It Happens in the Hamptons

by Holly Peterson

  “Rich people will do anything to get rid of their kids,” he explained. “When we have sudden summer monsoons, lightning, and torrential downpours in the middle of the camp day, the richest of the rich kids never, ever get picked up early.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, the moms would rather have them shivering in the back of my van with a rusty, metal floor bed and Chinese coal factory level emissions pumping out the back than miss their core crunch Pilates class. We’re talking children whose parents have enough funds to finance a presidential campaign. Even the little ones huddled in the back, with rain pelleting the roof and lightning blazing all around us, ask, ‘Why isn’t my Mom here?’”

  “Well, why don’t they come really?” Katie asked.

  “The only answer we can come up with is that heavy hitters really need their downtime. Even if we all had T-shirts that said, ‘we are all child molesters,’ they would still say, ‘hey, it’s only three hours.’”

  Katie laughed again, while Huck walked up to them.

  “Thanks, Huck,” Luke said, and handed him two one-dollar bills.

  Huck’s eyes bulged. “What’s this for? For me?”

  “Well, honest pay for a day of honest work.”

  “But I didn’t work the whole day, I just helped clean up like you asked,” Huck answered.

  “Well, do you see any other kids here? Does anyone help as much as you?”

  Huck kept his eyes open without blinking and shook his head left and right.

  “In fact, I’ll go help you spend it if you want. What about it, Katie, can I take him into town?”

  “Mom, please?”

  “Don’t beg like that, honey, give me a second to figure out what we’re doing after. It’s so nice, you know, just us,” Katie said to Luke.

  Just us? Luke thought to himself, looking at the way her bare back curved beautifully as she placed her elbows on her knees.

  “It feels like heaven today,” Katie continued, not aware of the wishful does she or doesn’t she like me loop going on in the man’s head next to her. “During the weekend it feels like a bus terminal of people trying to flee some natural disaster.”

  “I get it. At pickup, we always wonder, what is wrong with you people?” Luke felt victorious making her smile so much, and even laugh at some of his observations on life here.

  Katie took her hat off, and nervously put her hair in and out of a ponytail.

  Luke felt an unusual confidence take over, possibly because Huck had climbed from the back of the bench onto his shoulders now, half distracting him, and he could talk as if the questions were no big deal. No more lame proposals as when she was on the beach with Julia.

  “So, can we possibly hang out somewhere that isn’t my job on a boat?” Luke asked. “Can I show you both around a little after camp or, make Huck those s’mores?”

  Luke couldn’t size up the roadblocks presented by this George guy Huck had mentioned. He knew that he came out only on some weekends, never showed his face at camp, and somehow helped Katie rent the house his father forbid him ever to step foot in.

  “Huck, do me a favor. Go get me my phone in the boat, I left it there, and my glasses. You can get on the boat yourself now. You’re learning well, just hold on, if you can wipe the cabin a bit too, please.”

  As Huck climbed back to the ground and bolted back to the boat, Luke figured the tasks would take the kid a good five more minutes, so he went even further, “So, can you do that, or is that George guy going to get mad?”

  Shit. “I, uh, he’s not out here now,” Katie said, then blew out a little oxygen. “George is not really here much until August. I just met him this spring and we had this idea, I’d come out.”

  “An idea? Where he is? What do you mean?” Luke stared at the other end of the dock and jammed his tongue into the roof of his mouth, trying to displace the tension building inside him.

  “I mean,” Katie said, faltering, “I mean, he’s just not really here much . . . and I didn’t really expect it to be so different from . . . like all these crazy rich people like you say, with their poor nannies having to ride their children’s miniature bikes in a panic, or be fired. All the huge homes, even Julia who is great and so welcoming to me, but she’s still living in this enormous compound.”

  “Can I ask you about your cottage? George’s family?”

  “I’d rather not. I don’t know them well,” Katie answered.

  “Do you know who lived in the cottage you’re staying in before? Like, fifteen to thirty years ago?”

  “God, I don’t think it was anyone from the family. They only have guests in there, I think.”

