Tammy peeked a foot into the sun, then quickly pulled it back. “If by that guy you mean Handel, that information has already been discussed.”
“No,” I said. “I mean that rich guy with the dog.”
Bridget perked up. “The cute one with the friends? The lacrosse player?”
Michaela rolled her eyes. “How many other rich guys with dogs have shown up to talk to us recently?”
“I was just verifying,” she said, offended. Her eyes flickered up to the green polka-dot umbrella above us. “Be nice or I’ll kick you out from under my shade.”
“I’m sorry, B,” Michaela said quickly. “I don’t mean to be impatient.”
“It’s fine. You can stay, then. For now.”
I turned to Bridget. She always meant well. “Yes, it was the one with the friends, and I suppose he was cute. Though jocks aren’t really my type.”
Tammy nudged me. “Because your type is more”—she tapped her finger to her chin, made a mock-thinking stare—“young Irish mafia?”
My only response was to glare.
“Their names were pretty ridiculous,” Bridget admitted, choosing to ignore Tammy’s comment, or too distracted thinking about the boys to notice it. “What were they again?”
“I think one of them was actually Logan,” Michaela said with a laugh. “Or was it Juniper? Or Jodper?”
“Miles was the name of their leader—you know, the dog one,” Tammy said, finally dropping the Handel bit.
“He was their leader, wasn’t he?” I agreed. “It’s funny how that stuff is obvious. You see a group of guys and you automatically know which one is in charge.”
“So, anyway, you saw him and . . . what?” Bridget wanted to know.
“I was walking along Ocean Ave,” I said. “You know, over by the strip with the restaurants like the Ocean Club?”
“What were you doing there?” Michaela asked.
“Um.” I hesitated. I thought about the conversation I’d had with my mother beforehand, the one that sent me running off, and the one from this morning about how I needed to deal with the stuff about my father. I decided I didn’t need to start dealing yet. “You know, I just felt like being somewhere different. Other than the wharf.”
“Well, that place is definitely different than the wharf,” Bridget said with a laugh.
“I was walking by Christie’s, and it turns out that this guy—the one named Miles—valets there, and he pulled up in one of the cars and said hello. He remembered me from the beach.”
“I bet he did,” Tammy said.
“I’m sure he remembers all of us, Tam,” I said.
“Right.”
Michaela looked at me. “Did he ask you out?”
“Yeah,” I said with a smile, remembering. “First he offered to come pick me up in his car some night, and then he invited me to come watch him play lacrosse.”
“You’re not serious,” Tammy said.
“Sadly, I am. I said no of course, and then didn’t let him get much further than that.”
Michaela looked at me. “You could give him a chance, Jane. See what he’s like and all. He might not be that bad.”
“Are you kidding?” Tammy and I both asked her at once.
“I’d go out with him,” Bridget said.
“Well, we all know that,” Tammy said.
“That’s it. Out of my shade,” Bridget protested, reaching around me to give Tammy a shove.
Tammy tipped a little into the sun and quickly scrambled to get her bearings again under the umbrella. “Sorry, sorry.”
Bridget just sighed and let it go.
“Maybe it would be good for you to go out with someone else,” Michaela suggested. “You know, someone other than Handel.”
This time it was my turn to shove someone, and I gave Michaela a push. She didn’t budge. Tammy might be bossy, but Michaela was tougher than all of us. “Can you, just this once, not judge Handel so negatively?”
“So we’re pro-Handel again?” Tammy asked. “Just because you ran into him once down on the wharf?”
“I like him. I can’t help it.”
“It’s okay, Jane,” Bridget said. “You like who you like. And I don’t blame you for liking Handel Davies. He is gor-or-geous.”
“But of dubious character,” Michaela said.
“So is the guy with the dog!” I shot back.
“He is not,” she said. “He’s a prep school athlete.”
“Exactly. He’s got ‘entitled’ written all over him.”
Michaela pursed her lips and gave me a look that said come on. “And Handel Davies has ‘bad idea’ written all over him.”
“I’m going out with him,” I said. “Handel, I mean. Tonight.”
Michaela took a deep breath. I could hear the disapproval in the way she inhaled. But she held her tongue.
Tammy sighed. “Oh, Jane.” She sounded resigned.
“Exactly,” Michaela said, finally letting out her breath. She sounded equally defeated.
Bridget looked at me, blinking those big eyes of hers. “If you see Miles again, and he asks you out again,” she said, the only one not to judge. “Tell him you have this friend.”
I leaned into Bridget. Rested my head on her shoulder. “I will, B. Don’t worry. I definitely will.”
• • •
A spark of excitement flickered in me the rest of the afternoon, an urgent buzz underneath my skin as I lay in the sun, like something was about to happen. I had to keep reminding myself that this eager pulse was beating out its rhythm because I was going to see Handel, because we had another date. I wondered if this time we would kiss—I kept picturing it, what kissing Handel would be like, daydreaming about how it might happen. Then I moved on to fantasizing about where those kisses might go next, imagining his hands on my skin, sliding up underneath my shirt, and all kinds of other things I’d never allowed myself to do with a boy. I could feel the blood rising into my cheeks and coloring the surface of my skin. I used to be so in control, so focused, so disciplined, but there was something about Handel that undid me, or maybe it was just that lately I was easily undone. No—I was looking to be. I was still thinking about our imaginary kissing and the places it might lead when I heard my name being repeated.
