Postcards From Last Summer (6 page)

Why do bullies have so much power?
She stood up at the edge of the pool, wondering why she ever let Darcy get to her.

Whatever had happened to Darcy, anyway? She'd just run into Tara, and over the years she'd gotten a few postcards from Lindsay, her only real friend in the group, but Lindsay had never mentioned Darcy
.

Why am I even wondering? Why don't I go there and check it out?
She could stay with Lindsay; the McCorkles always managed to squeeze one more into their rambling house with its screened porches, window seats, and attic cubbies. Of course, there was the sticky matter of getting clearance from the relatives. Not that she couldn't just leave, but she didn't have a U.S. dollar to her name, and she sensed that hitchhiking was not the thing to do in the States these days.

Damn, but her parents had cut her off at the knees. Didn't trust her. Pissed her off to no end.

Did she have Lindsay's number in her cell?

“Elle . . .” She was jarred from her plan by Liam, who leaned into the pool, bored as usual. “Do you want to have a race?”

“Just as long as you don't splash me,” Gabby carped.

“I have an idea,” Elle told Liam, feeling brighter as she curled her toes over the edge of the pool and flexed her knees like a racer on the starting block. “Let's jump together. Why don't you come to this side of the pool.” She motioned him over, secretly pointing a finger toward Gabby lounging in the chair behind them.

Glancing over one skinny shoulder, Liam shot her a look of annoyance. But he came around the pool, water slapping on the pavement under his flame-print swim trunks.

“Right here.” She showed him where to line up for maximum effect. Then, on the count of three, Elle and Liam cannonballed into the water. When Elle surfaced, Gabby was on her feet, shrieking.

“I hate you both!” She dabbed at her face with a towel, then headed into the house. “I'm telling Mom!”

“I think we're in trouble,” Liam said, grinning.

“It's not the first time, and it won't be the last.” Elle floated onto her back, loving the silky feel of warm water around her body and the satisfaction of having annoyed Gabriella. Nothing like bullying the bully. Gabby would be relieved to have her cousin drop out of her life again. No love lost there, though Elle would sort of miss Liam. It wasn't often Elle met an eight-year-old who could beat her in a game of spades.

“A
nother night at the mansion of Love!” Kevin stepped into the pristine living room and touched the hooves of a sculpted horse adorning the mantel. “Don't you ever feel like you live in a museum?”

Moving the candles to the center of the Louis XIV table, Darcy tried not to notice the dirtprints his shoes had left on the carpet of the “parlor.” What the hell, Nessie would whisk it all up in the morning, and she doubted that Mother or Dad were going to make the trip out here anytime soon. Dad was embroiled in the accounting fiasco at the firm, and Mother was embroiled in the tennis pro's embrace. “To be honest, I think this house is way overdone. Tacky, really.”

“No way! It's the Love Mansion. It's famous. People cruise down this road just to have a look.” He crossed back to Darcy, strung his arms behind her, and ground his hips into hers. “Everybody wants to feel the love.”

“Our house is going to be different,” she asserted. “Gorgeous but cozy. Full of real love.”

“Really? You mean, a place where I can fuck you every day? Like, three times a day?”

“Mm-hmm.” She smiled, relieved to see Kevin in a good mood and fairly sober. The past few times they'd been together, often heading over here after he helped close up Coney's, he'd been too drunk to really talk, and the sex had been hurried and halfhearted, all about dousing the fire so Kevin could pass out and get to sleep.

Not tonight, Darcy thought, rocking against him. The bulge in his pants hit her bare tummy, and as she pressed against him she felt herself grow wet with wanting him.

“Let's get naked,” he growled.

At first Darcy felt hesitant to do it here, in mother's cold cathedral parlor. But when Kevin dipped his hands inside her halter top and brushed over her hard nipples so abruptly that it took her breath away, a new desire to defile streaked through her. She tugged off her top, then unbuckled her tight combat pants. “You want naked? You're going to have to work for it tonight.”

