by Susan Wiggs
Goose bumps rose and spread over her skin. “Yeah?”
He grinned. “Definitely.”
“Are you staying until fall?” Great, Rosa, she thought. Way to sound eager.
“That’s the plan. I’m working full-time at the Y.”
She shut her eyes and suppressed a shudder of delight. Then she had to ask: “You’re going to college?”
“That’s right. You?”
“Yes.” She folded her arms across her middle. “I’m going up to Providence. To Brown.”
Even in the dark, she could see his grin, and she knew then that he was going there, too. “No kidding.”
“No kidding.” Once or twice, Rosa had asked herself why she’d chosen Brown. Was it because it was the best school in the state? Because she’d been given a good financial aid package? Or because somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew Alex would end up there? It was where his mother had gone, his father and grandfather. It was where all Montgomerys went. There was a photo in the library of Alex’s house of his parents, sitting on the chiseled stone steps of Emery Hall.
Suddenly her future, which had seemed unbearably exciting ever since the coveted acceptance packet had arrived in the mail, felt real. For the first time, she could actually picture herself there, walking across a quad, sitting in a lecture or lab. And now Alex was part of the picture.
“Remember this place?” he asked, clearly not as excited as she was. He probably wasn’t, because it was so...expected.
“No,” she said. “What about it?” Inside, she was dying. She remembered this with every cell of her body. She dreamed about it, thought of it with the frequency of obsession. Here. It had been here. With the sunlight warm on their faces and the breath of the wind in their ears, her relationship with Alex had turned from friendship to something else. Something more.
Then he was right in front of her, very close, and she caught her breath at the full impact of his height.
“Liar,” he said. “You do so remember.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. “We were a couple of dumb junior high kids,” she said. “That’s what I remember.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your first kiss.”
“What makes you think you were the first? You weren’t, you know.”
“Was so.”
“Were not.” But she was lying, and he knew it. In seventh grade, Paulie diCarlo had tried to steal a kiss at a school dance, but she hadn’t let him succeed, and after that she didn’t speak to him the rest of the school year.
“It’s kind of cool that I was first,” Alex whispered.
“I could say the same.” Rosa never used to ask him much about his school in the city, but she was pretty sure he was a loner. The one time she’d asked him, he had dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. “I don’t have any friends there,” he said. “Everybody calls me a freak.” Now, she knew without asking that the situation had changed for him.
“Rosa, do you have a boyfriend?”
“If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”
“That’s good.” He took her in his arms and pulled her close. She felt the surprising strength of his body, the hardness of his muscled limbs. Her senses filled up with him, and she felt strangely helpless, strange because she was usually in control of herself.
She looked up at him as he bent to close the distance between them, and felt a sudden ripple of apprehension. “I’m not looking for a boyfriend, Alex.”
“Not anymore, you aren’t,” he said, just before he kissed her.
Spaghetti alle Vongole
4 dozen littleneck clams in their shells, the smaller the better.
(If you use quahogs, you only need a dozen; just chop the clam meat fine.)
2 Tablespoons of sea salt
1 pound dry spaghetti
1/2 cup olive oil
4-8 garlic cloves, minced
1/2 cup white wine (Principessa Gavia is preferred)
2 Tablespoons chopped flat-leaf parsley
Scrub the clam shells under cold running water. Cook the spaghetti until al dente. In a heavy pan with a lid, heat the olive oil and sauté the garlic. Add the clams in their shells and the white wine, bring to a boil, cover the pan and cook until the clams open. This should take a few minutes, and feel free to add more wine. Discard clams that do not open; you’ll find a few rejects in every bunch. Remove the clams with a slotted spoon. Add the cooked spaghetti to the sauté pan, stirring it into the sauce. Add the parsley. Serve in individual bowls, topped with the clams.
twenty-four
Rosa floated. She was lighter than the clouds of the marine layer that drifted in with the morning sunshine. She was lighter than the pink cotton candy spun in big silver pans at a booth at Town Beach, lighter even than the tunes played by The Cranberries floating out of the kitchen radio.
Pop was already gone for the day. He’d had to leave his truck at the mechanic’s, and today he was commuting on his familiar old yellow bicycle. That bike was such a powerful reminder of the past. He used to ring the bell when he got home from work, and Mamma would go flying out the back door to greet him.
Maybe he’d be working at the Montgomerys’ house today.
“Alex is back,” she said to the photo of her mother propped on the windowsill. “Alex Montgomery is back for the summer.”
They had arranged to meet at the beach, which would be busy and crowded today. Their work schedules conflicted, but they discovered they could see each other in the morning if they got up early enough. She had promised to be there by eight, and said she would bring something to eat.
As she fixed breakfast, she relived last night’s kiss over and over again, and it was wonderful, the pleasure and the dizzy burn of his lips against hers. She probed each moment, each heartbeat, on a molecular level, trying to figure out why it was so magical. Their kiss had been familiar enough to feel safe—this was Alex, after all—yet new enough to tantalize her with a fine sharp edge of risk. She felt something brand new for an old friend. Until now, she hadn’t realized such a thing was possible.
