Southampton Spectacular (18 page)

Then Austin spoke up again. “What’s your feeling on that? Long term, I mean?”

She glanced at him. “Cheating?”

“Right, but I don’t mean the easy stuff. You’re dating, someone cheats, you kick them in the pants and move on. That’s a no-brainer. I mean after fifteen years of marriage, and you’ve got four kids and a mortgage and you’re sharing insurance and bank accounts and nobody can remember whose toothbrush is whose. And
then
somebody screws up. Then what?”

Devon sighed deeply and shook her head. “I don’t know. That’s badness all over the place. I think after fifteen years of marriage and four kids, you’re not allowed to screw up like that.”

Austin nodded slowly. “That’s right.” He looked at her. “And that’s definitely not the direction I meant to go. I was just trying to figure out how you’re even available right now.”

“And your conclusions?”

“I thought we already figured that out. Freddy Bateman is an idiot.”

“Well, that’s true,” Devon said. “He is.”

“And by the way, so are all the boys who could have asked you out once Freddy had made his exit.”

“Maybe they were just choosing their moment.”

Austin snorted. “They chose too late.”

They came to the door of 41 Main, and Austin held the door for her. “
Way
too late,” he added.

Devon shrugged and skipped through the door.

3

The restaurant was exactly what Devon had been hoping for. Nice, but not stuffy or needlessly ornate. They had a good bar, and not just for show; there were people actually sitting there, watching a Yankees game, chatting and having nuts with their bourbons and beers. And the menu had little bits of everything. Yes, there were things like oysters on the half and braised duck and even tripe, but there was also steak. And chicken, and fries, and coleslaw. It was still early, and it was a Tuesday, so they were able to request and get a large booth where the light was especially warm and the seats were especially comfortable.

She took a minute to look at the menu, and then she glanced up at Austin. He was watching her. Studying her, almost.

“Everything okay?”

“Thinking about my dad,” she said.

Austin nodded.

She helped him move past this, as before. Because she realized it was her responsibility. “What are we having?”

“
I’m
having the steak with red potatoes. Are you a grazer?”

She looked back at him innocently. “Hmm?”

“Right. So you’re going to order something and then take whatever looks good from your plate and my plate as you see fit.”

“Maybe. Yes.”

“All right.”

She smiled. They ordered soft drinks and appetizers, and she was already feeling much better. The food came quickly, because there were not too many people eating at that early hour; the steak for him and the salmon for her, and they took their time and tasted each other’s dishes and talked about the Beach Club and what Dartmouth would be like for him and the wonder of being able to come to a place like Southampton. A place so beautiful that even the people who came every summer, all summer long, could look around and appreciate, as if for the very first time, how lucky they were.

And then Devon realized it was her turn to ask something.

“Now,” she said, in between bites of salmon, “what happened with Nina?”

Austin glanced up, suddenly cautious. “What do you mean?”

“I mean didn’t she try anything? You were on her radar, I believe. I even gave her some advice. Something like, ‘get a move on.’ I was surprised when you two weren’t already an item by the time I got back from the hospital with my father.”

Austin chewed his steak thoughtfully, and he studied the ceiling. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “She may have dropped a handkerchief or two along my path,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m really her type.”

“Who says? You don’t know her type.”

“Okay. Who does she go for?”

Devon thought about that for a minute. Nina was essentially the female equivalent of Barnes, in that she seemed to radiate sex, or at least the idea of sex, all day long. But
type
was a difficult question. She was constantly talking about different guys she was interested in, or pointing out girls who were good-looking – Nina didn’t seem particularly concerned with gender distinctions when it came to someone being attractive – and yet nothing ever went past the talking, flirting stage. Devon couldn’t remember her ever actually being in a relationship.

Austin grew tired of waiting for an answer. “Anyway,” he said, “I think she was hoping for someone a little showier. Somebody with flash.” He put down his knife and fork and put his hands out. He turned them over slowly, as though exposing the sad lack of any ruby rings or diamond-encrusted bracelets. “See, I’m wearing a Timex. Good for checking lap times, but not so impressive to the likes of Nina Westcott. Low on bling.”

“But she still said hi or something, right?” Devon asked. “Introduced herself. Asked you how come you’re always following her everywhere, and requested a bit of help with her bikini strap.”

“Right,” he said, returning to his steak. “Exactly like that. And since you mention it, she did wear some very nice bathing suits and tennis skirts in my vicinity, although I can’t be sure whether any of that was for my benefit, or whether she just dresses like that on general principle.”

“Little of both. And thanks for noticing the bathing suits.”

“My pleasure.” He took another bite of steak, chewed for a minute, and then wagged his fork at her. “Here’s the thing. It seemed like she was just going through the motions with me. I’ve had girls come on to me before – ”

Devon affected shock. “
Have
you now?”

He ignored her. “ – and I didn’t get the feeling that her heart was really in it.”

“I’ll have a talk with her.”

“I’m just saying. She acted like she was
supposed
to like me.”

“Whereas you need someone who can really commit to the role.”

He sighed. “All right. I sound like a jerk now. Never mind.”

“No, no,” Devon said with a laugh. “I understand. She’s a good friend, but Nina’s pink bikinis confuse many men.”

“New topic, please.”

“This one’s my favorite.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” he added “I was more interested in waiting to meet
you
.”

Again, Devon tried to keep a straight face. And again, failed.

