Chapter Four Caroline #2
Down on the dock Augusta and Bailey were lying out in their swimsuits, soaking up the last of the sun as Fran paddleboarded around in circles and the guys hauled kayaks down to the water.
Everyone looked tanned and happy, radiating New England heartiness.
A little black dog raced excitedly back and forth on the path, growling and jumping on Caroline and getting wet paw prints on her shorts.
“That dog gets so territorial about Van! She hates all his girlfriends.” RJ cackled. “Remember how Bailey had to let her sleep between them in the bed?”
Caroline patted the dog awkwardly. Its sharp little toenails had scraped her shin.
One by one Van’s friends hugged Caroline hello, barely touching her shoulders since they were all half naked in their swimsuits. Bailey looked like a fertility goddess, her rounded belly golden, her green bikini tied in loops at her hips and neck.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” said Augusta.
“We’ve been doing this same trip forever and it’ll be fun to have someone new in the mix.
” She was wearing tortoiseshell sunglasses, and Caroline couldn’t quite see her eyes, but there was something in her voice that let her know this wasn’t really a welcome, that Augusta, in her prim and Old Yankee way, was informing Caroline that she had intruded on a sacred ritual, that she was no more welcome than a mailman dropping off a letter and then staying for dinner.
“Do you feel like paddling?” asked Van quietly. “We could just go unpack our suitcases and settle in?” He was so sweet, always trying to make sure she was comfortable.
“YOLO,” Caroline deadpanned, pasting a grin on her face and hefting a paddle awkwardly in her hand. Had she ever before held a paddle? She felt like she should be jousting or competing in one of the lesser-known Squid Games.
As Bailey and Augusta watched from the dock, Van showed her how to balance on her knees and adjust the paddle for her height.
She wobbled a little but didn’t fall. Eben gave her a hearty wave from his board, but Caroline worried she’d capsize if she tried to return it.
They started off slowly, Caroline crouching on her hands and knees whenever a wave rocked the board.
The shoreline was wooded with docks poking out from each property.
Fran and Max paddled side by side, chatting away.
Colin and RJ shared a kayak and treated the outing like the Iron Man, already twenty yards ahead of everyone else.
The sun sparkled on the water and Van took his time, patiently waiting for Caroline, showing her the osprey nest and explaining that the same couple came back every year, adding to the nest each time.
“Seasonal residents,” Caroline joked. “They probably pay taxes in Florida.”
“Ospreys mate for life,” Van said earnestly. “Well, unless they fail to produce chicks after two seasons.”
“Then the male osprey joins a gym, gets on Hinge, and finds a teenager with daddy issues.” Caroline nodded.
By the time Van and Caroline turned around at the point, the rest of the group was nearly back to the dock.
Van climbed to his feet, adjusting his paddle and cutting quickly through the water.
Caroline stood, teetered, and dropped back to her knees.
She had never been very athletic, but she hadn’t ever cared; in fact she had sort of taken pride in it.
She made a point to avoid any event with hockey or football, believing sports to be for meatheads and those with retrograde sexual politics.
She’d grown up a city kid where the coolest guys in school had been musicians, where they didn’t have enough space for a soccer field, where you could take fencing to fulfill your PE requirement.
Here in New England, she was suddenly surrounded by jocks, and it was a baffling development.
Still, the air was warm, the water was clear, and nobody was making her throw or catch a ball, so she pushed along, following Van back across the cove.
At the dock the little black dog was going crazy, running in frantic circles.
“Lady! Lady! We’re back!” Van climbed the ladder and hoisted his board onto the dock, carrying it up to the boathouse as Lady jumped frantically at his heels.
Caroline steered toward the ladder, unsure of how she might get out.
Everyone else was gone, their kayaks drying on the grass.
The water was deep, and she couldn’t quite figure out how to climb off the board while holding the paddle.
As she tentatively put one foot on the lowest rung, she heard a splash and suddenly Lady was on her, scrabbling to get on the board, knocking Caroline sideways.
“LADY, NO!” she screamed, and kicked the dog off her, dropping the paddle and tumbling into the water.
When she emerged, sputtering, she saw Van’s grandmother on the lawn, watching her with a frown.
Ugh, some people are so uptight about dog-kicking, texted Nina.
It was not great
I don’t care what everyone says. I think you’re a good person.
Stop itttttt
If you need me I’ll hop in an Uber and see you in eight hours, just say the word.
