Summer Girl Page 11

  I’m searching the tables for even a semi-familiar face when Natalie walks in, wearing a black leather mini-dress and lace-up, knee-high boots. She spots me, stops short, and a huge grin spreads across her face as she crosses the floor. “So you weren’t scared off by the food after all.”

  “I guess I got hungry.”

  She holds up a finger to the bartender, who seems to understand. She takes the chair to my left, and a moment later the waiter comes over with Natalie’s beer and another Coke for me. When she looks at my glass, I say, “I turn twenty-one August twelfth.”

  “Cool,” she says. “That’s the night of Summer Fest, so it’ll be a doubly special party. So, Kate…I can call you that, right?”

  Before I can tell her that I’m really not a nickname kind of person, three girls file through the door, the first holding up three fingers to the same guy behind the bar.

  “Hey, guys!” Natalie waves them over then pulls her blue-streaked hair up into a topknot. “You guys, this is Kate, the new summer girl I was telling you about. Kate, this is Alli, Rachel, and Elise.” She gestures with her hand at each one.

  I sit, stunned. They are all dressed like walking art projects, each one easy and creative and oblivious to any fashion rules. My heather-gray cardigan and dark jeans make me look like a dull little pebble on a lakeshore full of agates.

  “Welcome,” the first girl, Alli, says on a laugh. Her voice reminds me of Bazooka bubblegum, girlish and sweet. She’s wearing faded jeans that are practically painted onto curves my mom would call Rubenesque, along with a vintage, pink cardigan—a possible match for me in terms of preppiness, except that the pearl buttons strain across her chest, and her neck is layered in at least a half dozen strings of sparkly beads. Her dark brown hair, too, is not unlike mine, except she makes it look sexy, the way it falls haphazardly over one eye.

  I couldn’t help but notice there was more than one man who watched her walk in. Involuntarily, my hand smooths my hair back into its ponytail.

  Alli gives me a dazzling smile. Jesus, even her teeth are beautiful. “Glad you could make it tonight,” she says, taking the chair to my right. “I was hoping you would.”

  “Yeah, hey,” the next girl says throatily. Her voice is sultry, as if Lauren Bacall swallowed a spoonful of gravel. “I’m Rachel.” She reaches across the table to shake my hand, and her wide-necked, embroidered peasant blouse slips off one bare shoulder.

  In contrast to Alli, Rachel is thin and athletic-looking, with long, toned arms. She probably doesn’t need a bra and, in fact, I doubt she’s wearing one. Her hair is wrapped and twisted with a colorful scarf, so at first I don’t notice the dreads. A second later, as she pulls out a chair, I recognize her as the checkout girl from Art Musique.

  The third girl, Elise, is petite with spiky, cropped hair that’s dyed white-blond with dark roots. She takes the chair between Rachel and Natalie. I adjust my chair so all five are evenly spaced and nicely ordered around the table.

  Three pairs of eyes fix on me as the waiter returns with more beers. When he walks away, Alli gives me another brilliant smile and says, “So, let’s hear it.”

  “Let’s hear what?” I ask, with a wide-eyed glance at Natalie. It doesn’t look like she’s going to be any help; she’s slamming her beer and raising the empty glass to the bartender.

  “Your story, of course.” Alli rests her chin in her hand, and she looks ready to wait all night.

  “My story?” I say, my voice cracking.

  “Easy, Al,” says Rachel. “Do you have to put a spotlight on her? Give her a freakin’ break.”

  “No, let’s hear it,” Elise says testily. “I’ve only got a babysitter until eight. What brings you to Little Bear besides Calloway’s outrageous salary?”

  Alli moves her hands to under the table and leans her breasts against the edge so they nearly explode out of her sweater.

  I glance at Natalie, who’s doing nothing but enjoying the show. She raises her eyebrows at me and says, “Rock and roll!”

  I sigh. “Money was the main reason, though I have to admit, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into when I signed on.”

  Rachel straightens her blouse, which has fallen low around her shoulders. “And what exactly is that?” she asks in her low, raspy voice.

