Sea Glass_ A Novel - Anita Shreve [16]
“Them banks,” Hess says. “They whistle a good tune, but they’re out to make money, pure and simple. It’s no service they’re offering. They’re selling a product just like you are with them typewriters. Best not to forget that.”
Sexton nods politely.
“Tell you something else,” Hess says. “Don’t take your boots off in a house you owe money on. Renting or caretaking, whatever you’re doing now, that’s different. You’re saving up, and that’s respectable.”
Sexton nods again. These old duffers, he thinks. They can’t catch up. Full of advice from another era.
“So that’s my speech for today,” Hess says. “Sometimes an old man, he just don’t know when to shut up. You come back to the store now. We’ll get you and that bride of yours all fixed up. She a good cook?”
Sexton shrugs. “I have no idea,” he says.
Vivian
Vivian draws her baku as close to her head as it will go. The straw hat has a wide brim, but she wears her colored glasses anyway. She has managed two aspirin, which haven’t so far made a dent in her headache. Lying on her bed earlier, she thought that what she really needed was fresh air. Bravely, she decided to make peace with the smug sunshine on the beach.
A waiter brings her a canvas chair and a striped umbrella, and she sits gingerly, each movement a painful jar. She should have eaten, she thinks. If the man comes back, she will order something sugary. Tea with sugar. Yes, that might be just the thing.
The tide is out, the beach flat for a good distance. The air is cool and moist, and if she shuts her eyes and sits perfectly still, the pain is almost bearable. What she should do, she knows, is dive into the ocean. It’s the best cure for a hangover she’s ever known. But to do that, she’d have to go back into the hotel and change into her bathing suit, and she doesn’t have the necessary stamina. She can smell coconut oil, and around her there are voices, punctuated by children’s squeals. On the porch, the pre-lunch crowd sips martinis behind the railing. Just the thought of a martini makes her put a hand to her stomach.
She opens her eyes a fraction and squints, and, oh God, there’s Dickie Peets walking a dog at the shoreline, holding his shoes, getting his feet wet, his white flannels rolled. She bends as if to search for something she’s dropped in the sand, hoping that he won’t glance up and recognize her. She stays in that position until she thinks it is safe, even though it makes her head hurt.
“Viv?”
She sits up and shades her eyes with her hand. “Dickie,” she says, pretending to be surprised.
“Didn’t expect to see you up so early,” he says. A small dog the color of the sand puts its paws on Vivian’s skirt. Dickie lifts the dog away from her.
“Lovely morning,” she says, ignoring Dickie’s comment. “What kind of a dog is that?”
“A mutt, I think.”
“It looks like a sheep. What’s its name?”
“Don’t know. Think I’ll call him Sandy.”
“How original,” she says.
“It’s not mine,” he says.
“I didn’t think so.”
“Found it whimpering in the stairwell this morning.”
Dickie looks remarkably fit, Vivian thinks, considering he kept pace with her, maybe even outdid her, last night. She remembers him lying naked, in a fetal position, on his bathroom floor. “I’m not terribly good company at the moment,” she says.
“Nor am I, so I think we’ll suit each other just fine.”
Dickie sits on the sand, favoring the injured knee. He has on dark glasses too, and she can’t see his eyes.
“I’m not sure I can carry on a conversation,” Vivian says.
“Won’t say a word,” he says. Beside him, the dog is panting.
“I think he might need some water,” Vivian says.
“He’s fine,” Dickie says. “I’ll take him inside in a moment. You all right?”
“As well as can be expected,” she says. She pauses and then she sighs. “God-awful, if you want to know the truth.”
“Me too, if that’s any consolation.”
“Not much, but thank you.” Vivian rubs a small circle in her forehead. The surf looks even more inviting now. Perhaps she should excuse herself and get her suit.
“We did tie one on,” Dickie says.
“So we did,