Ann Brashares - The Last Summer (of You and Me) (17 page)

u

Paul walked the empty bay front. The lamps overhead gave the cold, blue light of purgatory. The wind blew eerily in circles, deranging the dune grass and the silver leaves above. He couldn't go to sleep. He couldn't go to Alice. The living universe had come down to those two things.

He wanted to pretend to himself that there was some sort of explanation, some easy fix, but he knew.

Of course he knew. Why had he held back from her all that time? The reasons were returning to him, a bit late to be helpful. He wanted too much from her. She saw what he needed, how big it

� 156 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)

was. She saw how little else he had. Who could love that? He should not have let her see it.

He walked onto the bay beach, roped and netted, just on the other side of the ferry dock. The Baby beach, they'd called it, as soon as they were any bigger than babies. The blanket of green muck swayed on the surface. He thought of all the swimming classes and races here. You could smell the ferry fumes, see the iri descent patches of gasoline adhered to the chop, floating alongside you. He remembered standing forever under the shower after swim class, the counselors rotating the kids under the freezing spray so they wouldn't bring sea lice home.

He looked back at the empty lifeguard's chair, a black silhou ette. Riley had spent little time in that seat. She'd been impatient to get past the bay-sitting stage, burning to prove her mettle and move to the ocean, the big time. He remembered the day of her promotion, when they vowed never to swim in the bay again. Most kids rejected the bay because they were in a hurry to grow up. Riley yearned for the ocean because it was wild.

Paul stepped up onto the dock, so empty you could hear the creak of the wood and the pull of the water. He looked for the stu pid crabs under the lamp. He thought of Alice 's heartlessness toward them, desperate as they were for light.

� 157 � Thirteen

Leaving Badly

A fter three days, Alice hated Good Samaritan Hospital, and

Riley hated it more.

"I feel fine," Riley announced as Alice arrived in the early morning. In spite of the nurse's orders, Riley sat rebelliously on the bed in her regular clothes--a gray tank top and a pair of khaki shorts. Alice could see the goose bumps on Riley's arms.

"Where are Mom and Dad?"

"I sent them away. I told them to go back to New York."

Alice nodded, doubting that they'd complied.

"So, what's the news?"

"What?" Riley looked up at her irritably.

"Have you talked to the doctor again?"

"More tests. Another scan today. More of that disgusting thing they make you drink."

� 158 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)

"No news, though?"

Riley aggressively flipped the channels. She spent less time with each channel as the hours passed. "There's something wrong with my heart." She kept her eyes on the TV.

"We knew that already."

"Well, that's the basic idea. God, I hate all these dancing shows."

Alice went down to the cafeteria to get Riley a hot chocolate. She was not stunned to see her parents there.

"No news?" she said to them, stopping at their small table.

Her parents looked as humorless as a pair of losing coaches.

"Is that what Riley said?" Judy was violently picking the side of her thumbnail.

"She was vague."

Ethan put his coffee cup down. "Dr. Teirney believes she has rheumatic heart disease."

"What is that?"

"It's an infection that starts with strep throat. If it goes untreated," Judy said.

Alice felt the hot chocolate burning the tips of her fingers through the paper cup. "Riley had strep throat, but she treated it. I picked up the medicine for her from the ferry."

"Apparently, she didn't treat it enough," Judy said.

"What do you mean?" Alice asked.

"You have to take the full course of medicine. You can't just stop when you start to feel better."

"Is that what Riley did?" Alice asked.

"I think so. We hope Riley's giving clearer answers to the doc tor than she 's giving to us," Judy said flatly.

� 159 � Ann Brashares

Ethan sat back in his chair. "The doctor's almost certain there was some underlying problem that made this recent infection more serious. We think Riley probably also had rheumatic fever when she was a toddler, but it was misdiagnosed. If it happens a second time, it can be much worse."

The words were hard and indigestible. They knocked around in her head like marbles. "Can they fix it?"

"Dr. Teirney is talking about surgery to repair her mitral valve."

"It doesn't fix it," Judy said. "But he says if you're careful, it's a condition you can manage."

