Summer of Love (23 page)

“Oh God, you, too?” The words fly out before I can reel them in.

“Why, who else is making declarations?”

“No one,” I say. And then I add, “But you have to hang on for one more minute.” Click. “Jacob?” I ask and pray that I don’t have one of those sit-com moments where I click over to the wrong person and say their name which results in shouting and blame or hilarity as the situation escalates.

“Love — I came here — I got on that ferry at Wood’s Hole and now I’m here and I’m feeling a little like an ass because I clearly should have called but I had this need, I just…” Jacob takes a breath and I inhale the warm evening air waiting for him to finish, feeling lightheaded and confused. What if you get what you want but it’s at the wrong time? “I like you, Love — and even though we agreed to be just friends I’m admitting here that I feel more than friendly…”

“You do?” I say and I can’t help that part of me smiles at this idea. He likes me. Again. Or anew. But he does.

“I just want to be with you and see what happens — can’t you just see it? Senior year? The two of us?” His questions linger in the air sending me reeling and almost forgetting to go back to Charlie. “Come back to the Vineyard.”

“I have my interviews and stuff,” I say but it sounds like a lame excuse. I can’t tell him that my summer maybe-flinger maybe more is also on that island, nor can I efficiently explain the big news of being out here.

“I’ll wait. I’ll stay with Haverford or Jon Rutter or Nick Samuels or something.”

“They’re all on the Vineyard?”

“Half of Hadley is here,” Jacob says. “So tell me when you’re back, okay? I’m here…”

“Okay,” I say and click over to Charlie who rather than singing like Jacob was, is ordering fries. He says, “Make it a double-order.” Then, for my benefit adds, “Just in case my girlfriend manages to instantaneously come back from California to share them with me.”

“I’m your girlfriend?” I ask. I move my legs and the arm not holding my phone to my ear like I’m lying in snow, even though lying on the patio in California is sort of the antithesis. It’s not as though I thought I wasn’t his girlfriend, but it’s always good to hear it mentioned out loud, so that without having that awkward what are we conversation, it’s a known entity.

“Aren’t you?” Charlie laughs. “I wish you were here. My parents were really looking forward to meeting you.”

“Were? They’re not anymore?”

“Of course they still are — but I think they had high hopes for their dinner party. The fact that I — their ne’er do well son — is making an appearance…”

“Plus bringing his stunning new girlfriend…” I add. I don’t tack on the
I’m only your girlfriend for now
part because I don’t want it to be true.

“Right. So…it’s only been — what — a day since I saw you? But it feels like so much longer.” He sighs then crunches on a fry. “You’re ruined this clam shack forever, you know. I always think of you and that first time we hung out when I come here. I can see the Chappy ferry now, and it’s a perfect late-afternoon moment.”

“Sounds nice,” I say. What I don’t utter is just how much has changed in the hours since I left Edgartown. “There’s a lot going on.”

“Ah,” Charlie says, “Sounds ominous.”

“How so?”

“A lot going on is one of those euphemisms that people use when they’re hinting at something else — like I hooked up with someone else or I quit my job or something. Don’t you think?”

I nod, my head still on the stone patio. “Yeah. But I didn’t mean it to sound like that.” I sit up and look out at the ocean, from a distance is seems calm, but I know that if I went closer, I would see the definitions of the big waves, hear the churning sounds, and wonder if that’s what I do — stay at a safe distance form things and people.

“Since you’re not going to be at the dinner tomorrow — I wanted to kind of fill you in on it…”

“Oh, right, your big announcement.”

“Hey, Love! Come inside — there’s something you’ve got to see!” Arabella shouts from the back door. She waves me over. “It’s important.” She puts such an emphasis on the word important that I know it’s something to do with my mother — or rather, it could be my mother. There, in person, inside.

“Charlie — I have to go in a minute,” I say. “I feel really badly — I’m not trying to belittle your thing.”

“Hey, it’s not earth-shattering or anything, but it does semi-affect you. At least, I hope it does.”

His excitement piques my interest and I focus on his words. That is, right up until yet one more phone call comes in. I look to see what number it is — it’s not Jacob again — thankfully — wouldn’t want to have to choose again — it’s just my dad. Guilt. “Charlie — wait one more second. I am not really this phone-obsessed. Seriously.”

“Hi, Dad,” I say without giving him a chance to speak. “I can’t talk.”

