Love Edy (20 page)

Family time, Wyatt thought, as his gaze
lifted to a mammoth-sized Hassan chucking suitcases in the trunk of
his father’s Benz. Hassan looked up, locked a mocking gaze with
Wyatt—and smiled.

Low life. He had good luck in droves.

Edy’s father stepped out of Hassan’s house
and went to help with the luggage. A few words were exchanged; both
had their attention on Wyatt.

“If we didn’t go now we’d have to wait a
whole year,” Edy said. She grabbed Wyatt by the arm, seized by
excitement. “Oh, and wait until you see what they’re getting him
for his sixteenth birthday. You will
not
believe it.”

“I’m sure I would,” Wyatt said.

Edy’s father stepped to the edge of the
Pradhan yard. “Sweetheart? Come here for a minute.” His tone was
even; warm, despite the scowl he wore. Hassan stood next to him,
unreadable, waiting.

Edy shot Wyatt a look of apology.
“Daddy?”

The lines in his face deepened. “I don’t
believe I’ve properly met your friend. And I do believe I just
asked you to come here.”

Edy started forward, glanced back at Wyatt,
and tilted her head for him to follow. Panic seized him in
rigor-mortic fashion.

“No! Why?” he hissed.

“’Cause you’re a boy. Come on. If you
hesitate, he’ll think you have bad intentions.”

“But Hassan’s right there.”

“Which is why you need to come. To him,
avoiding Hassan is nearly the same as avoiding him. Now hurry.” She
cautioned a glance at her father. “Tell him your name and give him
a firm shake. Look him in the eye when you talk. It’ll be
okay.”

She bustled across the street.

Wyatt smoothed his clothes and took a deep
breath. This should have been what he wanted, the next natural
step. Meeting a girl’s father was a good sign, a sign of
seriousness. He should welcome the opportunity.

Wyatt walked over.

“Hassan tells me that you all spend a great
deal of time together and have done so for quite a while.” Edy’s
father looked directly at her. “He also says that neither he nor
the boys know Wyatt very well.”

Wyatt caught it. That flash of scalding
anger as it crossed Edy’s face. She gave it to Hassan and made him
hold it. This wasn’t an introduction, that look said. It was an
ambush.

“The boys don’t know Wyatt well because they
don’t want to,” Edy snapped.

“Perhaps there’s a reason for that,” her
father said.

What had been said before their arrival?
What sort of seeds had Hassan planted? Or had he said little,
leaving Edy’s father to drag together pieces that didn’t quite fit,
to leap to his own conclusions?

Edy’s father eyed Wyatt in increments,
scrutinizing and analyzing, storing away.

Suddenly, Edy’s advice nudged at him.

“Mr. Phelps, my name is Wyatt Green. I go to
school with Hassan and Edy. You’re right. I should have come over
and introduced myself sooner. I accept the blame for that
entirely.” He offered a hand, willing his voice to steady.

Her father shook, firm.

“And what is it your parents do, Wyatt
Green?”

He should’ve expected that question. But he
hadn’t.

“My father works at an auto parts store,” he
admitted. “And my mother’s a cashier at Shaw’s.”

The longest of pauses followed.

“I see.”

He shot a look at the Green house,
dilapidated, yes, but still worth a formidable sum.

“And what are your grades like, Wyatt?”

He stood up straighter. “Very good, sir. My
father says he doesn’t know where I get it from.”

He probably shouldn’t have said that. But
then Mr. Phelps laughed, uproariously so, and it made Wyatt
smile.

“I like to meet Edy’s friends sooner rather
than later,” her father said. “At your leisure, schedule an evening
for you and your parents to come over for dinner, so that I can
meet the people my daughter is being exposed to. Likewise, you’ll
have the opportunity to meet my wife. We’ll do it on a Sunday,
since the Pradhans are over, and it’s festive then.” He cast an
absentminded glance at Hassan. “Until then, until we’ve all had the
opportunity to meet, my daughter won’t be venturing over to your
property, nor do I expect to find you on mine. And even after we’re
acquainted, I don’t expect to find you on my premises when adults
aren’t around. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir,” Wyatt whispered.

Nathan Phelps would wait forever for the
chance to meet Wyatt’s parents. Forever and a winning lottery
ticket later if Wyatt had his way.

