Katie watched Huck in front of a row of bathing suits, perusing the bold colors with patterns, stripes, and images of the sea. “Look, it says SURF on the side. I really need one.”
She flashed on an image of Huck standing like this, his back to her as it was now, before her mother’s resting place after the funeral in March. They had strewn half of her ashes in Flathead Lake by their home. For a moment, while Katie said goodbye to mourners, the child paid homage to his grandmother alone, walking down to the shore again. He stood there, his chubby physique thinned out in the dark suit with baggy pants she’d borrowed from a neighbor. The delicate waves of the lake lapped at his big-boy shoes in the muddy sand.
This is my first glimpse of the man Huck will become, she’d thought. During the entire ceremony, he’d grabbed her arm, squeezing it hard, knowing he was sending love up her limbs, telling her they’d carry on in life as a duo now without her mom next door. Watching Huck standing so tall reminded her of her mother’s dying credo even as illness spread: she’d told Katie it was easier to live out her days grateful, rather than glum. Katie breathed in deep, channeling her mother, fortifying her resolve to embrace all the newness out here and stand firm in her decision.
The guy walked closer to her now. It was getting more difficult to ignore him. He wore jeans that curved on his strong build, and a T-shirt that hung a few inches farther down on one arm than the other. His thin frame was muscular and tight.
As she feigned interest in a small boogie board for Huck, she smiled back at him, even though she wanted to keep the segments of her new life simple, easy to put together, just like the jigsaw puzzle from the musty closet she and Huck had started on.
Katie thought about the relationship space George kept mentioning in phone calls. He was so intent on giving her distance and time so she didn’t feel pressure. Was it possible, she might even date a little when George wasn’t here? How weird. This great-looking guy now trying on a sweatshirt made her anxious with possibility.
George couldn’t have been clearer, or more convincing. He’d laid out the summer plan in detail after that day picking cherries when he took her out to a dimly lit restaurant for dinner. “I swear on my life and yours. I like the other house. I haven’t slept in the little cottage for fifteen years. We just give it to someone who is writing a novel or needs a break from a marriage. We don’t rent it, ever. You don’t have to pay. Just stay. No strings.” At that point he’d asked the waiter for a thick felt-tip pen and written on a cocktail napkin in the light of a candle: COME EAST, NO STRINGS, KATIE OWES GEORGE ZERO.
But Katie had never maintained she owed him zero. She never said she needed monumental amounts of this so-called space. And that nagged her back in Hood River, on the long plane ride, and even now in the store. Her close friend Ashley had advised her when she’d visited Hood River to help her pack, “What man pushes a woman to cross the country if he isn’t into her? He’s just acting cool by saying you get your space . . . maybe you’re giving him standoffish signals? Maybe you seem tentative about the summer in the Hamptons?”
“I’m sure I am, but I feel like I’m falling hard,” Katie told Ashley as she’d taped up boxes. “I want to go out for work and a new life for Huck and not count on this relationship. Yet sometimes, when I’m feeling challenged by mothering Huck alone, or missing Mom, I find myself getting hooked on George in a way that makes me nervous, especially when he’s all like, ‘Yeah, you got the cottage, I’m not out much.’” She’d stopped taping and just sat on a box for a moment, wondering out loud, “What the hell is he doing when he’s not out in the Hamptons much besides working?”
“Well, he’s probably working honestly. But try to fall hard when you spend a summer together, not before,” Ashley cautioned. “Go and keep your mind open about men in general. You can’t take care of yourself and Huck in this huge change if you let a man sway you too much. Don’t swing from intrepid to insecure. Go windsurf a lot out there to remind you of your strength. And the pieces will fall in your favor. I promise. You’re an independent woman, always have been. It’ll serve you out East.”
Independence can have broad meaning. Katie was living in George’s family cottage, beholden to him for that. She assumed they’d at least fall back into the initial pattern of dinner, a vodka or two, and sweaty, if a little too kinky, sex.
Good plan. Stick with that plan.
So why court trouble with this man studying the Maui Jim sunglass display case six feet down the aisle? She’d never been very good at paying heed to life’s silly rules. Katie knew herself, and the strange pull she felt toward this man was potent.
She hesitated at the shark tooth display. Perhaps she could come up with a reason to ask the guy a “man” question about shark fishing or boats.
Katie then backtracked a little—what was she going to ask, what is the best kind of shark tooth to own? There were hundreds of little necklaces in the basket to choose from. The plastic packages weren’t even labeled, and all the teeth looked the same.
Katie longed to call Ashley: You sure it’s not bad that George isn’t even here for my first week? Or is it good to settle in with my ornery ways?
And a far more pressing question: Is this other guy bizarrely cute, or am I crazy?
“All kids like those necklaces, good choice,” the man said, watching Katie and Huck take several more out of the basket. His voice was kind.
She looked at him, her green eyes against her fair skin translucent in the fluorescent lighting in the store. “I, uh, it’s just a little gift. He’s tired.” He looked a few years older than her twenty-nine years.