“I know you’re busy but this is ridiculous,” Dad says, but his voice doesn’t sound angry. He sounds funny, different.

“Give ten minutes and I’ll call you back.” I hang up and go back to Charlie.

“So,” Charlie clears his throat. “I know we just sort —of covered the girlfriend thing, which we hadn’t really dealt with…”

“Yes, I believe we did.” Part of me is so happy about this but part of me isn’t — I dread that day that summer ends and it’s all goodbyes and plans for meeting up so I admit my feelings. And they have nothing to do with Jacob. “I think you know how I feel about you. The only thing is…how do I say this? I’m not the right person for a long-distance thing.”

“So you’re superceding my announcement with a break-up?” he asks.

“No. No. Not all at. I just — I’ve been feeling this way and worried about it so I wanted to tell you.”

“From the safety of mileage.”

“Maybe…” I say and take a few steps toward the house where Arabella and Sadie and — who knows — await.

“Well, that’s what I’m getting at. Remember the spilled shake incident. At Bartley’s this spring?”

“Yeah, I think that day’s pretty much in the memory bank for good.” I think of the sweet smell of vanilla frappe, Asher dumping me on the phone, visiting with Mable, how good it felt to see Charlie — even if only briefly. How indelible he is to me.

“I was registering. For classes.”

“What?”

“I’m going back to Harvard this fall. It’s time.” If he’s at Harvard and I’m at Hadley, we can basically yell to each other from our dorms. Okay, so it’s not that close, but it can’t be considered long-distance. “I’m really psyched about it.”

“How come you didn’t tell me before?” I ask. He’s so withholding sometimes — it’s part of what draws me to him, but part of what makes me leery.

“I didn’t have official word until right when you and I were getting together. And I didn’t want to cloud things.”

“You mean, in case this was one of those summer fun flings you wouldn’t bring it up?” I suggest. It’s slightly tricky but I can’t say I blame him. What if I had just been some girl who kissed him and moved on?

“I guess. But it seems like there’s a real — oh, you’d know the word better than I — some word that means future but not future. Do you know what I’m saying?”

“You mean we have real potential?” The sun starts its slow decline, the sky shifting into a multi-colored wash of yellows, peaches, and pink.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Can’t you see it? You, me, crunching through the leaves in Harvard Square? You visiting my dorm room…” he laughs and I join in.

“Sounds nice,” I say.

Both images sound nice. More than nice. Awesome. Great. Life-changing. Me and Charlie in the Square, drinking coffee and talking endlessly about books and music and living a college-type social life which would get me out of the dorms at Hadley. And then, too, I can totally see being with Jacob — maybe first as friends but then the tensions build and we finally kiss after so long. But just because I can picture both doesn’t mean I can experience both — at least not at the same time. But does it mean I don’t feel any particular feelings toward either guy? Or am I just confused?

“So, when can you come back?” Charlie asks. He’s probably too cool to say he’s waiting for me — but isn’t he?

I think about Sadie in the house and meeting Gala and interviewing here and surfing, and trusting that wave you choose, and wonder what would happen if I didn’t go back east. If I just stayed here. Not that I can really figure out how or why that occurred to me, but what if?

“Come inside!” Sadie yells. “You’re worse than I am on that thing.”

“Sounds like you have to go,” Charlie says. “But keep me posted.”

“Would you be upset if I didn’t come back right away? There might be things I need to check out out here…”

“More than just Stanford, you mean?”

“Yeah,” I say, trying to peer into the house through the windows. “More than that.”

“There’s no expiration date on my feelings, if that’s what you mean.”

“I like the way you said that,” I say to him.

“Good,” he says. “you can put it in a book someday.”

Yeah, right, that novel I’m just waiting to pen. Sign me up for the Beverly William award for Younger Writers. Or don’t. I mentally thank Mable for her thoughts about that, but shake my head at the idea of actually doing it — writing a book. Who writes a whole book? Then I say this to Charlie. “Who writes a whole book?”

“A writer,” he says. “Like you. Miss you.” He hangs up and I’m standing outside, growing a little cold — not so much from the weather as from the idea of what lies on the other side of this door. I grasp the brass handle and start to turn it when my cell phone rings again.

