“Yes,” Renee jumped in, coming to her rescue. Just like she would have when they were younger. “She is going. You’ll be there, right, Jack?”
“Wait, why is only Blue going? I want to go to Surf Lodge,” Maya said, still oblivious to all of it.
Renee elbowed her.
“Ow!” Maya said. “Why do you keep hitting me?”
“Definitely,” Jack said. “You guys should all come. It’s reggae night. Super fun. Everyone goes.” He stole a look at Blue.
She could tell he was trying to see past her hat and sunglasses, and she was grateful for how much they hid.
“Well, I’m heading back to Connecticut and Maya has...uh...a thing to do,” Renee said. “But you’ll look out for Blue for us, right?”
“Of course,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “I gotta run. But, hey, great to see you guys, and I’ll see you later, Blue.”
“Not if I see you first,” Blue said, then wanted to throw herself over a cliff.
He started back toward his car and Blue turned back to the beach. She was having so many feelings at once, her thoughts speeding and colliding, becoming a high white noise. She was at once humiliated about the lie she’d told Renee and relieved that Renee hadn’t exposed her. She had to reluctantly admit that was really nice of her. And somehow Renee had even managed to get her, if not a date, then at least a chance. And Blue wanted this. To see him tonight. It was more than she could’ve hoped. And she did not want this at all. For him to see her.
“I still don’t understand what ‘thing’ I have to do or why Blue gets to go and we don’t,” Maya complained.
“You’re not joining them on their date, silly,” Renee said. “I’m going home and you’re staying at the house.”
“Whose date?” Maya said. “Blue and Jack have a date?”
Renee shot Blue a knowing look. “They do now.”
“It’s not really,” Blue said. “You can totally come, Maya.”
Renee frowned. “But don’t you want to be alone with him?”
“Oh, right,” Maya said. “Wacka wacka.”
Blue rolled her eyes but inwardly felt an awful slither. She was already exposed and full of shame and now Maya had to throw sex into the equation. Just the thought of it made her mind unhook from her body, hover above it. Her friends didn’t know she’d never done it. They just assumed she had. Because everybody had sex—it was, at some level, the main function of existence. Only a freak wouldn’t want it or be able to get it. Society let her know that every single day. So what if women had been conditioned their whole lives to equate sex with violence—from bra snaps in middle school, to keys turned into weapons against rape, to an endless stream of TV shows and movies about women being victimized, tortured, murdered by men. You were still supposed to want sex and do it and not be afraid. And if you didn’t, you were a sad, desperate old maid and you should hate yourself. It was so messed up, and still Blue felt the shame of it, the stigma. And also the longing. To want to want it. And now it was too late. She didn’t know how to do it. And how would she ever be able to explain that to a man? Thirty years old and she couldn’t even remember how to kiss, much less how to move her hips.
One wrong turn, so many years ago. That’s what it all came down to. Was it possible to alter the course now? Sometimes she thought yes. Other times it just seemed hopeless.
She reached into the ice chest, grabbed a wine cooler, took a swig.
“You guys,” Renee said. Her eyes were wide, her mouth agape. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”
They all turned to follow Renee’s gaze.
HANNAH
Hannah hadn’t been on a long-distance train since she was a little kid. There was something bleak about it. Her childhood memories of them were romantic and exciting but now she saw they were dirty and hard-seated like a subway. At least it had been easy to navigate her travel. She was always expecting everything to be difficult—though maybe it was just the drag of fear that made life seem tedious and exhausting. Or maybe the anticipation of problems was merely an instrument to avoid doing anything at all. Probably both. But as it turned out, there’d been a quaint and obvious ticketing station and a map of all the stops and a conductor whom she could pepper with questions. And since they were at the end of an island, there was no chance of going in the wrong direction. Or if they did, getting lost was the least of her problems. If only everything could be like that—so clear-cut and defined.
The doors closed, the next stop was announced and the train started up with a low moan and a whistle. Hannah watched the scenery chug by, her face staring back at her in the dirty, water-spotted window glass. A slant of sun knifed across her lap, turned her pale legs ghostly. Suddenly she was trapped and unsure. And alone—this most of all. Her friends were probably heading to the beach right now, decked out in sunglasses and hats with their big beach bags, their big laughter. They’d spend all day there under a broad blue sky, trading gossip magazines and memories, taking a midday stroll along the ocean as the white water sprayed upward like a young girl’s hair in wind. Simple togetherness, simple joys.
The train pulled forward, then picked up speed, greenery and desertlike shrubs rushing past as she was bumped and rattled along toward the city. She shouldn’t be on it. In retrospect it had been nice to be with her friends. Even though all they’d done was fight and aggravate and worry her, she had been in the presence of people who really knew and loved her and there was such comfort in that. It was only now, returning to her aloneness, that she’d noticed the difference. Worse, she’d left just as it seemed the trip might finally get fun. In fact they’d probably have more fun now that she was gone. Realize she was just a drag on their good times. Stop even bothering to invite her anywhere.
The long trek home loomed. She would have to take a second train to DC and then hail a cab to her apartment and then hot wash all her clothes, scrub her body. Then back to Henry at the long-term care facility where there was nothing left to fear, but nothing left to be excited about either. Just days that blended into each other and passed and made her older and only that. It was safe. It was comfortable. It was known. And—it was not enough. Oh, if only being aware of a problem actually fixed it. She was making the wrong decision. She was sure of that now. And equally powerless to stop it. Once the momentum got too far in the direction of fear, she couldn’t rein it in; she had to oblige it like a menacing boss.
She adjusted in her seat, pulled her bag closer, reminded herself that she would have equally regretted staying. How were you supposed to know which way was right?
Well, that fortune-teller at the Bridgehampton fair had told her once, and she had failed to listen.