THE SEASON
OF CHANGE
THE NEXT MORNING, I arrived at the golf club bright and early. I was scheduled to caddy for old man McClennan and afterward for a day player who was coming over from the mainland. In-between gigs, I helped the clubhouse manager stock the cooler with sodas and did other maintenance chores. A couple of my buddies who also caddied during the summer were there and, when it was quiet, we passed the time by playing cards.
We were in the middle of a game of poker when the clubhouse door opened. It was almost four-fifteen and I’d about given up on her. But there she was, standing silhouetted in the doorway.
“You winning?” she asked, grinning at me.
She was wearing Bermuda shorts and a white cotton blouse. Her hair was loose, curls floating around her head and shoulders, glistening like firelight in the late afternoon sun. She looked beautiful and I remember feeling so proud that she was there to see me.
I stood, walked over to her, put my arm casually around her shoulders, then leaned down and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“This is Andi,” I said, introducing her to my friends.
Harry, a boy about six months younger than me, stammered a brief “Hello,” his face wearing a expression of surprise and sheer envy.
Smiling, I tossed my cards into the discard pile. “I’m going to have to call it quits for the day,” I said. “I’m going to teach Andi how to play golf.”
We spent the afternoon on the course and Andi took to the game like a duck to water. She was athletic and got a good grasp of the basics in no time. I, of course, enjoyed the teaching part: standing behind her, my arms around her lithe body, demonstrating the correct way to swing the club.
After playing three or four holes, we called it quits. I bought a couple of Cokes and we sat on the clubhouse stairs, my free arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders.
I remember how easy she was to be with . . . an attentive listener . . . with something to say on almost any subject. I was surprised at how her subtle questioning opened me up. Like I said before, I wasn’t really comfortable around girls and often found myself tongue-tied and foolish. But, with Andi it was different from the start.
We talked until it was time for both of us to head home for dinner. I walked her to the lamp post that stood at the head of the dead-end road that led to her cottage.
“No need for you to walk me further,” she said, again. “David is probably on the porch waiting and you don’t need to deal with that.”
“He’s a bit overprotective, isn’t he?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she replied, frowning. “I was real young when he started dating my mom. I guess he still thinks of me as a little kid.”
“Well, uh, I guess I’ll see you soon?”
She grinned. “Not if I see you first!”
As she spoke, she leaned forward on tiptoes and, lacing her arms around my neck, pressed her lips to mine.
At first, I was surprised—it was still daylight and anyone could see us—but the warmth of her lips overshadowed any potential embarrassment and I put my arms around her waist and pulled her close.
We clung to each other until the honking of a car’s horn, followed by a chorus of wolf whistles, startled us both. I pulled away in time to see my brother and some of his pals’ speed by, headed toward the wharf.
“Well, I guess I’ve got to get going,” she said as she removed her arms from my neck and stepped back.
She gave me one more smile then turned and starting walking down the road to her cottage. I stood watching her for a moment, not wanting her to go, but not knowing how to make her stay.
“Hey, Andi, wait,” I yelled, gathering the courage to make my move.
She turned. “What?”
“Listen. The new James Bond flick, Thunderball, is playing in town this weekend. If you haven’t seen it . . . .”
She grinned at me. “I haven’t.”
“Well, uh, would you like to go with me on Saturday?”
“You mean, like on a date?”
I blushed. “Yeah, like a date. We could take my dad’s punt over, if he’ll let me use it. If not, we can take the ferry. The theater’s not far from the terminal. We could see the movie then maybe grab a hamburger somewhere after.”
“Sounds cool. What time?”
“I’ll let you know after I talk to Pop and check the theater times.”
She nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
As we talked, I could see the porch of the Sloane cottage clearly. A man I assumed was David was now standing by the rail, staring at us.
“Uh, I think you’d better get home,” I said, nodding my head in his direction. “Someone’s waiting for you.”
She turned toward the cottage, staring back, a brief look of distaste passing over her face. However, she quickly recovered and smiled at me again.
“Yeah, I’d better get going. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I nodded again and was about to turn away when she leaned toward me, giving me a quick peck on the cheek.
“Thanks for the golf lesson,” she whispered as she turned and jogged down the road, her red curls bouncing on her shoulders.
The man on the porch stared at her for a minute longer, then turned his back and went into the house.
When she, too, disappeared into the cottage, I finally abandoned my station at the lamp post and headed home.
My family was waiting for me when I arrived. At my house, dinner was served promptly at seven and it was now seven-fifteen. My mother scowled as I came rushing through the door.
“You’re late. Wash up. Your father’s hungry.”
“Yes, Ma,” I replied, hurrying to do as she instructed.
After saying grace, we filled our plates and began our meal. We ate quietly for a while until my brother broke the silence.
“Saw Jakey with his summa girl this afternoon. And you’ll never guess what they were doing! Tell ’em Jakey!”
All eyes turned to me, waiting.
My mother gave me a penetrating stare. “Well, Jacob, what were you and the young lady doing?” she asked.
I took a deep breath. “We were just talking, Ma. I gave her a golf lesson.”
My brother laughed. “That’s not what I saw. Come on, Jakey, ’fess up.”
My father gave my brother a stern look. “Eat your dinner and leave your brother alone,” he commanded.
I looked at my dad gratefully and he gave me a brief nod. His expression still bordered on anger, but there was a slight twinkle in his eye.
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence and, after the plates were cleared from the table, my brother and I retired to our room where I knew I was in for some more ribbing about Andi.
Thus, we passed the balmy days of July. When I wasn’t working, I was with her. We took in an occasional movie, played golf, attended a local dance, or partied with other kids on the beach.
But the time I relished most was when we were alone at Preacher’s Cove.
Preacher’s was a small strip of sand down behind the Cutter Island Cemetery. Not too many people knew about it or went there because it was rocky and not a good place to sunbathe or swim. But for Andi and me it was heaven on earth.
By the middle of July, our romantic endeavors had begun to intensify. I got the sense that, despite her youth, Andi was more experienced than I was, but I didn’t let that bother me. I was happy to let her lead the way. And, we had plenty of time to explore our desires . . . the whole summer was spread out before us . . . Labor Day seeming an eternity away.
