Barnegat Bay - 6. Chapter 6

It’s not that Mary and Claire were the only women on Barnegat that summer, and it’s not that Al didn’t meet, dance with, and see other girls. Any lifeguard around there had opportunities. But the seven of us were kind of a gang, and especially on weekends, we stayed together. So it only made sense that after accepting that Claire wasn’t interested, Al would turn to Mary.

She wasn’t interested, either. She loved to dance with Al and liked his quietly being there, especially as a break from the far more active and talkative – if admittedly funnier – Larry and Mike. But once she finished working at her aunt’s shop, Mary didn’t seem interested in being serious – or maybe not serious with Al. She also had something of what Spence had going for her – she attracted a lot of attention. With her long blonde hair and all around good looks, she was bait, and she seemed to quietly enjoy knowing that.

Mike and Larry sensed that, too, so they didn’t go immediately after her. In the lull between Al going after Claire and before it became obvious that she was really more interested in me, they each politely took their chances – and not just because Claire was always there. She liked them a lot. That was obvious. But not in the way they may have hoped. So only after Claire let them down – easily – did they turn their attention to Mary.

In many ways, she seemed to hold more interest for them anyway, and they were much livelier in their pursuit. They didn’t exactly parody each other, but each in his own way tried to make sure he’d be the one she’d choose – if she were even interested. They comically pursued, and teased, and romantically courted – almost in the knightly sense, but joking.

“May I lay down my shirt for you, m’lady? That sand looks awfully hot.”

“May I row you to the pier, madame, so you don’t get sand in your sandals?”

“May I help you up the ladder, my dear, so the hem of your dress never brushes the water?”

“She isn’t wearing a dress, you idiot. Who’d wear a dress to the beach?”

“Who’d carry a lady up a ladder? That sounds desperate to me.”

We’d all laugh, and Mike and Larry would laugh. But their constantly inventing these routines almost made them become pests.

“Are they around?” Mary would whisper to Claire and me when we got to Jenkinson’s before the guys.

“I think they’re still at the cottages,” Claire would say. They’d go there after the beaches closed to shower.

“I don’t want to hurt their feelings,” Mary insisted.

“I think that’s impossible,” I’d say, and the three of us would laugh. Then, when Larry and Mike turned up, they’d almost start tag-teaming Mary.

“Can I get you a sandwich?”

“Do you want some ice cream?”

“Would you like a ginger ale?”

“Nah, she prefers root beer.”

“You know,” I once tried indirectly pointing out, “I’ve heard that out west, coyotes can bring animals far larger than they are down, just by running them in circles.”

“You’re always telling us something,” Mike scoffed, for some reason affecting a French accent.

“Yeah – somethin’ uninterestin’,” Larry added, in pure Damon Runyon.

Clearly, they’d missed my point. Or they got it and simply played it for laughs. Finally, Spence stepped in. One night when Mary seemed particularly eager to relax, and Ollie and Muldoon were doing heavy vaudeville, Spence simply said “Guys,” in his casual undertone, and Mike and Larry snapped to.

“We’re sorry,” Mike immediately told Mary. “We thought you were having as much fun as we were.”

“Really,” Larry echoed. “We never meant to be stooges.”

“You’ve hardly been that,” Mary assured them, smiling as nicely as ever. “It’s just that I’m not ready for whatever you think you are.”

“I’m not ready for anything,” Larry protested. “I still can’t grow a beard.” He stroked his stubbleless chin as if trying uselessly to strike a match.

“And I’m still learning to tie my shoes,” Mike joked, leaning down comically to his loafers.

Everyone laughed as expected, and the boys let up. Still, it was clear to everyone that they both would have grown up very quickly had Mary shown any interest.

Up to that point, Spence hadn’t seemed to show interest, either – not in Mary and not in anyone special. So that’s not what shut Larry and Mike up. And yet it was. It was almost as if Spence had said, “Look, I’ve been checking around and seeing what I could see this summer. And from what I can tell, there’s no one better on the beach right now than Mary. So maybe not now, and maybe not even this summer, but when I finally do get around to it, I may do something about that.”

Spence would never say anything that personal. In fact, I doubt he’d bother stringing that many words together. People often had to guess what he meant, and because we liked him, we did. The funny thing was the fact that he’d said anything at all seemed to give him just a bit more of Mary’s attention. They seemed to dance together more often, and when Spence took a break and sat quietly talking with anyone, it was with Mary. Even if he went out to the boardwalk, or onto one of the porches to get away from the heat that sometimes built up in Jenkinson’s, Mary went with him. Naturally, she took Claire as chaperone, and that meant I often followed. But it usually started with Mary first noticing Spence was gone, and then heading outside, temporarily trailing Claire and me.

Mary also always seemed to know where Spence was, whether from watching his habits or something pre-arranged. But I don’t think it was that, and I never thought Spence was as interested in Mary as she might be in him. He seemed to regard her somewhat differently than the other women, especially the ones he might see during the week. And I was never sure how far he took that anyway – some guys were happy just dancing, without ever taking off their clothes. Still, like Al, he was no monk. And while, like the other guys, he never would have talked about anything he’d done, Spence would also never deny that something had happened.