She hummed along with the radio while cutting thick slices from the ring of ciambellone bread she’d made earlier. It didn’t taste exactly like the ciambellone she remembered from her childhood, but it was close. She fixed the sweet, lemony bread the way she always did, the slices spread with mascarpone and sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar.
“You’re a natural in the kitchen,” Pop always said.
Being good at cooking was nothing special. She wanted to be good at Latin, at vector analysis, at Jungian psychology. Not cooking.
Yet she always seemed to be feeding people in spite of herself. In high school, she was the one who brought snacks to study tables or booster meetings. By senior year, she had football players eating cicchetti and the student council debating the merits of different types of olive oil.
She took along some fresh berries to eat with the bread, added two round, squat bottles of Orangina, loaded everything into the basket of her bike and took off. She floated all the way there. It was amazing how Alex filled her mind. Simply amazing. Only yesterday, thoughts of moving away and getting an education had consumed her. Now she could think of nothing and no one but Alex.
He wasn’t exactly waiting for her, she observed as she glided under the stone archway leading to the beach. But he was there, already engaged in a game of volleyball on a team of visitors against a team of locals. Unnoticed, Rosa watched them. Or rather, she watched Alex. He looked incredible with his shirt off, hanging from the waistband of his shorts. It was hard to believe skinny, pale, wheezing Alex had turned out this way. She felt a strange shiver of heat as she studied his muscular chest and flat middle and the way his golden hair fell over his brow. On long, strong legs and bare feet, he moved with an assurance that was nearly a swagger.
<
br /> No matter where they were from, all guys tended to turn a simple volleyball game into a life-or-death struggle. The locals were boys she knew from school or work—Vince, Paulie, Leo and Teddy. They wore cutoffs and muscle shirts, and some of them sported tattoos and mustaches or goatees. They talked and jeered in loud voices, and Rosa found herself wishing their differences from the visitors were not so noticeable.
The other team was made up of summer people, instantly recognizable by their patrician looks, their casual clothes that cost a fortune, their shiny hair. Three other girls also watched from the sidelines. Rosa didn’t know them, but she knew their type. They would have names like Brooke or Tiffany, and they probably attended schools with zero church affiliation. Their silky pale hair, caught back by hairbands, swung as they moved. They wore khaki shorts and oxford blue shirts rolled back to the elbows. Their negligent sense of style set them apart from Rosa and her friends, who studied every issue of Glamour and Cosmopolitan and hopped on each passing trend like short-haul truckers.
“Hey, Rosa,” yelled Vince, all but beating his chest.
Finally, she thought. It was about time someone noticed. She waved at him.
“I’ll be through in a minute,” Alex said.
The volleyball match turned into an all-out battle. You’d think the state championship was at stake, the way they went at it.
Linda Lipschitz, Rosa’s best friend, arrived and sat down beside her, and they dangled their bare legs against the concrete wall. Linda was eating a banana and drinking a Diet Dr Pepper. This was her latest fad weight-loss scheme. Yet as hard as she tried, Linda never changed. She was born round and seemed destined to stay round. And she was cute that way, with a bright smile that made her endearing no matter what.
“How was that interview?” she asked.
“Fine.”
“I can’t believe you’re leaving us to go away to college.”
“I’m not leaving you.” But it occurred to Rosa that she might be lying.
“That’s what they all say. You’ll probably wind up in Europe or California and I’ll never see you again.”
“Why would I go to Europe or California?”
“That’s where people go with a fancy schmancy education.” Linda watched the game for a while. “Someday, years from now, you’ll be on their team.” She jerked her head toward the summer people.
Rosa laughed. “They’d never have me.”
“True. You would need to bleach your hair. Oh, and grow taller and flatten your boobs,” she added.
“That’s Alex Montgomery.” Rosa pointed him out and savored Linda’s look of astonishment.
“No way. You mean that geek you used to hang around with in the summer?”
“The very same.”
Linda put her hand to her heart. “Oh, my God.”
Rosa leaned back on the heels of her hands. She thought she was being nonchalant, but the expression on her face must have given her away.
“Holy cow,” Linda said in a stage whisper. “You hooked up with him.”
Rosa stared straight ahead. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Come on, Rosa. Spill.”
“There’s nothing to spill.” She couldn’t keep the grin from her face. “Yet.”
“Holy cow,” Linda said again, elbowing her playfully.
Alex spiked the ball to score, punching it down right next to Paulie diCarlo’s head. “Game point,” a boy shouted as he prepared to serve.
Paulie ripped off his muscle shirt and hurled it at the ground. “Screw it.”
“No, thanks,” Alex muttered.
With a roar of fury, Paulie charged the net, ducking under and bearing down on Alex.
Laughing, Alex sidestepped him and started to run, but Paulie dove, grabbing hold of his ankle and yanking his foot upward. Alex came down hard on his back, and even from where she sat some distance away, Rosa could hear the air rush out of him.