I surprised myself a lot that summer. Before I turned sixteen, I was a skinny, gangly youth. My face, like Lorna’s, often sported ugly outbreaks, testimony to the raging teenage hormones that danced within. But the time working on the boat with my dad put on muscle, as did splitting and stacking wood and, by the time I met Andi, my face had cleared and I’d let my hair grow out in the fashion of popular rock and roll groups of the day.
I was always comfortable with guys my age or older, but girls were another matter. Unsure of myself before that summer, I steered clear of most one-on-one contacts and, as a result, was pretty much a wallflower at social occasions. But, as the summer progressed, I found myself talking and joking easily with my female peers. In fact, some of my classmates now sought me out and I flirted with the best of them.
In hindsight, I give credit for this boost in confidence to Andi. She accepted me completely, social warts and all. And, while she didn’t hang on every word I said, she took my thoughts and opinions seriously whether she agreed with them or not.
But it wasn’t just my appearance that underwent transformation that summer. No, I was also changing in much more profound and subtle ways—ways I wasn’t aware of back then.
Andi had a keen mind and intellect. At her school in Boston, she was practically a permanent member of the honor roll. She was well versed in political theory and history as well as mathematics and Spanish. But it was our mutual love of literature that connected us.
I had always been a reader. However, being a young man of a certain age, I naturally gravitated toward books my peers were reading: mainly spy thrillers, adventure stories, and war novels. Andi changed all that.
John le Carré was the first author she recommended. After that, she introduced me to Salinger, Faulkner, and Harper Lee, to name a few. We often spent hours lying on the beach, reading and discussing the plots, characters, and symbolism in some of the greatest novels of our time. To get all this reading in and keep up with her, I would stay up late at night reading under the covers with a flashlight so I didn’t disturb my brother.
Unbeknownst to me, my mother, an astute observer of human nature, noticed this and one day, when I came in from splitting wood, she cornered me in the kitchen.
“Sit down,” she said, placing a glass of milk on the kitchen table in front of me. “I want to talk with you.”
Worried that somehow I had incurred her wrath, I obeyed. She sat down opposite me and placed a book on the table between us. It was one Andi had lent me, To Kill a Mockingbird, and I was about halfway through it.
“Where did you get this?” she asked.
Knowing that Andi’s name was on the bookplate on the inside cover, I was sure the question was simply rhetorical . . . Mom already knew the answer and there was nothing to be gained by lying.
“Andi lent it to me,” I replied. “Is there something wrong with reading it?”
My mother laughed. “No, there’s nothing wrong. Did you know this book won the Pulitzer Prize for fiction?”
I nodded. “Andi told me.”
“Well, do you like it? Are you enjoying it?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “I like it a lot.”
She smiled and pushed the book toward me, then stood and walked to the pantry. She came back a minute later with a plate of cookies. “Here, have a sweet,” she said as she sat back down. “Did you know I wanted to be a teacher once?”
I looked at her, surprised. “A teacher?”
She laughed again. “Yes, an English teacher.”
“What happened? Why didn’t you?”
She shook her head. “I got married. Then your brother came along, then you. There was no time or money for college. But don’t look so sad. I made a choice and I don’t regret it. But you—you know you’re smart, Jake—really smart. If you would apply yourself next year, you know, you could do anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything.”
She selected a cookie from the plate and took a bite of it, carefully chewing while she thought.
“You could go to college, get a degree. I know you think your life is all planned out for you . . . that you’re going to work with your father and brother on the boat until Dad retires and then take over the business. Am I right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way . . . not if you don’t want it. Jake, look at me. Your life is like a chalkboard . . . right now it’s a clean slate . . . but you can write on it anything you want. And if one thing doesn’t work out, you can use the eraser—wipe it out and start over. There are endless possibilities for you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Again, I nodded. “I guess so. But wouldn’t Dad be disappointed if I didn’t work with him?”
She smiled as she reached over and patted my hand. “He might be. But that shouldn’t stop you. There’s a big world out there beyond this island . . . these books are showing you that, I know. Just think on what I’ve said. You can do anything and no matter what you choose, your dad and I will support you and be proud of you. Okay?”
I studied her for a moment, taking it all in.
“Sure, Mom. I will.”
“Okay. Now have another cookie, before they get stale. And, enjoy that book. It’s one of my favorites. Maybe when you finish it, we can talk about it?”
“Yeah,” I replied, suddenly amazed at the depth of this woman whom for sixteen years I had dismissed as being nothing more than a housewife and mother. “I’d like that.”
She reached over and ruffled my hair. “Finish your milk, then you’re on your own. I think you’ve split enough wood for today.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said as I stuffed another cookie in my mouth and downed the glass of milk. I glanced at my watch. It was only two o’clock and maybe Andi and I could get together.
My mother grinned at me as if she had read my mind. “Just be home on time for supper, okay?”
I stood and walked over to her and placed a soft kiss on her cheek.
“Sure, Mom,” I said. “And, I mean it. I’ll think about everything you said.”
I did meet up with Andi that afternoon and we spent the rest of the day hiking the rocks around the island and talking. She was of the same mind as my mother, trying to convince me that fate might lead me down a different path: a journey to college and the world beyond.
At first, I looked at their suggestions with skepticism. Cutter was my home and, except for an occasional winter vacation to Florida or an outing to Old Orchard Beach, the island was the sum total of my existence. But, while I loved it there, at times, the closeness . . . the familiarity . . . did breed contempt. So, that summer I thought long and hard about the alternative vision of my life presented by my mother and Andi, and I wondered if I had the guts to take, as Robert Frost suggested, “the road less traveled.”
However, ironically, despite Andi’s encouraging me to consider a different direction in my life, it was through her eyes that Cutter took on a new and dazzling light.
Like most island kids, I’d dreamed of life in a city like Boston or New York. Busy, exciting places where one could see and enjoy things other than the endless rocky shoreline of Maine. But that summer, experiencing Cutter through Andi’s eyes, the island took on a new persona. To her it was bright, shiny, and new . . . an ever-changing wonder with so much to explore.
