Undertow

by Elizabeth O'Roark

  “Well you know, after he asks,” she says, conspiratorially.

  “We aren’t even talking about marriage, Lily,” I breathe.

  She giggles. “Maybe you’re not.”

  I start down the stairs with a knot in my stomach. I don’t want to hear anymore. I don’t want to commit to anything more. I’ve clearly already committed to too much, it seems, without saying yes to anything at all.

  I practically launch myself in the van as we head out to meet everyone after dinner.

  “So that went well, I thought,” says Ethan.

  “Yes,” I murmur.

  He looks over at me skeptically. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Oh, there’s definitely something.”

  I sigh. “No offense, but your family is kind of getting all 1800s on me. Your mom and your sister are acting like we’re getting married next week.”

  He shrugs. “They’re just happy for us. They’re excited.”

  About what? I long to ask.

  “But they know I’m leaving,” I persist.

  He shrugs again. “Plans change.”

  “Mine don’t,” I warn him.

  “We’ll see,” he smiles, and his smile suddenly strikes me as unbelievably smug, as if he knows more about my future than I do. His family, apparently, is not the only thing stuck in the wrong century.

  But by my third drink at Oak I’m feeling pleasantly numb. Ethan’s family is just another funny anecdote I’ll tell at school next year. I look over at him and he catches my eye and smiles. I love his smile – crooked and cocky and sweet all at once. It’s his best feature, and he has a lot of good features.

  And then, just past Ethan’s shoulder and ruining everything, is Nate, looking directly at me as he walks into the bar. I realize, with a sickening thud, why I love Ethan’s smile. Because it’s Nate’s. They look so different that I’d never put it together before, but as I look back and forth between the two of them the truth is undeniable. It makes me question things with Ethan even more: I thought I’d finally found someone I liked for who he is, not who he reminds me of, and now I’m not entirely sure.

  But I may not be the only one with a type, because the girl Nate’s with looks an awful lot like me. From the back she could almost be me, with her height and her dark hair, were it not for the fact that she’s wearing four-inch heels and her shorts are cut so high I can see the bottom of her ass.

  Ethan and Graham exchange a grin as they pass us.

  “What’s all the grinning about?” I ask suspiciously.

  Ethan leans over. “We call her Maura Lite,” he laughs.

  “What?”

  “The girl Nate’s with. Maura Lite. All the body but only half the brains.”

  “You’re just pissed she didn’t sleep with you,” scoffs Kendall.

  “Au contraire,” Ethan says. “The one she wouldn’t sleep with is Graham.”

  Something sinks in my stomach. “Are you saying you did sleep with her?”

  His face changes from snide to apologetic in a heartbeat. “Maura,” he pleads. “Your brother said hands-off for six years. At least I went after girls who looked like you, right?” She’s hardly the only girl he was with — I know way more about his past than he thinks — but I don’t argue it.

  “I guess,” I say quietly. I feel sickened by this, and I’m not sure why.

  “Baby,” he pleads, now looking truly concerned. He comes around the table and pulls me from my chair. “Let’s go dance.”

  “I don’t want to dance,” I say sullenly, allowing myself to be pulled to my feet.

  It’s a slow song so at least I can fake it. He pulls me into his arms, far too close to even be considered dancing.

  “I’m sorry, Maura, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” I sigh.

  His lips brush my forehead, his hands rub my back. He’s still apologizing because, despite my words, I’m clearly not okay.

  “I never thought you’d be the jealous type,” he whispers.

  “I’m not.”

  “You’re acting jealous right now,” he says, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “I like it.”

  I smile, trying hard to will away my unreasonable sulkiness. It doesn’t bother me at all to imagine Ethan with her, so I’m not sure why I feel so upset. A faster song comes on, and we stay on the floor. He rocks my hips against his. He’s a good dancer, and if I wasn’t in such a pissy mood, I’d enjoy it.

  Suddenly I am jostled from behind hard enough that I fall forward into Ethan.

