Be True to Me

by Adele Griffin

  “In the water, she heard you say Ramps?”

  “She did.”

  “And she agreed?”

  “She did.”

  “Did she injure herself, jumping? Would her swimming have been impeded?”

  “I don’t think so. No. She didn’t say that she was injured.”

  “Why didn’t you jump out after her?”

  “I knew I wouldn’t be able to catch up to her. She’s fast. She’s a better swimmer. All I could do was shout for her to meet me. I didn’t like the plan, but the water was calm at that point. I went right back in the surf, at Ocean Bay Park. I swam out, but I didn’t see her. I had the whole shoreline looking. She’d vanished. The only thing I could think was that she’d come in.”

  “After Ocean Bay Park, what’d you do?”

  “I came right back here. My uncle and I called it in immediately.”

  There was a silence, as the officers jotted notes. I waited for Julia to chide me. But she didn’t. She stood next to her mother on the other side of the room, staring at Gil. Maybe I was in the clear.

  But then Junior broke the silence. “Well, wait a minute. First you had a dance with Jean,” he said. “I saw you two. Out there twirling on the dance floor.”

  “That was my fault,” I said quickly, before I lost my nerve. “I told Gil that I thought I saw Fritz at Lobster Party. He’d asked me first thing.”

  Here it was. Both officers shifted, eyes on me. Expressionless faces, but fully focused as they took me in. I slid off the windowsill, my hands in a knot.

  “What made you think that?” Officer Plano held his pencil in the air like a magic wand. It spooked me to stare into his pale, froggy eyes. I looked down.

  “Well, the thing is, I thought I had seen her. But then I wasn’t exactly sure.”

  “Yes,” Gil said. “You were confused. I’m sure you weren’t aware of the danger Fritz was in.” He spoke slowly, deliberately saving me, but he was also letting me know that he didn’t believe me. Not for a second.

  I couldn’t even look at Julia.

  “Yes.” I nodded. My clasped hands and the spaces between my fingers had gone sweaty.

  “How much time passed before you realized your mistake?” asked Officer Plano.

  “Only a few minutes. Three, four minutes.” My voice was just above a whisper. I knew what everyone was thinking. In the ocean, every minute counts.

  “So, what next?” asked Mrs. Tulliver. “What else can they do?”

  “We’ve got the chopper out there,” Officer Novack answered. “It’s getting dark now, which works against us. But if she stays put and she can tread water . . .”

  Suddenly Officer Plano’s walkie-talkie beeped and crackled. Past the hissing, a voice broke through.

  Without a word, he handed off the pencil and paper to Officer Novack, then stood and stepped outside through the screen door. And while Novack continued to ask us questions and jot down facts as we answered, every ear was tuned to what Plano might be learning, out on the Tullivers’ porch.

  A few minutes later, when he came back inside, his face was grim.

  A white-hot flare of fear shot through me.

  “That was the Coast Guard,” said Officer Plano. “A boater picked up a dress. It matches the description.”

  FRITZ

  Not my style.

  So this was the end of my story. I would die out here. I was pretty sure of it. I was dying now. My body was giving up. I could feel the current winning, pushing at me. When I got too tired to swim, I floated on my back.

  Fritz O’Neill, you lost this one, girl. You lost big.

  In my mind’s eye, I saw myself rising up from the sea almost mystically, carried on a wave, all the way back to Sunken Haven. And when I got there, a survivor, I knew that I wouldn’t hide. I wouldn’t scurry away to the Morgue to pack my suitcase and then catch the morning ferry. Because I had some things to say before I went.

  First, I would tell the Burkes what snobs and phonies and generally uncool people they were. Whoa, and how satisfying it would be, to look into their eyes and let them know that I wasn’t fooled by any of their games. And then I’d tell Jean Custis she could have Gil. I’d tell her that they were meant for each other.

  “Take him,” I’d tell her. “I’m done with him. He wasn’t worth my heart. I don’t want him anymore.”

  The whole vision was unexpectedly thrilling, like a slow shower of sparks inside me. It sent a surge of energy through my body. And the thing was, if I held on, floating, I could also let the tide drive me this way and that way until I was washed up onto shore like a mermaid.