“Ooh.” He pursed his lips, dropping to his knees to unzip, then scrape her pants down over her shapely thighs. “Nice.” He ran his fingers over the scalloped edge of her lace thong, slipped his fingers under the edge, then dipped them into her, into the warm, creamy wetness. “Ooh.” His fingers swirled, gently at first, then with more pressure as they danced over her.

That motion always drove her to climax, and he knew it. She closed her eyes, letting herself go until a tiny gasp escaped her. Thank God for Kevin and his fingertip dance. She pushed her pelvis into him, wanting him in the worst way.

“You are hot. Hot and ready.” He pulled down her panties, cupped one hand over the mound of her pelvis, and rested his cheek against her thigh for a close-up view.

“Kevin . . .” She laughed. “Don't weird me out.”

“I just love to look at your pussy.”

Such a boy. He seemed to like talking dirty when all she wanted was to hear him say that he loved her, that he couldn't live without her, that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her and no one else. “Well, you can look all night.” She reached down and peeled the rest of her clothes off her ankles. “Or you can see how it feels.”

“Aw, man.” He stepped out of his jeans, his cock pink and upright.

Darcy tried to open her legs and pull him in between, but she was too short to take him standing. Thinking fast, he quickly lifted her and sat her on the fat, rolled arm of the velvet settee. Balanced there, she spread her legs, ready to take him in.

He thrust his hips forward and speared her. “Nice and deep. How's that feel? Huh? Huh?”

She didn't answer, too preoccupied in sensation. In truth, it was just the right angle for moist, deep probing, and she needed all her concentration to keep herself propped there, meeting his slamming thrusts.

Heat rose inside her, sensation mounting, pushing her steadily toward orgasm. It was fast, but she didn't care. They had all night for more . . . hell, they had the rest of their lives. She heard a little gasp escape her throat as she came, and he plunged harder, pausing deep inside with a heaving groan.

She pressed her eyes closed, hoping he could feel it, the bond between them. The love. Definitely love, or else she wouldn't be able to tolerate the feeling of his sweat, salty and gritty, on her thighs and breasts. Sometimes Kevin didn't appreciate how she kept her body perfect, her skin well hydrated and exfoliated, her nails perfectly shaped, manicured, polished.

With a deep breath, he hunkered over her, resting his sweaty forehead on her shoulder. “That was so awesome!” He pulled out of her and she felt moisture trickle out, spilling onto the arm of the love seat.

Wouldn't Mother be horrified.

Kevin thrust his fists in the air and roared, the lion victorious over the kill. Sometimes he could be an asshole. Crossing her arms over her breasts, Darcy realized that she had a good amount of work ahead of her in trying to turn her diamond in the rough into a faceted, polished stone. Lately she felt more and more discouraged now that she was in this alone. Much as she hated to admit it, Darcy missed her friends. She missed Tara, the voice of reason, and some days she felt that the whole summer had soured without Lindsay narrating her life, building her up and cheering her on.

As Kevin cranked up the CD player and danced naked on the coffee table, Darcy lay down on her side and contemplated the old stones of the mantel. Each one was distinctive, a different size and shape, and yet they fit together perfectly, as if destined to be that way.

Sort of the way she'd fit with Lindsay and Tara. Her friends . . . her only friends.

Not that people weren't nice to her at college, and of course, she had a few girlfriends from high school in Great Egg, but they were all distant. Just because she knew their names and had spent some time playing tennis with them didn't mean she really cared.

Which was the problem here. God help her, she cared about Lindsay and Tara, and it was killing her right now, wondering if they were at Lindsay's house playing Scrabble or out at a club or catching a late movie. How could they have a good time without her? Didn't they feel the loss—the stone missing from the mantel?

The other day she'd seen them on Bikini Beach, surrounded by surfboards and guys. It looked like Tara had scored herself a boyfriend, a compact, Tom Cruise type, and whatever they were doing, telling stories or jokes, it was all punctuated by laughter and comments. They were having so much fun they didn't see Darcy peering at them from the dunes, and she didn't dare head down the path to the beach. Because then it would be incredibly obvious that they were having fun and she was not.

