Girls of Summer

by Nancy Thayer

  “So would you ever, um, date someone else?”

  Beth looked at Theo. She was still bright pink. “I couldn’t, Theo, not while Atticus is so unhappy.”

  For one long moment, Theo’s eyes met Beth’s, and a warmth spread through his chest, through his limbs, through his face.

  They both looked away.

  “I’ll call Atticus and see about tonight,” Theo promised.

  “Thanks, Theo.” Beth flashed him a quick smile as she rose. As she went out his door, she turned back. “Bye.”

  After he heard the front door shut, Theo rose, showered, dressed, and went into the kitchen to have breakfast.

  Then he called Atticus.

  “Hey, I haven’t seen you in forever. Can I pull you away from your girlfriend and hang out tonight?”

  There was a long pause. “I don’t know, Theo. I’m kind of in a bad mood.”

  “Oh, and this is something new?” Theo taunted.

  “Fine. Let’s meet at the Jetties.”

  * * *

  —

  They met at the playground in the dunes. In his backpack Theo carried a six-pack of beer he’d stolen from his mother’s supply. They sat on the swings for a while, idly drinking.

  “How’s Beth?” Theo asked, hoping he sounded casual.

  Atticus shrugged. “Annoying.”

  “What?”

  “Maybe it’s not her fault. Maybe I think everyone’s annoying these days.”

  “What do your parents say?”

  “They want me to see a shrink.”

  “That might be a good idea.” Theo gazed out at the water as he spoke, not wanting to get too intense about Atticus’s depression.

  “I’ve got a better idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Let’s walk.” Atticus rose and headed around the turn where the sharp dark rocks of the jetties began.

  Theo ambled along beside him. The water was calm, the waves splashing quietly on the beach. Far in the distance a ferry light glowed. It was spring, but it was still cold. Both guys wore jackets.

  “Here’s a good place,” Atticus said. He dropped down in the shallow sand between two dunes.

  Theo sat next to him. “Want another beer?”

  “Not yet. No. I want you to try this.” Atticus reached into his pocket, pulled out a plastic vial, and shook a couple of white pills into his hand.

  “What is it?”

  “Oxy.”

  “Oh, man.” Theo shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

  “Hey, I do it almost every night, and believe me, it’s the best high I’ve ever had.”

  “It’s addictive, Atticus.”

  “It’s addictive, Atticus,” Atticus mocked in a whiny voice. “Look, try one. One won’t get you hooked. If you want to know what I’ve been up to, this is it.”

  “Atticus, come on.”

  “You come on. Don’t be a wuss.”

  Reluctantly, Theo took a pill.

  “Chew it up. It will get in your system faster. Doesn’t taste good, but wash it down with some beer.”

  Theo obeyed. “So you’d rather be out here doing this with me than be with Beth?” he asked.

  “Beth’s too conservative. She won’t try it with me. She’s become a real nag.”

  “That’s a shit thing to say, Atticus,” Theo said. “What’s wrong with you? She’s a…” The rush hit him. “Wow,” he said. “I’ve got to lie down.”

  Theo fell back against the sand and lay there with an odd gentle ecstasy rushing through his veins. “I really love you, man,” he said to Atticus.

  “Yeah, bro. Me, too.”

  Maybe an hour later, Theo woke up to find himself alone in the dune. He called for Atticus, but no answer came. He sat for a while, thinking about the experience. He’d been drunk before, and in high school his sister had brought home some pot and they’d smoked it out in the yard while their mom was at a friend’s house. Unfortunately, they both discovered pot made them anxious, a terrible gripping anxiety causing them to think they couldn’t breathe. They sat outside trying to calm each other, laughing hysterically as the marijuana faded, and Theo vowed he’d never try it again.

  Well, oxy was different. He’d totally found that out, and it had been a rush, but not one he wanted to repeat. He liked being in charge of himself. He was learning to surf, and surfing was a natural high, an exhilaration and sense of triumph and a feeling of being truly plugged in to the world.

