bacon.

“Take my shirt,” he said. He tossed it to her and it landed in her lap, soft and cool. She put it on. It smelled like a man, but like a man other than her fiancé. Cade wore cologne. This shirt smelled like bleach and sweat and piney soap. Renata felt all muddled; she yearned for clarity. She loved Cade—what woman wouldn’t?—but the more she was forced to confront the reality of getting married (Suzanne’s damn list, her father saying,
I think it’s wonderful, darling. Congratulations!
) the less sure she was that marriage was what she wanted. Telling her father was one thing, but Renata was growing more and more afraid of telling Action. Action would pitch a French fit; she might even threaten to divorce Renata as her best friend, and Renata wouldn’t be able to bear that. If she was forced to make a choice between Cade and her father, Cade would win. But if she was forced to pick between Cade and Action, Action would win. What did that say? Renata watched the surfers, keeping her eye on Sallie.
She likes women
. There was an intensity to Renata’s relationship with Action
that was missing from her relationship with Cade. There was a thrill, an excitement, a passion to their friendship; they were giddy with it half the time and smug the other half. They held hands, many times, walking to the dining hall.

We in love
, Action liked to say.

There was a shout from down the beach. “Miles!” Some guys were setting up a volleyball net. A tall, dark man, hairy like a bear, punched the volleyball on top of his fist. “Want to play?”

Miles called out no, but the man didn’t seem to hear. He waved his arm like a windmill. Miles shook his head. “No, man, sorry.” Then he huffed. “We should have sat farther down,” he said. “I’m going to have to go over there. I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever,” Renata said. “Play if you want. You don’t have to babysit me.” She leaned back and closed her eyes, trying to turn the day back into what she thought it might be when she woke up that morning: a day on Nantucket, a day at the beach. Instead, she pictured the white cross, a piece of her mother up there on the bluff. Renata would ask Marguerite about the cross, first thing.

A few minutes later, Renata felt something land in the sand next to her. She opened her eyes to see Sallie sitting on Miles’s towel. Her hair was wet and slick, revealing a small, white ear, which was punched with six identical silver hoops. Renata’s father had spent hours of precious breath warning her about the dangers—not the tackiness or flamboyance but the
dangers—
of piercings and tattoos, and in this unique case, Renata had chosen to agree with her father and obey. But the effect of these “dangers” on Sallie was dazzling. There was a city block near Columbia where the residents had pressed colored glass and seashells and silvery stones into the sidewalk—Renata loved to walk that block because it was different; it turned the ordinary cement into a celebration—and Sallie
with her earrings and toe rings and mirrored navel and the army green spiral twist of leaves and vines around her right ankle struck Renata in much the same way. She could barely tear her eyes away. Sallie was dripping wet; her eyelashes stuck together in thick clumps.

“How was the surfing?” Renata asked.

“It’s wild out there,” Sallie said. Her chest heaved; her breasts rose and fell. “It doesn’t look that bad from here, but there’s a wicked rip. I came in because I’m starving. Did Miles make lunch?”

“Sandwiches,” Renata said.

Sallie opened the cooler and dug a sandwich out. “Roadkill,” she said. “Another person would have thought to put the sandwiches
on top of
the beer. Ah, men.” She said this conspiratorially, and Renata laughed a little, then remembered what Miles had said.
She likes women
. Renata watched Sallie unwrap the sandwich and take a lusty bite.

“Do you want a beer?” Renata asked.

“No, thanks,” Sallie said. “I’m going back out in a minute.” The offer, though, seemed to train Sallie’s attention back on Renata, and Renata couldn’t tell if she was flattered by this or worried. “So your mother died on that road back there. That honestly blows my mind. I’m sorry for what I said about the cross before. I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No, it’s fine—”

“I never thought about those crosses being for real people, you know? I just thought the Department of Public Works stuck them there to keep people from driving too fast. I never thought of them as being for someone’s
mother
.”

“It’s okay,” Renata said.

“How old were you?” Sallie asked. “When she died?”

“Five.”

“Noooooooo,” Sallie said. “Tell me no.”

“I was five.”

Sallie reached out for Renata’s hand and squeezed it. Renata felt grateful and silly. She didn’t know what to say. Sallie swallowed the last of the sandwich.

“How do you know Miles?” Sallie asked. “He didn’t pick you up at a bar, did he?”

“No,” Renata said quickly. “I’m staying with the family Miles works for.”

Sallie creased her eyebrows. Her nose seemed to wiggle.

“The Driscolls,” Renata said.

“You know, I’ve never met them.”

Renata nearly said,
Consider yourself lucky
, but she checked her swing. They were, after all, her future in-laws. “I…date the son. He’s my boyfriend. His name is Cade.”

Sallie nodded distractedly; her attention was back on the water, with the other surfers. Maybe she was put out by this pronouncement of Renata’s heterosexuality. “I assumed you were with Miles.”

“I assumed
you
were,” Renata said.

At this, Sallie hooted. “That guy?” she said. She nodded down the beach at Miles, who was walking back toward them. “Want to hear something funny?” Sallie called out. “She thought I was your girlfriend.”

“Get your ass up,” Miles said. “You’re sitting on my towel.”

“Such a gentleman,” Sallie said. She didn’t move an inch.

“I mean it,” Miles said. “Get up.”

“Sit on my board if you’re afraid of the sand,” Sallie said.

“Never mind,” Miles said. He plopped down on the other side of Renata. “So what were you two talking about?”

“None of your business,” Sallie said. “Who is that down there?”