The Bay At Midnight Part 30

"What's an abortion?" Lucy asked.

"You don't need to know that." My mother sent my father a look of exasperation above Lucy's head.

"And many people believe that she's been having an affair with President Kennedy," my father added.

"Oh, that's ridiculous," my grandmother said. "You're filling these girls' heads with rumors."

"I believe it's true," Daddy said, tapping his fingertips on the rim of his coffee cup. "I'm sorry to say it, but I believe Jack Kennedy's capable of breaking his marriage vows, and Marilyn Monroe was certainly capable of tempting him to do so. Nothing good could come of the sort of behavior she was known for."

I thought of my impure thoughts, rea.s.suring myself that they were mild in comparison to the things Marilyn Monroe had done.

"I heard about a girl who cheated on her husband." Isabel had one elbow on the table, her hand holding a piece of crisp bacon that she waved a little in the air as she spoke. "She went off on a vacation with her boyfriend and they were in a helicopter and when they got out of the helicopter, the propeller was spinning around and it cut off her head."

"Oh, Isabel!" my mother said.

"I am not not listening to another disgusting word!" Lucy got up, lifted her plate from the table and carried it into the house. listening to another disgusting word!" Lucy got up, lifted her plate from the table and carried it into the house.

But Isabel, as usual, had won my father's affection. He looked across the table at her, nodding.

"Exactly," he said.

My father was so blind. I wished I had the guts to tell him that Isabel and Ned met on the platform in the bay every night. My attempts to push Bruno and Isabel together had failed so far, and on those nights when I snuck out on the boat, there they were-Isabel and Ned, hugging and kissing...and much, much more.

My father left for Westfield later that afternoon and I saw that Wanda and her family were still on the other side of the ca.n.a.l. They usually fished only in the morning, but the weather was cool and I guessed they had simply decided to make a day of it. I thought I would join them.

I got my fis.h.i.+ng gear from the garage, then walked around the side of the house to grab a dry towel from the clothesline. Isabel's wonderful giraffe towel hung there among the plain old beach towels. I a.s.sumed that Izzy was already at the beach, so as long as I returned the towel to the line before she got home, she would never know that I'd borrowed it. I tossed the towel over my arm, then headed around the house to the backyard.

My fis.h.i.+ng line had snapped the last time I'd used it, so I sat on one of the Adirondack chairs to repair it. Next door, Ned, Ethan and Mr. Chapman were in their boat in the dock. I could see the tops of their heads and I could hear conversation, some of it heated, but I could not make out the words.

Suddenly Mr. Chapman's voice rose. "I said no! no!" he shouted.

Ned yelled something back at him, his words unintelligible.

"Go in the house, Ethan," Mr. Chapman said, and I guessed that Ethan was either being punished for something or-more likely, from the sound of it-the conversation was not meant for his ears. I buried my head close to the fis.h.i.+ng line, pretending to be engrossed in my task in case one of them glanced in my direction, but I was actually straining to hear what was being said.

Once the door to the Chapmans' porch had slammed shut behind Ethan, Mr. Chapman spoke up again. "You're not going to see her tonight," he said.

Curiosity and hope welled up in me. If I I couldn't break Ned and Isabel up, maybe Mr. Chapman could. My nose was so close to the fis.h.i.+ng line that I could smell the briny scent emanating from it. couldn't break Ned and Isabel up, maybe Mr. Chapman could. My nose was so close to the fis.h.i.+ng line that I could smell the briny scent emanating from it.

"If you've known all this time," Ned said, "why are you cracking down all of a sudden?"

Mr. Chapman lowered his voice, and although I leaned my head a few inches closer to their yard and pushed my hair behind my ear, I could not hear what he said. Their conversation lasted only a few more minutes before Mr. Chapman went into the house. I felt sorry for Ned. I knew what it was like to be chewed out and how powerless and angry it could leave you feeling.

