Behind the dune was Jimmy, naked except for his leather-and-feather necklace, and naked Beanie Jones. I supposed they were having sex, but I’d never imagined sex looking like this. Jimmy was on top of Beanie’s back; her rump was in the air and his mouth was on her shoulder, like a biting dog. Beanie’s face was half on the towel and half in the sand. Her blond hair was fanned around her head and covered most of the exposed side of her face. They were gleaming, sweaty. I was so stunned by this sight that I was silenced. I couldn’t move either; it was like I was trapped in mud.
Beanie’s eyes flashed open. She said, “Oh!” and then rolled out from beneath Jimmy.
“FUCKING SHIT! FUCK ME.” Jimmy stood. His penis jutted out in a way that I’d never seen in sex ed filmstrips or Izzy’s coloring book. It was airborne, upright—like there was a string attached to it and someone was yanking that string up.
“Sorry,” I managed. Then I picked up Izzy, who was still holding the horseshoe crab, and ran back toward the water.
When we got to the bucket, I put Izzy down and dropped to my knees. I was shaking. Izzy got on her knees and laid her head on my lap. She breathed in deep, her tiny back rising and falling. Neither of us spoke for a minute.
Finally Izzy sat up and looked at me. “Was Jimmy addicting?”
“Yes, I think so.” I rubbed her hair. My hands trembled.
“What were they doing?”
“They were wrestling.”
“Naked-y?”
“Yeah. Naked-y wrestling.”
“Will Sheba be mad?”
“Yes. I think so.”
“But this isn’t our kitchen.”
I knew what she meant. “Yeah, it’s not. I don’t think Jimmy will break all the dishes here.” I wondered how I would have responded to a situation like this when I was Izzy’s age. All of it—the kitchen destruction, the beach lovemaking—had been unimaginable until I encountered it. I had to quickly get over my own shock and be the adult—the one who made everything okay for Izzy when the grown-ups messed up in extraordinary ways.
“Maybe we don’t tell anyone so Jimmy doesn’t get in trouble,” Izzy said.
I pulled Izzy onto my lap. Then I shut my eyes and thought for a second. It seemed important that I get this right. “You don’t have to keep secrets from your parents, okay? If it’s on your mind, you can tell your mom and dad.”
Izzy nodded into my neck. I could feel tears leaking into my skin. “I don’t want it on my mind.”
“I’ll talk to your dad and he can figure out what to do about it. He’s Jimmy’s doctor. This is his job.”
“I’m worrying about Jimmy.”
“Don’t. This isn’t your worry to have,” I said. “This isn’t your problem. You just be you. We’ll make dinner. We’ll decorate with shells. Okay? Jimmy’s problem is not your problem.”
Izzy nodded again. She sniffed and then wiped her nose on my neck.
“Let’s go back and make a centerpiece for the table.” I put Izzy on the ground and picked up the bucket. She carried the horseshoe crab against her chest with one hand. Her other hand was in mine. I squeezed her fingers and she squeezed back. We squeezed in a rhythm as we walked toward the house.
And then Izzy started singing to our squeezing beat, “Beanie Jones, Beanie Jones, first she hollers, then she moans.”
In my head I was singing too, Bones, bones, bones, Beanie, Beanie Jones.
I plugged the kitchen sink, then filled it with water and dishwashing liquid. Izzy pulled a footstool up and, one by one, placed the shells we’d collected in the water. She put the giant horseshoe crab shell in last.
I got out a cutting board and sliced up vegetables for the green salad. I’d add the lettuce last, just before dinner.
We were silently working like this when Dr. Cone came in from the beach. “Smells delicious.” He bent over and looked through the glass door of the oven. Then he went to Izzy and kissed the back of her head.
“I’m washing the shells so we can make the center—” Izzy looked at me.
“The centerpiece.”
“The centerpiece.”
“That will be beautiful.” Dr. Cone kissed his daughter again.
“And,” Izzy whispered, “Mary Jane, tell Dad about the sand dunes.”
“Yes?” Dr. Cone looked at me. My heart was banging. Izzy turned back to her chore.
I swallowed a walnut down my throat. “Can I tell you somewhere else?”