First he showed me the pool. It was so beautiful—wide and deep and tucked away in a grassy little del protected from the wind by sheltering trees. There was a smal pool house with a changing room, a stack of towels, and some spare bathing suits. I borrowed one and we swam, a few lengths first to warm up then sort of aimlessly. Conversation started and stopped and I thought about going home. But I didn’t. I was—I stil am—curious about him. He is insanely loaded. I asked Rosa and she told me that the family is worth hundreds of mil ions, his dad is from the South, his mom （she’s his dad’s second wife） is some New York City socialite. She knew a lot about them—I guess Rosa likes to read the society pages. Who knew? Tom has one stepbrother and one sister. Is it weird that I know so much about him? He knows nothing about me. So I stayed, because I was curious, and maybe because I’ve been lonely. It was nice to have company, to be social, even if things were a bit awkward in the beginning, and after a while we both started to relax and talk and he was pretty good company.
When we’d had enough of swimming, we got out of the pool and dried off and he asked if I wanted to see the beach. I said sure, so we got dressed and he led me away from the pool and down a stone path that meandered for a little while, then broke out of the trees again to the most incredible view over the water. It is so weird, by the way, that that house is built way back in the trees when the property line goes right down to the water. The owners could have had views out over the ocean if they had wanted. I asked Tom about it but he didn’t know anything about the architect or the history of the house or anything.
“If your father rented the place, how come he’s not here?”
Tom gave me a sideways smile and told me that his dad had rented the house because their vacation home was being remodeled. And then his mom hadn’t wanted to come （the island wasn’t nice enough or cool enough or something）， so they went to Europe instead.
I rol ed my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I’m one hundred percent sure he saw me too, but he didn’t react, just kept walking. The land dropped away in front of us, sloping down toward the water. There was no sand, just a pebble beach and a rocky outcropping, a quiet bay with navy-blue water, and a single timber jetty that extended maybe fifty feet into the water. That’s where they moor the boat, when Mike hasn’t taken it off somewhere. We sat on the jetty for a while.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, at one point.
“What were you expecting?”
I shrugged.
“A spoiled brat? Someone who doesn’t care about other people?
Someone who doesn’t appreciate what they have?”
It was a weird moment. I could tel he was kind of upset and I already liked him so it was hard not to feel a little sympathetic. But there was a definite hint of self-righteousness about him too. And, you know, he was standing there on his private beach complaining that the world didn’t understand him. So I said, “What do you care?”
and he mumbled something about people thinking they knew something about his life but not real y having a clue. I smirked, kind of. I wasn’t trying to be mean . . . but PLEASE!! Anyway he obviously saw the smirk and then he frowned at me, so then I started to feel a bit pissed so I said a few things.
“Maybe they do have a clue. Maybe it’s just that the stuff that matters to them doesn’t seem that important to you.”
“Like what?”
I started out easy. “Ever had a job?”
He flushed. “No.”
“Do you have a credit card that you don’t pay for? Are your parents paying your tuition? What about your friends? Do they al have money?” I was on a rol , so I kept going.
“Ever been homeless?”
“No, I—”
“Ever gone to bed hungry because you couldn’t afford food? Ever known anyone who’s had to go hungry?” He didn’t answer either of those, just looked at me sadly like he suddenly saw who I was, and I wanted to push him into the water. Instead of pushing him I kept talking. “That stuff—access to good food and a safe happy home life, a doctor when you need one. That seems like nothing to you because you’ve always had it. That and a hel of a lot more.” I had a sudden image of Tom at Thanksgiving, sitting in a fancy living room in a tasteful y decorated mansion, surrounded by his siblings and his loving parents. That hurt. That he’d had al that and didn’t even real y see it.
But then he told me that he had nannies when he was very smal .