  Eventually Theo pulled himself together and went home. The next morning, Atticus phoned.

  Without preamble, Atticus asked, “How did you like that?”

  “Truthfully? It was cool. But not for me. I don’t want to get addicted. I want to get better at surfing this summer. I—”

  Atticus interrupted. “You know what? You are the most boring guy I’ve ever met. Screw you.”

  “Wait, what?” Theo asked.

  But Atticus had ended the call.

  Theo was miserable all that Sunday, wondering if he should call Beth and tell her what happened, then hating himself for using Atticus as a reason to call Beth, and wondering if he should just go over to Atticus’s house and talk to him, but remembering the times Atticus had been in a funk before, and nothing but time had cured him.

  “Is anything wrong?” his mom asked late in the afternoon.

  “Yeah. I’m worried about Atticus. He’s kind of depressed.” Theo seldom talked intimately with his mother these days, but he thought he might explode if he didn’t.

  “Yes, we’re all worried about him,” his mom said.

  Theo, who’d been slumped on the sofa, watching TV, sat up straight. “You are?”

  “Sweetie, it’s no secret that Atticus struggles with depression. It’s not anyone’s fault. He might need to be on some kind of medication.”

  He is on some kind of medication, Theo thought. But he didn’t tell his mom that. He didn’t want to rat out his friend.

  * * *

  —

  Theo was too busy with sports to see much of Atticus that spring and in a flash, high school was over. The high school graduation ceremony was liberating and terrifying, like being pushed out of a plane for a parachute fall when you weren’t quite ready to jump. Atticus graduated, but he didn’t show up at the ceremony or the parties, and he never answered Theo’s calls. Theo was pumped to go out to California for surfing and college, and he was pretty much all about himself and getting off the island. So he gave up on trying to connect with Atticus.

  That summer, Theo got a job at Young’s Bicycle Shop on the strip. He liked the work. He was good at fixing bikes, good at dealing with people. On his time off, he surfed, when the waves were good enough.

  One hot summer day when clouds turned the sky gray and it was one hundred percent humidity but no rain, the kind of day that made everyone grumpy, Theo was working and he saw Atticus walking by himself.

  “AT!” he’d yelled. “Atticus!”

  It was around noon. Most people had rented their bikes and most wouldn’t return them until later, and plenty of other guys were working there, so Theo raced off down South Beach Street yelling Atticus’s name.

  He grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, wait a minute!”

  Atticus stopped.

  Theo got a good look at him. “You look like Edgar Allan Poe,” Theo said.

  “Thanks,” Atticus said, but a bit of his mouth turned up in a grin.

  “What’s going on with you, man?” Theo stationed himself in front of Atticus, making Atticus face him.

  “Bad patch,” Atticus said. “Just going through a bad patch. I broke up with Beth.”

  “You did? Why?”

  Atticus shrugged. “She was getting on my nerves.”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am
. It’s for her own good, Theo. I’m no good for anyone these days. She’s all excited about going off to college. I can’t find the energy to write my name.”

  “You should see a therapist.”

  “I am. He told me to exercise. That’s what I’m doing. Walking.”

  “Your parents—”

  “They’re doing their best. Mom smiles so much I bet her face hurts. Makes my favorite dinner every night, and I can hardly eat it.” Atticus looked down at the pavement. “It’s the oxy I want, Theo. I need more oxy.”

  “Sounds like you need rehab, not more drugs.”

  “Oh, man, don’t get on me, too. Be my friend, okay?”

  “Okay. Sure. What can I do?”

  Atticus looked up, his face hopeful. “Get me some oxy?”

  “Come on, Atticus. Man, you don’t want to keep on this way. Tell me what I can do to help. I’ll quit my job and shadow you every moment of your life, telling you jokes and making you surf and we can get drunk and you can get off the oxy.”

  Atticus smiled. “You’re the best.”