  “Sorry,” sings an unfamiliar voice, sounding entirely unapologetic. It is Maura Lite – whose actual name is Jenna, apparently – making her way onto the dance floor with Nate, and shoving me so hard that there’s no way it could have been an accident. Nate glances back at her, surprised, a flash of anger across his face that for once is not directed at me.

  “What a bitch,” I gasp.

  We continue to dance, but no matter where we are on the floor, I can still see Nate, with his hand on that girl’s ass, dancing with her in a way that makes Ethan and I look like we’re at a church social.

  “Someone should tell her it’s a dance floor, not a stripper pole,” I spit out as I watch.

  Ethan looks at me in surprise, and then smiles. “You are jealous! I am loving this side of you, Maura Pierce.”

  There is something building in me, some combination of recklessness and anger and lust that makes me feel unstable here in this room. I grind against Ethan’s hips.

  “Why don’t we go out to your van and you can see what the jealous side of me acts like there?” I whisper in his ear before my tongue slides in his mouth.

  “Holy shit. I’m bringing Maura Lite everywhere from now on,” he says, pulling me out of the bar.

  We don’t even say goodbye to everyone. I don’t climb into the passenger seat, I climb directly into the back of the van, and he follows.

  “What happened to worrying about being caught?” he asks.

  I don’t even answer, because I’m too busy unbuttoning his shorts, pushing him on the floor, falling on top of him.

  CHAPTER 20

  On Sunday night, the ten public walkways to Old Cove beach are destroyed simultaneously.

  “Damn,” laughs Heather, as we survey the damage to the one nearest my grandmother. “How do you think they did it?”

  I don’t know about the other ones, but here it looks like someone came through and ripped out the entire center of the boardwalk. 2x4s litter the dune beneath or hang precariously from a single tress left standing. The dunes are high here, nearly impossible to climb and maintain enough traction in the sand to get all the way to the top. I imagine trying to climb it, carrying a cooler or holding a child’s hand. Impossible. And even if it weren’t, water tends to pool in the valley at each dune’s base, creating a muddy and miserable obstacle to anyone who tries to brave it. Until they are repaired, only the 15 families with private walkways can get to the beach.

  I call Peter Folz an hour later.

  “You’re not going to let them get away with it?” I ask.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asks wearily.

  “Someone destroyed public property! They should be brought up on charges,” I insist.

  “Yes,” he says. “But who, Maura? We have no idea who did it.”

  “Oh,” I say, suddenly deflated.

  He’s quiet for a moment. “If you’re still interested in helping, come over this afternoon and we’ll see what you can do.”

  When I arrive he sets me at a spare desk in the back room. He has me begin culling through similar cases, looking for a legal precedent. The cases are interesting, which is fortunate because I’m not optimistic about finding anything useful. And the truth is that I’d be far more helpful to the cause if I could just prove who destroyed those walkways. I don’t dwell on the fact that that person may be Ethan’s dad.

  **

&nb
sp; There is one thing that remains consistent over the course of the week: Nate is never at home, unless he’s with a girl. I see him at Oak nearly every night, and it’s ridiculous to feel like he’s throwing these girls in my face, but I feel it anyway. When I’m on the dance floor with my friends, he ends up a few feet away. No matter which way I face, I end up watching him dance, always well, always suggestively. His dancing is like foreplay, and the girls eat out of his hand, grinding against him. I turn my back and a minute later, I find him in my line of vision again. When slow dances come on I sit. I have a boyfriend, and while these guys are like brothers to me, they are not brothers, and slow dancing seems to be blurring the line. Not that I’d slow dance with my own brother in the first place.

  But he keeps dancing, and it’s some version of the same move – his hand pressing into her lower back, pulling her closer, her hips swaying against his. The knowing little look he gives her, the way he manhandles her and the way she appears to love everything he does. It is always the same, even though the girls change.

