Stephanie came over to refill the glasses. Caitlin sat down and joined the conversation about wedding cakes because Stephanie had promised that her boss at the bakery would give April a deal on her cake.
“Decorate it with fresh flowers,” Caitlin suggested. “It’s cheaper.”
Her sister had had fresh flowers on her cake. It had been pretty. In fact, Caitlin had liked everything about her sister’s wedding. There had been twenty people in MeeMaw’s backyard. Trina had worn a shell-pink tea-length gauzy dress, and since there weren’t any attendants, Caitlin had been able to wear her most amazing thrift store find, a boldly geometric Emilio Pucci silk minidress from the sixties.
It suddenly occurred to Caitlin, if she liked everything about her sister’s wedding, her sister probably hadn’t. Trina was a personalized-cocktail-napkins-in-the-wedding-colors kind of girl. Caitlin felt bad for her. Why shouldn’t she have had a fluffy white dress if that’s what she had wanted? What bride was a virgin anymore?
Caitlin suddenly decided that it would be nice to be in her room. She could lie on her bed and let the world float around her. Her bed would feel like a magic carpet, tilting in the wind. She stood up.
“Do you need some help?” Keith asked.
“No, no, no, no.” Caitlin liked the sound of the o’s, how you could draw them out. “Noooo, nope.” “Nope” was fun too; the p popped, exploding her mouth open. She said “nope” again, noticing how her head jerked back a bit. That was interesting. She should try it again. “Nope. Nope.” She put her hand on her neck. Cords tightened and lengthened with the p. This was really interesting.
A warm hand closed on her arm. “Let’s go, girl.”
It was Seth.
His hand felt nice, warm and strong. She missed having people touch her. She missed him touching her. She let him guide her to the stairs.
Halfway up the first flight she stopped. “Have you ever said ‘nope’? I mean, really said it like those mindfulness Buddhists want you to do, really felt it?”
“I don’t think that the Buddhists are big on ‘nope.’”
At the rough stairs up to the third floor Seth gestured for her to go first.
“I thought a gentleman always went upstairs first so that you wouldn’t seem to be looking at a lady’s but-tocks.” She drew out the last word, putting the accent on the second syllable.
“That probably assumes that the lady in question isn’t drunk and likely to fall down the stairs.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“Yes, you are,” he said.
“Then I will go first, but only because an hour a day on the rowing machine is giving me my San Francisco fanny back.”
“I noticed,” he said.
San Francisco fanny. That was cute. Frisco Fanny. That’s what she would call herself if she ever became a Wild West bandit.
Halfway up the stairs she stopped and looked back at Seth. “Did your sisters have personalized cocktail napkins at their weddings?”
“Personalized what?” He shook his head. “I have absolutely no idea. Keep walking.”
She made it up the rest of the stairs successfully, although it took a surprising amount of concentration. But as they were walking down the hall she did stumble.
Seth grabbed her arm, and she felt his other arm circling around her to steady her waist. She leaned against him. He was warm. That was nice. More than nice. She turned and let herself go limp. He had to hold her more firmly.
Wasn’t this what these beautiful bedrooms were designed for? The tub was big enough for two, and the bed...oh, the bed with its four pillows, high-thread-count sheets, and soft blankets. Who cared about meaning? Weren’t high-thread-count sheets meaning enough?
She was facing him now, lifting her arms, resting her hands on his shoulders.
His hands closed around her forearms, not pushing her away, but not letting her move closer.
“You know, we’ve never been in a bed together,” she said. She was flirting, teasing, trying to move her body closer to his.
“I am well aware of that.”
“Or seen each other completely naked.”
“We aren’t doing this, Caitlin.”
“Why not? Who will know? They never come up here anymore. They never knock on doors.”
“We promised Sally.”
Sally.
Caitlin hated the judge, she hated the lawyers, and right now she didn’t care about her juror’s oath, but Sally? Sally, frumpy, dumpy, dear, dear Sally, was stuck between the judge and the jurors; she was trying so hard. She was probably risking her job with some of the freedom she was giving them.
Caitlin stepped away. “Then it is good night.”
“Yes.”
* * * *
She woke at 2:00 a.m., which always happened to her when she drank. She forced down several glasses of water, hoping to flush out her system, but then she had to get up at four to pee. The motion-activated toilet lid, rising to meet to her, seemed like some female-eating porcelain creature in a bad horror movie. Poor Frisco Fanny. What a way to go.
When she woke up again at eight, she tapped on the wall, but there was no answering tap. She went out to the balcony to see if Seth was already there. He wasn’t. In the courtyard she could see the fitness center’s local members entering the lower level to use the machines. At this hour the jurors needed to use the second-floor yoga studio. Caitlin leaned forward to look through its big windows. Seth was there, lying on his back on one of the big balls, doing big sweeping leg circles.
How on earth was he staying on the ball? She would have rolled off the minute she had her legs in the air.
He was probably alone. This would be a chance to talk to him. She went downstairs in her workout clothes, waved to the people in the breakfast room, and crossed the parking lot. She went up the stairs to the yoga studio. The studio was washed with the morning light. Neatly rolled yoga mats, stacks of step platforms, and bins of leg weights were stored against the walls. Seth was doing side crunches on the ball, his body perfectly parallel to the floor.
