What I Saw and How I Lied

Chapter 23

Big storm coming," Wally said.

I stared at the pool. I wished he'd go away. "Hurricane. They're thinking it might hit us. Or maybe south of here. Miami if we're lucky."

It was hard to believe. The wind had picked up, but there was blue sky overhead.

"Did your folks take out my dad's boat?" I nodded. "Just for a couple of hours, though. They'll be back."

"So you're on your own for a while. I just got off."

He had brown eyes and was tanned, with freck­les across his nose. He needed a haircut. His chest was slender, his skinny legs ending in large sneakered feet. I wondered if I could ever be interested in boys again.

But, as Joe sometimes said about women, the basic equipment was there, even if Wally didn't know what to do with it. Was there something I could learn from him, something I could take back to Peter, that knowledge I'd almost gotten last night?

I saw wanting in Wally's eyes. Now I could recognize it as easy as Margie waving at me across Hillside Avenue. What would happen if I got hold of that want and rode it like a raft to see where it could take me? Joe had left me behind like a kid. I didn't want to be a kid.

Anger built up behind my eyes. I kept thinking of Peter's kiss, so long and deep. What happened after the kiss? Sure, I knew the birds and the bees, but I needed more. I needed practice.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" Wally asked. "Look at the surf?"

I nodded.

No one was on the beach. The wind sent the sand sting­ing against our legs. The green water was pounding the shore. We walked past where the hotels were, back where the shuttered mansions faced the sea from behind the dunes. Wally picked a spot between two high dunes, a place where we'd be sheltered.

"What will happen if the hurricane comes here?" I asked.

"Depends. If it's a big one, they'll evacuate the island. They take people to the courthouse over in West Palm. I've been through hurricanes before — it's not too bad."

"You're just being brave. Boys are braver than girls." I said this without shame. I looked up at him sideways and saw him swallow. Be dumb! Margie always scolded me. It works!

I trailed a finger in the sand. "We're probably leav­ing soon."

"Yeah? That's too bad."

"I know. I wanted to get to know you better."

"You did? You always seemed to be chasing me off."

"I don't know. I guess I was shy."

I waited for him to kiss me then. I had Joe's impa­tient voice in my head: Let's get this show on the road.

But Wally just cleared his throat and looked out at the ocean. So I gave up and kissed him instead. Right on the cheek. He turned and our noses bumped. Then he planted one on me, right on the mouth.

The sand scratched my legs and I could feel it blow­ing against my back. We ground our mouths together until my teeth hurt. I put my hand experimentally on his leg, and I felt him shudder. We kept up the kissing until the boredom got to me and I started thinking about how his knee was grinding against mine. I wanted to tear my mouth away and scream.

But something was happening to Wally. He was breathing hard through his nose. I could smell him now, all sweat and a little bit of salt and maybe the hair tonic that kept his hair so wet. I started to wonder if Forney the manager kept a bottle of it behind the desk for him­self and the bellboys, a snort of Vitalis instead of whiskey every couple of hours.

He put his hand on my chest and squeezed.

This was where I was supposed to stop him, but I didn't. I wanted to know.

I felt a surge of the power my mother had. I could see that Wally wasn't thinking anymore. He was heading straight for what he wanted with a determination that was out of his control, a train jumping the tracks and never losing speed.

I moved my hand to where I felt Peter that night, and Wally inhaled, and then things got a little out of my control, because it was like I was waving him on, say­ing go ahead go ahead don't stop even though that was far from what I was feeling. I wanted things to keep going slowly. I wanted to stay bored.

He pushed me back and ground against me. He fum­bled down in his pants and I felt something naked against my bare leg. It felt soft and firm. It didn't feel threatening, but I was suddenly aware of Wally's weight, of his breath on my neck, too hot.

I had to grab for air with my hands. I was suffocating. My leg was pinned underneath his knee, and his chin was digging into my shoulder. He kept shoving against me like a piston and I couldn't breathe. I opened my eyes and saw a pimple right near his ear. My stomach rolled over. I smelled sweat and couldn't tell if it was him or me. I had learned enough.

I pushed him off as hard as I could, surprising him.

"What gives?" He rolled away, furious, moving to cover himself.

I had to scoot over on all fours to try to get up. He snatched at my skirt to stop me, and it ripped. I let out a cry that the wind took away.

"Aw, Evie." Wally tucked over himself, trying to zip up his pants. "I didn't mean it."

"I just want to go back."

"Don't tell anyone. I didn't mean it." Wally looked scared.

"I won't tell anyone," I said. "I just want to go back.”

“Sure. Sure. I'll walk you."

I lurched in the sand, walking like a drunk. We were halfway back when I started to cry. Wally walked carefully, trying not to brush me with an arm or a hand, trying not to touch me at all, afraid of what I'd do.

I'd wanted to learn what love was like, but this wasn't what I'd felt with Peter. It was cheap and stupid and it stayed with you. It was animal and mineral, it was a bad taste and a terrible feeling.

"Look, you're a swell girl. I didn't think of you that way. Promise."

I couldn't stop crying, and I didn't know if it was him or thinking of not being with Peter or feeling sick.

"Evie, I've got to leave you here. I'd better not walk you in."

I saw through my tears that we were at the hotel. Wally was nervous and scared and apologetic all at once. He was practically on his toes, ready to run.

"It's okay."

Just then Mr. Forney came out on the steps for a smoke. He gave us a hard look, from my face to my clothes to Wally's pants.

"Wally, I need to see you," he said. "Double-time."

I ran across the parking lot, toward the side door that only the maids were supposed to use.

I hoped it would be the last time I'd ever see Wally. I hoped the hurricane would come so it could blow us all the way back to New York.

They didn't come back at three, or four. They didn't come back by cocktail time. I told Forney, who called Wally's dad and then, when Wally's dad said they weren't back, the Coast Guard. They didn't come back by din­ner. As the afternoon wore on, the seas got higher, and a report came in that the hurricane was headed this way. It would not go south or north, it was coming right here.

The wind was blowing like crazy and the rain was starting when the chief of the Palm Beach police came to see me. He had kind eyes, and he looked worried even though he tried not to look worried. The fear I had inside bloomed and spread out through my body. My hands shook.

"Was there an experienced sailor in the group?" he asked.

"Yes. Peter. Peter Coleridge. They said they'd be back in two hours. Something must be wrong."

He exchanged a look with Forney and it was like a comic strip in a newspaper with a bubble over their heads saying "Dumb Tourists!"

"Don't worry, miss. The seas were probably more than they could handle and they put in somewhere. I've got the word out all the way up to Jupiter and down to Fort Lauderdale. We'll find them."

I lay on my bed, not sleeping. Maybe they'd pulled in somewhere, like the man said. Maybe the storm would veer off. Tomorrow morning I was set to evacuate. They'd be back by morning. I knew that. Because if I closed my eyes and thought of them out on that churning sea, I went crazy. Mom. Peter. Joe. On one little boat.