Southampton Spectacular (20 page)

He kissed her once more and let her go, and then he disappeared down the lane, into the night.

1

It was raining the next morning. At the breakfast table, Devon’s parents managed to pretend for almost fifteen minutes that they were not going to ask her anything. That they didn’t care about her date. That they had forgotten about it completely, or that they believed she had been going to the movies with friends the night before.

She appreciated the effort, if only because it gave her enough time to eat a bowl of cereal in peace. And half of an English muffin, and two sips of her orange juice. But maybe they had only been waiting for her to get some food in her system, like hunters who prefer to track only a fit and well-rested beast of prey. Because as soon as Devon picked up the other half of her muffin, her father glanced at her mother. Cynthia shrugged at him, which seemed to be the go-ahead signal. Her father turned to her and said, “Well?”

Devon did her best to show that she had no idea what he was asking about. She kept her face perfectly neutral. “What?”

Cynthia Hall put down her spoon and looked at her daughter as though she had come down to the kitchen with all her clothes on backward. “My goodness,” Cynthia said, in a tone that was half joyful, half concerned. “You’re
completely
in love.”

Devon put her English muffin carefully back down on her plate, and then  she tried to meet her mother’s gaze with a stern, don’t-play-these-games-with-me-expression. Because she certainly couldn’t
agree
with such an accusation without sounding foolish; she and Austin had only been on two dates, and that was only if you counted going on carnival rides as an actual date.

Nobody fell in love after 1.5 dates.

On the other hand, she also couldn’t say, “No, Mom, you’re crazy,” because even the thought of saying that put her right on the edge of a giggling fit. Also, because a denial would have been a lie.

A big, fat, in-your-face lie.

So Devon opted instead for the dismissive look. The look that said she wished her mother would try to be more mature about this; that the suggestion of falling in love was simply too absurd even to be addressed, and that she would be happy to discuss the objective, concrete particulars of the date they had gone on last night without lapsing into needless speculation on her romantic aspirations.

Which, for all Devon knew, could have been her mother’s aim all along. To get as much actual information as possible. Because Cynthia Hall was a master of delicate manipulations of this kind. An emotional ninja.

“We walked to town,” Devon said slowly. She spoke like a girl tiptoeing through a dark room rigged with traps, pausing before each sentence. “And then to 41 Main. We stopped for a minute in the library. We got dessert at the Fudge Company. Then we sat and ate our ice cream on the monument in Agawam Park.”

She held her breath, waiting for her mother to spring out of the shadows. To pounce on some telltale sign of love with her ninja skills.

“Then he walked me home,” Devon finished.

Perfect. All true. Didn’t leave anything out. Even included the library stop, and managed to make it sound like a hey, let’s check out the cute library, oh well, it’s sort of boring, let’s keep this thing moving, type of library stop.

Listening to herself talk, the
whole date
sounded boring. So maybe she would make it out of here alive. Maybe her mother would infer that Austin had simply been a dullard, which would conveniently explain why Devon had not responded to the falling in love thing in the first place.

Because I didn’t want to sound cruel about him, you see. Because, try as he might, it was just a regular date. Austin’s a perfectly nice guy, but there’s nothing really special about him except for the way he makes me feel like maybe I’m the only girl in the world, and also I would have run off to Bolivia with him last night if he’d asked me to, which by the way brings up an interesting thing we were discussing: what would you guys think if next month I went –

Devon shook her head gently, as though clearing out water that had gotten stuck in her ear. Her parents were watching her carefully. Her mother had a little smile on her face. “Yes,” Cynthia said gently, “that all sounds fairly run-of-the-mill. Perhaps I’ve misjudged the situation.”

Devon would have breathed a small sigh of relief, except that she could see her mother’s eyes sparkling.

“On the other hand,” Cynthia went on, “perhaps I haven’t misjudged things at all. Because it almost sounds to me as though you’re ready to run off to South America with this guy.”

Jesus.

“That’s not true,” Devon blurted, feeling now like a politician parsing words. Because no, Spain and South America weren’t the same thing, and no, she wasn’t ready to run off right at this
moment
.

But she might have been ready last night.

Great. Here I am after 1.5 dates.

So she said nothing more, and just kept shaking her head at her mother. At both of her parents, as though her father were pressing her for answers, too. Even though he had said nothing since the beginning of this conversation. Now he tapped the table with his fork, as if declaring that his daughter was due for a break. “What did you have for dinner?” he said, and Devon looked at him gratefully. Such a lovely, irrelevant question.

She filled the rest of breakfast with talk of steak and salmon and appetizers and décor, and she pretended that there was nothing else worth mentioning. Her father nodded and prompted her with more questions on the mundane – what flavor ice cream had they bought, had it rained on them or had it held off until later, had they run into anyone they knew – and her mother sat back and said nothing.

But Cynthia Hall still had that little smile on her face. A smile of love, but also of ambivalence. And somewhere, way underneath, of sadness. Because in the end she was simply a mother. Asking about her daughter’s life. Hoping to be a part of it for a little while longer.

Hoping not to have to let her child go.