Often, when we were on the beach or climbing the rocks, she would suddenly stop and stand very still. “Hey, listen,” she would say. “The waves sound different today. Like they’re angry or something.” Or, she would comment on how the sun shimmered off the seaweed or the way the eel grass felt beneath her bare feet. At night, when we lay on the beach, she never tired of gazing at the stars as they twinkled in the night sky.
“Tell me the stories again, Jake,” she would say, pointing to one or another of the constellations shining brightly above us.
The stories she referred to were myths and legends I had learned when I was just a boy. My mother used to read to them to my brother and me at bedtime: Greek and Roman mythology, tales of heroes and villains from a time long forgotten. These stories stuck with me and that summer I told them to Andi as she lay in my arms on the rocky shore.
There were many gifts that strange and wonderful redheaded girl bestowed upon me that summer. What I gave back in exchange, I don’t know. She was gone before I had the chance to ask. I do know, however, that when I was with her, I felt happier than I’d ever felt before . . . and, perhaps, happier than I have felt since.
By the second week in August, our romantic explorations began to take on a more urgent quality. We both knew that time was rushing by and that, soon, she would be getting on the ferry to leave Cutter, possibly forever. We talked about seeing each other over school breaks. I could take the train to Boston or she could come up here. But we knew that the chances of that actually happening were pretty damned slim.
One evening, alone at Preacher’s, we were making out for a while, when suddenly she pulled away and sat up.
“I’m hot,” she said.
I laughed. “You sure are and I’m glad of it.”
She stuck out her lower lip in a pout. “I don’t mean that, silly. I’m hot, hot. The humidity is through the roof tonight.”
She stood and stared at the ocean.
The sea was calm, soft waves lapping at the shoreline.
“Let’s go swimming,” she said.
I frowned, surprised. “Swimming? How can we? We’d have to go all the way home and change into our suits. By the time we got back here, it would be time to leave.”
Andi laughed. “Boy, you sure can be obtuse. You’ve got your skivvies on, don’t you?”
Without further conversation, she stripped off her T-shirt and bra, then reached down and unbuttoned her cut-offs. Turning her back to me, she slipped out of the jeans and kicked them aside.
I stared at her, mouth open in surprise. In all the time we had been together, I had never seen her undressed. Sure, I’d fondled her, kissed her, but I’d never really seen her entire body in such a state of nakedness.
The moon was full and, in its light, her red hair glistened. Her shoulders and back were wet with sweat and I gaped at her, realizing for the first time how absolutely beautiful her body was. Her back tapered down to a small, delicate waist, then curved outward again to form her round, firm bottom. Her legs were shapely and the silver anklet she always wore on her left foot seemed to dance in the moonlight.
She hesitated for a moment, staring at the sea, then looked over her shoulder at me.
“You coming?” she asked.
When I didn’t reply, she laughed and yelled at me one word before running into the surf.
“Chicken!”
Finally, galvanized, I stood and stripped off my T-shirt and jeans. Clad in just my briefs, I cringed when I saw my erection jutting forward like a soldier standing at attention. But her back was to me and I quickly ran into the water before she had a chance to turn.
We horsed around for a while like little kids, splashing and screaming. But, soon, given our ages, the horseplay took on a more sexual flavor. We were nearly naked; what little clothing we had on clinging seductively to our skin. I grabbed her around the waist, meaning to toss her into the air, but she pressed her body against mine and all thoughts of letting her go vanished from my mind. She kissed me and we began touching and caressing each other in the dark, cold sea.
After a while, I pulled away, gazing down at her with eyes filled with desire.
“Make love to me, Jake,” she whispered. “Make love to me now.”
I swept her up into my arms and carried her from the sea to our blanket on the beach.
I could be tempted to say that our lovemaking that night made the earth move or that we came together in a wave of white-hot ecstasy. But, unfortunately, that would just be bad fiction. In reality, we were two bumbling teenagers embarking on our first sexual encounter.
I fumbled with the condom, my hands shaking violently with emotion. And, I don’t believe I gave her much pleasure—climaxing not soon after I managed to slide inside.
However, for a brief moment when we were together, it was as if we were one—one body, one soul, one heart—and that made up for all the other deficiencies.
In the aftermath, we clung to each other, her face buried in my shoulder, my hands laced in her tangled hair.
And, then I said it. Those three words that can change your life forever.
“I love you.”
She pulled away from me and gazed at me, her eyes liquid with emotion.
“I know you do.”
As she spoke, a lone tear slipped out and slid down her cheek. I kissed it away and, when I did, the dam burst and I held her close as she silently sobbed, her head once again buried in my chest.
As she cried, I apologized over and over, and again told her I loved her and would never, ever hurt her. Finally, she stopped and looked up at me.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I needed to get that out. I’m not sorry for what we did. And you shouldn’t be either.”
She untangled herself from my arms and stood, pulling on her shorts, bra and T-shirt. Her panties were still wet from the seawater and she spread them on a rock to dry. I followed suit, pulling on my jeans and sweatshirt.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “Maybe we should head back. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
She laughed. “Trouble? Oh, honey, I’m always in trouble. No, let’s not leave yet.”
She lay back down on the blanket, propping herself up on her elbows. “Tell me about the stars again, Jake. Tell me the stories.”
I smiled and sat down beside her, pulling her into my arms. “Okay,” I said. “See that bright star up there? That’s Venus, the goddess of love. . . .”
I went on to point out the other constellations that were visible that night and recount for her all the fables I’d learned in my childhood. It wasn’t long before she tucked her head into my chest and closed her eyes and soon I could hear her breathing even out. I wrapped the blanket around us and, holding her tightly, closed my eyes, too.
I didn’t open them again until the moon was making its way toward the horizon. I glanced at my watch, alarmed to find it had stopped.
“Andi,” I said. “Wake up. We got to get going.”
“What time is it?” she asked groggily, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her fists.
“Way too late,” I responded. “I’ve got to get you home. Your mom is going to kill me.”
