The Innocence Game Part 9

I waggled the bottle in front of her. "I think you've had enough."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"Four years in school and no one ever knew you. Hardly anything."

"And you think that's my fault?"

"I didn't say that." She edged a toe through the sand and kept her eyes down as she spoke. "Is it because of your mom?" She looked up. "I'm sorry. Should I not talk about that?"

"If you shouldn't talk about it, then don't. If you do talk about it, don't ask for permission after the fact."

"Ian ..."

"You think I just started existing because you're suddenly aware of me?"

"That's not what I meant."

I knew it wasn't what she meant. And I hated that it had turned ugly. "Don't worry about it." I wiped my mouth. She looked over carefully.

"I'm serious, Sarah. My mom's situation was what it was. Did I keep to myself because of it?" I shrugged. "Maybe, but I'm not complaining."

"It's okay to complain."

"I know that." I took another hit from the bottle, desperate to regain that Absolut glow. "Let's talk about something else."

"Like what?"

"I don't care."

"Ian ..."

"It all right, Sarah. Really."

We sat some more and let the night settle around us. We were close by the water, and the breeze kept us dry.

"Can I tell you something else?" she said.

"Sure."

"I'm glad we met. Even if it did take four years plus." Her smile lit up the darkness between us, and suddenly everything was all right again.

"Me, too."

"Good." She leaned across and kissed me lightly. Easily. It tasted like citrus and sand. Then she was on her feet.

"Where are you going?" I said.

"For a swim."

"Bulls.h.i.+t."

She turned and padded silently toward the water, shedding clothes as she went. I got up and followed. I'd have been a fool not to.

16.

The man with yellow eyes sat on the beach, a hundred paces south. Might as well have been a mile away for all they knew. He could tell they were drinking and imagined how the rest of it might go. But that didn't interest him. Unless he decided to kill them. Then everything changed.

The girl got up and began to run in his direction, at an angle toward the water. He watched her strip off her s.h.i.+rt. Then her shorts. The boy sat in the sand, like a f.u.c.king idiot. Finally he got up and hobbled, almost bent at the waist, toward the surf. The man with the yellow eyes understood now what he'd sensed in the woods. All in all, it made perfect sense. The man crept forward, drifting like a dark sigh along the water's edge and taking a small inhale before slipping beneath a wave. He stroked to within fifty feet of the two of them and surfaced. Then he treaded water. And listened.

17.

I could just see her as she hit the surf, body arched, cutting into the face of a wave as it broke and popping up on the other side. And then she was swimming, a strong freestyle stroke, up and over the next roller. Best I could tell from the trail of clothes, Sarah Gold still had her bra and panties on. Part of me was disappointed. Part was relieved. I stripped down to my underwear and tested the temperature.

It was barely July in Chicago. The lake hadn't warmed up a whole lot when the sun was out. At night it was out of the question. Except, apparently, for Sarah. I put a foot in and gasped. She was maybe twenty yards out now and turning to look back. Cold be d.a.m.ned, I ran until I was waist-deep. I couldn't feel my legs, but that was okay. She rose up out of the water and waved. I took a deep breath and plunged into a wave. Sarah was waiting on the other side.

"Sobers you up, huh?" She whipped her head free of water and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Freezing."

She ducked into a wave and paddle kicked back out. "Stay in the water. You'll keep warm."

I wasn't much of a swimmer, but I followed anyway. I was fairly certain I'd follow Sarah Gold all the way to Canada if she had a mind. Or die trying, with a big smile on my face. We paddled past the line of surf. The water wasn't as rough out here, and we bobbed up and down, treading water as the rollers swept past.

"I used to lifeguard every summer," Sarah said, her voice lonely in the lake at night.

"Where?"

She nodded in the general direction of Michigan. "Harbor Springs."

I knew about Harbor Springs. Or at least had seen the pictures. Clear blue water, deep, sandy beaches, and carpets of thick gra.s.s rolled up to gabled homes with long sweeping porches and wicker furniture. Men with white teeth and heavy gold watches. Women with flawless complexions and wide-brimmed hats. Everyone tanned, living forever, and drinking gin and tonics.

"Heard it's nice," I said.

"It's where I'm from."

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing. It's just that everyone's from somewhere, and you wear it like a second skin. Anyway, it's a long way from Chicago."

