Summer Boys (9 page)

Jamie watched him, tears trembling on her lower lids. She was too ashamed to apologize. Or maybe she was too drunk. Her head was whirling. The only thing she wanted to do was get away. She pivoted, ready to take off toward the house, but then stopped in her tracks. Only a few feet across the grass, Ethan stood frozen, staring at her, then at Scott, then at her again. His hands were resting on his perfect hip bones. He looked totally sober, and speechless.

“Jamie,” Ethan finally said. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home.”

They didn’t speak a word on the short ride home. When they arrived at her cottage, Ethan opened the passenger side door for Jamie and she slipped out of her seat silently.

Ethan started back toward his side of the car. He was just going to leave. Jamie could feel her bottom lip trembling. She felt terrible for what she’d done. No wonder he’d kicked her out of the party.

“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “Whatever. I gotta get back.”

Jamie swallowed and pursed her lips. She’d never win him back now. In fact, she’d probably never see him again. And it was all her fault.

Without another word, he got into the car. His tires peeled out on the gravel before the car disappeared into a blaze of taillights.

Jamie stood watching for several seconds, unable to process just how big a fool she’d made of herself. Finally, she started toward her cottage. She was almost to her door when she realized there were voices coming from Uncle Gary’s yard. She stepped back, then walked over to get a closer look. George and Cara were sitting on the picnic table in the moonlight, holding hands.

They waved Jamie over. Jamie scowled at them. She couldn’t find any other facial expression in her repertoire at the moment. Plus, she hated the fact that George, of all people, had managed to find love while she was miserable. But she started to walk over, anyway.

She’d only taken two steps forward when she stumbled a little.

“Are you okay?” George asked, getting halfway up from his seat. Jamie waved her arms to indicate she wanted him to stay where he was. She wanted to at least carry herself to the table with some grace. She opened her mouth to say something along those lines. But when she tried, she doubled over and puked instead.

Ella flipped over in her bed for the millionth time and looked at the clock—2:37
A.M
. She wished the cottage had air-conditioning. Then she could crawl under her covers and hibernate. The Egyptian cotton sheets she’d bought at Crate and Barrel were sticking to her, which Ella thought was ironic, considering how damn hot it probably was in Egypt and how Egyptians should know better than to make sticky sheets.

In the next bed, Kelsi snored lightly. She’d gotten home around midnight, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks rosy. She’d also only vaguely answered the pointed questions Ella had asked about where she and Peter had gone, what they’d done. All Kelsi said was, “Nothing exciting. We just hung out. I’m going to bed.” Ella seethed—she had come home early from her own date just to give Kelsi a proper interrogation. The guy from Ahoy had turned out to be boring and self-absorbed anyway, and wasn’t all that cute the second time around.

Now Ella was left to wonder why Kelsi was sleeping so
soundly. What had made her so tired? Was it hours of unbridled, passionate sex with Peter? Ever since yesterday, when Kelsi had bought the lingerie downtown, Ella couldn’t stop obsessing over it.

“Damn it,” she whispered, switching onto her side. She wished she’d gone to the party with her cousins tonight instead. Then maybe she’d be tired out from dancing and could actually fall asleep. It seemed that the perfect, comfortable position was just beyond her grasp. She tried to imagine Peter lying beside her in bed. His arms were around her waist, his front was pressed into her back. Their bodies were melded together. Then she felt that he was turned on.

She rolled over and they started kissing, and then both their clothes were off. But when Ella opened her eyes, she realized just how wide awake and alone she was. She began to readjust her covers when she heard a rustling out in the grass.

It’s nothing.
Maybe a heron walking up from the ocean. She just needed to relax. She laid back and rolled to her other side, but just as she got settled, she heard the sound again, only louder, and closer.

It was definite this time. Someone was outside.

Ella got out of bed slowly, not wanting to wake Kelsi, and peered out the window. Nothing. The thin camisole she wore barely covered her, and she shivered, suddenly feeling chilled. She pressed the tip of her nose to the screen and shielded her eyes, blocking out the light of the moon.

“Kelsi.”

Ella jumped, her heart pounded relentlessly before the voice registered. She moved her face closer to the screen.

“Peter,” she whispered.