She sat up and stretched, then laughed.
“My mom’s not here. My grandmother had to go to the hospital for some tests and Mom flew to Palm Beach to be with her.”
“Did your stepdad leave, too?” I asked.
“No, David’s at the cottage. But don’t worry, I can handle him.”
She stuffed her still damp panties in her pocket and stood. “But we’d better get going before they call the gendarmes!”
I quickly folded the blanket, grabbed our cooler and, taking her hand in mine, led her up the path back to the cemetery behind the Parish House.
Once we reached the road, it was only a fifteen-minute walk back to her cottage. As usual, she stopped me at the lamp post.
“Maybe I should take you all the way home this time,” I said. “That way if your stepdad’s mad he can take it out on me.”
“No, Jake,” she replied. “It’s better I talk to him alone. Trust me on this. I’m going to be okay. But what about you? Will your parents be mad?”
I smiled. “My mom will. She’ll probably ground me for a couple of days and I’ll have to work on the boat with my dad. And no phone. That’s the law in my house. But I’ll be okay by the weekend.”
“Good. Well, I’d better get going.”
She started to walk away but I grabbed her hand and pulled her back to me. Putting my arms around her, I leaned down and kissed her softly.
“There’s a party planned at Sandy Cove on Saturday,” I whispered into her ear. “I’ll pick you up here at seven-thirty. Okay?”
“Yeah, that sounds good. But if I don’t show, you go on without me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if David does ground me, I’ll have to sneak out. But don’t worry, I’ll find a way and I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay. See you then.”
She gave me one last smile and a kiss on the cheek, then started to walk down the lane to her cottage, but stopped after a few steps.
Grinning, she turned back toward me.
“I love you, too, Jake with a J.”
Then, without waiting for a reply, she jogged away.
I watched until I saw her enter the cottage, my heart so full I thought it might burst. Then I hightailed it home.
It was closing in on three a.m. when I opened back door of my house, glad to find it dark and quiet inside. I tiptoed down the hallway to the room I shared with my brother, stripped off my clothes, and slipped under the covers.
However, my head had barely touched the pillow when a voice across the room hissed at me.
“Oh, boy, are you in trouble!”
I rolled over to find my brother sitting up in bed, a taunting smile on his face.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
He laughed. “Mom’s on the warpath. She sat up till God-knows-when, waiting on you. You’re lucky Dad kept her from calling the police.”
“What about Dad? Is he mad, too?”
“Oh, he’s cool, but he’s going to do whatever Mom says. So, watch out!”
“Thanks for the warning. Now, we’d better get some sleep.”
“Yeah, little brother, I want to be wide awake for the fireworks tomorrow!”
I had plans to caddy with some of my buddies that morning for a foursome coming from the mainland. Tee-off time wasn’t until eight-thirty so there was no urgent need for me to get up at five with the rest of the family. But I knew I had to face my parents sometime and it would be best to get it over with early. So, I girded myself and prepared to take my punishment.
My mother, father, and brother were already seated at the breakfast table when I came in. My brother snickered as I pulled out my chair, obviously relishing the predicament I was in.
No one spoke as I sat down. My mother poured juice for all of us then turned her steely gaze on me.
“Late night, Jake,” she said. “Much too late. You had us worried.”
“Sorry, Mom,” I replied, contritely. “It was an accident. Andi and I were at the beach and we fell asleep.”
My brother’s snicker blossomed into a full-blown guffaw as I spoke. My father shot him a stern look and he quickly stifled his amusement and gazed down at his plate.
Then my father turned his eyes toward me. “You worried your mother needlessly, boy,” he said. “I had to talk her out of calling the police.”
“Sorry, Dad,” I mumbled. “It won’t happen again.”
My dad nodded solemnly. “Well, there’s going to be consequences to make sure you don’t do it again. You working at the club this morning?”
I nodded.
“Okay, as soon as you’re finished, you come directly home. You turn over your earnings to your mother and then you stay here and do whatever she tells you. You got that?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“And, tomorrow, same rules. No variation. No seeing that girl until the weekend. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
My father nodded and appeared to be finished when my mother shot him a look. He took a deep breath and nodded again. “And, when breakfast’s finished, I want to talk to you privately for a moment, so don’t go running off.”
Again, I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” he replied as he turned to my mother. “Now that that’s over with, how about some breakfast?”
Smiling at him, she left the table and came back soon with a tray laden with eggs, bacon, and toast. Loading up our plates, the conversation now ignored me and centered on fishing and my father’s plans for the day.
When breakfast was over, my father motioned me into the dining room and, when I was seated, he closed the doors.
He was quiet for a few minutes and I could tell by his expression that he was uncomfortable with what was to come next.
He cleared his throat. “Your mother is concerned about your relationship with that girl,” he said. “Concerned that you may be getting yourself in too deep.”
I sat silently, not knowing if I was supposed to respond or not.
He took another deep breath as he reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small box and slid it across the table to me. I gazed at it, my neck and face reddening rapidly.
“Your mother and I want to make sure you’re protected in case you’re stupid enough to go too far with that girl.”
Tongue-tied, I nodded as I slipped the box of Trojans into my pocket. Unable to look him in the eye, I finally managed a weak. “Thank you, Dad.”
He stood. “Okay. That’s done. Now you mind your mother today.”
“Yes, Dad. I will.”
He gave me one more steely gaze, then left the room, leaving me alone at the table with a box of rubbers in my pocket.
The next two days went by pretty much like my father had laid out. I caddied in the morning and, when done, hightailed it home where my mother waited for me. I handed over my earnings and then set about doing whatever chores she had planned. I was forbidden to call Andi so I didn’t know if she, too, was being punished.
Finally, the weekend arrived and my sentence was suspended and curfew lifted. It was Saturday and there was a big party planned at Sandy Cove. I let my mother know where I was going, then left the house a little after seven to meet Andi at the lamp post on her corner.
The road was deserted when I got there and I waited, staring at her cottage. The lights were on inside so I knew that someone was home. I thought about going down there and knocking on the door, but Andi was always so adamant I meet her here that I didn’t have the courage to do it.
