“It’s for the war veterans,” Gina says in a tone that makes it clear I’ve offended her.
“Of course,” I say quickly. “It was very generous of you.”
“It was three dollars.”
“I just meant: look how happy you made them.” Maddy and Finn have run back down the hill and are waving their flags excitedly at four weather-worn old men in a brown Oldsmobile holding up a Rotary Club banner.
Jonas puts his hand on my arm. Points to the Oldsmobile. “I could swear those are the same old geezers we used to wave at.”
“I’m pretty sure they swap them out every ten or twenty years. Remember the guy in the Uncle Sam hat who screamed at me for wearing a Walter Mondale T-shirt and chased us down the street?”
Jonas laughs.
“So,” Gina says, pushing back into the conversation. “What was so funny?”
Jonas’s mother turns, purse-lipped. “A small child died on the beach earlier today. Your husband and Elle seemed to think it a cause for merriment. Anyway, I’m leaving. It’s like an oven here. I’d appreciate it if you could stop at the store on your way home and pick up rice cakes and Clamato juice. And we need paprika.” She stalks off without saying goodbye.
“Whoa,” Gina says. “What’s up with that?”
“She’s in a huff because we were laughing at her,” Jonas says.
“About a child dying?”
“Of course not. She was being tone-deaf.”
“So . . . what?” Gina presses.
“Something she used to say when we were kids,” Jonas says. “It wouldn’t translate.”
“I’m sure I can keep up.” Gina bristles. “Whatever. You two can keep your secret code.”
Jonas takes an irritated breath. “She called us disgraceful.”
“She’s right,” Gina snaps.
I feel like I’ve been slapped in the face. I look over at Jonas for an explanation, but he is intent on Gina, his eyes a slow burn.
“Sorry,” Gina says quickly, backpedaling. “I have no idea why I said that. It’s hot and I barely slept.”
“It’s fine,” I say. But it isn’t. Her hostility, her insecurity makes no sense. Gina has always had an unquestioning self-confidence, a complete lack of superego. She likes herself. When Gina and Jonas were first together, I knew she felt threatened by me. Not because she had any idea how much Jonas had once loved me, he has never told her. What made her jealous back then were the ancient roots of our friendship—a shared history that would always exclude her. But that was a hundred years ago. We’ve all made our own history together. We’ve grown older together. As couples. As friends. Yet it feels as if just now, for a quick second, she lost control and revealed her true feelings, a jealousy and deep resentment of me that she has kept hidden all these years. Then, realizing what had escaped, tried to put it back in the bottle. Something must have triggered this. It’s about more than lack of sleep, the heat. Something is going on between them, some strain that Jonas hasn’t acknowledged to me.
“I’m going to get the kids and head off,” I say, backing out. “You’re right, Gina. This place is a furnace. Maybe see you at the fireworks later?”
“We’re skipping it,” Gina says. “I have the regatta tomorrow morning. Six a.m.”
“I might come,” Jonas says.
* * *
—
Driving out of town with the kids, I pass Jonas and Gina outside the grocery store. They are arguing. Gina gesticulating at him, livid. She’s crying. Jonas has a plastic bottle of Clamato under his arm. The appeal of tomato juice laced with clam has always puzzled me. Jonas shakes his head angrily at whatever she is saying. Cars inch forward in front of me. I know I should look away, but I don’t. The yellow light turns to red. Above the low thrum of the air conditioner, through the closed car window, I hear Gina shout, “Fuck you!” I glance behind me to see if the kids have heard, but they are deep in their phones. Jonas says something to Gina, then turns and walks away down the street. Gina calls after him—begs him to stop—but he keeps going. I watch her shoulders slump. I feel like a Peeping Tom. She wipes the dripping snot from her nose with the back of her black shirt-sleeve, leaving a streak of mucus that glistens and shimmers in the sun like a snail trail. There is something so defeated in her posture—a vulnerability I have never seen before—and it makes me sad for her. I look away, begging the light to change before she notices our car. Behind me, Maddy rolls down her window, waves to Gina, calling out. Gina looks up just as the light changes.