Don't Forget to Write: A Novel(65)

“What’s the fun in that?” she asked, her eyes twinkling. “Now tell me all about your date.”





CHAPTER FORTY-TWO


Dan arrived at nine, dressed in a T-shirt and pair of trunks he had bought at Hoy’s—which I knew because the trunks still had a tag attached. I pulled it off for him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a suit?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to suggest something else.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I don’t want games or you trying to impress me like that. I want you to be who you are. And be honest.”

“That’s fair.”

My lips twitched into a smile. “I’d have just told you to go get one at Hoy’s anyway.”

We stood there grinning at each other until Ada came to the door as well. “I thought you two were going to the beach, not standing on my porch all morning letting flies in the house.”

“What’s that expression again? You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar?” Ada looked at me warily. “Don’t worry. You’re pure vinegar. The flies won’t bother you.”

She swiped at me, and I jumped out of the way, laughing. “Get out of here,” she said. “Be back in time to get cleaned up. We have a reservation at one.”

“I’ll have her back on time,” Dan said.

“Who cares about her? You’re the one I want to have lunch with.”

“Real nice,” I said, taking Dan’s hand and tugging him down the steps. “We’re going now.”

We climbed the path over the dunes, hand in hand. The beach was empty except for a couple of families, so it was easy to find a private spot. We spread our towels, Dan’s sporting a Hoy’s sticker. “Honestly, did you think we wouldn’t have beach towels at a beach house?”

He placed a hand over his heart. “From now on, I will consult you before making any and all beach purchases.”

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to be a penniless photojournalist, there are better things to spend your money on.”

“Like taking you out on dates?”

“Well, there’s that. I assume Ada won’t foot the bill forever. Then again, she seems to like you better than she likes me.” I pulled off my caftan, and Dan’s eyes widened at my bikini. I cocked a finger at him. “You behave now,” I said as I sat on my towel.

He removed his shirt as well, then sat on his towel. “You asked why I didn’t tell you I hadn’t brought a bathing suit—you just answered your own question. Look what I would have missed if you said we should go play miniature golf instead.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested miniature golf.”

“No?”

“No. I’m terrible at it and I like to win.”

“Then we’ll have to play sometime. Level the playing field after you made me sing in public.”

I laughed. “I’m definitely better at golf than you are at singing.”

“You, on the other hand, can sing. Ever thought about doing that for real?”

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head.

“Then what do you want to do? You never answered that last night. I know housewife isn’t your dream job.”

I picked at my towel, suddenly shy. “Ada got me a typewriter,” I said quietly. “I’m working on a book.”

“That’s right,” he said. “Can I ask what it’s about?”

“It’s . . .” I stared off at the ocean. “I don’t know how to describe it exactly. It’s not about me, but it’s about a girl who feels kind of trapped in the New York social scene and her family’s narrow views.”

“So your situation, just not you?”

I glanced at him to see if he was being sardonic, but he was watching me with genuine interest, so I nodded.

“I have a feeling—as unique as you are—that you’re not the only one who secretly feels that way. Considering I’m bucking family expectations too and all.”

“That’s true. Maybe I’ll make her become a photojournalist.”

He grinned. “Do you know anything about photography?” I shook my head. “I’ll bring my camera next time I come down here. I can teach you the basics.”

“Next time, huh?”

He leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Yes.”

I couldn’t help but smile.





Ada took us back to the Whitebrier for lunch. I ordered the same salad with crab, Dan saying it sounded good and that he would have the same. Ada raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were a rabbi’s son?”

“Son, yes. But that doesn’t make me a rabbi.”

“Touché,” Ada said. She looked at me and suppressed a smile.

“What?” I asked her.

“Don’t say, ‘What,’ say, ‘Pardon me,’” Ada said. I rolled my eyes. “And don’t do that either. I don’t imagine Dan here would stick around if your eyes stayed like that.”

He leaned over to me. “I would,” he whispered.

She pursed her lips in amusement. “And in answer to your question, I was just thinking that this might be the best match I didn’t make.”