So, I waited, remembering what she’d said: if she didn’t show, she would meet me at the party. Finally, at a little after eight, I gave up and, feeling depressed, began walking to the beach.
By the time I got there, the party was in full swing. A fire was going in the pit and music blasted from several transistor radios. Pete had dropped off a cooler full of beer, which was being hastily consumed. A couple of my classmates, Stan and Harry, were sitting by the fire, drinking and smoking cigarettes.
“Hey, Jake,” yelled Harry. “Get your ass over here.”
“What’s happening, guys?” I asked, warming my hands by the fire.
“Where’s your main squeeze?” asked Stan, smirking slightly. “She finally get smart and dump you?”
I tried to act cool.
“She’s meeting me here,” I replied as I grabbed a Bud from the cooler. “That is, unless she’s grounded. We stayed out past curfew the other night. My folks were pretty steamed. Had to stay home, do extra chores, and the phone was strictly off limits. So, I haven’t talked to her since. But I’m sure she’ll show, if she can.”
Stan and Harry exchanged knowing looks.
“Well, if she doesn’t and you’re stag,” Harry finally said. “You might want to check out the action down there.”
He pointed to the far end of the beach where Lorna and several other girls were dancing.
“Yeah,” chimed in Stan. “Lorna was asking about you.”
I looked at him, surprised. “Lorna? I thought she was hooked up with Pete for the summer.”
“Doesn’t look that way tonight,” answered Harry. “Pete was here earlier, left the beer, then took off again. Said he’d be back later. Didn’t give Lorna a ‘how do you do.’”
I took a pull on my beer. “Think he’s done with her already?”
“Looks that way to me and she’s one hot ticket, brother. Word has it she’s a sure thing for a blow job, if not more.”
“Well, why don’t you go after her then?” I asked.
Harry blushed. He was small for his age and his complexion was dotted with what he feared was terminal acne. In addition, he was notoriously shy with girls.
Stan snickered. “Naw, she’s only got eyes for you, Jake.”
I laughed and sat down in the sand, changing the subject.
“What do you guys think about the PGA? Think Nicklaus will win?”
We talked for a bit, passing the time drinking and discussing guy stuff. All the while, I kept my eyes peeled for Andi.
After my third beer, I glanced at my watch. It was going on nine-thirty and there was still no sign of her. I was feeling pretty high . . . two beers were usually my limit. Stan and Harry were flat-out drunk and started making comments again about the girls down the beach. Against my better judgment, I grabbed another brew and sat back, listening to their jive talk.
It wasn’t long before Lorna and one of her friends jogged over to the fire. The other girl, I think her name was June, spoke briefly to Lorna then walked up the path to the road, apparently heading home.
“Any beer left?” Lorna asked. “Or did you losers drink it all?”
I grinned. “Yeah, I think there’s a can or two.”
She sat down in the sand next to me. “Hand me one, Jakey.”
I grabbed a can from the cooler, offering it to her. She grinned and, as she took it from my hand, let her fingers run across mine, seductively.
She opened the can, took a drink, then smiled at me. “Why don’t you come on down the beach and dance with us?”
Stan and Harry, who were listening to our conversation, exploded in a fit of giggles.
“Go on, Jake,” laughed Stan, wiping tears from his eyes. “Give Lorna a run for her money.”
With that quip, both boys again burst into a bout of drunken laughter.
“Yeah, go on, Jakey,” taunted Harry.
Disgusted with them, I finished my beer, got unsteadily to my feet, and let Lorna lead me away from the bonfire.
By this time, most of the other kids had paired off and were hidden in the rocks making out. Lorna tuned the radio until she found a slow song: the Righteous Brothers’ hit, “You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling.” Then she turned to me, draping her long arms around my neck.
“Let’s dance,” she whispered huskily, pressing her generous breasts against my chest.
Feeling emboldened, I put my arms around her waist and pulled her close. She was almost as tall as me and, as we swayed to the music, pressed her lips to my neck and her pelvis tight against mine.
“You want to touch them?” she whispered, leaning away from me and letting me gaze at her chest. Her nipples, looking like hard cherries, were visible through the almost sheer fabric of her tank top, and I stared at them, mesmerized.
“You can, you know,” she whispered, taking one of my hands and slipping it up under her top . . . moving it until it rested against her plump, firm breast.
A picture of Andi flashed through my now-fevered brain, but I pushed it aside as I let my fingers brush back across Lorna’s breasts. She moaned in response and pulled away from me.
“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go into the rocks where we can have some privacy.”
She took my hand and pulled me back away from the shoreline . . . back to the towering black rocks that lined the beach.
Leaning against them, she pulled me to her, grinding her pelvis against mine.
I again slipped my hand under her top and she groaned with passion as I caressed her. She reached down and pressed her palm against my groin.
“I want you, Jakey,” she said. “Come on . . . come on.”
Again, a picture of Andi rose up before my eyes and, despite my arousal, I knew I couldn’t do what Lorna wanted.
“No,” I said, pulling away from her. “I can’t.”
Obviously not used to being rejected, her face contorted in anger and disbelief.
“What!” she yelled. “You can’t! What the hell does that mean?”
I stepped away, putting more distance between the two of us. “I’m sorry, Lorna,” I stammered. “But I have a girl.”
She laughed derisively. “That skinny redhead? Is that what you want? Well, you can have her. And, here I took pity on you. You go to hell, Jake Chambers.”
I tried to apologize, but she had already turned away and was jogging down the beach toward the fire. I watched her for a moment then turned back toward the sea. Looking up at the stars, I remembered how it had felt to hold Andi in my arms and knew I wanted nothing more than to hold her like that again.
I sat in the sand for a while, hoping that my head would clear. When I felt semi-sober, I decided it was time to go home. I made a decision to go over to Andi’s cottage the next day and find out, one way or another, if we were going to see each other again before the summer ended.
When I reached the fire pit, Harry and Stan were still there. Stan lay in the sand, eyes closed, snoring slightly, passed out. Harry, however, was still awake and got unsteadily to his feet as I approached.