What an amazing body he had. She didn’t know the names of every last muscle, but she could draw them and she knew how they moved under the skin, contracting and lengthening. But she knew it all from pictures, diagrams, and videos. It was different to be watching. And to be watching him. Seth.
He saw her. He swiveled on the ball and started to stand up.
“Don’t get up.” She rolled one of the balls over and sat down across from him. His ball was red. She had a green one. “I put you in a horrible position last night, and I am sorry.”
“It’s okay. I quit after one glass so I could still think straight. And we would have been found out. I met Marcus on the stairs. He had realized that if someone was going to escort a beautiful young woman to her bed, it ought to be him.”
“What would he have done if we were already in the room?”
“Probably been disappointed. He did look relieved when he saw me coming back down.”
“It would have made a joke of Team Jury, wouldn’t it?”
He nodded. “We have to behave ourselves until the trial is over.”
“And what then?”
She shouldn’t have said that. They weren’t ready for this conversation.
“I wish I could answer that,” he said. “You deserve an answer, but—”
“No, no.” She was mortified. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Please hear me out.” He was leaning toward her. His eyes, usually a light green, looked dark and more blue. “I’ve done hard stuff before, but nothing like this. It’s all new to me, and sometimes all I want is to go back and be myself, a guy who lived in the moment all the time.”
“You have had to be that way.” She knew that when he was out riding, the slightest loss of focus could actually get him killed.
“Tr
ying to understand what the witnesses are saying and keeping track of ten people—and I said ten, not eleven. I’m not even counting you as one of the things I have to worry about.”
“I hope not,” she murmured.
“Your saying that us having sex at the lake meant nothing to—”
“No, no. I didn’t say ‘nothing.’ I didn’t say that at all.”
“Then that’s my point. I don’t know what you said. I would have to think about it, try to understand it, and I can’t. I know that that isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s all I have.”
What did she want to hear? She didn’t know. All those years ago, MeeMaw had said that they were too young to make a promise. Were they still?
He waited for her to speak. She didn’t. She had nothing to say. Stop worrying about the trial and all these people. Think about me.
Except if he did that, she wouldn’t respect him. What a mess. If he did stop and think about her, she wouldn’t want him anymore. She started to stand up. The big green ball rolled behind her. She lurched forward. Seth reached out to steady her just as she was sitting back down.
His hand landed on her thigh.
The palm of his hand was broad against her narrow leg. She could feel its weight.
When he lifted weights, he wore open-backed gloves. Today his hands were bare; he wasn’t even wearing the vinyl-strapped watch. The heel of his palm was just above the hem of her bicycle shorts. An inch lower and his skin would be touching hers, his flesh pressing against hers. How that would feel.
She hadn’t appreciated it out at the lake, the wonder and warmth of a man’s hand. Of his hand. That’s what mattered, it being his.
“I’m not supposed to be doing this,” he said.
“No.”
They were both looking down. His fingers were slightly arched; she could feel the pad of each fingertip. Gradually he spread his fingers, flattening them so that there was more contact, more touch.
Forbidden. That wasn’t a word she used much. Things were illegal, wrong, stupid, mean, harmful, even dangerous, but what was forbidden? This. His hand on her leg.
She could have stood up; he would have let his hand fall away. Or she could have moved his hand herself; he wouldn’t have fought it. But she couldn’t. She needed him to lift it himself.
* * * *
She had loved him once, and she had been shattered by it.
After Seth left for New Zealand during that third summer, Caitlin set about earning as much money as she could. She worked double shifts at the Dairy Queen, and she babysat. She was a responsible fifteen-year-old, very experienced with babies and toddlers. She made a lot of money babysitting. She liked that. Money was going to let her see Seth.
She got to San Diego two weeks before school was to start. The skate park near her family’s new house was awesome, with ramps and bowls, stair sets, even a half-pipe, things Caitlin had seen in magazines, but had never tried. As soon as she had unpacked, she went over with one of the new boards Seth’s father had given her. As she signed in, the attendant said, “We do have girls’ time, you know.”
Caitlin looked through the fence; there were a lot of guys, all skating aggressively, goading and taunting each other. “Is this a men-only time?”
“Oh, no, but you’d probably be more comfortable coming then. I can refund your money.”
“I’ll be fine.”
As she walked in, many of the skaters stopped and stared at her. As much as she wanted to try the half-pipe, she headed toward a more familiar ramp. The guys who had been waiting in a rough line drew together in a knot, so there was no telling where the line was, where she should wait. She kept walking back to what had to be the beginners’ area.
“Keep on walking, that’s right,” she heard someone call.
“Ramp tramp.”
Caitlin flipped her board around. This is a Street Board, assholes.
“Yeah, anyone can buy an expensive board,” someone jeered.
I didn’t have to buy it. She pushed off and did as much as she could in the beginners’ area. They would have to see that she had solid skills and eye-catching style. Of course, she knew that there was no chance they would suddenly forgive her for being female just because she was good. She stayed for an hour, long enough to show them and herself that she wasn’t going to be scared off.
