Barnegat Bay - 8. Chapter 8

And maybe Claire’s worry continued when – despite her confidence – she began to wonder more about Mary and Spence. She suddenly seemed to feel their casual friendship might not break off so easily in September.

“Why not?” I asked, having seen no change.

“I can’t put it in words,” she seemed to hedge. “I just watch Mary and see... Well, she’s not Mary anymore.”

“In what way?” Maybe I was lost because I hadn’t known Mary as long.

“She’s just different.”

“Well, she’s older...”

“It’s more than that.”

I considered, but came to no better conclusion. So I tried a different way. “But Spence is Spence,” I assured Claire. “And if he simply vanishes when his job’s done, what will it really matter if Mary’s changed? I know that seems callous, but...”

“What if she goes after him?” Claire cut in.

I laughed. “You said she hated the city – that she refused to move there when you asked.”

“What if she changes her mind?”

“Then you’ve got a roommate.” I grinned, but Claire didn’t seem to see it that way.

“What if she only changes her mind to go after him?” she asked. “And if she changes his mind, and they get married, where does that leave me?”

I laughed again. “I hear there’s a guy who’s fairly interested in you. And he might not be disappointed to find you closer by. Besides, you can always find another roommate – for a time.”

Claire smiled at that, but it didn’t seem to distract her from her thoughts. Meanwhile, separate from Mary and Spence, Claire and I seemed to be running on our own schedule – and a comfortable one. She was seeing a little more of my parents when they came to visit our family, especially my grandparents, and my mom and dad always made time to have lunch with us. And I was seeing a bit more of Claire’s family – her parents, at least, because her brothers were away.

“I thought they liked to spend summers here,” I told her at some point.

“They did. They said this was the best place on earth.”

“Did they get jobs in the city? Something better than your father could offer? Or are they staying in Toms River and running the lumber yards?”

Claire hadn’t mentioned that, and she seemed to be the only one in her family who worked with her dad – as much as he allowed.

Claire laughed. “My brothers are off exploring the National Parks – with some of one of my brother’s college friends. They all think they’re Teddy Roosevelt.”

“It could be worse,” I admitted, as amused as she was. “And it must be nice – not having to work in these times.”

“Look who’s talking,” she joked. “You’re here every weekend – while you could be selflessly helping the poor. Plus, you have a boat.”

“Oh, yeah – a huge private yacht. Complete with a crew of forty.” About the only thing there were forty of on my tiny boat were occasional ants. And they wouldn’t suddenly turn into sailors with the wave of a magic wand.

When I told Claire that, she waved her hand, maybe trying to make me disappear. Still, some of our banter was to keep her distracted from Mary – and maybe even give Mary and Spence a little time alone. Neither of them had the possibility of going into the city to see their parents, as I did. Or to relax at one of their family’s two homes, like Claire. Mary’s family only had one house – much smaller than either of Claire’s – in Toms River. And from what little we knew about Spence’s family, they didn’t live close to New York. Unless you considered northwestern Vermont as being on the New York border.

“It’s a speck of a town,” he’d once admitted, late one night and getting as poetic as I recalled. “When we were growing up, we were always reminded, ‘When you move away from here...’ There was never a question of staying.”

“Even the girls?” Al had asked.

“They especially had to go away – there was no one to marry. It’s a place full of tiny farms, run by old people and their oldest sons. One son. One wife. And always someone they met nearby. And as many kids as they could manage.”

“That sounds like the fun part,” Mike had joked. And it didn’t seem he was being ironic.

“Nah,” Spence had countered. “They need them all to run the farm. And there’s no stopping kids from coming – no one knows how. Even if I told them – or if anyone did – they’d find it disgusting.”

“It is disgusting,” Larry had cracked. “But what ya gonna do?”

“Is that the most Spence has talked all summer?” Claire had asked, when I repeated what he’d said. At that moment, Spence and Mary were further down the inlet, while Claire and I were dangling our feet over the water, off the side of my boat.

“I’ve heard him talk more,” I told her. “In fact, he fairly jabbers when he’s playing with the kids – when there’s no one in the ocean to keep an eye on.”

Claire seemed surprised. “Is he good with kids?”

“Yeah, he seems to be. Sure.” I hadn’t thought about it because I was around children all the time, and it seemed to be natural. Also, of the four guys, Spence was the loosest with the squads of grade schoolers. Al was surprisingly a bit stiff – as if trying to correct his own goofiness by making sure he was teaching the kids the right things. And Mike and Larry used them as another audience.

“Maybe kids are just Spence’s level,” Claire went on, and it came out almost nasty.