"Yes, it is."

We treaded water for a while longer. The sky was black and deep, impossibly huge, with a handful of pale stars tossed across it. A breeze kicked up around us, and I felt my body spasm in the cold. Sarah seemed immune to it.

"I'm not the greatest swimmer," I said.

"You're doing fine."

A wave caught me on the chin, and I spit out a little water. "Yeah, well, it's f.u.c.king cold."

She laughed. "Come here. I'll warm you up."

Sarah moved close and wrapped her legs around mine. I could feel the strength in her thighs as she gripped me.

"In lifeguard training they taught us how to share body heat." She spit a small bit of water from her mouth.

"Oh, yeah?" I could hear the strain and catch in my voice.

"Yeah." Sarah moved closer, rubbing her entire body against mine. The water temperature might have been sixty degrees, but things were happening. And Sarah couldn't help but feel it. "It's critical that we stay warm," she said. Her face was inches from mine, both arms draped around my shoulders.

"You think so?"

We bobbed up and down on a wave as she nodded. I felt myself falling toward her. This kiss was the real thing, long, deep, and wet. I could feel her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against my chest, her nipples hard through the fabric. We pulled apart but kept our bodies touching. Her eyes were closed, face upturned and edged in moonlight. "That was nice." Sarah opened her eyes and splashed me. "Race you back." Then she was gone again, ducking under the water and knifing away.

I followed her back in, the waves pus.h.i.+ng us home. She streamed up and out of the water. I struggled in the surf, which, truth be told, wasn't the worst thing in the world. I needed a little time for Mother Nature to settle before stepping onto the beach. So I wallowed and watched. Sarah walked without a trace of self-consciousness. Body, tanned and cut. Legs, lean muscle, perfectly proportioned. She was beautiful. As beautiful as she'd ever be. And I suddenly felt sad because of it.

Sarah picked up her clothes, found a rock to sit on, and got dressed. When it was safe, I came out of the water. She was waiting up the beach.

"That was fun." She handed me the vodka, but I wasn't as interested. "Fun" wasn't the word I was looking for, although I certainly would have accepted it an hour ago. Had the stakes s.h.i.+fted? Sarah Gold and Ian Joyce? A couple? I chuckled and changed my mind about the bottle.

"What are you laughing at?" she said.

" 'A man's reach should never exceed his grasp.' "

"Robert Browning. And that's not what he said. Or meant. In fact, quite the opposite."

"Excuse me?"

"The quote is: 'A man's reach should exceed his grasp, or what's a heaven for?' I was an English lit major, with a concentration in English poetry."

"I stand corrected."

She gave me a playful push. We started walking, hands linked loosely. Not meaning much, except everything. After about a hundred yards, we sat down again. I thought I saw a shadow along the water's edge, but it was just a breeze off the lake. Sarah found a smooth stone and tossed it into the darkness.

"It won't be like this for much longer, you know."

"Be like what?"

She flicked a hand at a scatter of lights in the distance. "Like this. Northwestern. College. Grad school. Make-believe."

"That's what you think this is?"

"Absolutely. And a lot of people freak at the prospect of it ending."

"You don't seem like the type that's gonna freak."

"No?" She rolled over on the flat of her stomach and played sand through her fingers. "First semester, freshman year. I'm sitting on a bench outside Norris. All by myself. Middle of the day. People walk by. I smile. They don't know I'm alive. I tell myself everything's going to be fine. I've always been popular. Then I look down at my hands. They're clutching my purse in a death grip. Heart's beating a tattoo through my chest."

"Why?"

"My world was getting bigger. Would I measure up?"

"You measure up just fine, Sarah."

"Four years later, sure. But there's always the next step. The next level."

"You afraid of that?"

"Sometimes. Other times, I'm desperate for it. For anything real."

A wild s.h.i.+ver of wind ran through us.

"It's getting chilly," I said.

"What happened today, with the two detectives, you think that's something ..."

"Real? Hard to say. Sure felt like it."

"Havens scares me a little," she said.

"He probably should."

"Let's talk about something else."

"Okay."

She rubbed the edge of her foot against mine. "I'm glad we took a swim."

"Me, too." I paused. "Maybe it should be our secret."

"Are you ashamed of me, Ian Joyce?"