  “So let’s—let’s meet for burgers at the Jetties tonight, okay?”

  “Sorry. I’ve got a date with a dealer.”

  “Atticus, stop it!” Theo held his friend by the shoulders. “You’re better than this.”

  Atticus kept smiling, a strange, dark, dead-eyed smile. “Actually, Theo, I’m not.”

  Theo dropped his hands.

  Atticus walked away.

  And why had Theo let him go? Why hadn’t Theo done something to keep Atticus alive? Atticus was so obviously caught in the claws of a depression—or an addiction—and still he let Atticus walk away.

  A few days later, Atticus committed suicide, overdosing on OxyContin. He was smart enough to know how much oxy was too much, so anyone who knew Atticus would have known he’d overdosed on purpose. And his parents informed the police and their friends that Atticus had left a suicide letter.

  Theo had been grief-stricken and furious at himself and at his friend. He burned the anger and the time away by working two jobs that summer, drinking enough to help him sleep at night. In August, he drove clear across the country to attend the University of California at San Diego. He’d chosen the school because it was a short drive to some of the best surfing in the world. He took the necessary college courses, only barely passing them, because he was concentrating on surfing. Still, he graduated. Barely.

  After college, he bartended all night, surfed all day, had plenty of friends and a batch of sizzling hot girlfriends who also surfed and who did not need a long-term, committed relationship. For a long time, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven.

  Then, the wipeout. He felt like the ocean had betrayed him. He was in pain, and he was embarrassed.

  And he was grounded. He shared an apartment with a couple of other surfer guys who were much younger than Theo. After his crash, sitting in his pajama bottoms and brace in their dark, crappy, beer-fumed apartment while the two eighteen-year-olds sauntered out in the morning with their boards (“Hey, man”) and came in at night reeking of booze and weed (“Peace, man”) became less and less pleasant for Theo. He began to feel righteously sorry for himself. He studied himself in the mirror and thought he already looked bloated from not getting any exercise. He checked the refrigerator and saw several six-packs of local beer—San Diego was famous for its craft beer—and a moldy chunk of cheese that he ate anyway, because he was so hungry. He could go out and find a friend or he could buy himself breakfast. He wasn’t pathetic but he was acting pathetic and he hated himself for taking OxyContin, which helped with the pain but made him think of Atticus. He vowed not to take it any more, but to rely on Tylenol. Okay, Tylenol and beer. He opened the freezer door and saw nothing but a half-empty bottle of vodka so he drank some because he couldn’t take more Tylenol for another two hours.

  He just plain totally wanted his mother. He wanted Nantucket. He wanted to go home.

  seven

  Saturday afternoon, Lisa asked Juliet to attend a lecture with her. “If you don’t want to come, sweetie, that’s okay. I’ll find someone to sit with.”

  “I’ll come, Mom. I’d like to go.” Juliet got dressed and walked down to the library with Lisa.

  The lecture was held in the Great Hall of the Nantucket Atheneum. Juliet and Lisa went up the curving carpeted stairs, past the cat’s eye and the figurehead, and into the main room. Almost all the chairs were filled. Juliet and Lisa hurried to take two chairs on the side. Lisa saw Mack and his daughter, Beth, several rows in front of them. How complicated—Beth was home. But how lovely, Lisa thought, smiling to herself—she could look at the beautiful back of Mack’s neck during the lecture.

  Sandra Martin, the director of the library, went up the four steps to the stage and the podium. It was a sign of the importance of the speaker that Sandra introduced him, but Lisa let the introduction blur past her because she was thinking of Mack.

  “Ryder Hastings has a doctorate in environmental science, specializing in coastal affairs. He has served on several environmental boards, including the Harvard Environmental Science and Public Policy Board of Tutors, the Massachusetts Ocean Management Initiative, and the U.S. Coastal Research Program. He’s here today to speak with us about his new organization, Ocean Matters.”

  Lisa straightened in her seat to see the speaker. He was tall and handsome, probably in his thirties. Were there no single men in their fifties?