  There is a particular progression of noises, on the nights he comes home at all: his car pulling into the driveway, the slam of two doors, the sound of feet skittering over gravel, odd thumps I can’t place, and always, always a high, girlish giggle. And half the time I already know who she is, because I’ve seen them earlier at Oak. Two blondes, two brunettes. One of the brunettes is Maura Lite, and I’ve never been in a fight but I’m beginning to suspect she’ll be my first. I walk out of the bathroom on the night he’s there with her, just as she’s walking in. She knocks into me so hard that my shoulder slams against the frame of the door.

  “Oops,” she giggles, “My bad.”

  “Knock into me again and the only ‘bad’ will be your severe blood loss,” I threaten.

  “Oooh,” she taunts. “How terrifying.”

  I walk away, but instead of returning to my table, I walk directly to Nate, who’s been watching us from the bar. To my surprise, he doesn’t look pleased to see me hurt.

  “That’s a nice girl you’ve found yourself there, Nate,” I seethe. “Kind of scraping the bottom of the barrel, aren’t you?”

  His eyes turn to the color of steel. “I hit bottom about five years ago, Maura. I’m definitely working my way back up.” His words are like a physical blow. I keep expecting an apology, an explanation, and everything I get instead is so much worse, so much uglier.

  “The next time your townie girlfriend touches me, she’s leaving in an ambulance,” I hiss. And though I have no reason to believe I could kick anyone’s ass, I mean every word.

  “What are you going to do?” he smirks. “Call your grandmother in?”

  “Watch carefully the next time she fucks with me and you’ll see for yourself.”

  My breathing is so shallow, my body hovering on such a fine line between rage and tears that I don’t dare say another word.

  That night I hear them come in. And then I hear other sounds. She is moaning — so loudly that they might as well be in the room with me. I slam my window shut, and I can still hear her, their groans taking on a rhythm that grows more urgent. I plug my ears, and finally, in frustration, I slam my hand flat against the window pane, and the glass shatters.

  CHAPTER 21

  Elise calls to tell me she and Brian are coming down for the weekend. I should be excited, but instead, I am horrified. Nate is one of Brian’s best friends. Are we going to be expected to play nice all weekend? I can’t imagine either of us being able to pull it off.

  “It’ll be just like old times!” she cries. “They’re even going to get a game together on Friday night!”

  A game. It just gets worse and worse. But I sense something anxious behind her excitement, so I don’t complain.

  “Elise,” I ask quietly. “Is everything okay?”

  “I just need a break from my mom,” she says, but she doesn’t sound tired – she sounds hopeless.

  “Maybe you should just elope,” I suggest.

  “Please,” she says. “My life will end if my mom doesn’t get her big wedding.”

  “Elise McDonald, don’t put this off on your mother. You’ve been planning a big-ass wedding since you were five.”

  She laughs. “I guess, but it’s getting to be a bit much even for me.”

  “Are you interviewing at all or is she keeping you too busy even for that?”

  She hesitates. “She and Brian don’t want me interviewing right now. I guess it makes sense. I’m too busy with the wedding to really start work anyway, and then we go on our honeymoon. I suppose I’ll just wait ‘til fall.”

  “You don’t sound happy about it,” I venture, troubled by the hint of despair in her voice.

  “Sometimes I wish I was doing things the way you are. Getting out of the south for a while. Doing my own thing first,” she answers. “Brian would prefer I not work – everyone would prefer it –and it’s not like we need the money. Sometimes I get the feeling that once we’re married, I’m going to turn into my mom whether I want to or not.”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I murmur. But inside I worry she’s right. That my brilliant friend Elise with her amazing GPA and her degree in finance from Duke is going to discover it’s just not possible to move up on the tennis circuit and work full time. And she’s going to make the wrong choice.

  **

  I want to avoid this baseball game like I’ve wanted to avoid nothing in my life, but I can’t do it to Elise, or Ethan, who’s playing, so here I sit.

  Kendall plops down on the picnic blanket beside me with an exhausted sigh. “Gah. We’re gonna get eaten alive out here watching this stupid shit when we could be sitting at Oak right now,” she grouses.