2

The next few days were happy, peaceful ones at the Hall house. Peter Hall’s physical progress was steady and satisfying; after only three days back from the hospital, he was moving everywhere on his own, including up and down the stairs. He was able to talk for longer
periods
without getting worn out. And he and Cynthia began taking walks together in the back yard, strolling with an umbrella between them on that first rainy day, moving among the garden and behind the pool and beside the tennis court. They were short walks, ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch, but they took them often. Peter was clearly enjoying the challenge of his rehabilitation, the sensation of working his system back into fighting shape, feeling his legs remember how to move.

Devon watched them walking together, talking and laughing over unknown things – probably over
her
, if she was going to be honest with herself – and she recommitted to the idea that she would never, ever bring up the
non compos mentis
letter again. Not for any reason. Because if her mother’s first reaction had been any indication, no good could possibly come of it.

So Devon would never know. And she could live with that.

The rain on that first day after the Agawam date was a small blessing, she decided. Because she could stay indoors and be with her father when he wasn’t out walking, and there was time to let the heat of the night before wash off her. She could breathe and think and be calm. Or almost calm, until Austin called late in the afternoon.

She knew somehow that it would be him, even before she picked up the phone.

“I missed you today,” he said, after she had said hello.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” she said, and suddenly she found herself frustrated at this lackadaisical approach. Why
hadn’t
they had anything planned? Who cared if it was raining? They could have been at the club right now, or on the beach, walking or swimming in the rain. She could picture it, and it seemed perfect. She had never walked on the beach in the rain, but now she couldn’t imagine why not.

“I was there,” he said. “The daily laps, you know. The rain doesn’t matter that much.”

Even worse. He had been there. Basically all alone, except for maybe the pool lifeguard, who would have been taking shelter from the rain inside the office anyway. She could have watched him. Or jumped in and swam with him. Or anything. “I wasn’t going to be there today anyway,” she said. “Even if it was sunny. I’ve been too busy making dioramas, writing book reports, weaving a rug.”

“Mmm. It’s supposed to be sunny again tomorrow. Still going to be hitting the arts and crafts, or will you be coming out?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule.”

“I’ll be in the pool, as usual. I’ll look for you before. And afterward.”

“I might be busy.”

“I’ll hunt you down. Isn’t it time for me to meet your parents? Like in a situation where one of them isn’t bleeding?” There was a pause on the line, and then he said, “Sorry.” Another pause. “I don’t know why I said that. I’m a little giddy talking to you, but that’s no excuse.”

“No problem.” She waited another moment to let the air clear. “They’ll be at the club tomorrow.”

“So you
will
be there?”

She smiled. “Definitely.”

“I’m glad. I’m really looking forward to seeing you again.”

“You saw me less than 24 hours ago.”

Shameless baiting, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“That’s way too much time,” he said.

“You’ve been busy working on your talent show routine, I assume?”

He laughed quietly. “I’ve been busy, but not on any routine.”

She shook her head. “I swear. What does that
mean
?”

“I like you a lot.”

And she was distracted again. She smiled and cupped her hand over her mouth, as though he might be able to tell through the phone line how much she liked him.

3

The next day was sunny, as Austin had promised it would be. And it was a blur of goodness, as Devon had hoped and expected it would be. She went to the club early, as usual – maybe a bit earlier than usual, just in case, telling her parents she would meet them there, instead of having them drive her – and he had not yet arrived. Which was wonderful, because that meant she was already set up, already lying on a chaise with a book in hand when he did arrive. She had the luxury of watching him walk toward her, and even as he walked, taking those slow, hypnotic steps of his that were as heavy and deliberate as ever, she was able to watch him and know that he was coming to her; know that he was going to stop and put his hands on the arms of the chaise and lean over and kiss her, and he did. And then he bent two inches lower and planted a kiss on her neck, and then one just below her neck, and then one just below
that
, at which point she became vaguely self-conscious about which members might already be at the club and watching them… but there Austin stopped. He flipped his sandals and his shirt off all at once, turned without a word, and dove into the pool.

As he swam away Devon let the chills run their course up and down her body, as if the chaise she was lying on had suddenly been electrified. She brought her book back up slowly so that she could take some time to watch him swim. Now each stroke he took seemed particularly good, particularly strong, and she could imagine, she could
know
that as he swam he was not only thinking about swimming or school or working for Mr. Berducido, but that he was also thinking about
her
.

It was difficult to concentrate on the book.

Her friends arrived shortly afterward, and then her parents, and before long the Beach Club was in full swing. She sat and pretended to read her book and tried to figure out when she should bring Austin over to say hi to her parents. Probably right after lunch. Not
during
lunch, because that could turn into a too-long visit, and she would end up herding Austin away from them like a bodyguard protecting a famous client, which would make everyone uncomfortable.

Suddenly Austin was out of the pool, even though it was far too early for him to be out. He had only been swimming laps for twenty minutes, which was nothing for him; he was usually in there for an hour, two, two and a half. She watched him come walking toward her, and now she was aware that her friends had stopped talking. Nina and Florin had paused in their conversations, and Barnes, who had been helping James look after little Frankie, picked the baby up for a minute so that he and James could watch the scene uninterrupted.