I had long since finished working on my fis.h.i.+ng line, so with the excitement over next door, I carried my pole and bucket and the giraffe towel to my own dock. I descended the ladder and was about to jump into the runabout when I heard Ned softly call my name. I peered over the bulkhead to see him walking toward me, and I dropped everything into the boat and rushed up the ladder to the sand.

I started to call h.e.l.lo to him, but he put his finger to his lips.

I nodded. I understand, I understand, I was saying to him. He didn't want his father to hear. I was saying to him. He didn't want his father to hear.

He waited until he was right next to me before he spoke again, his voice very low. "Is Izzy home?" he whispered. He glanced toward his house as though afraid his father might be watching him. I could just about smell the fear on him.

"No," I said. I looked at his hands expecting to see the toy giraffe, but he didn't have it with him. "She's gone to the beach with Mitzi and Pam, I think." I watched his face to see if the mention of Pam sparked any reaction in him, but he barely seemed to notice. I was one-hundred-percent certain George had either mistaken someone else for Ned that day in the river or else he'd just been teasing me.

"I was wondering if you'd give her a message for me?" Ned asked.

"Sure." I would do anything for you, I would do anything for you, I thought. It was great that he was talking to me on a Sunday. My hair always looked pretty and wavy on Sundays because I washed it and set it for church. I wondered if he noticed how good it looked. I tossed it over my shoulder as we talked, hoping the gesture was as s.e.xy as I thought it was. I thought. It was great that he was talking to me on a Sunday. My hair always looked pretty and wavy on Sundays because I washed it and set it for church. I wondered if he noticed how good it looked. I tossed it over my shoulder as we talked, hoping the gesture was as s.e.xy as I thought it was.

"Tell her I can't see her tonight, okay?" he asked.

I nodded. I felt so adult. So proud to be trusted with their secrets. "Don't worry," I rea.s.sured him. "I'll tell her."

"Thanks." He reached toward my head and I gritted my teeth, expecting him to tousle my hair as if I were a kid, but instead, he rested his hand on the back of my head and looked into my eyes. "You're the most, Jules," he said.

I wanted to stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. It would have been easy. He was so close, so handsome. But I kept my bare heels glued to the sand and simply smiled at him, acknowledging the compliment. Then I headed for the ladder once again.

I was still elated by the thrill of his touch a short time later, as I cast my line into the water from the other side of the ca.n.a.l. I'd hung Isabel's towel over the fence in front of me so that the giraffe was watching us with his big, long-lashed eyes. Wanda loved the towel so much that I wished I could give it to her.

"You ever seen one of them for real?" she asked me, pointing to the giraffe.

"Sure," I said. "At the zoo in New York. Haven't you?"

"Uh-uh," she said, and as we started fis.h.i.+ng, I began hatching a new plan. I could save some money and take Wanda-and maybe George, if he was nice to me-on the train to New York and we could spend the whole day at the zoo. If Wanda had never seen a giraffe, she'd probably never seen an elephant or a rhinoceros or any other wild animals. It would be so much fun to introduce her to that whole new world. I was trying to figure out how I could get away from the house for an entire day when George interrupted my thinking.

"So," he said as he baited his hook, "why's your big sister's boyfriend talkin' to a raggedy little child like you?"

I guessed he had seen Ned and me talking in my yard.

"He happens to think I'm the most," I said, my nose in the air.

"The most what? what?" he asked, laughing.

I ignored him. "What if someday soon, the three of us go to the zoo in New York?" I suggested.

"How you gonna get your daddy to let you do that?" Wanda asked, and George shook his head.

"You two on your own," he said. "I ain't gonna get my a.s.s caught taking some white girl across the state line."

Our banter went on that way for nearly an hour, with me plotting our trip and the two of them telling me why it wouldn't work. Salena and the men were a distance away from us, and I could hear them singing along with the songs on the colored radio station they listened to. Nothing was biting, but none of us minded.