"Does Riley know all this?" Alice asked.

Judy gave her a look instead of an answer.

"Because she says she feels fine."

"Riley's had congestive heart failure, Alice. She's not fine."

u

Alice was avoiding him. She was disappearing in the morning, impossible to find all day long. He needed to see her.

Paul walked to the yacht club. He'd fish in a barrel if he had to. He found a seat at the bar that gave him a view of Alice. She had her sailor hat stuffed into the back of her waistband.

She met his eyes as she went by. She went so far as to touch his arm, but she didn't stop to talk. It was pity in her eyes, wasn't it? She didn't want to hurt him, but she didn't want to be near him, either.

He longed to make her laugh, to change the mood, but the wary look in her face kept him silent. She looked pained, hollowed out. Two pink splotches appeared on her pale face.

� 160 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)

In two days, the summer would be over. When the universe was bigger, he'd been pressed to get his paper done and to start school. That's what he was supposed to be thinking about. He had a meeting with his future adviser in a week. He 'd planned to leave for New York on Monday afternoon. He'd imagined he'd leave with Alice.

All those seasons of leaving empty-handed, enviously watching Riley and Alice drive from the ferry parking lot in their gasping, overpacked AMC Gremlin with Ethan at the wheel and Judy argu ing with him about whether to take the Southern, the Northern, or 495. Paul had thrilled at the thought that this year, year of years, he wouldn't leave alone. He 'd leave with Alice.

He'd made the mistake of drawing out his wishes with some specificity. He'd stay in the 72nd Street apartment for a minimal number of nights while casually getting a place near school. The Village was absurdly expensive, he knew, and he felt shamed by how he'd rely on his money for this plan--though apparently not shamed enough. He'd lure Alice there every evening after her classes. They'd make love day and night. Before long, her tooth brush would live on the edge of his bathroom sink. Her lacy bra would hang over the side of the tub. Together, they'd repaint the place in colors they'd (she'd) chosen. How happily he'd deprive the infernal Jonathan Dwyer, the entire borough of Brooklyn, of Alice.

Now, he feared, he 'd reached for too much. He was back to empty hands.

The wine tasted sour in his mouth. He could barely discern the pretty face of the girl behind the bar who liked to ply him with bowls of goldfish crackers.

� 161 � Ann Brashares

Alice would have to talk to him sometime. At least she'd have to say good-bye.

She was only twenty-one. A virgin until two weeks ago, and he wanted to attach himself to her physically, mentally, emotionally every minute of every day, for now and ever. Of course it was too much. He was right to be suspicious of himself. He'd known that when he finally opened up to her, he would blast out like a fire hose, destroying everything in his path: every spark, every tender thing.

He looked at Alice taking an order from a young couple he didn't recognize. Her hand shook over her pad. Did she know he was looking?

Alice was rejecting him, and he missed her so much. He wanted to throw himself at her mercy. Part of him was so reckless, he would have done anything to be close to her. But that was the trouble, wasn't it? It was her mercy he 'd come to rely on.

As he stood at the door to leave, she turned a sweet, almost wist ful face to him, like she had something she wanted to say. Was she sorry he was leaving? It sent his thoughts spinning in yet another direction as he walked home.

Maybe she would come to him tonight. Maybe she missed him, too. Maybe her bed felt as intolerably empty as his. Maybe she 'd be willing to give him another chance.

And maybe he could take it easy for once. Maybe he could just be with her and stop hoping for so much.

So he lay in his bed, where he'd made love to her in a dazzling variety of ways. The hours passed and she did not show up, and by morning he knew how devious, how hopeless was his penchant for hope.

� 162 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)

u

Alice packed one canvas bag with the important things. She left the house quietly. Her head was down. She was leaving badly.

She was going to meet Riley at the hospital. She let her mind travel forward exactly to that distance. She could picture Riley wait ing for her in the parking lot, desperate to make her escape. They would ride in the cab to the train station and go back to the city. Riley was being released into the care of a team of cardiologists at Columbia Presbyterian as an outpatient, thank God. Their parents were going to Bay Shore to retrieve the car, and Riley refused to wait and ride home with them. She wanted to go home with Alice.

