“Would Dr. Weisz be willing to listen to them?”
I made a face. “I thought about asking, but they’re upwards of five hours.”
“You could go to Boston.”
I shot him a quick glance. Boston, where he’d be in a month for school. “I could.”
A silence fell. I looked around us, at the water and sky. We were a speck of humanity, just two people, and yet we carried so many emotions with us.
“I brought lunch.” Noah lifted a cooler and canvas bag out of the storage. Then, in a move I should have expected due to the heat, he stripped off his T-shirt and tossed it aside before sitting across from me.
“You did?” Oh god. Where did I look? Why was I having so much trouble breathing? I was like a Victorian heroine, ready to faint. Was it kosher to stare at his chest? I swallowed hard and looked down at the canvas bag.
He lifted out a baguette, Brie, grapes, and chocolate. “I hope it’s okay.”
“It’s perfect.” Like him. Okay. I needed to get a hold of myself. “Friday was intense.”
Noah tore off a hunk of bread, and handed it to me. “Yeah.”
“Was your grandpa okay when you went back in to talk to him?”
“He—” Noah hesitated. “You know how you said your grandma didn’t like to talk about her childhood? He’s the same. He shut down. My grandmother was there when I went back, but she left—you said she came and talked to you?”
His hand brushed mine as he passed me the Brie knife. I suppressed a shiver. “Yeah. I’ve been trying to figure it out—I don’t know why anyone would give someone a gift, then ask for it back, but it’s not such a big deal, I guess. Not as big a deal as if it was a family heirloom.”
Noah was quiet a moment, opening the fig jam, spreading it methodically over his bread and cheese. “Maybe it was a family heirloom. Just not yours.”
“What?”
“Maybe it was my family’s heirloom. And Edward gave it to Ruth, but then when they broke up, took it back.”
I was already shaking my head. “Why would she demand it back, then?”
“I don’t know. But why else would he take back a gift?”
“Wouldn’t he have mentioned if it was a family heirloom? And then he’d still have it, instead of it being gone.”
“True. Maybe he wanted to avoid talking about it, because it brought back too many memories.”
We paused, stumped, under the hot sun, smearing more Brie and fig jam across the white interior of our baguettes.
“I should ask my grandma,” Noah said, almost more to himself than to me. “She should know.”
“She certainly seemed more willing to talk about it than your grandfather was.”
“And maybe it wasn’t an heirloom,” Noah said. “But maybe, if he bought it for Ruth, if it was expensive, he still thought he could take it back if they weren’t going to be together.”
“Maybe,” I said. I wanted to follow up and say, And maybe they were lying, because part of me knew the necklace had belonged to O’ma, how could it not have, how could I have come to Nantucket searching for a necklace of no importance?
But I tried to calm myself down. To remember O’ma didn’t have to be perfect. And besides, I wanted more than a fancy necklace. I wanted her past. And I was getting closer. Maybe I would go to Boston. “Are you excited? About being in Boston next year?”
“Cambridge, technically.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know. I’m the one who’s actually from Massachusetts.”
He laughed. “True. Does western Massachusetts count, though?”
I sat up straighter. “Excuse me? What does that mean?”
He raised his hands. “Not in a bad way! I was thinking about sports. Doesn’t western Mass cheer for New York teams?” He grinned. “A good thing, since we have better teams.”
Okay. Wow. I drew my spine up as straight as it could go, the top of my head reaching toward the cloudless sky. “Excuse you.”
“Am I wrong?”
“About literally everything in those statements.”
He sounded amused. “I didn’t think you were a sports person.”
“I am a Massachusetts person.”
His lips twitched. “Okay, but you can’t deny the Patriots suck.”
“One, I can, and two, I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“Why?” He openly grinned now. “Because you don’t actually have a defense?”
“Because people from New York will be mean about us no matter what, so it’s not worth engaging.”
“I didn’t realize you had the Boston chip on your shoulder.”
“I don’t have a chip.”
“Inferiority complex, then.”
I picked up the remaining half of the baguette and struck him in the shoulder.
“Ow!” Laughter spilled out of him, bright as the sunlight on the water. “Violence!”
“You maligned my home!”
He fell backward on the boat, all mirth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You take back your vicious insults.”
He grinned. “Make me.”
I launched myself at him. We tussled. I landed half on top of him, and he grabbed my wrists, trapping them between our chests. I became very, very aware of all his exposed skin and how close our faces were to each other.
God, he was beautiful. Beautiful and interesting and way too complicated and intense and I could not keep up with him, nope, not at all.
His eyes focused on mine, liquid pools of dark brown, rich and warm as chestnuts in color, as bright and deep as emeralds or rubies. The black of his pupils exercised as much gravity as a black hole.
I didn’t have the energy—or the desire—to fight this anymore. Maybe it would be a mess. But I didn’t care. God, I didn’t care.
He swallowed, then sat up so quickly I half fell off him. “Do you want to go for a swim?”
