Nantucket Red (Nantucket Blue)

by Leila Howland

  I headed back to the dining room and saw that Karla had seated my whole section again. Six new tables at once. I barely had time to breathe.

  At the end of the night, after I’d counted out over three hundred dollars in tips, and just as I was about to clean the cappuccino machine, which was particularly milk-encrusted and sticky, I got a text from Jules: Hey, Misdemeanors. It’s me, Crimes. Come over tomorrow? We can watch those Woody Allen movies. It’s supposed to rain.

  Was this what she was going to do? I thought as I wiped down the metal grate on the stupid cappuccino machine. She’ll just let me go down in flames and think that I would never suspect her?

  I turned on the milk steamer, not realizing the nozzle was aimed right at my hand. The steam seared my skin in a hissing blast. I ran to the sink and let cold water run over the distinct band of red, which was swelling and blistering, marking my hand like lashes of a whip.

  Thirty-five

  “LOOK WHAT I HAVE,” JULES SAID, opening the front door of the Claytons’ house the next morning. I didn’t step inside, even though it was cold and wet where I stood. According to my iPhone, it was already raining, but I stood in the misting air, arms crossed, careful not to touch the place on my hand that had burned. Even though I’d let the icy cold water run over it for several minutes last night, it was still too tender to touch.

  Minutes before, I had been on the phone with Coach Stacy, who told me, among other things, that she was extremely disappointed that I’d mentioned on the video that I hadn’t been keeping up with my training. Not only was she sitting on the committee at the hearing, but also, her decision would be based on how I performed at a scrimmage at the training camp she was running at St. Timothy’s. I would be expected to be there the day before the hearing for the camp’s closing scrimmage, to demonstrate that I was up to the task of playing at the college level.

  Jules was holding the door open with her foot, not picking up on my vibes. She displayed three Woody Allen DVDs, running a hand over them as if I’d just won them on a game show. “I have Manhattan, Annie Hall, and Hannah and Her Sisters. I also have Crimes and Misdemeanors, but then I thought, nah, too soon.” She laughed, but her face fell when she registered my stony expression and crossed arms. She wrinkled her nose and said, “Are you going to come in or what?”

  “Just tell me why.”

  “Why what?” Jules stepped outside, tucking the DVDs under her arm.

  “This is because I didn’t tell you about the list I found on the back of your mom’s picture, isn’t it? Or is this about last year? You still haven’t forgiven me. You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” When she lied, she pursed her lips and didn’t make eye contact. Her mouth was hanging open, and she wasn’t even blinking. “I’m not mad about the list. I stayed up last night digging through boxes to find these.” She held up the DVDs. “I wanted to watch them with you. Maybe it’s you who hasn’t forgiven me. Ever thought of that?”

  “Then who sent the video?”

  “What video?”

  “Of us getting drunk and breaking into Something Natural? Someone sent it to Brown, and now I might not get in. I have a hearing in a week with an academic dean, the head of admissions, and the lacrosse coach. And not only that, but the lacrosse coach saw me saying I hadn’t been keeping up with my training. I have to prove myself in a scrimmage. If I don’t do well, I don’t get her vote.”

  “Are you serious? Jesus, Cricket,” Jules said. “ZACK, GET OUT HERE!” Despite the obvious fact that he’d been there too, I hadn’t even considered the idea that he might have sent it. He couldn’t have. He was my first love. First loves don’t do that.

  “Don’t give me that look,” Jules said to me. “He took the video, not me.” She was right. Jules had only held the camera for a moment. It was Zack’s phone. It was his idea.

  “Why do you have to yell?” Zack asked as he emerged from the house holding a bowl of cereal. He was wearing just his Hanover soccer shorts. I studied his perfect torso, his sweet features, and his hair, rumpled from sleeping. “Hey, Cricket,” he said with a soft smile.

  “You know that video you took of us?” Jules asked.

  “What video?” Zack asked, eating his Cheerios.

  “You took a video that night,” Jules said. “At Something Natural.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said, remembering. “I did.”

