1989- Chapter One

The Boston Whaler left the dock and plowed through Little Pleasant Bay. The ocean waves chopped against the side of the boat. Red, right, return. Green, left,leave. Red, right, return. Green, left, leave. Leaving the bay, the red buoys were on her left. She smelled salty fish. Occasionally, he placed his hand on the wheel, steering them on course. A slight panic clutched her chest when a boat approached. "Slow. Now, into the wake." He reassured her. "I'm done." she said.

The grey house grew smaller. Looking back, she could see Mrs. Edgecomb sitting at the bench picking through leftover lobster from last night's dinner. Lobster rolls for lunch. The Stones were arriving later in the morning. They sang Kumbaya over the phone last night. Their heads crowded together over the receiver. An exotic ritual.

Late at night, she went from room to room. She touched surfaces for texture. Inhaled. Examined the contents of drawers and cardboard boxes. When he first brought her down to Orleans, it was in mid-winter. The GTI drove down the snowy road, stopping to clear the brush and broken down trees that crowded the small dirt road. He scurried behind the house and came back jubilant. The keys were frosted together. Inside, the house was both elegant and rustic. Yankee charm permeated the floor-boards. So many bookshelves. The original Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys. Piles of well worn family board games. She walked from room to room as he prepared the fire. Her wool pea-coat warmed her, but her fingers felt numb.

"I feel like I shouldn't be here." Sheila poked around the corner.

"My bad. Listen, my Dad owns this house. Like, this is my house too." He grinned and lit the fire with a long match.

They slept underneath coarse, wool blankets. "Its nice to get away." She stated the obvious. Escape from the bedlam that was UMass dorm life. He grinned mischievously. She smiled at his naïvety. A life sheltered made him seem younger than his years. His square jaw and athletic build drew her toward him. A hockey player true and true. She loved him.

When the Stones arrived, Sheila helped prepare the lunch. The lobster meat was seasoned and placed between small rolls. Piles of lobster rolls were placed on a platter. A large green salad with Good Seasons dressing. She made it in the cruet with red wine vinegar and olive oil. A bowel of Cape Cod potato chips. The boys iced down beer and wine coolers. Mrs. Edgecomb moved quickly around the kitchen, giddy from the gin and tonics. Sheila relaxed after they had some drinks. Her breathing slowed as she carried the the platter. In the dining room, there was a heavy, mahogany buffet table filled with delightful old napkins, tiny lobster forks and bibs, well-worn table-cloths, and both wooden and pottery bowels. The drawers stuck.

After lunch, she changed into her black suit. Wrapped a towel around her waist. The grit of the sand still clung to the crotch from yesterday's knee-board lesson. She wriggled her legs. Parted them. Pulled the crotch inside out. Looking up, she saw movement in the curtain. Uncomfortably, she made her way down the steep steps to the dock at the bottom of the hill. The grey house sat at the top surrounded on three side by water. The land between the house and others on the outlet was owned by Mr. Kaziez. Undeveloped, the wood created the feeling of island beyond the busy sea-side town. Making her way toward the boat-house, she felt naked in the black swimsuit.