  It was scary to let go of my control. But wasn’t the whole idea to stay alongside a current, and not to fight it? The journey might be longer, but eventually I’d get there.

  Besides, this didn’t seem like my right death at all.

  All alone in the middle of a dark ocean? No. Not my style.

  What I didn’t like was how the sea had turned, getting choppier. Maybe I could shift tactics, do that facedown float they’d taught kids at Minnows—another lesson that I’d never thought I’d need.

  Funny how the Minnows never really prepared kids for any real fear. I’d taught Minnows a few years ago, and I’d made a couple of little kids cry by accident, telling them stories of drownings that I’d heard about from army lifeguards at the YMCA—how it was one of the leading causes of death in kids under the age of fourteen. I told those stories and that lady—what was her name again?—she’d taken me aside and asked me to go a little easier with the warnings. “And don’t call the Minnows ‘ya little boogas,’ ” she’d said. When I’d asked her why not, she’d explained it was “too rough.”

  When I’d told Gil that whole story, we’d laughed and laughed and repeated ya little boogas back and forth, flicking the words at each other, loving the grossness. He knew just what it felt like, to be ashamed of seeming “too rough” here.

  Keep thinking. Keep remembering stories, that’s how you stay awake and alive.

  But I was getting too tired. Too tired even to think. I scooped a breath and relaxed and allowed my body to pitch and roll so that I was facedown.

  Marcy Pency, that was her name.

  I could feel myself being tugged under slightly, like my dress.

  Stay calm . . . one scissor cut to surface, one breath, and return.

  I closed my eyes and felt the enormous darkness all around me. Darkness and motion, that jerking forward rhythm, like being on the sleeper car on a train. I’d done that once, a family vacation. Nothing was safer than that, the whole family snug in bunks on a Silver Star Amtrak, rolling down to Florida. The tide would bring me in eventually, as long as I stayed patient, as long as I kept calm and suspended, and held on, as long as I didn’t give up hope.

  JEAN

  We were all a little bit to blame.

  Fritz’s dress had been found on the beach at Seaview. This wasn’t good news.

  The officers didn’t even pretend to be polite to Gil anymore.

  “Listen, this girl was swimming away from you. Anywhere in the Atlantic Ocean seemed better than being with you,” said Officer Novack. His words were weapons, all aimed at Gil. “So in the heat of the moment, what was she thinking? Enlighten me.”

  Gil’s voice was even. “I don’t know. Fritz has a temper.”

  “And do you?” asked Officer Plano bluntly. “Do you have a temper?”

  “No.” Gil made a helpless gesture with his hands. “I’m not known for having a temper. But tonight . . .”

  “But tonight what?” Plano rolled back his head in a semicircle, loosening the tension, before fixing his concentration on Gil again.

  “Tonight we were upset with each other. We were . . . emotional.”

  “You want to say why?”

  “I’d rather not go into it in front of all these folks.”

  The officer didn’t press it.

  But then Julia spoke, her voice lifting clear above the conversation wit
hout seeming to be overly loud. “Gil, you know this is about Jean. Everyone does. You might as well tell them.” Her gaze swept over me. Judging me. “When you got pushed to invite Jean to the party instead of Fritz, you did what you were told. Maybe you didn’t think it would hurt Fritz as much as it did. But whatever happened with you both tonight—you made her feel absolutely terrible. Her judgment might not have been her best because of it. And everyone should know that.”

  “Julia,” said Mrs. Tulliver warningly. “Honey . . . take a breath.”

  “How can I? My best friend might be dead.” Julia’s voice didn’t change, her focus on Gil didn’t falter, but she was trembling.

  “No, no, no. Don’t say that. She’s not . . .” Then Mrs. Tulliver quickly went to Julia and held her, while we all stood there, stupidly watching in the dry, rustling silence that held us.

  Across the room, Weeze Burke was staring, her mouth hanging open like a trout’s. She was plainly shocked by Julia’s accusation.