“No need for that,” I warned lightly.

She smiled, to let me know she was fooling. Mostly. “I don’t entirely trust him,” she continued. “And sometimes, I’m beginning to like him less. I’m almost waiting for him to hurt Mary.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because there’s less than a month left. Then three or four weekends after Labor Day when only some of the lifeguards work – and there’s no saying he’ll be one of them. He could just go back to school. And he’s never been here before, so there’s no reason for him to come back.”

“Mary,” I offered.

“I don’t think he’s made her any promises – at least, none she’s told me. And I don’t think she’s made any – no matter how she may feel. But that’s the problem.”

Claire wasn’t looking at me, but she obviously expected an answer. Possibly me to agree. Unfortunately, I couldn’t.

“Maybe they’re just having fun.”

Claire looked at me then, almost as if wondering if she should say, “Men are so stupid.” Or if she should narrow it and point out, “Sometimes, you’re so stupid.” Of course, she’d say it nicely. But either way...

I headed her off. “Am I missing something?”

Maybe because I’d exactly hit her thoughts, she backed away. And because I knew she didn’t like being predicted, I only gently pursued.

“Is there something you know that I’m missing?” I asked. “I’m sure Mary tells you things the rest of us don’t hear.”

Of course, Claire wouldn’t tell on a friend. Instead, she asked, “Does Spence ever talk about Mary? With you? Or with the other guys?”

“No. In that way, he’s quiet. And always a gentleman.”

“Not necessarily.”

I wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “Well, he’s closer to the other guys than to me – because they’ve known each other two or three years, from school. Plus, I only see them on weekends. So you hear the same things I do.”

“They rarely say anything personal.”

“How much do any of us?”

As the summer had gone on, all the guys had found girls. But our now larger group still stayed together on Friday and Saturday nights. And on the beach on Sunday afternoons while the guys worked. All of them – the guys as well as their girls knew the arrangements were temporary. One of the girls was still in high school and had another year to go, just as the guys had to finish college. So no one seemed to be thinking their summer dating would go beyond that. Though even when I happened to be alone with the guys, no one joked about the girls. The guys were serious – protective. Just not interested in the long-term.

“Heck, no,” Larry said. “I’d have to win on a horse and be set up for life. And horses don’t come in that way.” He quickly turned to Mike. “And don’t tell me my dad would murder me for betting.”

“I won’t,” Mike said grinning. “But aren’t most champs geldings?”

Larry protectively grabbed his pants.

To end Claire’s questions – or try to – I told her, “The guys mainly keep things light. They don’t talk about their girls, and Spence has never talked about Mary. In fact, he’s never talked about any of the girls who seem to follow him around.”

“And that’s just it,” Claire poked, widening a hole I hadn’t known existed. “There may be more girls than Mary. I don’t know what Spence does at night, after Mary and I go home. And I don’t know what he does during the week, when I’m not around, and Mary is.”

“I thought her aunt was fairly strict. Doesn’t she lock her up at 9:30?”

“Half the time, her aunt’s in Toms River, especially during the week. And even nights she’s here, Mary still has lunch free. And she spends that with Spence – bringing him sandwiches they share.”

“They’re still surrounded by people – kids and parents. What could possibly happen?”

“She can look. At least, at Jenkinson’s, he’s wearing clothes. On the beach, he’s practically in his underwear.”

I laughed. “He’s no different from the rest of us. I wear the same thing when I swim. And you know what it looks like wet.”

“But you don’t have...” And I swear she began to say “his body.” But then she’d have to admit she’d been looking. And that was something I thought she’d never go near.

“He seems more comfortable than you are,” she finished instead. “In those itchy woolens.”

I laughed again. “It’s why Al keeps taking off his shirt. We all would, given the chance.”

“He’ll get arrested someday. Or at least, lose his job.”

He couldn’t get arrested. There were too many other guys on the beach without their tops. Maybe it wasn’t the majority, or even close, and it certainly wasn’t typical. But it still wasn’t easily accepted by the kind of people who mattered to Claire. As for me? Well, I didn’t care. Bodies were part of my work, and – as a doctor – I tried to protect people’s feelings. But I had to see them at least naked. And though I specialized in babies, I did a lot of the adjoining family medicine.

“Al’s not going to lose his job,” I insisted. “For one thing, it’s too late in the summer, there are no replacements, and some guys are already leaving – they want a little vacation before going back to school. Plus, Al swims too well. He’s probably the strongest of the guys.”

“And everyone likes him,” Claire agreed, adding, “Sometimes, I wish Mary liked him more. They’d probably be fine together.”

I had to smile. “What different about him?”