A swim. When I’d been about to throw myself at him. Well, my entire body blazed like I’d been scalded by fire, so I could probably use a cooldown. Did we depict Cupid with a bow and arrow because infatuation felt as painful as being shot?
Good lord, liking Noah had turned me into the kind of person with worse analogies than eleven-year-old Ginny Weasley.
“Swimming. Yes.” Maybe he’d attribute the red of my cheeks to the sun. “It’s pretty hot.”
Now all I had to do was remove my clothes and bare the tiny bikini.
Avoiding Noah’s gaze, I peeled my shirt over my head and dropped it lightly on the bench. Then I unbuttoned my shorts and slowly stepped out of them.
Raising my gaze to his took all my willpower. My cheeks felt like miniature suns had embedded themselves. Good lord, I was practically naked. Thank god the bikini top had enough lining I didn’t need to worry about other troublesome situations.
Noah’s eyes were dark, his body still. The breeze ruffled his curls, but the space between us felt thick and weighty. I could feel my heart slowing down and thumping hard against my rib cage. I could feel the very flow of my blood in my chest.
We were surrounded by all the air in the world and I couldn’t breathe.
He swallowed. “Do you need any sunscreen?”
If he touched me, I would spontaneously combust. “I put some on already.”
“Cool.” He turned away and dived off the side of the boat.
I gaped after him. Wait! What if I changed my mind? What if I did want his help with sunscreen? What if I decided to be brave? To take the risk?
Oh god, I couldn’t.
But didn’t he even want to look? Wasn’t he interested in this teeny-tiny bikini?
Or maybe he was too interested.
Okay, no, I was getting ahead of myself. I didn’t need to read every little detail as Noah secretly being wild with lust/
love for me.
(Though maybe he was??)
He surfaced, water sluicing over him, dragging his curls flat against his head. “Come in. It’s great.”
I stepped up onto the boat’s edge, raised my arms into a bow, bent my knees, and launched myself skyward. My body curved through the air, then dove beneath the surface. Cold water submerged my body in one clean, satisfying sweep.
And the ocean peeled my bikini bottoms down and away.
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit.
My eyelids flung open, then immediately shut at the sting of the ocean. I’d never been able to open my eyes underwater. Kicking upward, I broke the surface, sputtering and coughing, salt everywhere. “I lost my bottoms!”
“What?” Noah treaded water, eyes wide.
“My bikini bottoms! They came off. They—they weren’t very secure.”
He started, honest to god, cackling.
“Don’t laugh!” I would have shoved him if we were closer, but you couldn’t pay me to go within ten feet of him, despite the opacity of the water. “This is terrible!”
“Okay. Okay.” He caught his breath. “Don’t panic, we can find them.”
“I can literally never leave the ocean. I’m doomed. I live here now.”
He laughed again, this time so hard he had to paddle over to the boat and grab the side of it so he could expel his amusement without drowning.
“I hate you,” I told him, with no little sincerity.
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“I can’t open my eyes underwater.”
“Okay. Don’t worry. I’m going under.”
“Don’t look!”
He shot me a wry expression—obviously he’d have to—before gulping in air and diving. I scurried backward, much as one could scurry in the water.
He reemerged, dashing water from his eyes and hair. “Sorry. Nothing. Let me try again.”
“Noah—”
But he’d already vanished.
He dove a third time, but we both knew it was hopeless. I sighed mournfully. “This is the first time I ever even wore that bikini.”
“Really?” He grinned. “What inspired you to wear it?”
I splashed water at him from a good fifteen feet away. “Get over yourself.”
He laughed. “Okay. Well, you have your shorts, right?”
“And I have underwear.” Embarrassingly, I went red again. Apparently I couldn’t even mention something utterly mundane without blushing.
“I’ll turn my back when you get on the boat and you can put them on.”
“Swear to god you won’t look, Noah Barbanel.”
“I swear. I swear so hard.” He was laughing again as he held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
I climbed up the boat’s ladder, face blazing hot, and wrapped my towel around my waist. I dug the underwear I’d brought with me for post-beach wear out of my bag, and quickly pulled them and my shorts back on.
“Besides,” he shouted as I changed. “It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”
“Noah!” I yelped. “You did not!”
“No—you’re right—” He could barely speak for laughing. “I didn’t.”
It was amazing, though, how different this was than the night weeks ago when I’d gone skinny-dipping, when I was mortified about the idea of him catching me naked because I didn’t want to feel vulnerable. I would have done anything then to keep him from seeing me, even swum to the opposite side of the pond, as I’d half joked to Jane.
But now—
Now keeping my clothes on felt way more difficult.
“You’re good,” I called to him, and two broad strokes brought Noah to the boat. He closed his hands around the ladder and half hoisted himself out of the water. He draped his forearms casually over the top of the rails. Droplets streamed down his body, causing him to glitter like a diamond. He grinned at me, eyes bright and hair straightened by the weight of water. “Now what?”
“Now what, what?”
He swung himself into the boat. “I’d thought we’d swim a bit, get some exercise . . . now what are we going to do?”