But nothing was going to happen with Claire and me there, and she both seemed to know that and knew better than to move away. She’d let Mary and Spence wander and have some time together. But we’d never be more than six or eight yards away. We’d lean on the boardwalk rail or sit on a bench, looking out at the boats or up at the stars. We couldn’t hear anything that was being said, though it always seemed that Mary was more animated. But we’d hear them both laugh a lot, and when we’d curiously turn that way, Spence was always smiling. And maybe spotting us, he’d be reminded that we were there and decide the ocean breeze had cooled him enough, and it was time to go back to the dance floor. He’d share the first dance with Mary, then Claire would ask me to cut in.

“I don’t think it’s serious,” I’d assure her.

“Well, you know Spence better than I do.”

“I doubt that. And not anywhere near as well as you know Mary.”

Claire couldn’t deny that, but she still didn’t completely understand what was going on. She knew Mary had no plans, though she also knew Mary was interested in getting married. Maybe not immediately but sooner than Claire.

“I could probably wait till I’m thirty,” Claire told me. “Like you.”

I’d never said anything about only waiting to thirty and gave no indication that was about to change.

“But if I met the right man,” she continued, “I suppose anything could happen.”

She was no more indicating that I was the right man than I was allowing she was the right woman – or even the kind of woman I was likely to choose. She was just making things clear.

“Still,” Claire continued, “I don’t think Spence is the one for Mary.”

“Why not?” I asked. I wasn’t all that interested so much as making conversation.

“She’s more small town. She’d be comfortable with someone from Toms River – someone her family knows and maybe she always has. Someone she doesn’t have to explain.”

I hadn’t thought of that and said as much. Claire simply laughed.

“You know Mary about as well as you know Spence,” she joked. “Or even know...”

She stopped, and I wasn’t sure if she’d intended to finish, “know me,” or “know yourself.” Still, I took a chance.

“If you’re about to say, ‘Or even as well as I know you,’ I think you’re wrong. I may not have grown up in Toms River, but I’ve spent years and summers here since I was a baby. And I remember when you were a baby – at least, when I was around.”

“You don’t remember me,” she joked. “When was the first time you think you saw me?”

I laughed right back. “All right, ‘seeing you’ was more like it. You were always a sweet little girl – with nicely combed hair and perfect manners. And in a very pretty dress.”

“How old was I?”

“Four. Five. Six. All those ages – or any of them.”

“So you were twelve or thirteen. And it must’ve been at some of my grandparents’ parties.”

“Or mine. Or simply someone’s in the area.” I thought for a minute. “I don’t think the first time was summer. I remember being indoors. So maybe Christmas or New Year’s.”

My family celebrated Christmas for business reasons. And to not stand out.

“It might have been a wedding,” Claire suggested. “Would that bring you to Toms River?”

“Or to Barnegat – more likely it was here. Your parents and grandparents never closed their house for the winter because they were always visiting. So it could’ve been one of my nieces or nephews being born.”

We had big celebrations for that.

“If that’s your first memory,” Claire asked, amused, “when was your next? And were there others?”

“There were so many,” I said, laughing. “I can picture you growing up, year by year, at every holiday. At some point, you were just always there – along with your family. You, your well-dressed parents, your even more impossibly polite sister, and your two obnoxious’ brothers.”

They weren’t really. But I knew if I said that, Claire would smile.

“They’re not that bad,” she immediately defended – after she grinned. “I joke that way because I can. But you know I love them. They’re going to be good businessmen someday, and I hope far too ambitious for Toms River.”

“You’re hardly a small town girl,” I teased. Though, surprisingly, she objected.

“But I wasn’t raised in the city. And I see things my cousins there – and you – and the guys – seem to know almost naturally – and accept – that I’m not sure I ever could. At least, not easily.”

“Like what?” I asked. “I bet you’re wrong.”

After a moment – maybe thinking – Claire shrugged. “I think I’m far more like Mary than you realize. I could be very happy living – and raising a family in – a small town.”

Which left it open for me to say, “What if I asked you to move to New York? What if we wanted to get married?” I didn’t picture myself as a country doctor.

But I didn’t ask. In fact, I said nothing. If I wanted to, I knew what was holding me back – though it wasn’t just one thing. I didn’t have enough security yet – certainly not enough to share with a wife and maybe, soon after, a family. I wasn’t sure enough of myself, either, no matter how I might have seemed. I knew I appeared older than the people I palled around with – more suitably mature. But maybe I chose those friends purposely. Because to me, marriage meant far too much change.

So I took Spence’s route – maybe any young guy’s route – and Claire and I just danced. Sometimes, we’d talk about people looking for jobs. And sometimes, we’d consider the terrible things happening in Europe. But mostly, we kept it simple.