Chapter 14
My mother rang me up as I walked out the door of the Winthrop Island Library, carrying a stack of summer reading. She wanted me to come home early.
“I need you,” she said. “I can’t move off the sofa anymore. I’m like a seal on a rock.”
“Maman, please. You’ve plenty of help.”
“It’s a geriatric pregnancy.”
I came to a stop next to my bicycle and shuffled the phone to my other ear. “Geriatric? You’re forty-two.”
“I shouldn’t even be pregnant, the doctor says. Let alone twins. I’m still nursing Pandora, for God’s sake. Your stepfather’s sperm—”
“Jesus, Maman. Cringe.”
“—really am going to put a lock on the bedroom door this time, I told him—” A howl in the background, faint and protracted. “Damn it. That’s Pandora. I have to go.”
“Ah, so you can move off the sofa.”
“Lucy,” she said, “come home. Please. I have a terrible feeling.”
“You and your feelings, Maman. Go have a glass of wine or something.”
“You’re cruel, Lucy. You know I can’t drink. What’s so important out there?” Her voice shifted into a minor key. “Is it a boy?”
At the exact second she said the word boy, the library door opened and Ben Ressler walked out, wearing a pair of dock shorts and a Dartmouth Football T-shirt. He spotted me and lifted his hand to wave. I waved back.
“Why does it have to be a boy?” I said. “Why can’t I just spend some time with my father for once? Without you having a jealous fit?”
“I’m not having a jealous fit. I’m having twins.”
“In a month. You’ll be fine.”
Ben jogged down the steps and strolled toward me. My head swam. The sun sat directly overhead, shimmering into the hazy July air.
“Did I tell you about my exam yesterday? The doctor said I was already dilated four—”
“Maman. I’m busy now. Goodbye.”
“Wait, Lucy. One more thing—”
“I love you. Keep your feet up, okay? Goodbye.” I hung up the phone just in time and slipped it into the pocket of my linen dress.
“Hey there,” said Ben. “Everything okay?”
“Just my mother being my mother.”
He grinned. “I hear you. Damn, it’s hot out. Want to grab some ice cream? I hear that place in the harbor has the good stuff.”
—
That place in the harbor was the general store, run by the Medeiro family since as long as anyone could remember.
We coasted our bikes down the hill, past the Mohegan Inn and around the corner of the marina, where we left the bicycles.
Ben chose black raspberry, I chose s’mores.
When I reached for my wallet, he said cheerfully, “Nah, I got this.”
We found a bench in the shade and licked furiously at the ice cream sweating down our cones.
In the fortnight since he’d pulled me out of the tidal current at Horseshoe Bay, we had seen each other often, but never without Laura or Sedge around.
I crossed my feet at the ankles so my leg wouldn’t accidentally brush against his.
“So, don’t take this the wrong way or anything,” I said, between frantic slurps of melting ice cream, “but running into you at the library wasn’t exactly on my bingo card.”
“Ouch.” He leaned down for his backpack and pulled out a couple of books. “See? Not a total meathead.”
“Wow. Tacitus. Impressive. Although seriously, what is it with men and ancient Rome?”
Ben slid the books back into his backpack and worked on his cone, which had begun to drip again. “You’re saying I’m a cliché?”
“I’m saying you’re not the first guy I know who’s authentically into the Roman Empire. But Tacitus is not that obvious. I’ll give you that.”
“Blame the nuns,” he said. “We had to learn Latin in high school. Kind of grew from there. Wound up majoring in classics, as a matter of fact.”
“So you must really be counting on the football thing working out.”
Ben laughed his easy, rumbling laugh. “Do what you love, that’s what my grandma used to tell me.
I mean, you read a guy like Tacitus, who’s recording Roman history almost in real time—literally, the crucifixion of Jesus—and you think what a miracle it is, right?
That he wrote this down almost two thousand years ago, and here I am, reading his words.
Like, people say Latin’s a dead language, but honestly? For me, it’s this living link to—”
“Hold on a second,” I said. “You’re reading Tacitus in the original Latin?”
He circled the rim of his cone with his tongue. “Translations don’t give you the same vibe. But anyway. Enough about me. Sitting here mansplaining Tacitus like an asshole. Tell me about you.”
“Tell you what about me?”
“Well, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, but that sounded kind of dramatic back there. You and your mom. Everything okay?”
“Oh, her. Everything’s fine. She always gets a little dramatic when she’s near her due date.”
“Yeah, how does that feel? Your mom having a baby when you’re about to—what, start college?”
“Not quite. I sit my A-levels next spring. Uni after that.”
“Still,” he said. “All those brothers and sisters and stepfathers.”