  Luke wondered what his father had been alluding to, saying he could never step foot inside. It must be a guest with a sordid past. “Okay, I won’t ask about the family.”

  Katie fidgeted with her ponytail again and went on. “And I didn’t understand how far the city was—too far to drive out for dinner. Not that I miss George when he’s working in the city.”

  “You don’t?” Luke was loving all this making her nervous. If he could only be this confident more often.

  “I just mean”—she swallowed hard, trying to explain—“for getting together plans, logistics, it’s more spread out and complicated than I . . . But then, he works so much in New York and he’s busy with golf and his projects and . . . so we don’t really see him much.”

  “What projects?” Luke gained more nerve; seeing her so flustered had to be a good sign in his favor. He stood up in front of her to feel tall and just move a little. “So, he’s out a lot or not that much or . . .”

  “I don’t know, there’s stuff he’s always running to. He has responsibilities that I don’t really understand, and then he wants to be with all these people. And . . .” she said nervously as he edged closer to her. “Honestly I don’t really like that many people out here.”

  “You don’t like anyone?” Luke pressed. The more nervous and apologetic she got that she was even with someone beside him, the bolder he felt. He took another step so he was standing with his toes touching hers, and now bent a little so his knees grazed hers. “You came for a trial summer and gave up the gorgeous snow-covered Cascade mountains and not one person even makes you smile or . . .”

  “You like Luke, Mom!” Huck knew he was flipping open the bottle cap of pressure between these two grown-ups. “You told me so!” He’d crept back to their end of the dock to listen and now grabbed her neck from behind the bench with both arms.

  “Honey, I thought you were back at the boat.”

  “You told me Luke was nice. You ask me all the time how he was at camp; you almost never ask about Kenny, or Kona, or that kid who helps.”

  “Of course I do, I ask about camp all the time, not just . . .”

  “Can I go into town with him, please? And can we have dinner with him too instead of George this time? It’s Luke’s turn, you said it, right?”

  “No, honey. It’s getting late. I’m sure he has things to do.”

  Luke brushed his knees onto Katie’s again. “We’re actually going to do a beach barbeque, down by the jetty at the inlet. If you want to come, you can bring Huck, too. Sometimes we even surf before the sun sets. I’ll take Huck in for a few waves on a boogie board. You like marshmallows, right, Huck? I told the guys that I would bring some dessert food, so he and I could go get marshmallows in town now and you can meet us?”

  Katie put her head in her hands.

  She had to say no.

  “Okay. We’ll come,” she answered. “And Huck can go to town with you. I’ll see you at the jetty at six?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  First Date . . . or Is It?

  Luke had instructed Katie to wait for him and Huck at five forty-five by the entrance at the end of Beachwood Lane. She’d arrived early, passing private driveways leading to houses titled Pelican Dune and Blueberry Gardens. A helicopter pad stood across the lot on the bay side, weeds jutting up from the cracks in the land
ing circle. She heard the thud-thud-thud of propellers in the distance from the inside of her car.

  Katie had never been this far down Beachwood Lane where all the wealthy people landed. A dark black helicopter arrived, the words Blade marked on the side. She covered her eyes, sand whipping hard into her face. Not familiar with the art of helicopter arrival, she was now doused in dirt. As the propellers came to a stop, a beautiful woman descended, the type who would not do well with a flake of dirt on her all-white Hamptons outfit. She walked to a handsome man in a convertible Mercedes who had pulled up to the lot with perfect timing.

  And then, just like that, the Blade helicopter was gone. Minutes later, the convertible was parked in a garage down the lane. And the woman, having her chilled Chardonnay poured, was miffed that her stylist hadn’t picked out earrings for the new Gucci cocktail dress she’d just changed into.

  After wiping the dust off her face, Katie figured she’d go down to the sand to get some air while she waited for Luke and her son. She walked out along the sea grass, trying to find a pathway to the ocean through the weeds and trails. She wondered what it would be like to take Huck into Manhattan on a helicopter, how many tutor sessions she’d have to teach to pay for two seats.