“Ella?”

She moved her finger in front of her lips. “Shh, hold on.”

Ella looked back over her shoulder and listened for a moment. Kelsi was still snoring delicately. Then she tiptoed backward from the window and felt along the floor with her bare feet for piles of clothes. Finally, she bent down and sifted what felt like her Juicy shorts out of a pile. In the hallway, she pulled the shorts on over her undies. Holding her breath, she quietly walked down the hall and sidled up to the door that led to the back deck, then slid the lock open as gently as she could. Ella paused, listening to the calmness inside the house. Nothing, and no one, was stirring. She cracked open the door and listened again, then slid out into the night.

Peter was already standing at the foot of the porch stairs, his white T-shirt reflecting the glow of the moon.

“Over here,” Ella whispered, motioning him farther out into the grass. They stopped at a maple tree halfway across the lawn, and Peter pulled out a pack of trusty Marlboros. Ella realized she was still holding her breath, so she let it out in a short burst and took one of the cigarettes.

“What’s going on?” she asked, resting one hand against the bark of the tree.

“Kelsi told me to come wake her up.”

“Oh.” Ella’s voice came out all crackly, like her jealousy was piercing her vocal chords. She put the cigarette in her mouth and Peter lit it for her.

“Looks like I got you instead.” He put one hand against the tree, too, so that they were face-to-face. All of a sudden, Peter seemed much taller than she was. The way he smelled made Ella
think of a night in the Mediterranean, under olive trees. She avoided his eyes and tried not to show her excitement. She’d never felt so nervous with a boy in her life.

“I can go and get her.…” Ella said, backing up a little to give herself some space and catch her breath.

Peter stopped her with a hand on her waist. His touch was as light as a butterfly.

“That’s okay.”

They stood there motionless for a minute and just took each other in.

“Have you played any gigs lately?” Ella asked, skimming his face quickly with her eyes. She couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Not lately.”

“Oh.” More silence. “Well, how’re things at the diner?”

Peter let out a long sigh through closed lips. “Same shit, different day, you know?”

Ella picked some bark off the tree. What was wrong with her? Who cared about the diner? Here she was, where she’d wanted to be all summer long. In fact, she’d had more than one fantasy in which Peter showed up at her window in the middle of the night. But in her dreams, she was more bold, like the usual Ella. Now she finally had the chance to do something, but she kept thinking about Kelsi sleeping peacefully back at the house. She felt so guilty, she started to tremble.

“Are you cold?” Peter reached out and rubbed her left arm, just above the elbow.

“I’m fine. It’s just this night breeze—I get the chills very easily.”

He was silent as his hand kept stroking her arm. She wanted him to, and she didn’t want him to.

It gave her that same feeling she’d gotten in the car. Like her body had a mind of its own.

“Well, I’ll tell Kelsi you stopped by,” she said at last.

She couldn’t believe she was doing it, but she was extricating herself from his gentle touch. She was backing away. She dropped the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out.

He uttered one word—“Wait”—but Ella ignored it.

She retreated a few feet across the grass, and then turned toward the deck, her pulse racing. She was a mixture of desire and guilt and bitter disappointment. She bit her lip so hard, she actually made it bleed a little.

At the bottom of the stairs she swiveled around to take one last look at Peter. If he was at all surprised at the turn of events, he didn’t show it. He just stood there carelessly, watching her silhouette. Ella thought she saw him shrug his shoulders, just a little bit. Then he turned, and walked away.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Beth woke up with the eerie feeling that someone was watching her. She rolled far enough over in bed to see the illuminated outline of her bedroom door. It looked like it was cracked open. She knew she’d closed it. And then something shifted at the foot of the bed.

“Shit!” Beth gasped.

She shrank back against the headboard, making out the figure in the bright moonlight sifting through the window. It was George, sitting on the edge of the mattress, one hand in front of his face, shushing her, and the other beside her knee. Beth’s heart was beating a mile a minute. “Jesus, George, you scared me.”

“I was trying to figure out whether I should wake you,” he whispered.

Beth rubbed her forehead, trying to orient herself. The glowing red numbers of the clock said it was 3:13
A.M.
She’d gone to bed right after they’d gotten home from the party, around 1:00. What was George doing in her room two hours later?