  Ryder thanked Sandra and began his talk with the usual how-nice-of-you-to-come-out-today, allowing Lisa time to stare frankly at the man. After all, everyone else was.

  He said, “I’d like to begin my talk with a quote from the National Geographic Explorer-in-Residence, Sylvia Earle. Sylvia is a marine biologist and legendary oceanographer whose documentary Mission Blue is available on Netflix.

  “Sylvia Earle said: ‘If we fail to take care of the ocean, nothing else matters.’ ”

  Ryder waited as his audience muttered agreement. For the next half hour, he spoke passionately about how seventy-one percent of the planet was ocean, and how too many creatures and plants in the ocean were dying. How the ocean was the world’s largest carbon dioxide sink. Ninety-three percent of the planet’s carbon dioxide was stored in vegetation, algae, and coral under the sea. But it couldn’t keep up with the carbon that man’s use of fossil fuels was adding to the atmosphere. Added to that was the problem of plastics, pollution, and overfishing.

  Ryder illustrated his speech with PowerPoint images, and he ended by listing the ways people could help the ocean. He mentioned his organization, Ocean Matters, and told them how to join up, how to find the website, and the names of several relevant sites.

  The applause at the end of his talk was enthusiastic, not a great surprise because he was talking to people who lived on an island. Afterward, people gathered around the hospitality table to pour themselves a paper cup of lemonade and take a cookie or two. Others stood in line to talk with Ryder, including Juliet and Lisa, waiting their turn.

  When they reached the lecturer, Ryder said, “Hi, Juliet. It’s great to see you here.”

  “Hi, Ryder.” Juliet nodded toward Lisa. “This is my mother, Lisa Hawley. She lives here year-round.”

  “Yes,” Lisa said, “and I’m most interested in your ideas and your organization.”

  “Let me give you my card,” Ryder said. “I’d like to find someone to head a chapter of Ocean Matters here on the island.”

  Lisa took the card. “I’m sorry I can’t do it, because I support everything you said. But I own a shop on Main Street and summer is crazy.”

  From behind her shoulder, Prudence Starbuck, an island native in her seventies, spoke up. “I’d be glad to help.”

  “Nice meeting you,” Lisa said to Ryder as she moved away.

  “Nice meeting you,” Ryder answered. “And
nice seeing you again, Juliet.”

  Juliet flushed at the warmth in his gaze. She hurried off to speak to a friend. Lisa spotted Mack at the round table with the punch bowl in the middle. She headed his way.

  “Hey,” she said. “How are you?”

  “Good.” Leaning forward, he said in a low voice, “You look very kissable.”

  Lisa grinned. “So do you. But my daughter’s here.”

  “And so is mine.”

  “I thought I saw her sitting with you. When did she get here?”

  “Last night. With her master’s finished, she’s home and looking for a job.”

  “We’re headed into tourist season. She’ll have no trouble finding work.” Lisa turned to search for Beth. “I haven’t seen her for years.”

  “She’s there. In the blue dress.”

  “Oh, she’s lovely.” Lisa sighed. “Theo’s been in California for seven years. I’m not sure he’ll ever come back.”

  “Actually,” Mack said with a grin, “that’s fine with me. I’d like to be the only male in your life.”

  Lisa felt herself blush. “Mack—” She wanted to tell him to stop because other people crowded next to the table for punch. She almost hated it when Mack spoke seductively. It reminded her of Erich, who’d been a magician with words and an adulterous husband and a cruelly absent father. She couldn’t say all this to Mack, not here, not now. It almost made her dizzy, feeling so attracted to him and at the same time so frightened.

  From across the room, Lisa met her daughter’s eye and understood the slight sideways motion of her head. Time to leave.

  “I’ve got to go,” Lisa told Mack. She was aware of several Nantucket acquaintances watching them, so she said politely, “Good to see you.” She slipped from the group and joined her daughter.