“Dad — hi. I was just about to call you.” That doesn’t count as lying, right? It wouldn’t if I admitted it, so I do. “Well, I wanted to call you but — I don’t know, Dad, I’m losing it out here.”

“Well, that makes two of us,” he says. I stop in my tracks and listen to him. “I wasn’t going to bother you. I didn’t want to keep calling you but…”

“Are you okay? Is Louisa…?” Maybe he has to make an announcement himself, maybe he’s engaged. Or leaving Hadley. Or changed his mind about my living in the dorms. Wishful thinking.

“We’re all fine. Are you okay?”

“I am,” I start and then sigh. I could cry just from the stress of it all — but it’s all good stuff — isn’t it?

“Now, I know you have your interview coming up —”

“Dad, please please don’t start about the west coast colleges. Really, I just can’t take any more right now.”

Dad pauses, cupping his hand over the mouth of the phone so I can’t hear what he’s saying. “This isn’t about that. I kept asking you to call — why didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry. You know I’m not irresponsible. I let you know that I got here but it’s only been a day — not even. What could you possibly need to talk about that you called my like six times?”

“Love…”

“What?” I ask. I think about my summer so far, the adventure of Mable’s clues, where they’ve led and to whom, the love I think I’ve found with Charlie even though there’s still the temptation of Jacob. Fall is right around the corner — after the Fourth of July, summer always speeds by — and what will happen then?

“You should probably skip your interview,” Dad says, his voice serious.

“Why? So I can choose a school that’s close to you?”

“No,” Dad answers, not challenging me, just sounding matter-of-fact. “Because you don’t have any real interest in it.”

This sentence hits me with the weight of a wave crashing on me. Of course have interest. Don’t I? The answer, I realize, standing on my mother’s about-to-be-sold chiseled stone steps — is that I don’t actually. I wanted to have a valid reason for coming out here, for going to the party which now seems insignificant, for possibly finding Gala.

In a small voice I tell him, “You’re right. But I’m not giving in — if I like a school out here or in Arizona or Europe, I still want the option of looking.”

“I think,” Dad says, “That I was only keeping you away from the idea of long-distance to make myself feel better about you leaving.”

I can hear him getting teary, which makes me teary, even though the moment’s not really sad. Why is he so sad — aside from still mourning Mable — is it because I’m headed toward senior year? Or something else?

“I’m not leaving yet,” I say. “Unless you count the dorms. Wait — don’t go there right now.”

“Maybe it’s more like emotional leaving,” Dad suggests.

“So why do I need to skip Stanford?” I ask. From an upstairs window, a knocking. I look up and see Arabella and Sadie. All along, I haven’t been an only child. How weird. And how cool. And how complicated. Just like love — like life, I guess.

“You’re got people here waiting for you,” Dad says.

“Did you see Jacob?” I ask.

“We were on the same ferry. Apparently, he came a long way to see you.”

“I know. But it’s…”

“Complicated? I can understand that.”

It’s so comforting to hear my dad’s voice, to have a normal non-arguing conversation with him. “So why are you there? Aren’t you supposed to be on your way to Sardinia or something?”

“We’re supposed to
be
there,” Dad answers.

With my dad on the phone for support, I open the door and step inside the well-lighted living room. Even devoid of personal pictures and personality, it’s gorgeous, with vaulted ceilings and a cavernous fireplace (which I’m sure is really useful during the California winters). But no people. Everyone’s upstairs, I guess.

“Dad,” I say, trying to be honest and close with him. “I need to tell you where I am.”

“As long as you’re safe it’s okay,” he says, maybe alluding to the fact that he knows.

“I’m at her house,” I say, nervous as hell.

“Really?” Dad says and laughs a little.

“Why is that funny?” I ask but laugh a little, too. “Just because it’s surreal?”

“Life is just so strange — you think it will all make sense when you get older. But it just doesn’t.”

I remember singing as therapy at Hadley. One song I always liked was “Anticipation” — that feeling what might — not will — but could be. And if this moment were a photograph, that would be the title. I think about singing and then about writing, about how life is one long story with smaller, intricately plotted stories scattered into the longer arc. Will I ever write a novel? And what about my Jacob versus Charlie conundrum? They’re both back on Martha’s Vineyard, waiting. And I’m waiting, too. To choose a school, a guy, catch up with my long-missing past — and maybe bring it — or at least Sadie — into my future. It’s all potential, right?