“Jane? Hellooo,” Bridget was saying.
I lifted my head from the towel and realized that she, Tammy, and Michaela were watching me. I hoped they didn’t notice my blush. The umbrella was gone, and their blankets and towels were all packed up, bags slung across their shoulders and resting against their hips. “What’s up?”
“We’re taking off.”
I sat up. “Oh?”
Bridget glanced over at Tammy. “Tammy has a date with Seamus.”
This startled me. “Really?”
“It’s not a date,” Tammy said. “We’re just going for a run.”
I took off my sunglasses and rubbed my eyes. “How did I miss that part of the conversation?”
Michaela crossed her arms and looked at me. “You’ve been in your own world for, like, hours now.”
Tammy smirked. “What were you thinking about?”
I shrugged. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“Right,” Tammy said. She cocked her head. “You might want to head, too. Don’t you have somewhere to be this evening?”
I smiled. Started to get up from my towel. “Yes. But you ladies go. I’m going for a quick swim before I leave. It’s hot.”
Bridget was grinning. “I bet. Have fun tonight,” she said. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
Michaela rolled her eyes. “And by that, she means do everything.”
“Exactly,” Bridget said.
Tammy put her hand on my arm but spoke to the rest of the group. “Jane has always known her mind about this stuf
f, so I’m sure she knows her limits with someone like Handel.” She looked at me. “Right, Jane?”
“Right,” I said. “Tell Seamus hello.”
Tammy nodded.
But as I watched my friends walk away up the beach, I realized how much I’d been keeping from them about what was really going on inside me, how different I’d become right before their eyes. The Jane to which Tammy referred was the girl who’d existed before February, the one who’d been living in a cocoon, tucked up and hidden and safe from the outside world. Now that this new Jane had emerged, it was as something unexpected. A butterfly, but one who awoke to find that her wings were black.
ELEVEN
THE WAY TO THE lighthouse was rocky.
I was good at jumping from one footing to the next, even if the surface was jagged, avoiding the little tide pools that ebbed and flowed with the surf. Years of doing this as a kid, scrambling on my hands and knees, searching for green crabs and hermit crabs and even lobsters farther out, made it almost instinctive, my body and my legs knowing when to shift, to turn ever so slightly, curving my foot to land just right on the slippery surface. The sound of the surf grew faint as I concentrated, all my attention on getting to the next rock, measuring exactly how much force to use, whether it required a step, a hop, a leap. The sun was going down but there was still a lot of light in the sky, the horizon big and colorful.
Then I misjudged the distance of my next jump and almost slipped, barely landing, almost falling into a big tide pool full of kelp. When I got my bearings again, I decided to rest. Catch my breath. I was halfway down the narrow peninsula jutting out from the very end of town, the remote one that was nearly unpopulated. It was illegal to build out here. The place was a nesting ground for all sorts of birds, so the land and the dunes that stretched up and out behind me were protected. The only visible structure was the lighthouse, abandoned long ago.
I turned back to the shore, wondering if Handel would soon appear, making his way out like I was, or if he was already waiting for me, tucked up inside the lighthouse at the top, the round walls blocking out the wind. It was close to eight. Carefully, I stepped around that big tide pool, definitely not wanting to show up dripping wet and smelling like seaweed tonight.
Then I looked up and saw Handel.
Fair hair blowing and twisting in the wind. Hands in his jeans pockets like always. Watching me make my way, rock by rock. Suddenly everything felt different under his gaze. The stretch of my bare legs as I leaped, the way my tank top hugged my body in the breeze, my arms flying wide and open while I jumped. My pace quickened, even though at any moment I might fall, tumbling into the ocean out here where it was deep and angry and unforgiving. But I didn’t care. I wanted to get there. To him. And soon enough the there became here and now and I was leaping onto one last rock, the one just before things flattened out and I could walk normally, one foot in front of the other, to where Handel stood waiting for me.
He smiled. Big and easy like he’d left all the weighty parts of life hidden among the dunes.
I smiled, too. Handel did that to me.
There we were, both of us barefoot and a little sandy. Hair knotted, faint lines of salt trailing along the bare parts of our skin from the spray and splash of the waves. The world was big out here, all ocean and sky. Remote and wild and beautiful. And the two of us, Handel and me, alone in the middle of it.
“Up here,” he said to me, gesturing toward the top of the lighthouse.
I followed him inside.
This time with Handel there wasn’t the surprise of talking for hours under the stars or the drama of a thunderstorm and the pounding rain to go along with it, but the lighthouse had a romance all its own. It had been out of use so long that the white paint was chipped and peeling, and the long winters by the ocean and constant battering from salty waves had done their damage along the metal, inside and out. Rust had eaten through parts of the round wall, leaving a lacelike effect, tiny portholes that reminded you there was water just on the other side.