  She stopped for a moment and leaned over, hands on her knees, thinking, This is fine. It’s cool. George is in the city, what does he expect me to do, not make some friends? This is just a little Wednesday night adventure. It has nothing to do with the fact I need a man who would never wear khakis.

  When she couldn’t find a clear route, Katie decided against a walk into the trails between the lot and ocean, and sat on the log railing of the parking lot. Her nerves made her tap her feet and hit her knees with her hands as if there were a jazz orchestra behind her.

  Her phone rang.

  “Hey, baby,” George said. “Manhattan is a concrete furnace this week. I just wanted to hear what you’re doing.”

  Katie fumbled with her earphones nervously and jammed them into her ears.

  “Oh, wow, glad you called, just at the beach with Huck.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  “I mean, I’m waiting at the beach for Huck.”

  “Well, who’s driving him there?”

  “Uh, just a, uh, mom, from the club, they . . .”

  “That’s great, nice, which one? I’ll be sure to thank her for welcoming you.”

  “There were some moms there and a play date with a bunch of kids, and I’m not sure which one was driving. It’s really hard for me to remember.”

  “Hey, that’s fine, Katie,” he said kindly. “This isn’t an inquisition, I’m just wanting to know how you’re doing. I want you to know I miss you, if I’m allowed to say that. I hate working this hard.”

  “I work hard, we all do. I get it.” She played nervously with long leaves of sea grass, pulling threads off them and twisting them tightly on her fingertips. “Are you coming out, because we haven’t seen each other and, well, I’m fine, but hopefully by August you’ll be out more.” She wasn’t at all sure she meant that.

  Katie heard the sound of tires against gravel, and turned to see Luke’s van roll into the lot.

  “George, they’re arriving. Let me call you later. Bye.” She hung up more abruptly than she would have liked.

  As Luke stopped, slamming on the breaks, clouds of sand and dust spewed all over her again. A White Stripes song from eight summers ago blasted out of his van.

  Luke rolled up to the edge of a trail and got out to reduce the tire pressure before driving on the sand. “Over here! We gotta go in by this lane. Hurry up, the sun won’t be out much longer and I promised Huck I’d get him into the ocean a bit. We can body surf.”

  “Boogie board,” yelled Huck assertively from the filthy side seat. “The Star Wars one.”

  Katie walked slowly up to the van while Luke knelt at each tire. “Huck, you’re in the front seat? What is going on?”

  “There’s no backseat, and no air bags. This is a 1989 surf van. He’s good. Get in,” Luke said, smiling, the sun from behind lighting his hair as he looked at her.

  Another helicopter landed, and both Luke and Katie shielded their faces from the dust.

  “That’s the second one tonight,” she told him.

  “Usually not many land on a weeknight,” Luke answered. “You do know there’s an Uber-type of helicopter company?”

  “No way.”

  “Of course. It’s the ‘Hamptons,’ as you call it.”

  “I don’t!” She smacked his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

  “It’s an app called Blade. You push a button, pay like seven hundred bucks, and book a seat on a flight. Or, for like five grand, you can get the whole helicopter. Kona checked it out and even got an account, because it seemed too crazy.”

  “You’re serious? Uber-style app for helicopters?”

  “Yep.”

  “I think I just saw a Blade helicopter before you arrived or I wouldn’t believe you.”

  She hopped in the car on the passenger side, while Huck moved and crouched on the center console. It was nearing six o’clock, but the sun still beat down on her face. She held her hand out the window, allowing it to brush along the bushes that lined the trail. As they reached a clearing at the top of the dune, the salty breeze from the ocean caused the temperature to drop by ten degrees.

  “I wish you could windsurf by the jetty. I’d love to see you do it.”

  “I told you, it’s way out toward Montauk where I go. I like to do it alone. But, that’s a shame because it’s better than surfing, I promise, so fast and the ride is forever.”

  “Nothing’s better than surfing, it’s just you and the water, not all the sails and contraptions. Pure. Simple.” He winked at her. He felt a little bolt of Kona in him for once.

