The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing - Melissa Bank [7]
"I believe the common term 'lifeguard' signifies his desire to copulate," I said, "i.e., to guard the perpetuation of the species."
"Note that he paints his nose white," she said. "Not unlike the chiefs of many sub-Saharan tribes."
The lifeguard stood up and blew his whistle.
I said, "Mating call."
—•—
My parents loved Linda. That night, when we said we were going to see the moon on the ocean, they said, "Fine," in unison, even though it was late. Once we were out the door, I imitated myself saying, "We're going to rob a liquor store!" and my parents saying, "Fine!"
On the beach, there was a big crowd sitting around a bonfire, and my fearless friend walked right up and sat down in the circle. I sort of followed her.
There was a keg, but when someone asked if we'd like a beer, Linda said, "I wish we could." I didn't find out what she'd meant until a joint was passed to her and she handed it right off to me, saying, "Remember the three Ds from detox: don't, don't, don't."
I passed the joint, as though exerting heroic self-control.
She said, "You still get flashbacks?"
"I think I always will," I said.
"Remember," she said, "never say 'always.' "
"I really appreciate your support," I said.
She said, "It helps me stay strong."
I said, "Every day is a gift."
—•—
Linda's parents were taking her to Disney World, against her wishes, but she came to the shore one last time. That was the weekend we saw the house going up across the lagoon, in the vacant lot that had given us our bay view. I woke up to hammering and rock music. Linda was still sleeping.
I went out to the porch, where my father was standing in his tennis clothes, white shorts and a white polo shirt but no socks, as though the sight of the workmen had upset him too much to continue getting dressed.
The frame for the house was already up—brand-new orange wood beams obscuring the view they'd soon completely block. I put my arm around his back, which was what he did with me when I was upset. "We'll be able to look right in their windows," I said brightly. "It'll be great."
He kissed the top of my head.
My mother said, "Julie and Henry should be here when you get back from tennis."
"Julia," he said. My mother's trouble with names was a standard joke between them, like an old song, and he said the refrain: "What's the plumber's name, Lou?"
"Pete McDaniel?" she said, smiling.
"Dan McGavin," he said, shaking his head. I was relieved to hear my dad laugh, though I thought they were past due for new jokes.
—•—
Julia and Henry showed up at the beach after lunch. When I introduced Linda, my brother's expression reminded me how pretty she was, and for a second I wished that I hadn't brought her.
She was as good at riding waves as Henry, and they stayed in the ocean a long time.
I went in the water and out. Julia sat under the umbrella, knitting a sweater. It was beautiful—a creamy turtleneck—and other times when I'd seen her work on it, I wondered if we'd ever be close enough for her to knit one for me. But now I worried that knitting might make her look older to Henry. My grandmothers knitted.
She and Henry left to see if my father had bought the boat he'd been considering. After they'd gone, Linda put on her social-scientist voice and said, "A form of nest-building, knitting signals readiness to mate." "Please don't say that," I said. "I like her."
—•—
My father had bought the sailboat, and back at the house, Henry asked if Linda and I wanted to try it out.
He'd sailed before, on Nantucket, but Julia was a better sailor by a million knots. She moved around the boat as though she'd sailed all her life, and she probably had.
We had to tack out of the lagoon. She told us to come about, and then when she said, "Hard a-lee," Henry imitated her and laughed. It reminded me of my father kidding my mother, except Julia didn't seem to like it and that didn't make Henry stop.
It almost hurt not to laugh along with my brother, but I didn't, and neither did Linda.