Luke smiled back at her, as he pulled his longish, dark hair over his ear. He played with his cleft chin, considering her beauty, and whether it would silence him. Maybe he could come up with a witty joke on the fly.
“All kids get tired at this hour.” He thought to himself, Stupid move, if the kid was tired, then he couldn’t show them the ice cream store next door.
“Yeah, it’s just a little gift,” she answered. Couldn’t she think of something about the town, then maybe he’d have to explain, then show her in person?
“Mom. We decided. Can we go now? Can I wear it?”
Katie kneeled down to kiss Huck. Talking to this man wasn’t wise on many fronts, she told herself again, unconvincingly. She turned to him, wishing she’d thought of a shark tooth question after all. “So anyway, I guess we’ll buy it.”
“Yeah, it’s a good choice,” he answered, wondering why he couldn’t be more like a suave Casanova in situations like this. Kona would be whispering sweet Hawaiian nothings into her ear, and pouring her a glass of red wine by now.
They stood there for a long pause, neither having any idea how to keep talking.
“So, anyway, thanks,” said Katie, looking at his gorgeous cheekbones and full lips.
“Yeah, anytime.” Finally, Luke got up some nerve. “You from here?”
“Not at all,” she smiled. “From out West.”
“Got it. And you’re visiting or . . .”
“Here. For the summer.”
“Mom, c’mon, let’s go. You said candy, too. Please?” Huck yanked her to the cash register.
Despite this man’s allure and the NO STRINGS rumpled paper napkin document, Katie defaulted on the flirtation match. She paid quickly, deciding it was better to put the hormones on ice.
Katie stepped onto the sidewalk, lined with folded beach chairs and plastic baskets of primary-colored shovel sets. She couldn’t help herself: she smiled back at the man who couldn’t take his eyes off her, no matter how hard he tried.
Interlude: Memorial Day
The man with the pink-and-yellow gardenia lining inside his blazer needed a little more action before he faced a week of work. That young store employee with the gargantuan tits entered his mind. She was a local girl, surely not thinking of college, trying her best to advance herself in a life of retail at the Club Monaco shop off Main Street.
She wou
ldn’t make it at the more exclusive Ralph Lauren down the block with her pale blue eye shadow and generic bracelets from a shopping mall that, frankly, advertised middle class. She was a woman who knew her limits. But he could change her life. Up to a point, of course. But, then, he was that way. He was generous. Not only with career guidance, but in the sack, too.
He parked behind the store and used the back door. Inside, he marveled at the all-white clever branding: spiffy floors, white orchids in little white pails, white sofas, white cotton throws. Good value clothes for Manhattan housewives here, always something they could buy to throw on for a lobster bake where one got messy anyway. And local women could find a suitable blouse for an interview or event, posing as if they’d been raised in a hydrangea-filled summer estate.
Diana Doherty was standing at the counter, stuffing crisp Oxford shirts into a bag. “Sixty-nine dollars retail, but only forty-eight dollars today on the holiday sale, that’s a savings of 30 percent.”
She was competent, self-reliant, he noted, could do math in her head. She’d never want anything from him. Feminism was a great thing!
“Take a break now,” he whispered at her, while he considered a big table of coffee table books near the back of the registers. Her looked over at her tending to customers and tried to decide if her calves were a tad full. Good ankles, though, that saved her. Townie girls let themselves go a little more, ate too many cheeseburgers, fried what-have-you, with beer.
Maybe the calves were easier to hang onto when he’d fold her in two. It was fine, he’d only see those thick legs flailing around in the dark. It’s not as if he’d take her anywhere in broad daylight. Flipping through a fancy book on outdoor entertaining in the Hamptons, he instructed her, “I’ll meet you in the back storage closet.”
“I can’t.” She smiled, relieved he’d come in. “Not again. C’mon.” She motioned her hand at a short line before the counter. She’d checked her phone about seven thousand times since last week when they’d had the bedroom to themselves. He hadn’t called or texted once. She knew she should give him a hard time, but he might take it like she was clingy, and then he might never . . .
“You can. Take a break, tell the manager something, uh, came up . . .”
She loved his persistence, even his stupid jokes. Maybe they’d get together for dinner that night. There was a lovely spot on the bay with fish tacos she’d wanted to try. He would consider her in the know, even elegant, for suggesting it.
Nine minutes later, they were tussling on a huge pile of sweaters in plastic bags used as cushions in the dark storeroom. She’d locked it of course, but didn’t tell him other salesgirls and the manager had keys. She unbuckled his belt and rather aggressively yanked his pants and boxers halfway down his thighs, knowing it pleased him when she seemed all excited before they’d even started.
However, happy to see him, hoping they’d actually go on a date that night was different from wet-in-her-panties turned on. She pretended to moan a little.
And, though he was older, he was hot in his own way. If only he had a nice convertible. It would be so awesome to drive around with the roof down, with some cool new sunglasses on. Maybe Neil, who’d just dumped her, would see them.
As she wriggled and writhed beneath him, she heard footsteps in the hallway. He was too occupied between her breasts now to hear. God, she thought, this would really be bad if her manager came in. If she lost her job, he’d have to realize it was his fault, and that he’d made her leave the register.
