April & Oliver (29 page)

She walks down to the water and wades in to her thighs, wetting the hem of her shorts. She is surprised to see him beside
her. “It’s just a scratch,” she says.

“It’s trickling down. Maybe you need stitches.”

She cups water in her trembling hand and runs it through her hair, over her forehead, down her shoulder. It stings.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s nothing,” she says, but her voice wavers. The bottom is molten beneath her feet.

A wave appears from nowhere, dousing them to their shoulders. Oliver gasps at the impact, glancing into the shifting black
water; he has no idea how he got here.

“What is it, up to a mile that a shark smells blood?” she says.

“That’s not funny.”

“Come on, Oliver. Why not here?” She takes his hands and with the next swell they lose their footing. They tread, buoyant
in the salt water.

“This isn’t a good idea,” he says. “There’s an undertow.”

“Go back if you want.”

His chin quivers. The moon slips in and out of clouds. Oliver appears mesmerized by the dark current pulling him seaward,
yet terrified, barely able to move. She imagines herself slipping her arms around his neck, floating. But Bernadette enters
her mind.

“Let’s go,” April says, and takes the next wave in. As they reach the shore, Oliver stumbles. April takes his arm. “Dizzy?”

He holds his head. “I need to sit.” He wanders over to a rowboat and sits down in it. She puts her hands on her hips, observing
him. He slouches, elbows to knees, and puts his head in his hands. She gets in and sits gingerly on the bench beside him.
The incoming surf laps the wooden sides of the boat. Oliver lies back, his head propped against a life preserver, and covers
his eyes. “If this is what drunk is, I don’t get the appeal.”

“You’re coming out of it now, that’s the problem,” she says, looking down at him.

“I feel like there’s an earthquake inside my head.”

“Ride it out,” she says. “That, or get drunker.”

“I think we’ve lost your father’s flask.”

“Have we? Then it is a big day.”

“I’m freezing cold,” he says. “Is that normal, too?”

“We could go back.”

“No,” he says. “Stay here with me for a while.”

She finds the other life preserver and lies down, propping her head against it. She makes herself small so as not to brush
against him. A wave whacks the boat broadside, spraying them with salt water. They’re quiet, looking up at the stars as the
incoming surf rocks the rowboat, now and then lifting it and setting it down again. She braces herself, not knowing when the
next jolt will come.

“April,” he says, shivering. “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

“Yes you do.”

“Why law?”

“You came to it somehow.”

“By chance,” he says.

“Everything’s chance. That doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“No, not chance,” he says. “Lack of imagination.”

“You’ll find your way, Oliver.”

“I’m engaged to someone I don’t even deserve.”

“Yes you do. You’re a good person.”

“Am I? Then why did I do what I did just now? People go to jail for less.”

“Stop it,” she says.

“Attempted rape is what they call it. And look, there’s plenty of forensic evidence. It’s not too late to press charges.”
He glances at her.

“I hope you’re joking.”

“April, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“You drank too much, that’s all.”

“No, it’s more than that.”

“I know your problem, Oliver. In your head is a girl who doesn’t exist. You went to college. You must have read Jung.”

“No. Freud, maybe. Something about cigars and hysterical women.”

“It’s called projection. Ask Bernadette. She’s taking psychology, isn’t she?”

“Sure.
Hey, Bernadette, why am I preoccupied with a girl I can’t have, when I have a woman who’s way beyond anyone I could ever hope
for?
”

“You’re not preoccupied. You’re exaggerating.”

“You’d make a lousy analyst. Don’t you know you’re supposed to affirm what the person says, not contradict it?”

“Unless he’s full of shit.”

“Fine, I’m not preoccupied.”

“If you are, it’s with the girl in your head, and believe me, she’s not the one sitting next to you.”

“So, who’s next to me, then?”

“April Simone,” she says. “The same girl who beat you in the fifty-yard dash on field day in fifth grade.”

“You did not,” he objects soundly.

She gives him a satisfied smile. “You never did get over that.”

The boat lifts again, and this time stays aloft, bobbing on the waves.

“We’re anchored, aren’t we?” she says.

“Sure. All rowboats come equipped with anchors.”

“You’re such a wiseass.”