  I am about to start ticking off all of the weird jobs Calloway has assigned me when Natalie throws her arm around my shoulders. “Well, for example, Kate hadn’t expected to develop a thing…for Sully’s replacement.” She announces this as if she still thinks I’ve lost my mind.

  My mouth drops open in horror. “His name is Bennet, and I don’t have a thing for him.”

  The other three sit up in their chairs. “Really?” they ask in unison. They look truly puzzled. “A ferry driver?” Alli asks. Her interest is clearly piqued.

  “Okay,” I say, sitting back, “what is this aversion to ferry drivers?”

  They smirk at one another, which is really annoying. “Come on,” I say. “What’s the deal?”

  “It’s just that most of us are hoping to find someone who will take us off the island, y’know?” Natalie says. “Not settle down here.”

  Before I have the chance to ask why she would need anyone to take her, Natalie looks apologetically at Elise, who’s twisting a wedding ring around her finger.

  Rachel chimes in with, “Plus they’re all odd.”

  “Odd? Odd how?” I ask.

  “It’s because of the monotony,” Natalie says, like she’s trying to soften a blow. Her eyebrows draw together as if she’s remembering something unpleasant. “Crossing the lake all day, every day. I think it must make them a little…off. One minute they look almost normal. Next thing y’know, they’re destroying property.”

  I don’t understand, and it must show on my face.

  “She means they’re unpredictable,” says Elise. “They could snap at any moment.”

  “Isn’t this all a little dramatic?” I ask, searching their faces for some sign of humor.

  “Nope,” Rachel says. “Seriously. I mean, maybe not…what did you say his name was? Bennet? He hasn’t been on the ferry very long yet.”

  I glance at Natalie, but she doesn’t look convinced that Bennet will dodge a ferryman’s fate.

  “But give him time,” Rachel continues in that übercool voice I would have expected on a two-pack-a-day lounge singer. “That job would send anyone over the edge. You should see some of the old guys who have been working the line forever.”

  “Which one is Bennet?” Alli asks. She fluffs her hair and scrutinizes her cleavage.

  I wonder how many options there are. Besides Bennet, all the other ferry drivers I’ve seen look like they’re well past forty. And how can they not know Bennet by name? It isn’t as if this tiny island is crawling with good-looking guys. If these girls are unattached, it has to be, at least in part, because they’re fantastically unobservant. Or they really, really, really want to get the hell off this island…

  “Just drop it,” I say, looking at the nearest tables to make sure there are no eavesdroppers. Then I add, “And besides, I’ve already got a boyfriend. His name is Andrew Mason.”

  At least, he’s a boy and I think we’re still friends, though I probably hurt his feelings with how quickly I ended our last conversation.

  “And even if I didn’t, Bennet’s, like, way too old for me.” I lean toward Natalie. “You’re making me look stupid.”

  “This is righteous,” Natalie says, clearly thinking tonight was worth the price of admission. “I asked around this afternoon. He’s only twenty-six!”

  Just then the waiter approaches with a large basket of greasy home-cut fries.

  “We didn’t order these, Liam,” Natalie says as he attempts to set it on our table.

  “Yeah, I know,” he says, topping off my Coke. “He did.”

  All of us look. Several guys wearing ferry uniform shirts, including the grumpy old man from the ticket booth, are hunched over a card game. The
re’s another bit of graffiti painted on the wall behind their heads: friendship is like wetting your pants. everyone can see it, but only you can feel its warmth.

  “Doyle bought us fries?” Rachel asks. “Why?”

  The waiter looks at her as if she’s being particularly slow. He clears our empty glasses, saying, “Not Doyle. Him.”

  Oh, God. Sitting beside Doyle is Bennet. He isn’t dressed in his normal ferry attire. His cargo shorts are clean but rumpled, and his faded red T-shirt is untucked. He raises his glass, and my face heats up. How had I not seen him before? Did he watch me sitting here all alone and not say anything? Is he close enough to have heard that whole conversation?

  For a second, I’m completely humiliated, but then I wonder what he must think about how quickly I’ve made friends, and I smile victoriously.

  “That’s Bennet,” I say.