Outside, tires whirred on the circular driveway.

“Whoa.” Kevin stopped his naked dance as headlights flashed through the huge arched windows. “Somebody's coming.”

Pressing a pillow to her chest, Darcy edged to the window. The wood-sided Jeep creaked to a stop. The passenger door popped open and Fish dropped to his feet.

“It's Fish and David,” she said.

“Really?” He reached for his jeans.

“I'll give you two minutes to get rid of them.”

“I can't do that.” He pulled on his pants and zipped carefully.

“But Kev . . . You don't want to go out now, do you?”

“Fuck, yeah.”

“It's almost midnight.”

“So? Sometimes we get a late start.” He raked his fingers through his hair and pulled on his T-shirt.

She shook her head, flabbergasted. “Doing what? Where are you guys going? All the bars are closed.”

“We just drive. Park along the beach and party. Do you want to come?”

The prospect of sitting in a van and listening to David and Fish ramble on in that bizarre nonsense language they'd devised, steaming while they laughed at each other's stupid jokes made her feel weary. “I already came, thanks.”

He laughed. “Good one, Darcy. Okay, then.” He walked to the wide beveled glass door, pulling it open just as the gong of the doorbell sounded.

“We thought you'd be here.”

“Yeah.”

And with that, the guys were gone.

Darcy tossed the pillow to the couch and picked up her clothes gingerly. Blowing out the candles, she tried to shake off the bad feeling. She was friendless and her boyfriend was in deep with those guys, who were definitely a bad influence. Neither Fish nor Dave was married, and neither of them had a girlfriend or job waiting in the wings.

Darcy wasn't the most creative or intelligent student at Bennington, but when she wanted the lead part in a show or the favor of a teacher, she won through sheer persistence. She usually knew how to get exactly what she wanted, but then she'd never had to win her friends back before.

Falling into the posh white chair, Darcy pressed her shirt to her face and burst into tears.

I
t sort of happened by accident. One June night when the surf was up late in the afternoon, we ended up riding some impressive waves until the sun began to sink low over the dunes, a sizzling ball of orange laced by purple clouds. Everyone was in a good mood from the awesome surf and we didn't want it to end, so Bear invited us back to his place, just up the path through the dunes.

“I've got some brats,” Bear said, “and I'll send McCorkle for beers.”

“That's a great offer,” Charlie said, wiping his wet hair vigorously with a towel. “Is it far?”

And the rest of us laughed, since Bear's camper was walking distance, just beyond the parking lot. “Just up the path and left after you cross the dunes,” Bear said. Although Bear officially lived with his mother in Wading River, the VW was his real home, and the town of Southampton allowed him to stay with the small community of campers on this parkland as long as he purchased a greenkey pass each year.

That evening was an eye-opener for me, sitting on a blanket, Tara and Charlie and the other guys in armchairs clustered around the hibachi. We offered to help, but Bear had it under control, roasting the bratwurst till the skins crisped. He served the wieners with toasted bread, cheddar cheese, and mustard, and I remember thinking the meal was a slice of heaven. Afterward he carved up a fresh pineapple with a minimum of mess and brought the platter around to us, a patient server. That was the thing that surprised me about Bear; he was surprisingly capable, a calm, generous host. As night rolled in around us, he opened his oceanfront home to us, and realizing how he lived here under the stars, humbly and respectfully, made me love him that much more.

“How's that generator been running?” Steve asked Bear, and they talked shop for a while. Steve's engineering degree made people think he was an expert repairman, but in truth he'd always been good with his hands, always very logical.

Beyond the flames of the hibachi, Bear's VW pop-up camper seemed embedded in the sand, the roofline extended by blue awnings. Two fishing rods and a handful of boards were staked in the sand amid a clutter of bicycles. I was dying to know what it was like inside, but today I'd gotten closer. I was even wearing a big, oversized sweatshirt Bear had loaned me when the sun went down. I hugged my arms, loving the feel of it, not caring that my hair was stiff from salt water.

