Undertow (7 page)

CHAPTER 14

Ethan drives up the night before graduation.

“You’re tense,” he comments that night, laying on my bed and watching me pack.

I shrug. “Maybe a little. A lot is happening at once.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“You know,” I say, not entirely sure myself. “I’m graduating, I’m moving, I’m saying goodbye to my friends … ”

“So you’re not nervous about your parents seeing us together?” he asks, grinning.

I laugh. “Yes, although I don’t know why. They’ve met other guys I’ve dated, and anyway, they already know you and they’re totally thrilled.”

“I’m not just ‘other guys’, Maura,” he replied. “So this
is
kind of a big deal.”

I sigh, because that’s precisely the problem: I don’t want this to be a big deal, and it is. Tomorrow, being together with my family, makes it official.

**

My parents arrive at almost the same moment as Jordan, Mia and the baby. It’s a relief to have the baby to focus on instead of the little portentous looks my parents throw back and forth watching me and Ethan.

“Come here, Catherine,” I say, plucking my little niece out of her carseat. “Look at how big you are!” I coo. “Mia, she’s so cute I could just eat her up!”

Mia offers me a tired half-smile. She’s been wan since she had Catherine last September, as if something vital departed with the baby’s birth. I keep waiting for the Mia I knew to return, with her little-girl giggle and her happy innocence but every time I see her she looks a little worse, a little quieter, a little more … resigned.

I tuck the thought away and return to my niece, extending a pinkie for her to grab. She immediately pulls herself to standing with that one small grip, and I laugh. “Look at her! She’s like a superhero baby!”

“Babies do stand, moron,” says Jordan.

“But she pulled herself to standing only holding one of my pinkies, asshole. Let’s see you do that,” I argue, my attention focused entirely on my gorgeous niece.

“Looks like you’re next, dude,” Jordan tells Ethan. I focus on Catherine, my stomach clenching as I wait for Ethan to rebut it. But of course he doesn’t, and all I can do is scold myself for making a big deal out of nothing. Jordan was just joking and Ethan was in an awkward position – he can hardly act dismissive about our relationship in front of my family.

But all through the afternoon and evening the comments continue to flow, both subtle and not at all subtle, and Ethan seems to welcome them. He doesn’t act like someone who’s just being polite.

Over dinner Jordan glares at Ethan. “So we haven’t discussed this, but I’m pretty sure I forbid you to ask my sister out until after graduation.”

“What’s this, now?” my mother asks, looking frantic. Probably petrified something will get in the way of the Maura-Ethan Wedding Express.

“Jordan told Ethan and Graham they couldn’t ask me out until I’d graduated,” I explain.

Ethan smiles happily at Jordan and puts his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, man. Who’d you rather have for a brother-in-law, me or Graham?”

I stiffen. He says it so casually, as if we’ve discussed it, as if it’s a foregone conclusion. He doesn’t notice my shock. Neither does Jordan. My mother casts a knowing glance at me, and I’m just relieved she doesn’t give me a thumbs-up.

Jordan relents. “God, it would suck to have Graham in the family. You know I hate Clemson. Fine, you’re forgiven.”

The conversation moves on, but I do not. I can only think about Ethan, about what he is expecting and what my parents are expecting. I find it somewhat annoying that they are so thrilled by my relationship with Ethan, that for them it completely eclipses graduation and law school. I know my mother, and I know she is already imagining me buying a house on their street, spitting out a baby within a year of marriage and leaving him or her with a nanny so I can don my tennis whites and spend my days at the club. I can’t really fathom her sudden desire to have me living in her world, seeing her often — she’d certainly never been interested in it when I was a kid. But with or without Ethan, it isn’t a future I want, and the need to explain that to my parents weighs on me.

“Maybe Maura could help,” Ethan is saying. It’s only then that I look around and return to the restaurant, where every face is turned toward me expectantly.

“Help with what?” I ask.