Alice walked briskly toward the day's first ferry, followed by the wind and rain and Paul, she realized with a start. He had gotten up uncharacteristically early.

She didn't stop for him just yet. She didn't acknowledge that she 'd seen him. She didn't know what to say. It was so hard for her to lie to him. He'd want to know where she was going, and what would she say? She just wanted to get on the ferry and pull away from this island. If she could just keep ducking for a few more min utes, not seeing and not being, then that would finish off this disas trous end of summer. After that, she would be able to think.

She knew the wreck she was leaving behind. Further damage was being done right now by her inability, her unwillingness to look back at him. This was the demise of her greatest hope, hap pening in slow motion. But she felt her misery remotely. She was sitting on a hilltop, watching her city burn.

� 163 � Ann Brashares

Her legs felt shaky. She hadn't eaten last night. She couldn't remember the last time she'd sat down and eaten something.

The previous afternoon, she and Riley had changed the shape of their lives. With one reluctant call, Riley had withdrawn her lead ership of a National Outdoor Leadership School semester course in the Rockies. With another, more determined, Alice had deferred her entry to law school. A lifetime of planning could be canceled in less than five minutes, it turned out. Really, it was Riley's heart that changed the plans, but it was the nature of things to imagine you did it yourself.

How slow and painstaking it had been to coax Paul into loving her. She'd done more than coax. She'd practically demanded it of him. Maybe it was wrong to have to work that hard. And yet how quick and easy it would be, she knew, to scare him off. He didn't trust her enough to stand for a doubt, and she was giving him a pile of them.

She wanted to collapse into his arms. She wanted the comfort of his body. But she couldn't allow it. Again and again, she heard the alarm sounding from where she'd lain, curled up in Paul's bed, wrapped in his arms.

The worst thing was not telling Riley about her and Paul. She didn't tell Riley because she was guilty. Because she knew it was wrong. If she couldn't say it to Riley, then she shouldn't have done it.

Could Riley possibly know? God, what if she knew? What would she think? Alice and Paul were the two people she trusted most.

The clouds were so thick and low, Alice could sense them right over her head. The bay beaches were deserted, and she saw no sign of the ferry.

� 164 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)

The sun could find a dazzling variety of colors: the navy blue of the bay, the pale green of the dune grass, the saturated red of the wagons, the rainbow of boat hulls resting on the sand. But when the sun disappeared, the color disappeared and so did the people. It was remarkable how quickly and completely. The landscape turned so desolate, it was hard to imagine there had ever been fam ilies here. Water, sky, plants, houses, boardwalks all weathered to relentless, close-valued gray.

When she felt joy, Alice stayed small and to the edges. In her guilt she grew all-powerful, as though she was the one who'd chased the sun away. Or maybe she and Paul had cast themselves outside of its graces, into relentless monochrome. They had left what comfort they'd known, and they'd done it on purpose. They'd thought they could have everything good at once.

Alice could stagger forward a little bit. She could tell herself something hopeful. If she could just avoid his questions and his demands for a little longer, then once they were off this island it would look different. In a week or two, she would call him in the city. Maybe it would be too late to save what they had. Maybe she didn't even want to. But at least by then Riley would have told him what had happened and he would understand.

u

She was not leaving. She couldn't be. It was unthinkable that she would leave without saying anything to him.

She had shoes on. She was leaving.

� 165 � Ann Brashares

He should have let her be, let her go if that's what she wanted, but he was furious. What was the matter with her? Did she hon estly not see him? Or was she running away from him? What did she think he would do?

Did she really plan to disappear from this island and from his life? Is that what she wanted?

He walked faster to catch up to her. She would see him. He saw the anxiety in her steps and in the artificial set of her neck.

When she turned onto the bay front, he caught up and walked alongside her.

"Alice, where are you going?" he demanded. She turned briefly, but she didn't stop. Her face was a misery.