  “Did you send it to Brown?” Jules asked.

  “Why the hell would I do that?”

  “Someone sent that video to Brown and now I might not get in,” I said.

  “What?” Zack paused in midbite. “I would never do that.”

  I wanted to believe him so badly.

  “You were passed out all night,” Jules said. “Maybe you did it when you were passed out.”

  “I couldn’t even find my way home; you think I could locate the e-mail address of someone in the admissions office at Brown?”

  “Someone sent that video,” I said.

  “Take us through what happened that night,” Jules said to Zack.

  “I took the thermoses from Jules,” Zack said, “and I started walking, and I remember getting really disoriented and lying down in the park and telling myself I was camping.”

  “That has nothing to do with anything. When did you wake up?” Jules asked.

  “I woke up because my phone was ringing,” Zack said. “It was light out by then.”

  “Who was it?” I asked.

  “Parker,” Zack said. “She came and got me.”

  “We’re so dumb,” Jules said. “Get me your phone.”

  “Screw you.”

  “Go!”

  Zack went inside and came back with his phone. Jules snatched it from him and opened his sent mail folder. She scrolled until she found what she was looking for: an e-mail to the Brown University Admissions Office, with a video attachment. It had been sent on my birthday.

  “I swear I didn’t send it.”

  “No shit,” I said. “Your girlfriend did.”

  He closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry.” I held my breath, waiting for something else, but he just shook his head.

  “Sorry? Sorry is not good enough,” I said. “It’s not even close.”

  He covered his face with his hands.

  I felt a shard of glass lodge in my heart. “You’re not even going to break up with her, are you?”

  “Shit,” he said.

  “You really have changed. You know that?”

  “Um, do you guys want me to leave?” Jules asked.

  “Yes,” Zack said.

  “No,” I said.

  She froze.

  “This is all going to work out,” Zack said. “It has to.”

  “What are you talking about, it has to work out? No, it doesn’t. I’m not a senator’s daughter. I can’t just snap my fingers and have my troubles go away. This is my life, Zack. My life! Everything I’ve ever worked for!”

  “Cricket,” Zack said. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. Sorry doesn’t help me.”

  “I’ll help you,” he said, breathless. “I’ll fix it.”

  “How?” I asked. He said nothing. “Guess what, Zack? While you were busy protecting Parker, she ruined my life.”

  “Cricket, please.”

  “I never want to talk to you again,” I said and took off.

  “Wait,” Jules said, catching up to me. It had really started to rain now. Jules wasn’t wearing shoes. Her toes were red against the pavement. “We’re going to make sure you get back in.”

  “Can you admit Parker is a mean girl now? I just want to hear you admit it. I want you to say it. I want to know that you’re on my side.”

  “I’m on your side,” she said. “But Parker is severely trouble
d—”

  “No, no, no. Fuck ‘troubled,’” I said and ran away, fast enough so that even someone wearing shoes couldn’t have caught me.

  Thirty-six

  I RODE MY BIKE TO SADIE’S COTTAGE in the rain. With the exception of some hard-core bicyclists decked out in spandex, I was the only one on the path. The rain had quieted the island, filling the air with the scent of wet grass and cooling pavement, urging people indoors to board games and sweaters. But I was racing my own thoughts on the way to ’Sconset. I choose Ben over Zack, I told myself as I whirred past Polpis Road. I will write over the story of Zack with the story of Ben. I will take my heart in my own hands.

  By the time I arrived, the muscles in my legs were tingling, my hands were cold, and I was soaked to the bone. When Ben opened the screen door, he looked like the perfect picture of a hot summer boy. He stood framed in the warm light of the cottage, barefoot in an old Sarah Lawrence T-shirt and jeans. He smiled and I stepped inside the house, rain dripping from my hair onto the hooked rug with the Sankaty lighthouse on it. He was playing an old-fashioned record on an actual record player. His guitar was out of its case, leaning against the fireplace.