No no I’m chill. I am going to make Van’s asshole friends LOVE ME
Dinner was already on the table and so Caroline changed into dry clothes without showering, wiping the mascara off her face with a clump of toilet paper and pulling her wet hair back with a clip.
“I knew you wouldn’t have time to shop, so I organized supper,” Van’s grandmother informed her. “You kids will be in charge of your own meals tomorrow.”
“Oh, glad to!” Caroline said quickly. Van’s grandmother was honestly the most terrifying person she had ever met.
She was drinking a Gibson, the cocktail onion nestled in the bottom of the glass, and the table was laid with heavy silver.
There was a small roast chicken, picked up from a nice grocery in town, a cold broccoli slaw sprinkled with shavings of carrot, and a plate of butter.
Caroline looked around to see what the butter might be for.
“There was a loaf of bread, but everyone ate it with the cheese plate while you were out,” murmured Fran apologetically.
“This is plenty of food.” Van’s grandmother shook her head disapprovingly. “Whenever we have leftovers nobody eats them. You know, food waste is an enormous problem in this country.”
“It’s actually shocking from an environmental perspective.” Van served Caroline a piece of chicken breast. “The food produced and then wasted in the United States generates more greenhouse gas emissions than thirty-seven million cars.”
“Exactly.” Van’s grandmother nodded. “I think expiration dates are the problem. People throw away perfectly good food just because the label says it’s too old. I ignore the labels completely.”
Caroline peered at the broccoli slaw and put a small spoonful on her plate.
She was starving, but she forced herself to eat slowly, cutting her chicken into tiny bites to make it last. As they ate, they discussed the various environmental disasters impacting the property: rising tides, the depletion of oysters, the moth infestations, the increasing chances of wildfire due to climate change.
It seemed like Van’s extended family owned houses all up and down this same cove, with various complicated arrangements made for who got to stay where on different summer weekends.
“Now when is the baby due, Bailey?” asked Van’s grandmother.
“End of September,” Bailey replied easily. She was freshly scrubbed and rosy-cheeked, dressed in denim shorts and an oversize white sweatshirt, her lashes long and dark, her blond hair loose around her shoulders. “I’m just starting the third trimester.”
“And what about you?” His grandmother turned to Caroline.
“Oh,” Caroline stammered. “I’m not having a baby.”
“Of course you’re not. Where are you from? What do you do?”
Had Van never mentioned her? “I’m from New York. I’m a writer.”
“How exciting,” Van’s grandmother said. The word “exciting” had never sounded less so. It was like Caroline had said she was a lifestyle influencer or a Bitcoin trader, a fake job for a delusional person.
“Caroline is really accomplished,” Van chimed in. “She had a story published in the—”
“I am positively stuffed.” His grandmother exhaled dramatically. “If any of you want seconds, there is plenty of broccoli here. Let’s not let it go to waste.”
After Van’s grandmother retreated to her own house, RJ opened up the liquor cabinet and brought a half dozen dusty bottles over to the table. “Okay, we have Tanqueray. We have peach schnapps. We have Tito’s. Oh, nice, we have vermouth.”
“I hope you have a strong stomach,” Fran whispered to Caroline.
“We’re going to do martini shots!”
“Do we have any olives?” asked Caroline. She really was hungry.
“Sorry, no olives, just those little cocktail onions,” apologized Eben. “You don’t have to take a shot.”
“I like martinis.” Caroline shrugged, and Van winked at her. Sure, Van’s friends were heavy drinkers, but Caroline had been sneaking into bars since she was a teenager and she could hold her own.
“Okay, we’re going to play Family,” announced Bailey, ripping up a piece of paper and handing out golf pencils. “Caroline, do you know how to play?”
“I feel like drinking games are more an elder millennial thing,” she demurred.
“It’s not necessarily a drinking game—” Augusta frowned.
“It is,” interrupted Colin.
“Basically, everyone writes the name of a famous person on a piece of paper and sticks it in a hat. I’ll read them all out twice. Try to remember as many as you can. Then we go around and guess who put which name into the hat,” Bailey explained.
“I always lose,” said Van glumly.
“Because he doesn’t know any celebrities.”
“And you always put too many Americans,” complained Max. “But if I put somebody French then you’ll all know it was me.”
“Right, that’s part of the strategy. Put someone unexpected. When someone guesses your name you become part of their ‘family.’ ”
“Okay, got it.” Caroline nodded.