Libby and Peter’s friends, the soon-to-be McCabes, were getting married at the Coral Beach Club, a private club where we also were staying because Libby’s parents were members.
Every person at the Coral Beach Club was gorgeous and immaculately dressed, and I knew I stuck out like a sore thumb. My jean cutoffs and grubby tank were proof that I didn’t belong here, and I knew that anyone who looked at the six of us would instantly pin me as the help.
Even in her clothes from the plane—white shorts and a red-and-white-striped shirt—Libby fit into the Coral Beach Club seamlessly. Everything about it was clean and tasteful and screamed old money, and I’d never felt further from Langs Valley. If getting to know Libby had been dipping my toes into a new way of life, both my feet were now submerged.
We were directed upstairs to our two-bedroom suite, which was decorated in bright colors and boasted a breathtaking view of the ocean, which was shiny like a coat of wet paint. Peter didn’t even seem to register where we were and immediately went to take a shower. Gus kept grabbing my arm and pointing toward the ocean. It was the first time he’d ever seen it.
The first time （and one of the only times） I saw the ocean, I was six. My mom took me down to the Jersey Shore to visit her sister, my aunt Mel. I don’t remember much about the visit except being wholly stunned by the vast, limitless sea, and the feeling of sand squishing between my toes. I built sandcastles on the beach with Mel’s kids, my cousins, whose names I can’t remember because I haven’t seen them since. The day we left, I remember Mel handing my mom a folded piece of paper—in retrospect it must’ve been a check—and telling her to be careful with it because Mel wasn’t going to give her any more. That was the last time I saw Aunt Mel, too, though my mom used to talk about her a lot.
Libby said she was going to lie down and asked if I’d give the kids their baths before we all went downstairs for dinner. I was sort of annoyed at Libby for not telling me how fancy the club was—I hadn’t packed anything nice, except for my one dress skirt that had gotten too short for me.
“You can borrow a dress if you need, Heath,” Libby said, reading my mind. “I totally forgot to tell you to bring a dress or two, and I bet we’re the same size.”
“That would be great, thanks.” I realized then that Libby probably hadn’t forgotten to tell me; she likely knew I didn’t own anything remotely dressy enough for the Coral Beach Club, and she didn’t want me spending my hard-earned money buying new clothes for the trip.
I felt glamorous heading down to dinner in a wrap dress of Libby’s, silky and flamingo pink. As we followed the hostess through the dining room toward our table on the patio, I could feel the eyes of several men lingering on me. An irrepressible smile crept up my lips.
Dinner that evening was the most delicious meal of my life. On Libby’s recommendation I ordered the softshell crabs and practically licked my plate clean. The boys were content with their chicken fingers, and the baby babbled happily on Libby’s lap. At the end of the meal there was no bill; Libby merely told the waitress her parents’ account number, and that was that. I’d only seen that before in movies, and I was struck by the irony: when you get rich enough, you don’t even have to use money.
After dinner Libby and Peter headed to the welcome party for the bride and groom’s guests, and I took the kids upstairs to get ready for bed.
The next day was sunny and even warmer, and we headed to the pool after breakfast. Libby was adamant about hiring a swim instructor to give Gus a lesson.
“The older he gets, the harder it’s going to be for him to learn,” she explained.
“Right.” I nodded. A few of Libby’s most glamorous-looking friends were sitting with us on nearby chaises; no way was I confessing the truth about my own inability to swim in front of them.
Libby took Gus to see about a lesson, and one of the friends turned to me, a deeply tanned woman wearing cherry-red lipstick.
“You are the prettiest thing!” she exclaimed. “I have a little sister about your age. She’s starting college in the fall.”
“Good for her,” I said, caught off guard.
“So are you a friend of Lib’s?”
“Oh, no. I’m her babysitter. I mean, I sit for her kids.”
“Got it. That is so great. I used to babysit all the time when I was your age.”
“You did?”
“Oh, absolutely. It’s the best way to make extra cash.” Red Lips smiled at me, one side of her painted mouth curling, and for the first time since I’d arrived at the Coral Beach Club, I considered that perhaps not everyone here had been born into families with CBC memberships. Perhaps more than I’d realized had fought their way in, had bared their teeth and made unthinkable sacrifices to be a part of this world. Suddenly, I felt less alone.
Libby reappeared a few minutes later holding a tangerine drink that resembled the rum punches she and Peter had had at dinner the night before, and that morning with brunch. I watched the way she clutched the glass with her slender fingers, the white rock of diamond that sparkled there. In a cream-colored bikini and jade-green sarong, she looked like a supermodel.
“So, Gus is starting his lesson now, and it ends at three. You can pick him up right over there.” Libby pointed across the pool. She teetered slightly, and I wondered how many more rum punches she’d consumed since brunch. “It’s all paid for, of course, including another hour lesson tomorrow morning at nine. Peter’s already back in the room with the baby, and I’ve got to go shower and change for tonight.” Libby giggled to herself, wobbling again. “Sorry, I—these things will getcha.” She pointed to her glass. “Anyway, you’re good with the drill for later? Room service for dinner, and dessert for Nate only if he eats his whole meal.”
“Sounds good, Lib, I’ve got it covered. Thanks for doing this for Gus.”
“Of course! And like I said, he’s done with the lesson at three, so it would be great if you could splash around with the boys for a bit before dinner. You can see what kind of progress Gus made today. And if for some reason baby girl’s not asleep by the time we head out, I’ll bring her down to the pool in her chair.”
My chest tightened as Libby turned to leave, and I knew I had to tell her. Of course I did. How had I ever thought it would be possible to spend a whole weekend in Bermuda with Libby and not tell her?
“Wait, Lib.” My voice was small. “I have to—I have to tell you something.”
She paused, pushing her sunglasses on top of her head. Something in her eyes—the way they wouldn’t quite land on me––told me she was tipsier than I’d realized.
“I can’t swim.” As soon as the words escaped me, I felt lighter. “I never learned. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I was—embarrassed.”
“Oh, Heather.” Libby reached out and squeezed my shoulder, her lips spreading into a sympathetic smile. “That’s okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about, and please, don’t apologize. You’ve been such a rock star this weekend. I’m so glad we decided to bring the kids, and you and Gussie. Isn’t this place a dream?”