4

After dinner they walked back along Main Street the way they had come, then turned right onto the other side of Job’s Lane, where the public library and the museum were. They ducked into the library for a minute, because Austin said he wanted to remember it, and to see if he still knew the layout. The huge children’s section downstairs, for example, in the east wing. They climbed up that tiny spiral staircase near the back to get to the cramped fiction stacks; the quiet was thick and everywhere, and they had to walk single-file to move from one isle to the next in the stacks; he turned without warning and let her bump into him and kissed her, warm and silent and far too brief for her taste, feeling his hand pulling her waist in closer to him, and then he turned and led her away, toward the larger front staircase that would lead them down and out and into the public night where everyone would be able to see him, which somehow made her jealous. She tried to invent, on the spot, a good reason why they should not go, must not go. She was at the point of suggesting that they might want simply to stay here, stay right up here in these close, silent, almost-private quarters where it was impossible to move or even stand together without physical contact, and where surely no one would come along because who was coming into the library at 7:30 PM on a Tuesday night? But she realized that the answer was everyone,
everyone
came in at this hour, because this was when Southampton parents brought their children here, when the babysitters had the night off or when it was simply time to restock the shelves with essential, rainy-day provisions of Roald Dahl and E.B. White and L. Frank Baum and Saint-Exupéry and Sendak. So she let herself be led down the stairs, and then out and onto the sidewalk and on past the Parrish museum with its bright, beckoning exhibits behind the glass. They crossed the street near the base of Job’s Lane and went into the Fudge Factory, where they ordered ice cream cones to go, and as they walked out with cones in hand Devon realized she had no idea what she had ordered, because the only thought she could keep in her head was that they needed to get somewhere quiet again, somewhere where they would not be so surrounded by meddlesome people who were preventing her from running into him, leaning into him, leaning so that he could hold her waist and kiss her for much, much longer than he had before.

They turned left at the end of Job’s Lane and headed into the Agawam Park, toward the little monument. They kept walking, and Devon found herself mildly annoyed that he did not stop as soon as they were clear of the sidewalk, stop and turn and throw his ice cream cone to the ground and
attend
to her. But she saw that they were walking to the monument itself, where they would be able to sit quietly and eat their ice cream and talk while they looked out over the lake, and she told herself that this was a pleasant and reasonable plan.

They came to the monument and walked up the five little stairs to the flat place between the columns. They sat down together on the top of the set of stairs that led down to the lakeside, and they made themselves comfortable. The sun was low on their right, out of sight behind the trees but not yet gone from that hemisphere on a long summer day, and they could see, way, way in the distance at the opposite end of Agawam, the red brick silhouette of the Beach Club.

Austin seemed to be enjoying his ice cream. He was gazing out over the lake and taking long, contented breaths, as if recovering after a short run. Occasionally he would look over at her with a
smile
.

Devon did her best to smile back, but she could not understand the delay.

Plenty of time for kissing right here.
No one around. Beautiful setting.

She told herself to relax. He was still holding her hand, after all, so that was something. Maybe it was too much to expect him to discard his ice cream. Or perhaps he was waiting, far too politely, for her to be finished with hers first.

Just like that, the ice cream became the barrier, and Devon had to resist the urge to take huge, gobbling bites from the scoop of mocha-chip resting on her cone. Instead she licked and nibbled at it demurely, and she managed to turn to him and say, quite naturally, that it was good ice cream, and that she was having a nice time.

She focused on eating, and she followed his example by taking long, slow breaths. There was a gentle ocean breeze coming to them from the Atlantic and over the lake, and she found, miraculously, that her nerves were settling.

By the time her cone was gone, she was back under control.

Excellent. Now we need to talk. About anything. Something dull.

“Who was that guy at the meadow club?” she asked. He had moved over until their sides were touching, and their faces were very close together now, but she was able to enjoy the sensation of closeness without getting dizzy. For the moment.

“The man with my father? I told you. Mr. Berducido. I’m going to be working for him later this summer.” Austin paused, and then he said in a peculiar voice: “At his company.”

“Right, but who is he? And what’s his company? If Nina’s spying sources are correct, it’s got something to do with finance in New York.”

Austin smiled. “Something with finance, that’s right. A hedge fund. But not in New York.”

“Connecticut? Boston?”

“Spain.”

Devon sat back an inch, so that she could look at him full in the face. “
Spain
?” She shook her head slowly and frowned. “That’s far away,” she said, as if informing him of a hitch in his plans. Something he obviously hadn’t considered. “Very far away,” she repeated.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “But I’ll be back. And they have flights there, you know.” He leaned sideways so that they were quite close again. She was aware now that his ice cream was finished, and his hands were free. He leaned closer still, as if he needed to explain something secret and important, and she wondered if now might be the time to lean away. To show that she was in control of the situation, because she needed to –

He kissed her for much longer this time. His hand was already at her waist, where she had wanted it to be, and now he kissed her in a way she hadn’t known could be as good as it was. Because they were not flush with one another, as they had been in the library; they were still sitting side by side, and he made no attempt to turn her body toward him. He simply held her at her waist, his other hand gently on her leg, and he leaned over as though he were telling her a long and wonderful story. A story that should go on an on. He smelled of Southampton, of ice cream and good restaurants and the ocean, and he kissed her for what she decided was nearly the perfect amount of time, so that as he leaned back she started to lean toward him, because it needed to go on for one second longer, just one second.