  “Well, I love it,” counters Elise. “I feel like I’m 16 again.”

  I feel 16 again too and that’s exactly the problem. The humid air is thick, plump with the smell of grass and salt, the way it always was. I am leaning back on my arms, waiting, just like I once did. And it’s the contrast that tears me up. Because leaning back on a blanket like this, feeling the sweat bead up between my shoulder blades – this I associate with Nate. With waiting for him, with watching him, with the secret shot of joy I felt every time he looked over and caught my eye, the slight upward quirk of his mouth. He could look at me from 40 yards away and I knew what he was thinking. And I would watch him, all lean muscle and propulsive speed, with a slow burn of desire. It would start small, and I would allow it to grow, as the game neared completion. And when the game ended all that need rushed in, overwhelming me as I stood on the sidelines waiting for him. It did for him too – I could see it in his face, in the way he plowed toward me like he’d run down anything that got in our way. He would grab me, lifting my legs around his waist, not even slowing his pace as he moved us into the darkness. We never made it off the school grounds before I was tasting the dust and sweat on his neck and pushing against him, wanting more.

  This is what I think as I sit here. That I want that back, the experience of wanting something desperately that is actually yours. Of wanting what you already have, instead of wanting what will never be yours again.

  And then Nate walks around the corner of the school, and the first thing he seeks, the first thing he finds, is me, as if seeking and finding each other on this field is so engrained we can’t help but continue to do so even now. What I see when I look at him is, inexplicably, pain. A mirror of my own. He jerks his head away with a scowl.

  I try to watch Ethan, but the truth is that I can’t stop watching Nate, can’t stop watching the flex of his calves, the way he moves as he stands by first base, the lean line of him as he whips the ball to the pitcher.

  During the second inning, when Ethan steps up to bat, there’s a sudden change in the infield.

  “What the hell?” breathes Elise.

  Brian, who’s been pitching all night, changes places with Nate. I watch as Ethan narrows his eyes, visibly angered by the change, and steps up to bat. Nate’s pitches are
fast, hard, unpredictable. Ethan hits nothing, gets an out. And Nate goes back to first base as if there was nothing unusual about it. It can’t be about me. He left me. I say it to myself again and again. I can only conclude that he has perhaps just gotten old enough to really resent the fact that all the things Ethan has should have been his as well.

  The game ends and our eyes meet once more. For a moment, I can’t look away, can’t pretend that I hate him. And for once, he doesn’t either. But when Ethan enters our line of sight he changes visibly, steels himself. He turns on his heel and walks in the other direction, and I only want to follow him. I want to run and jump on his back, the way I once would have if he were walking away from me, to have him spin me to face him, wrapping my legs around his waist, pressing against me, his mouth on my collarbone, his hands firm on my ass …

  “So what’d you think?” asks Ethan, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead.

  “You were good out there,” I grin, forcing myself back into this moment instead of the one I was in.

  “No I wasn’t,” he says, grabbing my hand. “Although it doesn’t help that your ex-boyfriend seems to have a vendetta against me.”

  I shrug. “I guess he’s got a bigger grudge against your family than he let on.”

  Ethan scoffs. “This has nothing to do with my family,” he says acidly. “It’s not my family he stares at every time we’re out. He spent so much time watching you tonight I’m surprised he ever caught the ball.”

  “No,” I shake my head in disagreement. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

  “All I know is that it better stop,” he says as we reach the parking lot. “I gotta go take a shower. You want to wait for me at Oak?”

  “Sure,” I reply. “I’ll ride over with Heather.”

  I never wanted Nate to shower after one of his games. There was something about it, something raw in his playing that I wanted on me. If he’d ever suggested showering first – and I don’t remember him ever being able to restrain himself that long – I’d have balked. But I’m happy Ethan is leaving, and I wish that wasn’t the case.

  **

  “You want to know something?” Elise giggles drunkenly later that night, pulling me away from the table into the corner of the bar.