“Oh, no,” she said, instantly fearing an asthma attack. She could see the panic and confusion bright in his eyes, and she was terrified for him. But even before she jumped down to the sandy volleyball court, he’d regained his breath without the aid of an inhaler. He moved so fast it was a blur, but through the cloud of dust, she could see that he had flipped Paulie to his back and held him pinned.
“You lose,” he said. “Again.”
“Big mistake,” Linda murmured. “He should apologize.”
“Oh, like that’s going to happen.”
“Come on, Paulie,” said Teddy. “It’s time for work, anyway.” They were on the beach patrol for the parks department. They drove a county truck and wore uniforms, cleaning up the beaches and roadsides and parks. But they strutted around as though they were extras on Baywatch.
The girls watched them, whispering among themselves. Rosa didn’t miss the looks they shot at Alex—adoring, possessive looks. She felt an awkward moment coming on.
“Hey, Alexander,” said the prettiest, blondest one of all, “let’s go over to my place. My parents are gone for the day.”
He looked at them, then over at Rosa. She wanted to die, completely die. She never should have come here, never should have agreed to meet him in town. They were from two different worlds, and unless they were alone, they made no sense together.
“Thanks, Portia, but I can’t,” he said with a grin. “I’m busy.” With that, he brushed the sand off his arms and chest and walked over to Rosa. “Ready?” he said.
Behind her, Linda sighed audibly.
“Completely,” Rosa said.
twenty-five
One Saturday morning, Rosa heard the mail drop through the slot and went to get it. She’d been on pins and needles, waiting to hear about her scholarship. She shuffled through the usual junk mail and bills, then caught her breath when she came across an elegant envelope of cream stock, hand addressed. It was from the Charlotte Boyle Center.
The rest of the mail drifted to the floor. She tore open the envelope, trembling as she read the committee’s decision.
Oh, no, she thought.
She found her father in the driveway, putting a new chain on his bicycle. “I need to talk to you, Pop,” she said.
He wiped his hands on a red handkerchief. “What’s the matter?”
“Everything’s fine, but...I heard from the scholarship committee. I didn’t get it, Pop. I didn’t get the scholarship.” She stared at the cracked concrete driveway. She felt terrible. The generous prize would have taken a burden off her father.
She told herself that there were many other girls more qualified and probably just as needy. Still, a tiny voice inside her whispered that perhaps Emily Montgomery’s influence had affected the decision. Mrs. Montgomery had never liked her.
“Anyway,” she continued, “I was thinking I...could wait a year.” She tried to sound upbeat as she said it. It was the most practical course of action. “I could stay here and work full-time.”
“What, wait?” He shook his head, and when he looked at her, there was a gleam in his eye. “You’re not gonna change your plans now. You go to college, Rosina.”
“Really? Really and truly?”
“It is what my Rosa wants, it is what you worked so hard for, of course you are going.”
She flung her arms around him, inhaling his familiar, comforting scent. “Thank you, Pop. Thank you so much.”
“You’re gonna get all dirty,” he said.
* * *
The summer days sped by far too quickly, and Alex and Rosa found too little time to be together. Most days, he was busy with his boys at the Y. Most nights she was at Mario’s, earning every penny she could for college.
One hot July day, Alex and Rosa both managed to get the whole day and evening off, a rare occurrence given their busy w
ork schedules. They met for coffee, and she was thrilled that he remembered how she took hers, with lots of cream and sugar. Alex borrowed a sleek Club 420 sailboat from the Rosemoor and they sailed clear out to Block Island. Rosa was happy to lean back, clasp her hands behind her head and let Alex do the work.
The sky was an endless arch of brilliant light over the small, fast-moving boat. Rosa could think of nowhere else she would rather be than out here in the blue Atlantic, where the water was veined with the white whorls of undercurrents. The craggy island was cloaked in a mantle of wildflowers and blueberry shrubs, and the sweep of scenery dazzled Rosa. They moored in a sunny cove and went ashore for a picnic by Settlers Rock, which was engraved with names from the seventeenth century. They collected jingle shells and bits of sea glass, and Rosa found a rare mermaid’s purse.
Alex scrutinized it. “That’s the egg case of a skate.”
“Huh. It’s a mermaid’s purse. It has magical powers.” She handed it over. “Here, you keep it.”
He put it in his pocket. “I need all the magic I can get.”
She considered telling him she still had the nautilus shell he’d given her the first day they met, but decided against it. He would think her hopelessly sentimental. Especially if she admitted that not only had she kept it, but she’d put it in a special place on a glass shelf in her bedroom window, where the sunlight shone through it from behind.
“It’s nice, getting away for a day,” she said. Here, walking the Mohegan Bluffs among tourists and strangers, she didn’t feel like a misfit at all as she held hands with Alex. She just felt like...Alex’s girl.
He had no idea about the scholarship prize. Maybe he didn’t even realize his mother was on the committee. She pushed the thought from her mind and hid her thoughts behind a bright smile. Just for today, she wasn’t going to let herself worry about it.
* * *
In the afternoon, they headed back to the mainland. “You’re good at this,” she told him as he turned into the wind.