  “Huh. I see what you mean,” Alli says, her sugary, bubblegum voice rising into Double Bubble land. “He is cute.”

  “Don’t look at him,” I say as an unexpected and decidedly bitter flood of jealousy washes over me. I have no explanation for the emotion, but I can’t deny the sudden urge to shove Alli off her chair.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Natalie whispers.

  “I thought you didn’t like ferry drivers,” I whisper back.

  “Ah, but we do love french fries. Besides, do you know how often anyone shows any chivalry on Little Bear? About as often as never!”

  “Okay, fine.” I face Bennet and wave my thanks. It’s all the encouragement he needs, and he moves quickly to our table. “Ladies,” he says, tipping an imaginary hat. To me he bends low and whispers in my ear, “Impressive.”

  Elise and Alli stare up at him with eyebrows raised. They take their elbows off the table and it lurches, sloshing my Coke. Then Bennet walks right on by.

  Alli and the others turn to watch him walk out of the bar. I quickly mop up the spill with the ineffective cocktail napkins, desperately thinking of a way to redirect their attention.

  “What’s his name again?” Alli asks, taking two fries and pushing them into her mouth.

  “Just drop it,” I say. I don’t like the way they watch him, and I don’t like that I care. And I really don’t like what I assume they’re thinking: that he might be worth their time and attention. But when I refocus on the conversation, they’re already moving on.

  “Bruce found bear tracks up by the church,” Elise says. “Did you hear? Got into a whole bunch of trash cans.”

  “Seriously. There aren’t any bears on the island,” Rachel says.

  “Yeah, but there are plenty on the mainland,” Natalie says, “and they are good swimmers, y’know.”

  “Nine miles?” challenges Rachel, laughing throatily.

  “Then maybe from one of the other islands,” suggests Natalie. “Or maybe it’s a really big raccoon getting in the trash.”

  “That’s what Bennet thought,” I add impulsively, and they all stare at me. I start to talk fast. “Um…Bennet thought it was probably a raccoon, but I—”

  “Oh, did he now,” Natalie teases.

  I taper off with, “…but I saw it. There really is a bear.”

  The others don’t look convinced. After all, what does a summer girl know? To my relief, Natalie saves me from further talk of bears and Bennet, saying, “So, now that I’m the Summer Fest chairperson…”

  But it’s no use.

  “Oh, yeah,” Rachel says. “Kate, you should ask the ferry driver to go with you to the party.”

  I choke on an ice cube and sputter, “Why would I do that?”

  “He’s new. You’re new.”

  “He’s lived here for two years,” I say. “He’s not that new.”

  “Two years?” Alli asks. “That can’t be right. Do you think you’ll ask him? Because I—”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate the invitation, Kate,” Natalie says, looking knowingly at me. Seems she’s picked up on Alli’s interest, too.

  “Because maybe I could ask him,” Alli says.

  “Ha, ha,” Elise deadpans as she arranges her spikey bangs with her fingers.

  I look past Natalie to the open doorway. Bennet is still outside, pacing back and forth. It looks like he’s talking to himself. I’m not sure what comes over me in that moment, but the next thing I know I’m on my feet. “Be right back.”

  All their eyes are on me as I cross the room and head for the door. I blame their stares as the reason why I trip when I cross the threshold. I blame Murphy’s Law as the reason why I end up pitching myself through the doorway and into Bennet’s arms. This is the second time since I disembarked the bus. It’s too embarrassing. He probably thinks I’m doing it on purpose.

  The only redeeming thing is that I remember liking the way his strong hands warmed my body, and—God help me—the memory holds true.

  The muscles in his jaw flex. “You sure make friends fast.”

  “It’s not that hard when you pick a personality and stick with it.” He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and locks his elbows. It makes his biceps go round and stretch the edge of his sleeve.

  “Yeah,” he says with a small smile, though his eyes are wary. “I’ll have to try that someday.”

  “Listen, I—” That’s where I stop. I’ve forgotten what motivated me to come out here. “I wanted to thank you for the french fries.”

  “No problem.”

