The first time they approached the public beach, Sarah called to her mother, who walked down to the shore, peering at them from underneath the hand she’d raised to her brow. “New friend?” she called, and Sarah felt her face get hot.
“Mom, this is Owen. Owen, this is my mom.”
“Hi,” said Owen with a wave.
“Nice to meet you, Owen. Sarah, you should put on more sunscreen,” said her mom.
“I’m fine,” she said, and wished her mother hadn’t made it sound like she was still a little kid.
They’d gone paddling off, waving every time they came close to shore. After their fourth circuit of the pond, Veronica stood up and pointed meaningfully at her wrist, where a watch would have been if she’d worn one.
“I think I have to go.” Sarah didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want this day to end, but could already feel her skin of her shoulders tightening with incipient sunburn. She’d pay for her refusal to put on the sunscreen her mom had offered. Worth it, she decided.
Owen paddled them up to the shore, until Sarah could feel the bottom of the canoe scrape against the sand. He held the boat steady with one hand and extended his other one out to her. She took his hand and climbed down, unfolding her legs, which had gotten stiff during the hours they’d been on the pond. “This was fun.”
Owen nodded as he stood in the water, scratching Hopper behind his ears. She wondered if she should ask for his phone number, or propose a plan for the weekend, but before she could decide, Owen said, “See ya,” and pushed the boat back into the water, hopping into it and paddling away.
On Sunday, then Monday and Tuesday, Sarah swam across the pond and waited, treading water, across from the red house… but she never saw Owen, or anyone else, and she was too shy to walk out of the water and knock on the door. On Wednesday, Sarah’s dad drove her back home, to Boston, and two days after that, they went to the Berkshires, where she’d be attending music camp at Tanglewood for the last two weeks of her summer vacation. She didn’t see Owen again for the next three years, and in that time she met other boys, boys whose smile or touch made her heart beat faster. But she never forgot about Owen. At odd moments of her day, or in her bed at night, she would find herself remembering his smile, his brilliant blue eyes, something he’d said, the muscles flexing and tendons flickering in his legs as he’d hopped into the canoe.
Sarah spent her last year of high school trying to decide if she’d go to a conservatory, aiming at the small chance of fame and fortune, or if she’d take the more reasonable path of a liberal arts degree. Her parents left it up to her, telling her they’d pay for her education no matter where she decided to go. Her teacher encouraged her. “You have enough talent to do this,” Mr. Ascarelli said. “All you have to decide is whether or not you’ve got the drive. And you have to decide if you’ll have regrets for the rest of your life if you don’t try.”
She’d asked him about his classmates from Oberlin, where he’d studied. “Well, let’s see,” he said, removing his eyeglasses and polishing them on his sleeve. “One of them recorded three CDs by the time he was thirty and has performed with orchestras all over the world. Another one works on Broadway, playing keyboard in the pit for different musicals. He was even onstage for a while, with Cabaret, where the ensemble was part of the show.” He sighed and put his glasses back on. “And I’ve got one who gives lessons out of her house in Texarkana to little kids. And one plays music in the cocktail lounge on a cruise ship,” he’d added. This hadn’t helped Sarah make up her mind.
Back and forth she went, all year long, as January 15, the deadline for applications, approached. She’d finally decided on Wellesley. “If you hate it, or if you miss music, you can always change your mind,” her mom said, right after Sarah had submitted her application. “Nothing has to be forever.”
She’d been accepted. Her parents had sent in a deposit. That summer, Sarah, at her mother’s insistence, got a job as a maid in a hotel in Provincetown, down the street from the shop where Sam sold penny candy to tourists. （Her mother was a great believer in the value of working in the service industry. “You’ll learn how to deal with customers, and with a boss, and you’ll give waitresses good tips for the rest of your life.”）
At the end of June, Sarah had been walking down Commercial Street at the end of her shift when a male voice had called her name. She’d turned, and there was Owen, taller, broader through his chest, in khaki shorts, a dark-blue T-shirt, and boat shoes.