“Hey, whatcha do to ol’ Lorna?” he slurred. “She was madder than a hornet. Didya give her a poke?”
I ignored his question. “She’s just pissed that Pete’s not here. Listen, I’m going to take off. You guys going to make it home by yourself?”
Harry laughed. “Yeah, I’ll douse ol’ Stan with a bucket of sea water, if I have to. We’ll make it home okay.”
I nodded, clapped him on the back and turned to leave.
“Hey, Jakey,” called Stan, who was now sitting up. “One thing before you go.”
I looked over my shoulder at him. “What?”
His eyes narrowed and a sly smile blossomed on his face. “Did your girlfriend find you when you were down the beach with Lorna?”
I froze.
“Andi was here?” I asked, turning to Harry.
He looked down at his feet, unable to meet my gaze. “Yeah, Jake. She came by looking for you. Stan told her where you were.”
I turned toward Stan who was now on his feet, reaching into the cooler for another beer. He looked up at me and snickered slightly.
“Guess, you’re in the dog house now,” he taunted.
Without thinking, I reached out and grabbed him by the front of his T-shirt and pulled him roughly toward me. Fear sprang into his eyes.
“I ought a punch you out good,” I yelled at him. “Freaking weasel! Now you tell me everything. Where did she go after you sent her to find me?”
“Let go of me,” he whined.
“I will after you tell me. And, if you lie, I’m going to beat the crap outta you.”
Frightened, he nodded. “Okay, okay. I sent her down the beach like Harry said. She came back a few minutes later. She was . . . she was crying . . . and. . . .”
He stopped, seemingly unable to go on. “Don’t stop now,” I said, gripping his T-shirt tighter. “What did she say?”
He took a deep breath. “She didn’t say nothing. But a few minutes before, Pete got here. When he saw her crying and all, he put his arm around her and started talking to her. Whispering. I don’t know what he said. They walked down toward those rocks together.”
He pointed toward the open beach beyond the path to the road.
“That’s all, Jake. They disappeared around that bend. Haven’t seen neither of ’em since. Now, are you going to let me go?”
I gave him a rough shove as I let go of his shirt, causing him to fall on his ass in the sand. Then I turned back to Harry.
“Is what he says true?”
“Yeah, Jake. She walked away with Pete. Don’t know where they went. Sorry.”
I nodded and looked again at Stan who was crab-walking backward in the sand trying to put some distance between the two of us.
“Don’t come near me again, Stan,” I said. “I been carrying you at the golf club all summer but that ends right now. I don’t want to see your face at the clubhouse. And, if I do, I’ll let the members know what a weasel you really are.”
Before he could answer, I turned and started to jog down the beach, hoping to find Andi or Pete. When I got to the bend, I slowed down. The moon had drifted behind some clouds and it took time for my eyes to adjust to the fading light. I cursed myself for not having the presence of mind to grab my flashlight before I left Stan and Harry. I waited for what seemed an eternity, then began walking again, listening for voices over the sound of the waves pounding the shoreline.
I hadn’t walked far when I heard moaning coming from the rocks to my right. I approached slowly.
As I closed in on them, I saw the pale, naked butt of a man rise out of the darkness, then plunge back down again into the shadows. The moon finally escaped from its wispy, white prison, revealing a couple who were fornicating in the sand. I couldn’t see their faces, but I could see the long, slender legs of the girl, clutched tightly around the man’s waist.
As he moved, she moaned passionately.
I stared at them, frozen. Then, my anger peaked and, without thinking, I reached for the man, grabbing him by the shoulder, yanking him away from the girl.
“Get off of her,” I screamed.
“What the h . . . !” Pete cried, turning just in time for his chin to connect with my fist.
Surprised, he fell back into the sand, but quickly recovered, scrambling to his feet. His cock was still erect and jutted out toward me. He rubbed his chin where I’d hit him, as he studied me.
“What the fuck are you doing, Jakey?” he asked. “I suggest you put those fists down right now or I’m goin’ to be obliged to kick the livin’ shit outta you.”
I knew he meant what he said but I didn’t care. All I cared about was Andi.
“If you hurt her . . . ,” I stammered. “Andi . . . .”
A look of puzzlement crossed his face and then he grinned.
“Come here, boy,” he said, stepping aside so I could see the girl who was now trying desperately to cover her nakedness.
It wasn’t Andi. It was Lorna.
Embarrassed, I turned and walked away.
Pete, laughing now, put his arm around my shoulders.
I gazed down at my feet, unable to look him in the eye. “I thought you were with—”
“Yeah, I know. Those retards must have told you I left with her, right?”
I nodded.
“Figures.”
He looked back at Lorna for a moment. “You keep that pussy nice and wet for me, darlin’. I’m going to have a little talk with Jake here then I’ll be right back to finish what we started.”
He walked with me down to the shoreline and when we were out of her earshot, he stopped and faced me.
“Those retards were right about one thing . . . I did walk with your gal a bit. She was upset. And, I gotta admit to you, I tried, but she wasn’t havin’ any. I think she took off for home. Now, I don’t know what she was riled up about, but I assume it had something to do with you and that little piece of ass over there.”
As he spoke, he gestured to where Lorna was still waiting for him.
Again, I nodded.
He laughed. “Lorna’s one hot ticket, all right. But she’s outta your league, understand? Now, let me give you some advice. You go on over to your girl’s place right now and beg forgiveness. Grovel—get down on your knees if you have to. Tell her you were drunk or something. But do it now. Don’t wait for her to do a lot of thinking. Women and thinking always turns out bad. Trust me, I know.”
I took a deep breath. “You’re right. I will. It’s not too late. She’ll probably still be up. Thanks, Pete . . . and I’m sorry about the punch.”
He chuckled. “Think nothin’ of it. But don’t try it again, okay?”
“You got it.”
“Good. Now I’d better get back before that gal changes her mind.”
He patted me on the back and watched for a moment as I walked away, heading toward the Sloane cottage.
“Hey, Jakey,” Pete yelled after me. “That’s not the way.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, turning to look at him. “She’s staying at the Sloane place. Right over there.”