  The old man steps into the doorway. “Kid, are we playing cards, or not?” He glares at me, or maybe at the fact that Bennet is talking to me.

  “Deal me in. Just needed some air.”

  The old man grumbles and goes back into the restaurant.

  “I don’t think your boss likes me very much.”

  Bennet grimaces, but he doesn’t deny it.

  “Too bad because…you know…the two new kids on the block should probably stick together, don’t you think?” I ask, hoping we can put all the past weirdness behind us. “Safety in numbers, right? And maybe if you’re nice, I’ll help you with your social standing.”

  A small smile spreads across his lips like he finds me absolutely hilarious, then he heads inside without any response. What? I raise my hands in disbelief. That’s it? I watch him go, wondering why I even expected an answer. Bennet and I are clearly a round peg and a square hole. We’re never going to make sense as friends, so why does it feel so important to keep on trying?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Katherine

  The view from Paddy’s corner of the island stretches uninterrupted all the way to the mainland. I don’t go back into the restaurant right away because a movement below me catches my attention. A short climb down the bank, there’s a dark red slab of rock that’s easily thirty yards wide. The flat surface of the rock is only an inch above the water line. It would look as barren as the moon if it weren’t for Samson, Bennet’s big, black monster of a dog, who is racing along the edge of the rock and barking excitedly at the water.

  Normally, the sight of this dog would be reason enough to hightail it back to Paddy’s, but something keeps me from turning.

  That something is Lucy. Or rather, the absence of Lucy, because I’ve never seen Samson without her, and his incessant pacing has me worried.

  I sidestep down the embankment and approach the enormous dog, crossing the rocky slab and holding my hand out low in front of me. He’s so big—and his bark so intimidating—that I move slowly, but he never looks at me. His eyes remain fixated on the black water as he paces and paces and paces along its edge, lowering himself to the rock, then standing, then lowering again. Whining. Whining. If I didn’t know better, I’d say his heart is breaking.

  The lake water washes easily over the rock, leaving a shiny, green film of feathery algae. I inch closer until I’m up to the edge. That’s when I see what has Sam’s attention.

  “Lucy!” I call, dropping to my knees. Sam whines in response and paws at the water.

  Lucy holds her head above the surface a
nd dog paddles to stay afloat, but her efforts to get back on the rock are defeated by the layer of slime. Not only that, but the rock slab is actually the top of an underwater cliff. Lucy’s paws get no purchase against the sheer face of it, and the sandy lake bottom looks like it’s at least six feet below.

  I kick off my shoes, slipping in the algae as I do, and squat down to coax Lucy toward me. “Come here, girl.”

  She paddles closer, her eyes rolling.

  “That’s right, come here.” I lean out as far as I safely can and grab her right front paw, pulling her closer. When she’s within inches, I get her by the back of her neck, but she’s heavier than I expected. I heave, but Lucy panics and scratches her feet frantically against the rock. I try twice more before conceding that she needs to be pushed from behind, not pulled from above.

  God help me, I’m getting in the water. With a dog, and who knows what else. I suppose there are fish. I’ve seen the boats out. Probably big fish. Shit. If this were any other dog, there’d be no way I’d be getting in. No freakin’ way. Lucy whimpers, and I steel my resolve.

  I drop my cardigan onto the rock surface, sit, and swing my legs over the edge, down into the water. The cold sends stabbing pain through my legs and arms before twisting my stomach. Crap! It can’t be more than fifty-some-odd degrees.

  With an agonizing groan, I slip in. I don’t mean to go all the way under, but my palm slides off the rock, and I sink. My hand scrapes down the sheer face of the cliff until my feet hit the sand. I push for the surface. Lucy kicks and scratches at my face as I hit the air.

  Immediately, I know I’m in trouble. My chest constricts with the freezing temperature, and the water is too deep for me to both push Lucy from behind and keep my own head above water.

  I take a deep breath and go down again, feeling for Lucy’s hips and not her wildly circling legs. Using the sand for leverage, I push off and launch Lucy toward the surface. The vibration of her toenails clawing against the rock rattles in my ears, then her body falls back into the water, heavy and defeated.