  “You look like a drowned rat,” he said. I frowned. “A cute rat,” he added. He handed me a T-shirt and sweatpants from his makeshift dresser next to the sofa. “Go change. I’ll make you an Irish coffee.”

  “That sounds perfect,” I said. After my fight with Zack and Jules and the rainy ride to ’Sconset, an Irish coffee felt like the most civilized, exquisite thing known to humankind. I took the clothes from him and headed into the bathroom. Though, what was the point? I wondered as I shut the door behind me. I wasn’t planning on staying dressed for long.

  I took off my wet clothes and hung them on the towel rack. I looked in the mirror and shook out my damp hair. I was about to pull on the sweatpants, but I paused and left them folded by the sink. My cheeks were pink from the ride over. I searched my eyes for evidence of tears, splashed a little water on my face, and dabbed on some lip gloss.

  “Well, hello, there, pantless one,” Ben said, as I stepped out of the bathroom.

  “They were way too big.” I shrugged, took the Irish coffee and sat on the sofa, stretching my legs out.

  “So,” he said, sitting next to me. “Did you talk to Jules?” I nodded. “And?”

  “And Zack.” The name had an electric charge. It shocked my mouth.

  “I meant, AND what did she say? Did she send the video?”

  “No. That other girl did. Parker.”

  “Ah,” Ben said. He nodded. “Zack’s girlfriend, right?” I didn’t like the sound of his name on Ben’s tongue, and I’d never, ever get use to the phrase Zack’s girlfriend.

  “I don’t want to talk about them,” I said, sipping my Irish coffee. It was strong and a little bitter. “I’m going to add a little more sugar to this. Not quite sweet enough.”

  “Don’t be long,” Ben said as I headed toward the kitchen. “You look good in my T-shirt, but I think you’d look even better without it.”

  “Where’s the sugar?” I asked, searching the cupboards.

  “In the cupcake,” he said.

  “Oh, okay.” I spied the ceramic cupcake and set about looking for a spoon.

  “Maybe we should go surfing later. I bet the waves are awesome right now,” Ben said. As I searched for a spoon, he went on talking, about surfing before a storm. I opened a drawer and found what Mom would have called the “catch-all”—the place where one kept keys, gum, coupons, and take-out menus. Staring up at me was a picture of Ben kissing a girl with dark hair sitting under a CONGRATS! banner on the front porch. Amelia, I thought. I picked it up and studied it. I had always pictured her fair, like Ben and me, but I’d been wrong. She had dark hair and olive skin. I caught my breath as I realized who she was. Her hair was longer in this picture, and her body was a little more ample than it was now, but there was no mistaking the thin band of a tattoo around her arm, or her high, distinctive cheekbones.

  “Ben?” I said, stepping out into the living room with the picture in my hand, interrupting his monologue on currents and storms. “Were you engaged to Amy? Is Amy Amelia?”

  A full five seconds passed before he spoke. “I didn’t know how to tell you.” He reddened. He bit his lip.

  “I feel like such an idiot,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you lie?”

  “Everything I told you was true. I was engaged. She cheated on me. I came to Nantucket to start over.”

  “You left out a pretty important detail.”

  “I told her it was over, but I couldn’t stop her from coming out here and getting a job. Karla’s her aunt.”

  “Why didn’t you get a job somewhere else?”

  “Bartending jobs are hard to find on Nantucket.”

  “That hard? So hard you have to work with your ex-fiancée?”

  “Actually, yes. And it’s not like you told me everything about your past.”

  “Me?” I put a hand on my chest. “What did I hide?”

  “That you’re still in love with Zack?”

  “I am not!” I said, hoping that if I said the words, they’d be true.

  “Cricket, you should see your face when you say his name.” Ben’s eyes were liquid with compassion. “It takes one to know one.”

  “You’re still in love with Amelia? I mean Amy, whatever her real name is.”

  He covered his face with his hands and sighed. “I don’t know. But she did break my heart. And I don’t think I’m going to get over it for a long time.”