Through the bordering stand of pine trees, the bright lights of a car swerved through the empty parking lot. I didn't think much of it, assuming someone had come for a late walk on the beach.

“It's a cop,” Napolean said. “I swear, it's park police. Anybody got anything on them?”

“It's not the police,” Bear groaned.

“Looks like a kid,” Steve speculated.

“Hey!” Skeeter jumped up, shouting at the stranger. “Who are you?”

We all laughed at that, until the stranger called back, “Darcy Love.”

The guys kept laughing, all except Charlie who asked: “Who's that?”

Tara and I shook our heads at each other.

“It must be a joke,” I said, knowing Darcy would never come out here.

But as the figure tromped closer in the sand, I recognized the unmistakable swagger and waist-length hair of Darcy Love. She was lugging a shopping bag over one arm, humming something under her breath.

“I heard there was a party,” she said, moving into the fire's circle of light. “Is this the party of the first part? Or wait. This ain't no disco?”

“Hey, Darce,” my brother said, ignoring the fact that she wasn't making a whole lot of sense. “Have a seat. Join the circle.”

“Well, how do I get in?” She pressed her hands together in prayer position and moved them like a fish trying to wriggle in.

“Here you go,” Bear said, opening a folding chair for her. “Can I get you a beer? I could throw a few more brats on the fire.”

I bit my lip, loving him for being so kind to her, despite the fact that she'd pretty much behaved like a prima donna for as long as he'd known her.

She listed to the side a bit, tilted by the weight of her Bergdorf shopping bag. “I don't need a beer, that's for sure.” She dropped the bag into the sand with a dull thunk, then sank down into the lawn chair. “I've already got a head start.” She reached into the bag and lugged out a gallon bottle of scotch. The expensive kind—Chivas Regal.

A third of it was gone.

“Darcy, did you drink all that?” Tara asked, sitting up in alarm.

“Did I?” Darcy curled the bottle up, her lean bicep popping. “I don't know.”

“Darcy, you're drunk,” I said with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

“Am I?” She pointed a manicured finger at her chin, but missed and poked her nose. “I guess I am.”

That was when she turned and faced me, really looked me in the eye. Hers were bloodshot. “I'm sorry, Lindsay,” she said, suddenly misting over, her face crumpling.

Across the fire circle Skeeter, Napolean, and Steve exchanged awkward looks, probably wishing this “chick stuff” would stop before they got too uncomfortable.

“You know,” Steve said, pushing out of a low beach chair, “this would be a good time to look at that generator that's been giving Bear trouble.” And the three of them peeled out of their chairs and went around to the back of the camper. With a sad smile, Bear followed them.

“I am just so, incredibly, freaking sorry,” Darcy crooned.

I kneeled in the sand beside her, a hand on her shoulder. “I know, Darce,” I said, patting her shoulder. It seemed pathetic and sad that the only way she could apologize was in a drunken sway, but what could I do? This was Darcy in all her inebriated imperfection. Besides, wasn't intolerance of imperfection the very thing that had started this whole mess?

“I was so awful,” Darcy sobbed, turning tearful eyes toward Tara. “And I want to make it up to you guys. I will. I don't know how, but I will.”

“You don't have to make it up to us,” I said. “But your apology is accepted.”

And she welled up again and just about fell into my arms, her tears falling onto Bear's thick, soft sweatshirt. I hugged her, surprised at how soft and warm she felt—especially for a skinny girl. I guess when it comes to hugs, anatomical structure is secondary when you're swamped with emotion.

That night I was a good friend to Darcy once again, driving her home, tucking her in, even holding her hair back when she shot out of bed and leaned over the commode. It was not the way I'd hoped to spend the evening, especially after finally being invited to hang at Bear's place. But hey, what are friends for?