“Nice attention span,” my brother gripes. “You’re gonna make one hell of a lawyer.”

“With the lawsuit,” Ethan replies.

“What lawsuit?” I ask.

“Maura,” my mother chides. “Were you not listening at all?”

“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “It’s been a long day. What lawsuit?”

“At Old Cove. We’re trying to block off the beach road and get rid of the public access points,” my father tells me.

“What? Why?!” I exclaim. The beach road in front of my grandparents’ house is the main thoroughfare – limiting use of the road and access ways would make it virtually impossible for most of the residents on the island to get to the only decent beach.

“Because we’re sick of having the entire beach full of riff-raff all summer,” he says.

“But the beach is public land,” I argue. “And what about the people who live a block or two behind us?”

“They can use the beach farther down,” my father says.

“But that’s at least a mile away,” I gasp. “You can’t expect people who live one block from the beach to walk a mile to get there?”

“They don’t have to walk,” my mother chirps. “They can drive.”

“That’s so crappy,” I exclaim, looking at them, aghast. “The beach is public property.”

“Actually,” says Ethan, surprising me. “The state’s ownership ends at the high water line.”

“You agree with this?” I ask.

He shrugs. “It would be nice to have the beaches less crowded.”

“So what exactly is being proposed?”

“We’re petitioning the state to make the frontal road local access only, and to remove all the public access boardwalks along the mile of Old Cove,” my father tells me. “I was suggesting you might want to help with things on the legal side, but given your attitude, I guess not.”

“You’re goddamn right,” I mutter. “I’m completely appalled by all of you.”

And they just laugh, as if I’m a silly little girl who doesn’t understand the bigger picture.

“You’ll change your mind when you’ve got the whole beach to yourself without some redneck’s speakers next to your ear,” says Jordan, and they all nod in agreement.

I say nothing, but inside, I fervently hope that I never become the person he described. I hope I never become one of the people who think they deserve so much more than everyone else. People who already have so much, but insist on taking more. And the fact that Ethan clearly is one of them makes me doubly sure that I don’t want to be committed to him in any way.

It’s a relief when my parents leave that night, taking Mia and Catherine with them so Jordan can stay out with Ethan and I. We go to a bar with my roommates, and once I’ve had enough beer I feel the strain rising off of me and floating away. People can say what they want, but I’m still leaving in three months.

“All right, boys,” shouts Jackie, who was a little drunk when graduation began and is now far beyond that. “Which of you is gonna convince this girl to stay in the south?”

Jordan smirks. “Don’t worry. She’ll spend one month in that cold weather and come crying home.” Everyone laughs, but I look at him in surprise. There is a bitter note in his voice. He almost sounds jealous, an emotion I never thought I’d see directed from my brother to me. Jordan has always been the golden boy. He’s my parents’ favorite. He’s always been popular, he’s always been good looking. He’s got every single thing he ever wanted. What could he possibly be jealous of?

A few hours later Ethan and I are ready to leave, but Jordan wants to stay. Jackie is sitting in his lap, a situation I can’t imagine Jordan’s wife appreciating.

“Time to go Jordan,” I say, attempting to shove him off the chair. It’s like trying to push a mountain.

“Come on!” he shouts in dismay, wrapping his arm around Jackie’s waist to keep her in place. “It’s your freaking graduation! You’ve got to stay out!” Jackie giggles.

“Jordan, it’s 1:00 in the morning, and I’ve got a whole day of packing ahead of me,” I lament.

“What’s your excuse?” he asks Ethan.

“I want to sleep with your sister,” replies Ethan. “That’s my excuse.”

“Ugh,” Jordan groans. “Then I’m definitely staying out. Make sure you’re done before I get back.”

But when we wake the next day, he still isn’t home. Jackie isn’t there either, but that’s hardly unusual for her. I panic. “Oh my God, Ethan. Should I call the police?”