“Don’t worry. We’re not headed out to sea, yet.”

Wave after wave laps against the boat. The sky lilts. She feels the sea arcing and rolling. She thinks she has never heard
any sound so precisely, so presently, as she does the creak and roll of the boat.

A warm breeze crosses over them.

“What about me and Bernadette, then. Projection?”

“No,” she says. “That’s real.”

“You’re awfully sure for someone who doesn’t know the facts.”

“It’s obvious.”

“What’s obvious? That we’re in love?”

“I don’t like that expression. Imagine if instead of falling in love, people fell into courtesy? What if making a commitment
to someone meant promising to be kind and polite?”

“Doesn’t it?”

“For you and Bernadette, maybe. Not for everyone.”

“So courtesy is the gold standard? How about passion? Does that enter the equation?”

The boat sways and turns. She starts to feel dizzy. “It’s overrated,” she says. “The stuff of wars.”

He looks at her curiously.

“Except for artistic passion,” she adds quickly. “Scientific, scholarly, architectural passion, that’s what makes us human.
Music, most of all.”

“You’re talking to a law student here. Surely you see the holes in your argument.”

“For mystics, maybe, sex can be a kind of transfiguring experience. But let’s be real. For most people it’s just a question
of getting off.”

“I see, so you’ve had it with sex. Been there, done that.”

“Basically.”

“Wait a minute. Something else is coming back to me from Freud. I remember it now. Have you heard of the term
defense mechanism
?”

“Piss off,” she says.

He smiles, happy to have stung her.

“Let’s go back,” she says.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says, sitting up with a groan. “I’ll read Jung if you read the letters of Heloise and Abelard.”

“I’ve read them,” she says.
“ ‘Even if I could be queen to the emperor and have all the power and riches in the world, I’d rather be your whore.’ ”

He laughs. “You’re always ahead of me.”

They’ve floated quite a distance from shore. There’s no graceful way out of the boat. They splash over the sides and haul
it in behind them. The moment they emerge onto the sand, shivering and wet, the awkwardness sets in. Oliver walks with his
head down, shipwrecked. The way to the car seems endless.

In the dim light inside the house she sees that his eyes are narrow and pained, the hangover taking hold. At the bottom of
the stairs he stops her, placing his hand over hers on the banister. His fingers are clammy and cold. “April,” he says. “What
now?”

“Go to bed,” she says. “Nothing’s changed.”

He looks at her blankly.

She slips her hand out from under his and ascends the stairs. He doesn’t follow. After a moment, she hears him go back outside.

In her room, the first thing she does is empty her purse on the bed to find Nana’s cross. She puts it on, not because she
feels worthy, but because she needs it. She stands at the window, holding the chain. After a moment, she spots Oliver wading
into the surf. The moon is exposed now, casting a brilliant lane on the heaving sea. He swims out beyond the combers until
his image grows faint and is gone.

T
HE SOUND OF A CAR DOOR
startles Oliver from sleep. Beside him, Bernadette’s forehead tenses in dream. He notices his shorts draped over the back
of a chair and remembers his T-shirt left in the dunes.

He sits up. Curtains billow from the open window. His mouth is cottony, his head full of static. He hears voices outside and
rises, looks out the window, squinting. The trunk of April’s car is open, Oliver’s father and brother standing nearby.

He dresses hurriedly, noticing scratch marks on his upper arm, a bruise on his shoulder. He puts on a clean T-shirt and goes
downstairs. “April’s leaving?” he asks his father, seeing her bag in the trunk.

Hal shrugs. “Says she has to work today.”

Al bounces his basketball. “She had a mishap last night,” he says. “Did you hear?”

Oliver’s throat goes dry.

“A wave took her,” Al says. “Dragged her along the bottom. Must have hit a rock, because she’s got a nice little gash on her
head.”

“Is she all right?” Oliver asks.

“You know her,” Hal says. “Not even fazed.”

Oliver runs his hand through his hair. “Where is she?”

“She’ll be right out.”

“I could have sworn she said she was staying till tomorrow,” Al says, tossing the ball against the side of the house.

The screen door opens. April comes out, taking the porch steps two at a time.

“Aren’t you warm in that?” Al asks. Her sweatshirt is baggy, covering her wrists, Oliver notices.