“Careful,” Handel warned as we wound our way up to the top. There were jagged places in the handrail along the staircase, sharp enough to cut you if you weren’t paying attention. His heavy work boots clanged against the old metal rungs, and I watched the way his body shifted beneath his clothes, the muscles of his arms tightening and loosening in the rhythm of his steps.
“Thanks,” I said. The sound of the waves crashing into the rocks was distracting, loud enough at times to drown out our movements. I took the last few stairs and came to the landing. Looked around at the windows on every side, some of them permanently wedged open, two of them broken. A couple of wooden benches were lined up in the center like church pews. I supposed this was a church of sorts, for some people. “I haven’t been here in years.”
The sun was dropping over the land, and Handel watched it. “I love this place.”
“Me too.”
He turned. Looked at me a minute. “Yeah?”
I nodded. “I used to love all of it. The climb to get out here on the rocks, the tide pools along the way, the strength of the wind, the sound of the waves.” I thought my list ended there, but then I realized I’d left something out. The most important part. “The way this room feels like a secret. You know, like for a princess in a castle.”
Handel laughed, his calm audible in its sound. “You had me until ‘secret,’ then you lost me at ‘princess.’ But I like thinking about this room as a secret.” Handel’s eyes shifted, their color moving from blue to gray in the waning light. “It kind of is a secret, in a way.”
I tried to read him, read into the last part of what he’d said. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to say.”
“What do you mean?”
My hand went to my hair, gathering it. I needed something to hang on to. Something to do with my fingers, since all they wanted was to reach out to Handel. “Are you talking about this place, or are you talking about me?”
He shook his head slightly. Took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Maybe both.”
“Do you want to keep me a secret?” I asked, a part of me loving the idea that I could be like this beautiful, haunting lighthouse, a mystery Handel kept from touching the other parts of his life. But part of me knew too well how secrets could be destructive.
“I told you,” he said. “Things are complicated.”
I took a step toward him. Then another. The thin strap of my tank top slid off my shoulder. “That’s not a real answer.”
Handel’s eyes went to the place where the thread of silk came to rest on my arm, a loose bracelet. “You don’t want the real answer, Jane.”
“I do,” I said.
“Are you sure?”
I nodded. I wasn’t sure, though.
Handel walked over to the window farthest away, undoing all my work of getting closer. It was one of the broken ones, and his hair tangled and danced in the breeze. “I thought this could be simple at first. You know, hanging out with you.”
I tugged the strap of my shirt back in place. “Your friends don’t know where you are.” I stated this because I sensed it, sensed that his friends were somehow part of his unease.
“No,” he said. Just one word, like this was enough of an answer.
“Mine do.”
“Your friends are different.”
“They don’t like you, either.”
Handel seemed startled by this, though not for the reason I’d imagined. “How do you know my friends don’t like you?” he asked, defensive.
“It wasn’t difficult to figure out the other night.”
“They didn’t talk to you,” he said, like that mattered.
“They didn’t need to.”
“Your friends really don’t approve of me?” Handel asked, wanting confirmation.
I shook my head. Then remembered Bridget. “Well, all but one.”
“Why not?” Handel asked.
It was my turn to be evasive. I wasn’t ready to talk about the reasons my friends worried about me lately, reasons Handel probably already knew about from all the articles in the newspaper. I didn’t want to ruin the evening. “My life is complicated, too.”
“I’m sure,” he said, but didn’t press any further. Just turned to watch the water through the broken window. I joined him there, and the two of us stood staring out at the sea as it bobbed and churned, little whitecaps breaking through all that midnight- blue ocean. Handel and I were on the edge of something. I knew it deep down, instinctively. Now was the moment to turn back if we wanted to, if I wanted to, and step away unscathed. Seize this opportunity and go home, like none of this had ever happened, this thing between Handel and me, whatever it was. But it was Handel who spoke first, and I lost my chance.
“Do you want to keep seeing me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I answered with a certainty I didn’t realize I had in me.
He reached out and brushed a lock of hair from my eyes, the whisper of his finger along my skin nearly causing my legs to buckle. “Okay, then,” he said.
Just like that, it was decided. Handel and I were headed over that edge, and I didn’t care. I wanted it so badly, too, once the offer was officially there.
“I’m going to keep this from my friends,” Handel said. “I think it’s better that way.”
This I hadn’t expected. “Really?”
He nodded. “Maybe you should, too. It might be easier.”
This raised a tiny red flag in me, but I ignored it. He could be right—it could be easier to just stop telling my girls about Handel, even though the idea of not talking to them about every little thing that happened was strange. Then again, I’d already been holding back so much, practicing that skill of not sharing details about something important, something that had woven itself into the core of who I am. Ever since that night in February, I’d been keeping so many things to myself. Sometimes it felt like poison coursing through my veins.
The Tenderness of Thieves Page 10