  “Look, there’s no point imagining a specific scenario.” Officer Plano gave Gil a look like he’d already imagined plenty. He stood and slid a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket, then tapped one out. “You people need to be braced,” he said, as he and Officer Novack prepared to go. “Be braced, and pray.”

  A murmur rippled through us. Some of the little girls began to cry. I thought about comforting them; after all, I knew them all from the Coop. But my legs felt like they were made out of glue.

  After the policemen had left, every pent-up, private conversation broke out.

  Weeze was first and loudest. She began telling anyone and everyone what spunk and strength Fritz had, what a sweetheart she was, how she had a real fighting chance out there in the ocean because there was no athlete on Sunken Haven better than Fritz! And she hoped nobody thought the invitation had been a command performance, because the situation only was that Jean is Carpie’s goddaughter—practically family—and she, Weeze, truly had thought Fritz wanted to sit with Julia tonight for Lobster Party! Just like always! But if only someone had spoken up, she could have done something! Oh, but adults were never privy to any of these teenager dramatics!

  On and on Weeze went. She reminded me of my own parents, the way she reached for all the easiest justifications. She reminded me of a lot of people here, maybe even me. Maybe the workings of Weeze’s heart were not so very different from my own. Maybe we were all to blame for Fritz’s leaving. The idea was a spike of guilt inside me.

  In the living room, some of the younger kids began to deal out a hand of crazy eights, to keep awake.

  Bertie sidled up. “You want to walk somewhere?”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere. Fresh air.”

  I nodded. I did feel suffocated.

  Outside, we walked around to the Tullivers’ backyard, where the grass was kept long and soft to the touch. We sat down next to each other, shoulder to shoulder. I stared up at the night sky, with its winking stars. So beautiful. Was Fritz out there somewhere, staring up at this same night?

  “I know there’s a lot going on, and everyone’s kind of half out of their minds, and this night isn’t about us,” said Bertie quietly, after we’d sat in silence for a few minutes, “but I want you to know, Jean, when this is over, I’m always here for you.”

  It was such a sweet thing to say, that I wouldn’t have even needed to answer him. All I’d need to do was to lean a little deeper into him. To show him how much I appreciated him. And that I’d be happy for things to continue as they had.

  But would I? Did I want things to continue as they had?

  As chaotic as the entire evening felt, I could feel my mind wrap around my answer, a single point of clarity, sharp to the touch.

  No. I didn’t want to be that girl, the girl who Bertie kept making excuses for. Even though I was also selfishly afraid of life without him, afraid of Bertie propelling forward without me foremost in his mind. I’d always been Bertie’s best, most important thing. Even if he wasn’t mine. And I didn’t want to lose that role, even while I knew it wasn’t any good for either of us. But if I didn’t end it, he never would.

  I plunged. “Bertie, I’ve treated you badly this summer,” I said. “And I really want to stay friends with you. But it’s gotten so hard for me to see us.”

  “I thought we’d been doing fairly well, finding private time, but I understand what you mean,” he said, “with you always off at the Coop, teaching art to those girls. Would you ever think about cutting back hours?”

  “See us as a couple, I mean. I don’t want to take advantage of your hope anymore.”

  “You haven’t ever—”

  “Because I know that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m sorry for that. I’m really sorry, Bertie. I do want to stay friends.”

  He was hurting. I knew that. It hurt me, too, as I waited for his reaction. Which wasn’t much, outwardly. But then again, Bertie wasn’t the type to expose his innermost feelings. He held on to his elegance before everything and anything.

  Now he pushed the heels of his palms into the sockets of his closed eyes and let go of a long breath. “Okay,” he said simply.

  After a moment, he reached his arm around me. I leaned against him.

  We stayed like that for a while.

  FRITZ

  She was the one I’d come back for.

  It had happened. I had washed up on shore like a mermaid, after all.

  Gingerly, I turned over and stared into the night sky.

  Stars sparkled in the clean blackness like pebbles in a magic kingdom. My body felt run over, burnt up, and crushed in on itself. The pain was so deep, like a fire had gone out in me and left only a charred, broken shell on this night-blackened sand.