“I like the air-conditioning high,” she says.

He notices the cut along her hairline and looks away.

Al twirls the ball in his hand and catches Oliver’s eye; he’s on to him. Has April said something? No, Oliver decides. Al
has always been able to read the guilt on his face.

She says good-bye to Hal and Nana, then goes to Al, who aims to plant one on her lips.

“Quit it,” she says, shielding herself.

“Aw, Rose,” he says, pulling her.

“I mean it,” she says, pushing away.

Al moves back, raising his hands like a criminal. “Fine,” he says. “Blame
me
.” He lifts a dirty tennis ball from the grass and bounces it hard against the porch step.

April turns to Oliver. She smiles, glancing at his uncombed hair. “Nice do.”

Oliver hates this ability in her. He doesn’t break even the slightest smile, but stares at his haggard reflection in her glasses.

“Gee whiz,” she says, turning away. “Everyone’s so serious. I think you’ll find a way to survive without me.” She gets into
the car and flings her purse on the passenger seat. He goes over and leans on the car door.

“I said good-bye to Bernadette earlier,” she says, fishing in the pocket of her sweatshirt for her keys. “She sounds excited
about your new date.” She draws out the key chain with Buddy’s pocketknife attached.

“April,” he says quietly. She moves her glasses to her forehead. The gesture heartens him. He sees sincerity in her eyes.
“Please stay,” he says.

She studies him sympathetically. Just as she parts her lips to say something, there is a thud against the windshield. They
both flinch.

“Sorry.” Al grins, picking up the tennis ball.

April pulls her glasses down. “I’m broke,” she says to Oliver. “Not working isn’t an option.” She turns over the engine.

He leans heavily on the car, dropping his head. She pats his hand. Not until she puts the car in drive does he back up. April
pulls away, tooting her horn and waving.

Hal goes into the house. Oliver follows, glancing out through the screen door. Al is still in the driveway watching the car
as it rounds the bend. He tosses the tennis ball away and helps Nana up the porch steps. “Hey there, darling,” Al says to
her. “Aren’t you supposed to be using your walker?”

Nana doesn’t answer but looks up at him squarely. “A wave,” she says, frowning. “What do you think of that explanation?”

“Well,” he says. “You know April. If there’s danger out there, she’ll be the first to dive in.”

Just as Al reaches for the doorknob to help Nana inside, her palm catches the side of his face with a loud clap. Oliver winces.
Given her frailty, the force was impressive.

Nana comes inside with surprising speed and hobbles by Oliver without comment.

Al touches his cheek. He strikes a match, and Oliver glances at him through the screen. “I believe you owe me one, Boy Wonder,”
he says, taking a drag.

All his life, something about Oliver has prevented people from accusing him; he was incapable of harm. Perhaps he almost believed
it himself.

He goes upstairs. Bernadette stirs at the sound of the door. She opens her eyes and blinks. The bed is draped with sunlight
streaming from the window. Light glows on the pillow and the silk of her hair. Oliver feels weak.

Bernadette sits up in bed, brushing hair from her eyes. “Lord,” she says. “You look like a truck hit you.”

He sinks into a chair at the foot of the bed. “I drank too much last night.”

“Apparently.”

Oliver clasps his hands in his lap to steady them. “I need to talk to you.”

Bernadette brings the sheet to her chest. A chill passes through her gaze, and for a moment he thinks she knows.

Oliver stands, goes to the window, and taps the sill with his fist. “April left this morning,” he says.

“Yes, I saw her in the bathroom. She said she had to work.”

“You spoke with her?”

“I asked her opinion about the wedding favors. There’s not much time now.”

Oliver touches his forehead. “Bernadette, something’s happened.” He turns to look at her, her eyes tense.

“Are you still obsessing over that diary? So what, Oliver. Your mother made a mistake. People slip. It happens.”

He stares at her. “That’s it? People slip?”

She looks at him carefully. “Come on,” she says with a purposeful laugh. “You act like it happened yesterday.”

“Right,” he says uncomfortably.

“Don’t worry. We’re all disappointed by our parents at some point. It’s part of life.” She slips on her robe, punching her
arms through the sleeves. “I’m going to shower before the hot water is gone.”