  “Then what are we doing together?” I swallowed, trying to make sense of the situation. “What have we been doing all summer?”

  “Having fun? Helping each other move on?”

  I inhaled sharply. “You were using me.”

  “Hey, that’s not true,” Ben said. “Not any more than you were using me.”

  I stared at the wooden floor, speechless. Was he right? Had I been using him, too? I headed to the bathroom to change. He followed me, but I closed the door on him.

  “You don’t have to go, Cricket. I like you and I think you like me,” he said through the door as I took off his shirt. “Not everything fits in a neat little box. Not every relationship needs a label. Let’s just surrender and enjoy each other.”

  “That sounds like a pile of crap.” My skin goose-pimpled as I put on my cold, rain-soaked clothes.

  “Sometimes you just have to let go,” he said.

  “I have to get out of here,” I said. I handed him his clothes and jammed my feet into my wet sneakers.

  “At least let me drive you?” Ben said, but I was already out the door.

  I pedaled back toward town. I thought about that picture of Sadie dancing on the beach and wondered why I couldn’t be more like her. Sadie herself said that at my age she’d just wanted to have fun and get laid, and it had seemed cool when she said it. So why did I have to care so much about what things meant? Why couldn’t I just enjoy this hot older surfer guy who turned me on like crazy? And I wasn’t like Nina, either. I wasn’t a rich Park Avenue girl with a penchant for art and high culture. I was just a middle-class kid who had blown her chance at an Ivy League education.

  As the sun ripped through the cloud layer, a deep anger swelled inside me. I was angry with Ben and Amy and even Karla, for keeping me in the dark. I was angry with myself. I had allowed myself to take my eye off the ball. I knew better. I was angry at Jules for letting me get that drunk when she knew I had no experience with alcohol. I was angry at Zack for protecting Parker. And I was enraged at Parker for being so cavalier with my life. But none of this surprised me.

  What surprised me was that I was angry at Nina. I was angry at her for loving me when she was alive in a way that made me feel like I was one of her own. I was pissed that she had lived long enough to let
me believe that I could be like her, but hadn’t hung around long enough to show me how. Instead, she had left me with a list of rich-girl fantasies that I could only pretend to actualize. She’d filled my head with dreams of places I couldn’t really go. I wouldn’t be able to go to Paris or Italy until I was grown-up, with a job of my own. And then I wouldn’t be able to do it with the style and insouciance that she had had. That wasn’t something you could earn through hard work and scholarships. It was something you were born with. She was the reason I had come out to this stupid island, and I hated her for it. My mom had been right last year. I had worshiped Nina, and it was silly and useless, and, worst of all, it was probably even tacky.

  When I got back to the manager’s apartment, I took the picture of Nina off the wall. I was going to rip it up. My hands were poised and ready to tear when I saw a pile of Woody Allen DVDs, tied up with a ribbon, sitting on my sofa bed with a note from Jules.

  Hey, Miss Demeanors!

  You forgot your DVDs. I found them for you. We’re going to fight this. We’re going to get you back into Brown. I promise. AND I love you forever! Love, Miss Crimes.

  P.S.: Got to get you in shape for the coach. Your lacrosse training starts tomorrow at 9 a.m. sharp! See you then.

  P.P.S.: Start with Manhattan. It was Mom’s favorite, since she went to the same school as the girl in the movie.

  Jules had sealed it with a lipstick kiss. She’d even drawn a bunch of funny pictures of us. There was one of us playing lacrosse. There was one of me standing on her back crawling through the window of Something Natural. There was one of us swimming at night, our boobs floating to the surface under a full moon. As angry as I was, I had to laugh. What if Jules had been right when she said that I was the one who had been unable to forgive her for last summer? What if I was the one holding on to anger? What if Ben was right about my needing to let go?

  I released the photo of Nina from my closed fist. I took three deep breaths, smoothed it out, and hid it in a secret pocket on the inside of my suitcase. Then I picked up the phone and did what I’d been dreading doing.