Ethan looks a little guarded as he replies. “He probably just slept somewhere else,” he suggests. “I bet he’s here within an hour.”

“Where else would he sleep?” I argue. “He doesn’t know anyone here but me!”

Ethan is quiet for a moment, and then shrugs. “You know Jordan. He makes friends everywhere he goes.”

Jordan strolls in only a few minutes later, so cheerful and unworried that my temper flares.

“What the hell?” I cry. “You scared the crap out of me, Jordan! Where were you?”

“I went to an after-party somewhere and passed out on the couch,” he says. I catch the look of warning he gives Ethan, but I’m just relieved he’s safe, so I let it go.

CHAPTER 15

I woke the morning after my fight with Nate feeling guilty, ashamed of how harsh I’d been, how unforgiving. I got up early, hoping to catch him before he left for work. I wasn’t sure exactly what I would say, and I hadn’t entirely forgiven him, but he was still Nate and we were still us and I knew it would get worked out. And if he wanted to date, I thought defiantly, then I’d date too. Or at least I’d tell him I was. I laughed to myself, imagining his reaction to
that
. I was pretty sure the mere suggestion of me dating would have him down on his knees begging me not to.

I ran downstairs toward the back door, surprised by the silence. The kitchen was empty, and there were no muffins out. Mary hadn’t come in yet, and in all the summers I’d been here, that was a first.

From the back stairs I could see that her truck was gone. I biked to the northern beach where he was lifeguarding, hoping he’d just gone to work early, but it was empty. I texted him and he didn’t reply back.

As I returned home, foreboding stole over me.
Of course
I’d been wrong.
Of course
I couldn’t expect him not to be with anyone else nine months out of the year. I hated myself then, for being so silly and naïve and young, for overreacting the way I had.

When I got inside I found the house was still curiously silent. Not that it was ever particularly loud – my grandmother had let a lot of the staff go after my grandfather died — but this was a new kind of silence, like the absence of a whirring fan you’d come to expect. The kitchen was empty, clean, no signs of life.

I found my grandmother in her room.

“Where is everyone?” I asked. “There are no muffins out.”

“Sorry, my dear,” she said a little frostily. “You’ll need to make your own breakfast today. Mary’s gone.”

“Where’d she go?”

My grandmother arched an eyebrow. She had very rigid ideas about any kind of presumed interference with the staff. She’d done the same to my grandfather, though he had paid the bills. “She had to take Nate back to UVA.” She picked up her paper.

I gasped, any attempt at a poker face abandoned in my horror. “What?”

“Close your mouth dear. That’s so unattractive, the way you gape.”

“Grandma, why did Nate go back?”

She lowered the paper again and looked at me with irritation. “Some nonsense with his girlfriend at school. He’s decided he can’t spend the summer away from her, apparently. Poor Mary must be devastated, so please don’t bring it up.”

I sank into a chair across from her, scared I might fall. She didn’t look up from her paper.

“Did he leave me anything?” I asked, though even I could barely hear the words.

“Like what, dear?” she asked peevishly, clearly wanting to return to her paper.

“A note?” The words were mere scratches against the air.

“A note? Why would he leave you a note?” she asked, now sounding truly annoyed. “Run off to the beach, Maura.”

Somehow I made my way to my own room, crumpling to the floor the moment I got there. My grief, my desperation, seemed boundless. It clawed at my brain and at the lining of my stomach. That Nate loved me and would never do this were facts, as solid and unshakeable as the fact that he was no longer here, and they were facts that couldn’t coexist.

I texted him, again and again. Half of them angry, half of them grief-stricken and begging. He answered none. I called him and only got his voicemail, the sound of his voice like a knife in my chest.

I could do nothing but remember, think, go over the whole thing again and again looking for the clue I had missed. In desperation I began searching for a note in all of our old places. The shed, the pier, and finally the canoe. I could see the white of the envelope even from a distance. Instead of relief my stomach churned with dread. My hands shook as I pulled out a single, typed sheet of paper.