  “Are you sure these are houses down here and not hotels?” Katie asked, looking at the homes with landscaped decks and infinity pools. “They must have ten bedrooms. It’s straight out of The Great Gatsby or something.”

  Luke stared at her until she had to turn his way, which she did for a moment before looking back at the houses to her right. He drove a little more down the sand, then said, “I always wonder how much money you have to have in the bank to own one of these houses, another huge apartment in the city, and a house in Aspen. And of course trips to France in the summer even though you use this house for only three months. What do you think, how much? A bunch of the families at Tide Runners seem to live like that.”

  “No clue,” Katie answered, shaking her head. “Maybe fifty million? Maybe a few hundred? On the news they were saying the richest one percent in the United States now own more wealth than the bottom ninety percent,” she answered, looking at Huck beside her, and signaling to Luke this wasn’t the best conversation. She changed the subject, and asked, “What did you boys do in town?”

  “We bought chocolate and marshmallows and orange soda for me,” Huck answered, knowing she didn’t allow sugary sodas, and irreverently toasted a glass bottle of frosty Orange Crush at her.

  “That’s healthy,” Katie responded. “Lots of protein, low sugar. Great.”

  “Oh relax, Mom,” answered Luke. “We’ll get a hot dog that’ll fill him up.”

  In the distance near the jetty, Katie saw pickup trucks and jeeps, some vehicles backed into each other to create more side by side space for coolers and grills.

  “Who are those people?” she asked. “Do you know all of them?”

  “Most, yeah, pretty much all. We all share the same secret: it’s magical down here at sunset and the best place to eat a meal.”

  The acrid smells of crackling flames, burgers spitting fat, and burnt marshmallows overpowered the salty air. A few larger Weber grills planted in the sand were glowing red while two different bonfires roared, a hundred yards apart from each other, spewing off curls of black smoke. Out at sea, a dozen guys in neoprene wetsuits bobbed in the waves on their surfboards as the sky turned from pale blue to light violet.
Lined up against the sea grass, way past the last three estates and the evening picnic group, dozens of Winnebago-style travel trailers were parked up against the dune, Katie noticed.

  “People sleep down here? I’m so confused.”

  “Yeah. It’s an odd mixture, I know.” Luke smiled. “It’s a state park at the tip of Beachwood Lane, so you can camp out on the beach for seventeen dollars a night, about a hundred bucks a week. Families all over Long Island come down here, put a trailer on the back of their pickups, and roll it down to the sand. They cook, camp out, socialize, have family time, and stay the whole week with the Atlantic before them. Apparently the spaces fill up in a few days once they release them online in the spring.”

  “Near all the big houses? Do the owners complain about trucks down here?” she asked. “Just seems like it doesn’t make sense, the juxtaposition of the trailers, your trucks, and those huge homes.”

  “Oh yeah. Big issue in Southampton right now. The people who own those houses have organized all kinds of meetings to try to kick the trucks off the beach, or at least reduce how many. This is only the most beautiful beachfront property in America. Why shouldn’t everyone enjoy it? That’s my view, at least.”

  “Who is down here now?”

  “Everyone here tonight grew up here, makes their living here. We think we have the right to fish, surf, cook dinner, and enjoy the same view. Only the locals have to do it from a truck, not a four thousand square foot kitchen with Viking appliances.”

  “How can they kick you off? Isn’t the beach public?” Katie asked.

  “They want to reduce the trucks, but fuck, yeah, it’s public.”

  “I heard that!” Huck said.

  “Sorry,” Luke laughed. “State park, public beach, belongs to all taxpayers. Just like our camp. There’s the Seabrook Club next door on our public beach, and they want to shut our camp down so we don’t ruin their view. But, we’ve had the camp for ten years now. And a hundred of their beach chairs is okay? The same attitude is at play in both situations: we got more cash and, therefore, we get our way. But they don’t even live in Southampton year round, what right do they have to . . . well . . . the more time you spend here, the more nothing will make sense.”