But it’d be worth it, especially if he set her up in an apartment, maybe got her a cute little MINI Cooper convertible. If they got really serious by next Easter, he’d surprise her with a pale pink one or something thoughtful like that.
Okay, maybe he was pretty good at going down on girls, like better than anyone actually. As he twirled his tongue around her like a master, she figured his prowess was due to his lifetime of experience. No one her age moved his mouth slowly and softly like that. Guys she grew up with never understood girls don’t jerk off like a jackhammer the way men do.
As she was almost there, he started to lick lower. “Not there, up higher it’s better,” she whispered down at him, so close to coming. He was nice; it was always all about her. She thought she heard something outside, but at this point, she didn’t care.
“Just lemme try something here . . .” He flipped her over.
“C’mon,” she pleaded. “That’s too much, I don’t think . . .”
And you know what? He was right. He slid himself into her, and it was strangely amazing. And then, wow, she came in successive waves like she never had in her young life, the explosions in her body feeling eternal and nuclear all at once.
Chapter Twelve
And Pop Goes George
Friday, June 2
The following Friday, Katie rushed to get Huck ready for his day at soccer camp. The magnificent summer sun streamed through her windows, and she hoped it would brighten Huck’s mood. He’d been decidedly lukewarm about the competitive camp atmosphere. Though the counselors had promised to watch out for him, she’d picked up a rather reticent child in the previous few days. She hoped the perfect weather would help his comfort there.
As she neatened her hair into a ponytail in front of the bathroom mirror, and put blush on her soft, cream-colored cheeks, she heard a noise out the window beside her. Tires of a car crunched as they slowly rolled over the cracked little asphalt potholes on the driveway. No deliveries had been ordered, and George had said he wasn’t coming until Sunday. She was supposed to have ten days to settle—that’s what they agreed on. Or more precisely, that’s what he told her the best plan would be. She pulled back the grandmotherly lace curtain from the small-paned window in the bathroom, but couldn’t see the car because of the overgrown hedge branches.
Katie walked briskly through the small living room of the cottage, smoothing the top of her ponytail. She’d had a fitful night; the worry fairies kept sprinkling their persuasive spell on her. She missed her mother’s wise counsel and wondered whether it might have been nicer to have George here her first week. She also felt unnerved about her flirtation with the adorable man in the surf shop earlier that week.
And then her finances agitated her: she’d done the same calculations all night to reassure herself. But every hour or so, she’d counted the numbers up: tutor hours per week, her take-home after the agency took their cut, the five-hundred-dollar monthly rent she insisted on paying, and costs she hadn’t anticipated, like bicycles. How many more would there be? She was determined not to touch the fifteen-thousand-dollar inheritance her mother had left her.
The morning sunlight exposed the yellowing patches on the white-painted floor that had been covered by rugs or chairs over the years. On the red Americana dresser in the front, the eyes of George and his mother and now-deceased father stared at her in photographs from years ago. She swore their eyes were following her gait.
Her premonitions proven right, Katie looked out the front door panes to watch George step out of his 2002 BMW 320i with a bag from Dunkin’ Donuts. She raced back to the bathroom to put on mascara.
“Huck!’ she yelled into the adjacent room, where he was constructing a new Lego she’d bought (another expense she hadn’t counted on). Indeed, the child had been right, and they had left parts of the heli-jet set back home. “We need to leave soon for camp, sweetie, five-minute warning with the Legos. And George is here a couple of days early!” She was a little upset he hadn’t called to say he was coming early. Or called enough this week, period.
Katie looked into the decades-old bathroom mirror, the sides flecked with black spots from years of corrosive, salty air. Her cheeks flushed. She knew she hadn’t felt this drawn to a man in several years. The vulnerability prickled more than she liked. Her mind hurtled from guilt to embarrassment, as if she were doing something wrong, standing in this bathroom that wasn’t hers, enveloped in this strange, decaying home.
She studied her round face i
n the mirror, and squinted her bright green eyes back at her reflection, hands on hips now. This anxiety wasn’t like her. But then again, she was due to feel a bit rattled; perhaps she’d been bottling it up to stay strong for her child and resilient her first week.
Katie strode back to the living room. She grabbed Huck’s entire body and whooshed him out of the house.
“Mom! I wasn’t done!” he yelled. Katie bounded out to the front porch, remembering eager didn’t work on many fronts with men, but neither did ice-cold and unappreciative. She knelt against a pillar on the steps, smiled at the sight of cute George getting out of his car. He looked damn good with the sunlight highlighting his blond hair and strong build. She then placed her hands in her pockets just to stop them from shaking.
Pointing to the donut bag in his hands, she said, “George. You’re spoiling him again.” She sounded like she’d just sprinted to the corner stop sign and back. “Did you just get here this morning?” She longed to call her friend Ashley and laugh about their favorite topic: how grown women tap into those potent middle school nerves.
“No, I got here yesterday. Just getting settled in my own house and I figured I’d said Sunday, and this is two days early, but I couldn’t wait to see Huck again.” He winked at her.
It Happens in the Hamptons Page 6