Maura,

I should have done this a long time ago. And I should also have told you the truth. I’ve had a girlfriend at school most of the past year. Seeing you here has made me realize that she is who I am meant to be with. I just don’t feel anything for you now, if I ever did. You’re just too young. I need to be with people my own age, and if you don’t understand it now, maybe you will when you’re in college. It would never have worked with us anyway.

I’m not coming back to Paradise Cove, and I hope you will respect my decision and leave me alone. Please don’t embarrass yourself by contacting me or trying to convince me to come back.

I know I said some things that led you to believe I had feelings for you. That’s another lesson you’ll need to learn eventually – guys say a lot of things they don’t mean to get what they want. You’ll be better off with someone your own age and from your own background, and so will I.

Nate

I don’t know how long I sat there, beside the canoe. I remember watching a snake slither by, a small one. I remember wishing it was big enough to kill me. Disbelief and anger were two emotions that visited sporadically, but beyond that was simply a pain so great that I would have done anything to end it. How could he have lied to me like that, and for so long? Had he really never loved me? I couldn’t reconcile the boy I’d known for my entire life with the one who’d left with me with this hateful, impersonal note.

Eventually I made it inside, but his letter had broken me. I staggered through that day, and the ones that came after it, too broken to eat, or to leave my room. I held it against my chest at night. Each time I woke, for just a second, I thought “this couldn’t really have happened”, only to find the evidence still clutched in my hands.

I reread it a hundred times, stunned that something so insubstantial could have the power his letter did over me. The power to change the way I saw the world, the power to take away everything I loved and reveal it for the illusion it was.

Mary returned two days later, looking sick and staggered. Once upon a time she had doted on me, but now her eyes – so much like his – looked at me with barely civil disdain. She blamed me for him leaving. I knew that. In a way, I blamed me too.

I wanted to leave, to be in places that weren’t permeated with him, but I didn’t. I waited, because I was hoping he’d come back. Every minute of every day, from the moment my eyes opened in the morning until the minute I dropped off to sleep, I waited for him. Even at night I’d lie awake, imagining I heard gravel against the window, but there was no one there when I ran across the room.

Finally, in desperation, I searched the Internet under each of his roommates' names until I found the phone for the house they all shared. I was humiliated by my own desperation, by the way he must see me now, but I had to hear his voice. I needed to hear him say it.

A girl answered, and my stomach sank. There really was a girlfriend, one of so many parts of this I’d prayed weren’t true. It made me so sick I could barely speak.

“Who’s this?” she demanded with suspicion.

“Maura Pierce,” I choked out.

She laughed without humor. “The girl from the beach?” she asked. “He doesn’t want to talk to you.”

I began crying. Somehow, her knowing, and confirming it, made it real. “Can you just tell him I called?” I asked.

“Don’t hold your breath waiting for a call back,” she said as she hung up.

I stood there crying, holding the phone, knowing it was really over. I finally accepted the truth. He’d gotten what he wanted, and it hadn’t been enough.

**

I went through the motions of being a senior in high school. I dated, I went to the dances. And every night all I wanted was the comfort of my own bed, where I could remember the way it felt to lie on his chest, to float beside him, to see him from my bedroom window and know he was mine. He was not the person I thought he was, but it didn’t stop me from loving the person he was not. But over the course of the year, my anguish turned into hatred. I hated him for what he did. I hated him for making me fall in love with a person who did not exist.

Mary died of an aneurysm a year and a half later. She drew her last breaths standing in my grandmother’s kitchen before crumpling to the floor. I didn’t hear about it until almost a month after it happened. I wept for her, wishing someone had told me sooner, wishing I’d found a way to explain to her that I hadn’t wanted Nate to leave either. And I wished I’d gone to the funeral. Because I loved her, and because I would have seen him. Even through the gray screen of his grief and mine, I would have seen him.