Edy’s father strode back into the Pradhan
house.

“Jeez,” Hassan said with a derisive eye on
Wyatt. “Why not pee yourself and get it over with?”

“Shut up, you,” Wyatt snapped and headed
back for his house.

He went no further than his yard, where he
stood watch in silent suffering. Edy and Hassan, teasing and
laughing, slipping into one house and tearing out the other. No
boundaries, no limitations on either. Edy and Hassan, a touch here,
a shove there, fingers laced, a smile. No notice of Wyatt, both
close and far, watching until the moment they departed. Edy in the
backseat of the Pradhan car with Hassan, without a wave of goodbye
for Wyatt.

Thirteen

The Pradhan-Phelps vacation home was a pea
green windswept clapboard, two stories of rickety wood in the old
Cape Cod style. Buried deep in the tangle of brush, rock, and high
beach grass, the old house tilted east, threatening to slip into
the sea with a strong enough wind. But like the houses around it,
it was old—older-than-America old, and would no doubt be there long
after them.

The layout of the house was simple. A steep
set of stairs led to an elevated front porch, and the porch right
to the foyer. The entrance dumped into a den, often ignored in lieu
of the spacious accommodations upstairs. Exiting that den, a turn
left would head for a quaint dining room with fireplace, the
kitchen, and finally, the back porch. The view from the rear porch
was that of high grass followed by a steep drop to their own
stretch of beach, and beyond that, the Cape Cod Bay. From the
front, it was the Atlantic in the distance. Bedrooms on the first
floor belonged to the parents—Ali and Rani’s on one side, Nathan
and Rebecca’s on the other. Once upon a time, the Phelps occupied
the first floor and the Pradhans the second, but as the children
aged, the commotion kept up was cause enough for a change.

With a haphazard toss of her suitcase to her
bed, Edy hollered at Hassan that it was time for a swim. She fought
with the latch on her bag, nearly shredding her nail, before
throwing open the lid and rummaging for her one-piece. Once found,
she changed in a rush of hands, eager to catch the last bit of rays
before nightfall. As children, they’d douse themselves in New
England waters and knew of nothing that felt more like home.

Edy had a new suit, a halter variation that
ran black, smooth, and taut against her body. Her old one, a
peeling and yellow standby, had no space for new breasts, nor the
tidbit of bottom she’d earned. Barefoot and ready, she thundered
down the hall to Hassan’s room and shouted at the sight of him. He
stood in swim trunks at the window, gaze on the rough terrain
below.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “Let’s go,
you sack of nothing!”

Edy pounced onto his back, giggling, giddy
as she wrapped arms around his neck and legs around his waist,
beating him like a dead horse.

Hassan broke from whatever daze he’d been
under and stumbled, laughing. Twisting as if to peel her straight
off his back, he pawed to free himself. But with each swipe of
long, strong arms, Edy bounced and bounded to stay clear. He would
not evict her so easily. Eventually, he went still.

“Edy, stop. Come on. Get down.”

“Uh uh. Since you didn’t get me once you
were ready, we’re going out like this. We won’t get separated
again.”

She hollered “giddy up” and smacked him
upside the head, bouncing up and down on his back. How rare and
delicious a thrill to have the upper hand.

“You’re not listening. Get off me. I’m not
kidding.”

She didn’t care if he was kidding or not.
Edy belted a “yeehaw” before he careened to one side. Laughing, she
clung to him, body molding to his back in desperation to stay
aboard. He was used to being the stronger one, the one in control,
but he simply couldn’t shake her free. She clung to his neck,
flattening his back. Who knew when she’d have a moment like that
again, a moment to subdue the mighty Hassan Pradhan?

“Damn it, will you get off me?”

He pitched to one side and slung her to the
bed, rough, and she bounced off in a roll to the floor.

She looked up into dark and furious
eyes.

“The next time I tell you to get the hell
off me, you get the hell off!”

Hassan stormed from the room, cursing, and
slammed the door on his exit.