“Mmmm,” he said, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Well, guess she weren’t going home then. She headed off that way, over toward Preacher’s.”
He pointed in the opposite direction from the Sloan cottage.
I nodded. It made sense that she would go to Preacher’s . . . the place we had made love and fallen asleep under the stars.
I thanked Pete again and took off jogging. She’d still be there. I was sure of it. And, I’d do what Pete said. I’d grovel . . . get down on my knees and beg, if I had to.
It only took me ten minutes or so to get to Preacher’s. The small beach, nestled between the rocks, was deserted. The moon once again slipped behind a cloud and I struggled to see as I walked.
“Andi,” I called, hoping for a response. But all was silent except for the sound of the waves gently lapping the shoreline.
The moon peeked out, briefly illuminating the beach, and I thought I saw something lying in the sand a few yards in front of me. Thinking it might be a wounded or dead seal, I approached it cautiously.
The moon once again made an entrance and I recognized the object for what it was. It was a body.
“Andi!” I screamed as I ran to her.
I knelt beside her, saying her name over and over, but she appeared to be unconscious. The tide was coming in and the water already covered her feet and ankles. Quickly, I put my hands under her armpits and dragged her up the beach, away from the waves.
I put my ear to her chest. She was still breathing, but it was shallow. Clutched in her hand was an empty prescription bottle.
“Sweet Jesus,” I whispered, pocketing the bottle as I lifted her and began to carry her away from the beach.
I ran as fast as I could and I knew where I was going. Betsy Palmer, a retired Navy nurse, was a year-round resident of Cutter. In her eighties, she was still sharp as a tack and often volunteered at vaccination clinics and other health-related events on the island. She was a plain-spoken woman with a heart of gold and her home was just a few doors down from the Parish House, close to Preacher’s.
The lights were off when I got there, but I knew she’d be home. Without hesitation, I pounded on the door. As I waited, Andi let out a soft moan.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m getting you help. Don’t die on me, Andi, please.”
As I spoke, a light went on inside and I heard the door latch click.
“This had better be good,” Betsy said as she opened the front door.
She was wearing a terry cloth robe over what appeared to be a flannel nightgown. Her sparse grey hair was wound tightly in rollers and on her feet she wore a pair of fuzzy pink slippers.
She turned on the porch light and stared at me for a second.
“Jesus H . . . !” she exclaimed. “What happened to this girl?”
Before I could respond, she held the door open, motioning me inside.
“Take her into the dining room and lay her on the table,” she instructed. “Is this the Martin girl? The one staying at Sloane’s?”
“Yes,” I answered as I gently laid Andi on the table.
Betsy nodded and then leaned over, taking her pulse. “You been keeping company with her, haven’t you?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Betsy straightened up and looked me in the eye. Her gaze was steely. “What happened to her tonight, Jake?”
“I don’t know,” I stammered. “She was supposed to meet me on the beach but we got our signals crossed. I found her at Preacher’s. I think she took pills.”
I reached in my pocket and handed Betsy the empty prescription bottle. “I found this next to her.”
Betsy studied the label for a moment.
“Lord, why would a little girl like this want to commit suicide?” she exclaimed, shaking her head. “You go to the kitchen and call the firehouse. I’ll do what I can for her until they arrive. This girl needs to get to the mainland where they can pump out her stomach.”
I did as Betsy instructed and called the paramedics who were on duty at the firehouse. Captain Stuart, one of the senior ferryboat officers, answered on the second ring and told me to let Betsy know they were on their way.
When I returned to the dining room, Betsy had placed a pillow under Andi’s head and covered her with a blanket.
“You said this child is your girlfriend, right?” she asked, placing her hands on my shoulders and turning me to face her.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, be honest with me, boy. Did something happen between the two of you tonight? Did you hurt her . . . hit her or anything?”
My mouth fell open in surprise. “No, ma’am,” I blurted out. “I’d never hurt her like that. I love her.”
Betsy stared at me for a moment, then loosened her grip on my shoulder. “Okay, Jake. I believe you. You’re a good boy.”
“But why did you ask . . . ?”
My question was cut short by the sound of sirens outside. The ambulance had arrived.
Betsy told me to sit on the couch as she ushered Captain Stuart and another ambulance worker into the dining room. While the worker hooked Andi up to an IV drip, Betsy motioned the captain into the kitchen where they stood huddled together, talking.
I strained to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low to hear much. I caught the word “bruises” but couldn’t make out the context. At one point the captain turned and stared at me hard, but Betsy shook her head and I heard her say, “No, not Jake. He’s a good boy.”
Finally, they lifted Andi onto a stretcher and prepared to leave. I got up from the couch to join them.
“Whoa, there, buddy,” said Captain Stuart, grabbing me by the shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going with her,” I responded firmly, my jaw set.
“I don’t think so, kid,” he said, gently. “Only family members ride with us in the bus. We’ve contacted her folks. Her mother’s meeting us at the dock. And, from the tone of her voice, I’ve got a feeling she’s not going to want you around, if you know what I mean.”
I tried to push past him, but he held me in place. I was ready to strike him when Betsy intervened.
“Jake, you stay right here. Settle down. Let them get this girl down to the ferry so they can help her.”
She looked at me with kindly eyes and I knew she was right. Andi’s mom would want nothing to do with me . . . might even blame me for her daughter’s condition. So, I sat back down on the couch and watched them carry my girl out the door. Betsy stood at the window until the bus pulled away, then she sat down beside me.
“You’re sixteen, aren’t you, Jake?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered, puzzled.
“You drive?”
“Drive?”
“A car, boy! Can you drive a stick?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“You got your license?”
I shook my head.
She took a deep breath, stood and walked over to the sideboard where her purse sat. She came back a moment later holding a set of keys.
“You take my punt over to the mainland. Find my car . . . it’s a blue Ford. I’m sure you’ll recognize it.”
She handed me the keys. “You promise to be careful . . . not break any speed limits or nothing and you can take my car to the hospital. I’ll call your folks and let them know where you are. When you’re ready to come home, you call your parents and have your dad and brother come get you. One of them can drive my car back to the lot. You got any money on you?”