Would my cheeks ever not be red again? “Well, I have no idea.”
“No?” He picked up a towel, rubbing it through his hair and down his body. Good lord. “None?”
I swallowed. I didn’t need exercise, because I wasn’t going to have a body after I spontaneously combusted from sheer lust. “None.”
“Okay, then.” He slung the towel around his shoulders and sat down cross-legged. “This is my favorite thing to do.”
“Go out on the water?”
He nodded, leaning back on his hands. “I’m not really religious, but I think—this is what I find the most moving. What I want to save. When I was a kid and I came to Nantucket, I loved it so much, because it was just me and the stars and the sea and I didn’t have to be hemmed in by buildings and I could be totally, completely alone. Even in Central Park, you’re never really alone. It’s different now, there’s the weight of the family and what I’m supposed to do and I’m not oblivious anymore, there’s the whole history of Nantucket and the British taking it from the Wampanoag, and I can’t pretend it’s all nice, but the nature . . .” He shook his head, as though robbed for words.
“You do seem more relaxed.”
He shot me a half smile. “Weirdly, I find you relaxing.”
I grinned back at him. “Why is that weird? I’m very relaxing.”
“No.” He shook his head with, perhaps, an insulting amount of certainty. “You shouldn’t be. You’re hyper and nosy and aggravating. But. You’re real. I never have to pretend anything with you.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” I said, not sure whether to be insulted or complimented. “I might want something a little nicer than ‘aggravating’ though.”
“Do you?” His gaze caught mine. When I flushed, he smiled to himself, and looked up at the sky. “When should we go to Boston?”
“What?”
“To listen to the recordings.”
“We?”
He shrugged. “You’re seventeen, right? I’m eighteen. You need to be eighteen for most hotels or Airbnbs.”
Boston.
An overnight.
Noah.
“You can’t be serious.” Traveling with a boy—alone with a boy—seemed incredibly intimate. And adult. I hadn’t even traveled alone with my friends anywhere. Traveling with Noah . . .
“Why not?”
“Wouldn’t your parents be fazed? By us traveling together?”
“It’s not the kind of thing they usually have a say in.”
“How can they not have a say?”
“You’ve noticed their lack of parenting skills, right?”
“I sort of thought your mom might have opinions . . .”
“Mom’s busy keeping Shira in check. Besides, they decided a few years ago I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” He cocked his head. “Unless you don’t want me to come with you?”
I swallowed a hysterical laugh. “I want you to come with me.”
I couldn’t believe I’d said that. I couldn’t believe any of this. An army of butterflies had taken up residence in my stomach.
“Okay, then, it’s settled. When?”
“I can ask for two days off next week. Maggie and Liz are pretty flexible.”
“Nice. And it’s not a long flight.”
“I’m not going to fly.”
“Why not? It’s quick.”
“It’s expensive. It’s just as easy to take the ferry and the train from Hyannis to Boston.”
“Cool, so we’ll take the ferry.”
Traveling together. A night at an apartment. Maybe I was reading this wrong, because until people said things out
loud, nothing could be sure. But I was pretty certain we were thinking the same thing here. I was pretty sure a trip together to Boston might have more consequences than listening to several recordings.
And I was pretty sure I wanted it to.
Summer of chutzpah.
Twenty
The sun blazed across the water, bleaching the world of color. I’d paired contacts with my sepia-toned sunglasses, which made the world look like I’d used a nostalgia-inducing filter on it. The sunglasses’ oversized shape made me feel like Audrey Hepburn.
Noah and I claimed two seats on the ferry’s top deck. I scrunched my hair up on the top of my head and pulled it up in a messy bun so the constant wind wouldn’t whip strands into my eyes and mouth. “Want to know a really terrifying theory my roomie had?”
“Yes.” He angled himself toward me.
“Okay. So.” I took a deep breath. “She thought maybe Edward and Ruth met up later in life and had an affair. Resulting in my mom.”
“What?” His brows arched and a tiny smile pulled at his mouth.
“Yup.”
“So—” He started laughing. “Wait, so . . .”
“Yep.”
“Wow. Well.” His smirk broadened. “I’m sure you’d be welcomed into the family.”
“Unless I tried to take over the business.”
“True.” He tilted his head. “You didn’t actually believe . . .”
I turned bright red. “I considered it.”
“That we were cousins?” He let out a whoop of laughter.
Then I did, too. “I know! I didn’t really believe it, but it lurked in the back of my mind. It seemed like a totally valid possibility.”
“Jesus, I’d hope not.”
“Right?”
“Right.”
We stared at each other. My breath caught.
“So,” Noah said slowly. “Since you know we’re not . . .”
“Noah? Noah Barbanel? Look at you!” A middle-aged women crossed the deck, beaming. “What a nice surprise.”
Noah closed his eyes briefly, then turned toward the newcomer with a polite smile. “Hi, Ms. Green.”
The Summer of Lost Letters Page 23