She swallowed as she stretched out her legs again. Her skin felt hot. George crawled up to her left side and lay on his stomach, resting his upper body on his elbows.

In the darkness, Beth could see his outline and the glint of his eyes, but not much else. Even in the pitch-black darkness, he was adorable.

“What’s up?” she asked, calmer now.

George ran both his hands through his hair and let out a deep, resigned sigh. “I don’t know.”

The way he said it was serious. Beth felt paralyzed. There was something big happening here. George was lying on her bed. It was dark. It was the middle of the night. There wasn’t the usual “old pal” comfortability between them anymore. There was a tension so palpable it felt heavy.

“Weren’t you hanging out with Cara?”

“She went home. It’s not…it doesn’t matter.” George picked at some invisible lint on the blanket covering the parts of Beth that were covered. “I came up here because I just had to talk to you.…” He sidled over to get a little closer to her.

Beth swallowed. “About what?” Her head was throbbing, and she knew it wasn’t a symptom of a hangover. She had the dawning suspicion that things were about to change between them forever.

“We’ve been friends for a long time.…”

She tugged the blanket up against her chest. What was she going to do if he tried to kiss her? All she knew was that she had the urge to touch his face, his neck. He seemed to have taken on some different aura. Suddenly, George was somebody she didn’t completely know.

“You mean a lot to me, you know that?” he said.

Beth nodded. George cleared his throat and went on.

“And I’ve never had a girlfriend. I mean, I don’t want things to change between us.”

“Sure, I understand,” Beth agreed, hypnotized. The word
girlfriend
practically gave her an electric shock.

With a jerk, George straightened up and pulled his legs in so he was sitting Indian style. Beth sat up, too, her face floating close to his.

“So I just wanted to tell you that. Well, it’s probably obvious.” He looked down at the bedspread. “Cara and I kinda hooked up tonight. I mean, I guess we’re a
thing
now.”

“Oh.”
Oh.

Whatever big feeling that had been growing in Beth shrank down to the size of a flea in the matter of an instant. Beth felt herself deflating, getting smaller and smaller.

“Anyway, it’s a big milestone for me, so I just had to tell you right away,” George finished.

Beth straightened up against the headboard. They were silent for several seconds. George seemed to have run out of words.

“Well,” Beth said, trying to sound casual. But then a hard kernel of anger poked her in the stomach. “Why couldn’t this wait until tomorrow?”

“Um, because you’re my best friend, and I wanted to make sure it was…okay with you.”

Beth gritted her teeth. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t know if…” George sounded lost, but she wasn’t going to reel him in. If he had something to say, he needed to just say it. “I just wanted to make sure you were cool with it, I guess.”

“Why wouldn’t I be cool with it?” Beth knew she sounded bitchy. She couldn’t stop herself. “I’m cool with anything at 3 A.M., except being woken up.”

“I’m sorry.…”

“George, I’m really tired. If you wanna go elope to Vegas with Cara, that’s great with me. I’m happy for you. Really. It’s about time because you’re a great guy.” She hated herself for saying the last part because she knew he really was and she knew she didn’t sound like she meant it. “Just…can you let me sleep?”

“Yeah,” George nervously retreated across the bed and Beth rolled over onto her stomach. “Good night, Bethy.” She felt his body move away, and leave the bed.

She could hear him walking to the door, and then felt him hovering. She knew he was standing there, trying to figure out a way to fix whatever he’d done wrong. After a few seconds, her door squeaked closed and then Beth could hear the low click of George’s own door shutting behind him.

Beth rolled onto her back. She balled her hands into fists and slammed them against the mattress about ten times.

How had this happened? She felt consumed with hurt and jealousy. But why? Was she, like, in love with George or something? Jesus. What if she was? It was too late to do anything about it.

And it was too ludicrous to even be funny.

Beth’s eyes started filling up with tears. She swallowed and clamped her jaw tight. Beth wasn’t an emotional girl. She was physical. So she grabbed her pillow and tried to choke the life out of two fistfuls of fabric before going slack and blank.

She wasn’t going to let anyone, not even Chauncy the cork fisherman, see her cry over George.