The ca.n.a.l provided plenty of entertainment with the Sunday swarm of boats in all shapes and sizes. A few of the taller ones rocked in place in front of us as they waited for the bridge to open and let them through. More and more of the larger vessels clogged the ca.n.a.l, and finally, the bridge began making its familiar clanking sound as the roadway above the water slowly swung open. I wasn't used to seeing the bridge from that side of the ca.n.a.l, and I was watching in fascination when a speedboat pulled up alongside the bulkhead right in front of me.

"Hi, Julie!"

I looked down, surprised to see Bruno Walker sitting below me in his boat.

"Hi, Bruno," I said. His nearly black ducktail was a bit windblown which made him look even s.e.xier than usual, and he wasn't wearing a s.h.i.+rt. You could see every bulging muscle outlined beneath his tan skin. Even lifting his cigarette to his mouth was enough to turn his arm into a brawny network of hills and valleys.

"What are you doing over here?" He looked at Wanda, then George, then back at me again. He wasn't wearing sungla.s.ses and he could barely mask the surprise in his eyes at finding me fis.h.i.+ng with colored people.

"Fis.h.i.+ng," I said, not answering the question he was really asking. "These are my friends, Wanda and George. That's Bruno," I said, nodding toward him.

Wanda and George said nothing. They knew my world did not mesh well with theirs.

"I wanted to ask you something," Bruno said. His boat bobbed on the wake of a pa.s.sing s.h.i.+p, but he held it steady in front of us. "Are you and Isabel real close?"

I shrugged. "Sort of," I said. "Why?"

"How serious do you think she is about Ned?"

Although the boat ride I'd arranged for my sister, Ned and Bruno didn't seem to have sparked the triangle I'd been hoping for, I could see another possibility opening up in front of me. "I think she's losing interest in him," I said.

"You don't say." He barely moved his lips when he spoke, like the words weren't very important to him. But I knew that was just his style, and I grew bolder.

"You should talk to her about it," I suggested.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't think I'm her type."

"Well, maybe she hasn't really figured out her type yet." I sounded like Dear Abby, giving advice to the lovelorn.

"It's hard to get to talk to her, though," he said. "I hardly ever see her without Ned or one of her girlfriends around." He was playing right into my hands.

"I know how you can talk to her alone," I said.

"How?"

"Sometimes around midnight, she swims out to the platform in the bay and just sits there, thinking," I said. "She likes that alone time, you know? Just to think about things." Isabel actually hated being alone. I was really talking about myself, how I relished my time in the runabout on the bay at night. But it didn't matter. This conversation was not about the truth.

"That's weird," he said. I doubted Bruno was the type to appreciate moments of quiet introspection, either. He and Izzy would be perfect for each other.

"She just likes to be alone sometimes," I repeated with a shrug. "You could find her there tonight. Then you'd be able to talk to her without anybody else around."

"I don't know," he said. "Ned's a good buddy." He looked toward the open Lovelandtown bridge, the sun in his gorgeous green eyes as he gnawed his lower lip. It was funny to see such a powerful guy look so unsure of himself. "It's a neat idea, though," he said, nodding as the plan grew on him. "She goes almost every night, you said?"

"Uh-huh. And I'm sure she'll be there tonight."

"Why are you so sure?" he asked.

"It's Sunday night," I said. "Dad goes home to Westfield on Sunday, so she always feels a little freer.You know, like she won't get caught."

"Well, thanks, Julie," he said. "You're okay."

"You're welcome," I said.

He looked behind him to see if it was safe to pull away from the bulkhead, then waved as he took off, heading toward the bridge. When the sound of Bruno's boat could no longer be distinguished from all the other sounds on the ca.n.a.l, George turned to look at me.

"You up to no good, girl," he said.

I never gave Isabel the message from Ned. Lucy and I went to the boardwalk with our grandparents that evening, and Izzy went out with some of her girlfriends. I knew that she would eventually leave them to meet Ned on the platform. Her curfew was eleven-thirty, but I doubted she'd bother coming home first, because she knew Mom would be asleep by then. I was excited about my plan and it was all I could think about as I rode the merry-go-round and Tilt-A-Whirl and ate the cotton candy Grandpop bought us. I thought I was so clever.