I traced a trickle of melted ice cream from the bottom of the cone to the top. “They’re all pretty cute. Maman—okay, yes. She can be a lot. But she makes us feel like a team. Family first. Older ones looking after the little ones.”
“Like an unpaid babysitter?”
“It wasn’t a chore. I love my siblings.” I paused. “I guess it’s been hard to make outside friends. Moving around so much, looking after the littles. That’s why I love coming out here every summer. Hanging out with Laura, everything the same. Everyone the same.”
Ben made a noise like he was absorbing all this along with the sunshine, the brine in our lungs, the sweet, cool luxury of the ice cream on our tongues. Lazy, hazy day. Our bodies side by side. “So what’s up for you after college? Big career plans? Or haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Sort of.” The ice cream had shrunk to a small knob at the top of the cone. I carved a bite that froze my front teeth. “I’d like to teach, actually.”
“Cool. Little kids or big ones?”
“Not sure yet. I’m kind of drawn to younger kids. The way they learn, that crazy curiosity. All those years taking care of my brothers and sisters, I guess.” I made a shy noise. “I know it’s not a popular choice these days.”
“What? I think it’s great.”
“Let’s just say it’s not considered super ambitious. The circles I live in. You’re supposed to be a banker or lawyer or entrepreneur. A badass.”
“Bullshit,” he said. “When I think about those nuns? My old football coach? They saved my life. Literally. I would’ve ended up like my dad. No fucking banker is going to make that kind of difference in the world. Do what you love. Like my gran said. Anyone rolls their eyes, fuck ’em.”
“Laura says the same thing. Although Laura’s majoring in finance, so maybe she’s just humoring me.”
Ben got up to toss the remains of his cone in the garbage. “You finished?”
I handed him the rolled-up tissue from the bottom of the cone and he ambled to the bin, a few yards away. When he got back, he settled on the bench and stretched out his legs. I tried not to look at the way the quadriceps bulged from beneath the hem of his dock shorts.
“So what have you got planned this afternoon?” he said.
“Not much. Laura’s teaching tennis at the day camp at the Club.”
“Yeah, same boat. Sedge and his internship. You up for some golf?”
I laughed. “Never played golf in my life.”
He fiddled with the sunglasses perched on top of his head. “We could go to the beach.”
I realized I was staring at the edge of his jaw and looked swiftly out into the harbor, where a clean white sailboat ghosted into view on a starboard tack.
Ben spoke casually, the way you would speak to a buddy, making plans for the day, but I felt some current beneath his words.
I thought of Laura’s face, if I told her how I let Ben Ressler buy me an ice cream cone and take me to the beach all afternoon, while Laura taught tennis to the kids at the Club.
I burst out, “Laura.”
Ben turned to me in surprise. “Laura what?”
“She’s really good at tennis. You should play with her sometime.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Sure.”
“When does Sedge get back from Boston?”
“Late-afternoon ferry, I guess.” The smile faded from his face. “Look, if you—”
“Lucy?”
I shot to my feet and turned in the direction of the voice calling my name. “Hey! Laura!”
My best friend balanced on her bike about five yards away, one graceful toe touching the pavement, looking back and forth between me and Ben, who stood without hurry and picked up his backpack.
“We were just talking about you,” I said. “What happened to camp?”
“They canceled afternoon tennis. Thunderstorms on the way. Your dad said you were at the library.”
“I was. Ran into Ben and came down here for some ice cream. Beat the heat.”
“For sure.” She looked at Ben. “So are you busy this evening?”
He shrugged. “No plans.”
Laura swung off her bike. She still wore her tennis whites, and the flippy skirt made her legs look especially long, especially tanned.
“Well, now you do.” She beamed him a big smile. “Posie Pinkerton just told me that Monk Adams is playing the Mohegan Inn tonight.”
—
Dad was crushed. “I thought we were supposed to go over the maps tonight,” he said. “We had a deal.”
“Oh, Dad. I totally forgot. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s our night, remember? Thursday is our night in.”
“I’ll do the dishes,” I said. “It’s just that I promised Laura. There’s this concert at the Mo tonight.”
“The Adams kid?”
“How did you know?”
He shrugged. “Buzz Adams won’t shut up about him.”
We sat at the kitchen table—we never ate at the big table in the dining room, which was given over to putting the chicken-scratch pages of Hephzibah Winthrop’s journal into some kind of order.
I’d made a basic spag bol for dinner—Dad’s favorite—and he now sat across from me, elbows planted on either side of his plate.
From the southwest window, a ripening sun turned his thin gray hair the color of cantaloupe. A forlorn frown sat on his face.
“Dad,” I said, “I swear it’ll be just the two of us tomorrow, okay? I’ll spend the whole day doing the map thing. I’ll make your favorite grilled cheese for lunch.”