“He really is a gentleman,” Claire said instantly. “Despite his goofing around, he’s just like you. There’s no question, you’ll both instinctively act decently. We don’t know enough about Spence or his background.”

Now, I wondered who was seeing clearly. Al was a city boy as much as I was. And we were both raised knowing there were angles and knowing how and when to use them. Even after three years in New York, Spence was possibly more innocent than we’d ever be.

I told Claire a polite version of that, but she just gave me a look. Though I could see I’d put something in her mind, and taking advantage of that, I leaned over and kissed the back of her neck. She laughed and then tickled my sides. No one was around to see, but when I leaned in for more, she playfully pushed me off the boat and into the water.

“You just had to see me wet,” I shot, when my head came out of the water.

“I wanted to see you uncomfortable.”

And I was. My now heavier clothes were threatening to drown me, though at least they weren’t itchy. I thought about taking them off, piece-by-piece, and tossing them to her, to see how long she stayed. But that seemed like a sure way to break off our even generally unofficial engagement. Besides, I couldn’t keep my head above water while trying to soggily undress.

Instead, I dog paddled to the dock, climbed the short ladder, and went below deck to towel off and change into something dry. Claire simply waited above. Though when we were back at Jenkinson’s, I noticed Claire trying to ease Mary away from Spence. There was the usual short Saturday night dance contest, and, untypically, Claire persuaded Mary to enter it with her. One of the challenges was that you couldn’t dance with your usual friends. You had to pair with someone you hardly knew.

“We want to see how you fit in,” the bandleader announced.

Because she was so good, Mary had to dance through the hour-long play-offs, while barely seeing Spence. And that seemed to suit Claire fine. Mary and Spence still ended up winning – along with their temporary partners. It was a four-way tie.

“Easy money,” Spence claimed, though each of them ended up with barely three dollars. “But we made it doing something we planned to do anyway – so it was fun.” To celebrate, he and Mary took a final evening stroll on the sand. “Too hot in here,” they pretended.

Claire and I followed – at some distance, but she was practically spying. I wasn’t embarrassed. But it felt needlessly protective.

“I’m doing what I hope Mary would do for me,” Claire defended. “Especially if it was something stupid.”

“I don’t think anything’s changed,” I insisted. So we were back to that again.

“Yes, it has. They’re running out of time.”

“And?”

Instead of answering, Claire focused on the growing gap ahead.

“Be patient for another month?” I counseled.

“Anything could happen in that time.”

“Not anything...”

I got no response.

“Do you really think they’d elope?” I asked. “Is that what Mary’s been hinting?”

“She’s talked about it,” Claire allowed. “But I think she’s being romantic.”

“Spence wouldn’t go along with her. I doubt he’s anywhere near that point.”

“That’s what I keep saying. But Mary doesn’t see it that way.”

Claire hesitated, and in a way I knew she was going to ask me a favor. I’d seen that look before. Still, what she asked came as a surprise: “Would it be too much if you tried talking with him?”

I considered. I had to – or to pretend – or I’d seem impolite. But I already knew what I thought. “I think Spence knows when a girl’s too close,” I told her. “I think most of us do.”

She nodded, but still added, “It might not hurt to talk.”

“I don’t think he would – not to me. He seems fairly private. And he has a kind of quiet confidence. Not introspective.”

“Well, he’s not overly bright...”

Again, I didn’t agree, but I tried to soften that. “He’s not analytic,” I offered instead. “Not the way you and I and some of the guys are. But he certainly knows what he’s doing.”

“He’s not going to be that...” She stopped herself again, as if to more carefully choose her words. “That... confident,” she decided. “Not all his life.”

“Why not?”

“Because it comes with being our age.”

“Well, either is Mary,” I told her, both of us knowing we were talking about looks. “But both of them seem to know what they have,” I went on. “And they know how to use it. And Mary seems to get what she wants.”

“She’s wrong about this.”

Claire said it so positively that I knee-jerked laughed. “Who are you to tell her?”

“She’s my best friend – and my closest one. And if you saw someone you loved walking into a hole...”

“Sometimes, you’ve got to let them,” I offered.

“Not me. Not with Mary.”

There seemed to be more going on than I understood. Something bigger seemed to be at risk. For a moment, I wondered if I’d disappointed Claire with my reactions, and if there’d be consequences. In almost every way, I didn’t want that to happen.

“Look,” I finally told her, “I’ll try and talk with Spence. I may not do it tonight – and I’m not exactly sure what it will help. But if you think it’s a good idea...”

She did. Though I don’t think that’s exactly why she kissed me. I think we were just that sure of each other.