She called Seth. He had gotten back from New Zealand and was spending a few days in North Carolina before heading up to Oregon.
“Amateurs can be jerks,” he said. “You didn’t let it get to you, did you? You have to be as good as half of them.”
“How did you feel when you were the only little kid in the room?”
“I wanted to be like them.”
“Well, I don’t want to be like those guys, believe me, I don’t.”
“And I don’t want you to.”
It turned out that the girls’ sessions were for the under-twelve crowd. She found out where the professional women practiced, but those parks were too far away. She also discovered that she couldn’t skateboard on the sidewalks with the freedom that she had in Virginia. There were so many skateboarders in California that their activities had to be regulated, and those regulations were enforced.
Her sister was going to enroll at a community college. Trina hated the thought. Trevor, Dylan’s father, was back in Virginia attending a big state school, going to football games, and pledging a fraternity. Because of how expensive houses in California were, this was one of the smallest places the family had ever lived, and they all felt squeezed.
So Caitlin wasn’t feeling great about the world when school started.
Military kids are supposed to be good at starting new schools, but because her dad had spent six years at the last place, she had gotten out of practice. She couldn’t figure out how to fit in here. The art classes were full of kids who were high all the time, and the computer lab was full of guys who were terrified to talk to a girl.
She ached for Seth. She couldn’t seem to take a deep breath; the air stopped just below her collarbone. It was as if her heart wouldn’t let it pass.
She kept thinking she saw him in the halls. A flash of a broad shoulder, the turn of a slender torso...but it was always one of the surfers, shaggy haired, but not Seth, so not Seth.
She needed something more than her schoolwork. She knew that. But she wasn’t going to start doing drugs just to get friends. Her mother kept suggesting that she join clubs. But what clubs? Chess? Cheerleading? Young Life?
Two weeks into school her gym teacher asked her to go meet with the crew coach.
“Me?” Caitlin didn’t think any of her own teachers even knew her name. “Why?”
“She’s an English teacher. She’s in room 426.”
With nothing else to do, Caitlin went to room 426. There were a number of girls lounging around the room. They were all big, tall with broad shoulders and long arms. Caitlin wondered if she was supposed to be their lunch. She started to turn around and leave, but one of the girls noticed her.
“Oh, Coach, here’s that cox you were looking for.”
Cocks? Caitlin knew that she wasn’t the most feminine person on the planet, but most people generally figured out that her anatomy was not that of a male, much less two males.
“Yes, yes.” The coach stood up from her desk. She was every bit as small as Caitlin. She told the other girls to clear the room, and then she said to Caitlin, “I hear that you are a skateboarder.”
Oh. Caitlin must have made more of an impression than she had thought. “Do you have a skateboard team?”
“No, I’m sorry. I wanted to talk to you about trying out for crew.”
She explained what a coxswain did, steering the boat, implementing the race strategy, motivating the rowers. In terms of powering the boats, the coxswains added nothing, so they were usually small and ligh
t.
The coxswain for the senior boat had quit, so one of the coxes from the junior varsity boat would move up, but that would leave the JV boat short. Rather than throw a freshman in there, the coach was hoping to start with someone a little more mature. “And you must have a good spatial sense if you can skateboard the way people say you can.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’ll try anything.”
It turned out that she liked being out on the water, feeling the sunshine and the wind, gliding along with the current and then rowing back against it. Of course she had a lot to learn, but learning new things was one thing Caitlin was always good at, and fortunately the actual racing season wasn’t until spring.
“So being skinny and sitting on your butt,” Seth asked, “that’s a sport?”
They hadn’t yet made any plans to visit each other even though she had enough money. He was too busy. They weren’t even talking that much. Seth couldn’t think about anything besides the Olympic trials. The two top US snowboarders were the best in the world–they just were–and so the competition was for the third spot. Four guys had a shot at it, and Caitlin knew that Seth must have been disappointed when he was named as the team alternate for the half-pipe.
“You’re only seventeen,” she said when he finally called her back.
“That’s what everyone says, but the doctors say I’m still growing. All my uncles on my mom’s side are over six three. Snowboarders aren’t tall.”
But within a week the third guy on the team ripped up the ligaments in his shoulder, and Seth was officially on the US Olympic team.
He wasn’t expected to medal. The top two Americans had a lock on gold and silver. Sweden, Norway, and France were battling for bronze. Seth was, however, getting lots of media attention. The two top men were not handsome, and Seth was photogenic. He was a good interview, cheerful, funny, endlessly willing to make fun of himself. He also had a crowd-pleasing all-American story—his blue-collar, factory-employee dad making his boards in the garage.
And then the amazing thing happened. The weather had turned warmer than the top competitors were used to, and the Europeans floundered. Seth, who had first learned on even warmer slopes, put together the runs of his life. He squeaked into bronze. Thanks to him, the USA had swept the event. Three American flags flew during the medal ceremony. “SETH SWEEP” was the caption on the front of the weekly magazines, showing him pumping his fist, laughing joyfully in front of the flags.
The Fourth Summer Page 17