When Edy found Hassan again, he sat at the
shore’s edge, staring out at foaming waves beneath a cobalt sky
that stretched on to oblivion. His arms wrapped his legs and his
knees touched his chin as a light and fanciful breeze danced in his
hair and sprayed his skin with Cape Cod Sea. Edy stood, transfixed,
taking him in, reluctant to approach. He’d never yelled at her. A
lifetime of broken possessions, mutilated clothes, things taken,
and he’d never yelled at her. Yet, never had he looked so
beautiful.

Hassan looked up, sensing her, and offered a
faint smile. When she returned it hesitantly, he patted the stretch
of sand next to him.

Edy sat. “I’m sorry, Hassan. I should’ve
listened. I should have got off when you—”

“Forget it. I’m a jerk. I’m the one who’s
sorry.”

Their world turned in silence, waves
lapping, stars twinkling. They were far from home, and home was
exactly where they were. Her home wasn’t a place. It was a person.
It was there with him.

He leaned back on elbows, face to the
heavens, and gave way to the heaviest sigh. It looked like he’d
been holding it forever.

“I’m supposed to believe in reincarnation,”
he said.

“You don’t believe in a lot of things you’re
supposed to. Not in their way, at least.”

The corners of his mouth quirked, making Edy
want to snatch his smile and pocket it.

“Have we always known each other?” Hassan
said.

Edy looked at him. “Uh, yeah. You know
that.”

He turned back to the stars. “I mean, before
now. Before this life. Did I know you then?”

She considered. Considered the possibility
of something other than what she’d been taught. Considered the
possibility that the tether between them was timeless, destined,
irreversible. And once he’d given life to the idea, nothing else
seemed possible.

“Yes,” Edy whispered. “I think so.”

Hassan covered her hand with his. “Yeah,” he
said. “I think so, too.”

They contented themselves with the soothing
sounds of the shore.

~~~

Hassan rose at dawn and ventured to his open
window. Thin white linen billowed from it, no match for the seaside
wind. From his bedroom, he had a half view of a craggy, sloping
shore, overrun with knee-deep wild grass. On that morning the sky
hung like steel, a listless, uniform gray as the first of drizzle
began to fall.

Reasons existed for everything, his father
would say. For the earth turning just so, for a flower blooming
there instead of elsewhere. For them having names like Ali and
Hassan, despite their being Hindu.

A reason even for the rain he saw now.

It was good, his father would say, even if
he couldn’t see the how or why in the moment. All things worked to
a purpose, he insisted.

The distance from their property to the
lighthouse was a mile. Since he could do that without sweating,
Hassan decided to head for Pilgrim Lake, adding two miles of
running along the bay’s edge.

When Hassan headed out, it was with a steady
pace, an easy gait, and an appreciation for the morning breeze and
the gentle, unassuming rainfall.

A decade ago or more, he and Edy would catch
mussels, clams, and oysters at Pilgrim Lake. Their mothers used
them for stews, curries, and chowders, sometimes the dads ate them
raw. They’d dig them up by the fistfuls, Edy and he, and back then,
for Hassan, even that was a competition. He’d get three for her
every one, announce his superior shell fishing skills, and then
hand them over when her eyes began to teem with tears.

Edy.

Damn her. Even her name was a loaded word.
But then again, it always was.

Hassan had had his first fight at age six,
when a guy named Joey grabbed Edy’s behind. When he found Joey, he
lodged fists in his mouth, making sure there were tears in his
eyes, too—despite the kid being two years older and two inches
taller. On that day Hassan realized two things about himself, and
they were the only two things he ever knew for sure. One was that
he would protect Edy no matter what. Two was that he had one hell
of a temper.

There could be no counting the number of
fights he’d started in the name of Edy Phelps, whether she wanted
them or not. A misspoken word, a wrong touch, her tears for any
reason, and his fists swung without question.

Time to redirect. Thoughts of Edy, wrong
thoughts of Edy, were exactly what neither of them needed. Yet, he
returned to them constantly. And not because of the teasing curves
she’d sprouted in her sleep. He was worse, far worse off than that.
He only wished hormones could explain his problem.

When Edy had left for the summer, his mind
had gone rogue. Twice, he thought of calling and demanding she come
home. But home to what? Him messing with other girls? Tripling up
on the running, the weights, the desperation of it all? More girls,
more drills, more parties, more anything, anything in the hopes of
drowning out her.