Dolly All the Time(34)
“How long has it been?”
“I got this boat for my sixteenth birthday,” he says. I got a pair of UGG boots, and that was a big gift. Patsy was jealous and I didn’t even care. “I took it out every day that summer and some of the next. But not much since then, since I was seventeen. Busy and her friends take it out now.”
“Seventeen seems kind of young to give up on fun.”
“That’s when Busy got sick,” he says, looking straight ahead. I am caught in that place between wanting to know more and not wanting to pry. Finally, he turns to me and says, “She was seven. Kind of a perspective change for me. Life didn’t feel so lighthearted after that.”
I have a million things to say in response to this. Like how sorry I am that his family went through that. How much I understand having the rug pulled out from under you and then clinging to whatever you can control. I just say, “Bad things can happen to anybody.”
He nods over the helm. “It threw my family into chaos. My mother lost a lot of weight, and my dad got this hollow, sad look about him. They stopped gardening and nagging us about our schoolwork. It felt like everything was slipping away. Busy is fine. She learned to embrace life. I became afraid of ever seeing us fall into chaos again.”
“So you work,” I say.
“So I work,” he says. After a beat, he turns to me. “To my detriment, if you ask my parents. Who are probably popping champagne because my new girlfriend got me to take the day off.” He smiles at me, and there’s a softness there that seems new. I want him to know just how much of this I understand. Perpetually running at full speed to keep the chaos at bay is my jam.
“So far you’re nailing this cool mom routine,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say one embarrassing thing.”
“That’s probably because I haven’t said anything,” I say. I motion like I’m zipping my lips and he laughs.
Stewart goes below and comes back with cups and plates. I want to see what else is down there. A full kitchen with boat crystal? He pulls up a foldaway table and calls the boys over. “Are you guys hungry?”
“Sort of, but can we go to shore?” Gus asks.
“Sure,” Stewart says. “That’s Ruddy Duck Cove, and it looks like it’s low tide. There used to be great clamming, if I’m remembering right. And caves to explore.”
Gus and Clay are live wires. I can see their excitement wiggling through their skinny frames. “Can we jump off and swim to shore?” Gus asks.
“Go ahead,” Stewart says. “We’ll take the dingy.” He unpacks the tote bag and fills it with foil-wrapped sliders, Cokes, and beer. The coolers are still half full, and I’m dying to see what else is in there.
The tide is very low. We take the dingy as far as we can and then drag it up on the beach to where Gus and Clay are waiting. We are the only people here. Around us is white sand and rock, uninhabitable but perfect for exploring.
“I think the best clamming is right over there,” Stewart says.
The boys go off in the direction of the clams, and I look out at the ocean, at the boat I just sailed, and beyond it to Rhode Island.
He spreads two towels on the sand, and we sit, arms resting on knees. We’re quiet for a bit and I don’t feel the need to break the silence. The waves are rolling in and out, on a different path than the breeze. The sun warms my arms and legs, and it makes me feel kind of dreamy.
“This is good, right?” he asks. “I forgot how it sort of slows down your mind.”
“I’m a genius.”
“So they think this is cool?” he asks.
“Taking a yacht to explore a deserted beach? Yeah. The alternative was riding bikes to get a slice at Wally’s.”
“Good,” he says. He’s squinting against the sun and the lines around his eyes look rugged, like he’s earned them through decades of focus. “My dad used to take us here, starting when I was a bit younger than Gus. He actually would have been close to my age. CEO already, three kids, happy marriage.”
I turn to him and watch his profile. I am surprised to hear that Stewart Whitfield feels like he’s behind. “Were you ever engaged before Audrey?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says, and turns to me. “That was my first try.” I think he’s going to say more about all the beautiful women he’s dated. Instead, he says, “Let’s go exploring.”
We leave our stuff on the sand and walk up the beach toward the massive rock formations. Our feet are bare as we make our way from rock to rock, along the coast. As we get farther from the sand, waves crash and spray our legs. Stewart turns back every few yards to see if I’m okay.
“This is the roughest part,” he calls back. “It’s a little mossy on the rocks. Want me to come back for you?”
“I’m good,” I say, though I am a bit unsteady. The waves are splashing higher now, and the next rock I’m going to step to is barely visible under the water. Stewart doubles back and, in a few steps, is on my rock. His hands are on my shoulders, and I have this feeling trickle through my core that I haven’t had since Laurence. And the sad thing about Laurence is that he was a guy in a Netflix movie.
“You okay?” he asks. “This is lifesaving touching, for the record.” He gives my shoulders a squeeze, and I feel it all over my body. Shoulders not being an erogenous zone, I have to chalk this up to the way his chocolate-brown eyes are locked on mine. The way his hair is swirling, messy, in the wind while the waves lap our ankles. For a man who is seldom at ease, he is completely at ease on this slippery rock. “If I’m remembering this right,” he says, “we’re going to make a couple more jumps and then it’s going to be amazing.” The ocean is raging next to us, and a wave soaks the bottom of my dress.