  But I also knew I’d never loved a night so much as this one, the night I hadn’t thought I’d get to see.

  I saw the stars and the sky and my life. And maybe, for a moment, I’d even seen my own death.

  It was late, wildly late, one of those hours you never stayed up till or woke up for, which made it even more stunning. The steam in the air had lifted, and the tide had gone out. I couldn’t even hear the stray sound of a barking dog.

  I knew I had to get back to Sunken Haven. Everyone must be a little bit out of their minds, wondering what had happened to me. I needed a phone, and a dime to call.

  Something had happened to my shoulder. We’d better wake up Dr. Gamba tonight. But all I really wanted to do was go back to sleep.

  It took so long before I could get myself to stand up. On overcooked, rubbery legs, I began the trek along the beach to the pitch-dark stiles.

  In the distance, a bike swizzed past. Other than that, nobody was out on the boardwalk. I had no sense of this night, outside of an instinctive twinge that I was locked inside a strange, sleeping hour.

  From far away, I saw a sign for Pier 60, Fair Harbor.

  I’d never been to Fair Harbor before. Sunken Haven kids almost never went there, because there wasn’t anything here that we couldn’t get in Ocean Bay Park. Was I heading in the right direction? One way would take me farther out, to Saltaire. The other direction would take me closer, to Dunewood. Both directions had their advantages. Leave or go home.

  I picked one and began to walk.

  It felt like it had all happened to another person, a girl so scrambled up inside herself that she’d risked that jump into the sea. My head had been a blaze of anger and betrayal and disappointment. But now the quiet inside me matched the cool night. The air felt good on my sand-crusted skin, and the unlit walk gave me peace.

  I saw the glow of hibachi embers on second-story porches, or caught a friendly scent of beer and burnt hot dogs, along with a sweet odor of onions and bug spray. Just enough to remind me that even if I was a stranger, I was not alone. People were here and they were close. It was nice to know, especially when I was so weak with exhaustion, too tired to borrow a bike even if I’d seen one.

  Weathered brown or gray cedar beach houses bank
ed the boardwalk on both sides, with the occasional break for dunes, a general store, or a bar. I was relieved to see that the next town was Dunewood. Then Lonelyville, then Robbins Rest.

  “Depend on me,” George had said. I should have depended earlier, when Weeze and Carp had imposed their restrictions. I should have left Sunken Haven weeks ago, and found my right people—with or without Gil. They’d always been here. Should I go find George now? Wake him up, get him to call over to the Tullivers? Who were surely scared to death. They’d probably got the Coast Guard involved, my parents alerted, all of it.

  The detour was peaceful and uneventful. When I got to George’s house, I saw a light on upstairs, but nobody answered my knock. I leaned my head against the door and let memories of the Fourth float through me. Those divas with their sequins and pumps and sprayed-up hair, their defiant celebrating, their willingness to let Gil and me be part of that evening’s closeness. I could feel the smile on my face, my hands stretched out, my heart full. It had been the best night of my life, and if this dark hour depended on having lived that bright one, it had been worth it. Love was always worth it.

  Walking had eased my mind as I slowly closed the distance to Sunken Haven. As my hair dried, I’d occasionally pick out a bobby pin and flick it to the ground. Like a reverse trail of breadcrumbs. I could feel my hair unraveling loose and soft. My feet were light on the boardwalk’s wooden slats.

  As I approached, I saw that the gated door stood wide open. I could have picked the lock with my last pin, but I didn’t need to; I passed through easily, without another look behind me.

  The small hours held a scent of pine and juniper. My sense of smell seemed extra sharp, as I cut across the grass. The dew was cool on my feet. As I crossed along the bay and cut up the ridge, I didn’t see another soul—not that I thought I would.

  It was only once I got to the big, dried-out old hemlock that stood in front of Whisper that I stopped. The lamplit glow of the cottage through the tangle of forest was sweet and comforting. Through the windows, I saw everyone, and I knew they were all here on account of me. There was a tense listlessness, as if the whole entire party had been placed under a sleeping spell that had only halfway worked.