After we got home from the boardwalk, I went upstairs with Lucy to wait for her to fall asleep. I lay on my own bed, rereading The Clue in the Jewel Box The Clue in the Jewel Box behind the curtain, but I couldn't read more than a sentence before my mind turned to Isabel and what might happen at midnight. I hoped Bruno would come on a little smoother than he usually did. I pictured him pulling the boat up to the platform, saying, "Isabel, is that you?" as though he was surprised to see her. I hoped he behind the curtain, but I couldn't read more than a sentence before my mind turned to Isabel and what might happen at midnight. I hoped Bruno would come on a little smoother than he usually did. I pictured him pulling the boat up to the platform, saying, "Isabel, is that you?" as though he was surprised to see her. I hoped he would would act surprised and not say something stupid like, "Julie told me I'd find you here." G.o.d, if he did that, I'd kill him. act surprised and not say something stupid like, "Julie told me I'd find you here." G.o.d, if he did that, I'd kill him.

Then I imagined that Isabel would look over her shoulder toward the beach, wondering why Ned hadn't yet arrived. Maybe it would make her nervous to have Bruno there as she waited. It probably would, because she wouldn't want Ned to catch her with another boy. Maybe she and Bruno would talk for a few minutes, though, and she'd begin to relax. She'd realize that, for some reason, Ned wasn't coming. Something had gone wrong with their usual arrangements. And maybe she would look at Bruno in a different way. There was only a little sliver of a moon out tonight, so it was unlikely she'd be able to see his pretty green eyes, but maybe she'd still be attracted to him. My fantasy did not go so far as to have her invite him onto the platform, but at least they would start talking. At least she would begin to compare him to Ned and, with any luck at all, find Ned lacking.

Lucy fell asleep quickly, as she often did when I was present, and I piled up the bedspread beneath the covers. Then I padded quietly across the attic floor and down the rickety steps.

Grandpop was already in bed-I could hear him snoring as I pa.s.sed through the living room-and I joined my mother and grandmother on the porch for a game of canasta. I could not concentrate on the cards any better than I'd been able to on my reading.

"What's wrong with you tonight?" my mother said, after I dealt twelve cards to each of us instead of eleven. It was the third or fourth mistake I'd made.

"I'm tired, I guess," I said.

Grandma pressed her palm against my forehead.

"I'm not sick," I said with a laugh.

"The two of you make a fine pair," Grandma said, shaking her head. "Julie's tired and Maria can hardly see."

My mother's eyes were red and teary. She'd told us that she'd shaken out a beach blanket before was.h.i.+ng it and sand had blown in her face.

"I can see just fine," she said. She sounded a little annoyed.

Grandma returned her attention to her cards. "I b.u.mped into Libby Wilson at church this morning," she said.

"Yes, I saw you talking to her." My mother drew a card from the stock. "How's she doing?"

"Oh, who knows," Grandma said. "You never hear about how Libby's doing from Libby.You just hear about everybody else's problems, never her own." She was talking fast, and I loved how cute and hard to follow her Italian accent could be when she was on a roll.

"What did you learn about everybody else's problems?" Mom asked. She placed a four of spades onto the discard pile, then pressed a tissue to the corner of her red and watery left eye.

"Betty Sanders is sick again," Grandma said.

"Oh, dear," my mother said. "This is what? The third time. Do they think it's...?" She let her voice trail off. People didn't mention cancer in those days, as though speaking the word aloud might cause you to catch it.

I was trying to see my mother's watch. It looked like it was around ten thirty-five, but I couldn't be sure.

"Probably," My grandmother placed four queens on the table in front of her. "But no one's saying. They took all her female parts this time."

"Ugh," I said, my big contribution to the conversation. My mind was elsewhere and I didn't know who Betty Sanders was, anyway.

"I'll send her a card," Mom said.

"Libby said that, last fall, Madge's boy got arrested and you'll never guess why," Grandma said.

"Why?" my mother asked.

"Rape." Grandma whispered the word.

"Oh, my goodness," my mother said. "Is he in jail?"