I shook my head.
“Here,” she said, handing me five singles. “Get yourself something to eat at the hospital. You can pay me back later.”
I stared down at the keys and the money, not believing my eyes.
“Now you get going,” she said. “And drive carefully. I don’t want to hear you wrapped my car around a tree. You understand!”
“Yes, ma’am. And thank you.”
“You’re a good kid, Jake. You get yourself to the hospital and be sure your girl’s okay before you come back.”
I nodded, at a loss for words by her generosity.
“Now, scat,” she said, pushing me out the door. “I need my beauty sleep.”
I turned and impulsively gave her a quick hug, then ran down the steps and began a sprint to the wharf.
When I arrived, I could see the lights of the ferry disappearing into the dark night. An ambulance would be waiting on the mainland to carry Andi and her mother to the hospital where, I prayed, they would save her life. It took me a few minutes to find Betsy’s punt and start my own journey.
The ambulance was long gone by the time I arrived at the mainland ferry terminal. The boat to Cutter was already on its way back to the island and Andi was on her way to the hospital.
My hands were shaking when I slipped the key into the ignition of Betsy’s old blue Ford. As the engine roared to life, I took several deep breaths, trying to remember all my father’s instructions on how to properly drive a car with a manual transmission. Nerves frayed to the breaking point, I stalled the car twice trying to leave the parking lot. Lucky for me, it was late and no one was around to watch me lurch my way out to the road.
But, by the time I got to the highway, I was in control again and, forcing myself to stay well beneath the speed limit, I made my way to town and the local hospital.
The emergency room nurse directed me to the second floor where the intensive care units were located. It was late, going on eleven and the waiting room was deserted. A solitary nurse sat at a station just outside the doors to the unit.
“Excuse me,” I whispered. “I’m trying to locate Andi—I mean, Andrea Martin. She was brought here from Cutter Island, probably around an hour ago.”
The nurse eyeballed me, then looked a clipboard. “Are you family?”
“No. I’m a friend—her boyfriend. Is she here? Is she okay?”
The events of the evening had begun to take their toll and, as I spoke, I could feel tears well up in my eyes. Andi had to be okay . . . she just had to.
The nurse smiled, aware of my distress. “She’s here. And, she’s stable. Her mother is with her now. Why don’t you take a seat over there and when I know more I’ll fill you in.”
I breathed a sigh of relief, thanked her, and asked where I could find a pay phone and a place to get myself a Coke. She smiled and gave me directions.
I got the Coke first and downed half of it right away. Then I called my parents, collect. My mother answered on the first ring, accepting the charges without hesitation. She had obviously been waiting for my call,
“Jake?” she asked before I had a chance to say a word. “Is that you?”
“Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Did Miss Betsy call you?”
She didn’t respond right away and I could hear talking in the background. My father was telling her to give him the phone.
“Jake,” he said. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir. I’m at the hospital. The nurse said Andi’s stable, whatever that means.”
He took a deep breath. “Good. Now, tell me what happened tonight . . . and don’t leave anything out.”
Biting my bottom lip, I told him everything, including the stuff with Lorna. My voice broke when I described finding Andi on the beach and tears ran down my cheeks.
“Take it easy, son,” he said softly. “You saved her. That was quick thinking, taking her to Betsy. I’m proud of you.”
Hearing those words from my dad calmed me down. “Thanks, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay. I’m just worried about her.”
I could almost see him beginning to smile on the other end of the line. “I know. She’s your girl. You stay there as long as you need to. But when you’re ready to come home, you call. Your brother and I will come get you so there’s someone to drive Betsy’s car home, legally. Okay? And, one more thing.”
He hesitated as if trying to find the right words.
“If anyone approaches you . . . anyone from the police . . . .”
“Police?” I interrupted.
“Don’t sass me, boy. Just listen. Like I said, if anyone starts asking you questions, you tell them you’ll only talk to them if your parents are present. You got that?”
“But, Dad, why would police want to talk to me?”
I heard him take a deep breath. “Betsy said there were signs that the girl might have been—manhandled or something. Okay?”
I felt like I’d been slapped. “Manhandled? What do you mean? Did someone hurt her?”
“Calm down, Jake. I don’t know. Betsy said there were some bruises. Could have just been from a fall or something. Yeah, it was most likely just a fall. But you do as I say. No talking to anyone unless your mom and I are with you. Understand?”
I could tell that was as much as he was going to say on the phone so I let him know I understood and would do as he said.
“Okay, now your mother wants to talk to you a bit. Just be polite and don’t lose it with her, okay?”
I had to smile. “Sure. I think I can do that.”
I spoke with my mother briefly then hung up and went back to the ICU waiting room, stopping at the nurses’ station on my way. The same nurse I had spoken to before was still sitting at the desk.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Can you tell me if there’s been any change in Andrea Martin’s condition?”
The nurse looked up at me and smiled. “She’s still stable.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Is it okay if I hang out here for a while?”
“Of course you can. Take a seat in the waiting room. There’s plenty of magazines to look at. I’ll let you know if I hear of any change in her condition.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I sat down and started leafing through an old Life magazine, but I couldn’t concentrate on the pictures or stories.
Bruises . . . my father said there were bruises. I thought back to the moment when I’d laid her on Betsy’s dining room table. I’d noticed a mark on her right cheek then, but had dismissed it as being the result of her falling on the beach. Had someone hit her? And, if so, who?
I thought about this for a while, but it wasn’t long before my eyes began to feel heavy. It had been a long night and I expected it would get even longer. Feeling bone-weary, I closed my eyes, just meaning to take a quick nap.
I woke up about an hour later. Two men had just walked off the elevator and passed by where I’d been sleeping. Their voices, though muted, shattered the quiet of the hospital corridor.
Rubbing my eyes, I looked to see who had arrived at this late hour. My heart started pounding when I recognized the blue uniform on the shorter of the two men. The other guy, the tall one, wore a business suit, but he, too, had all the earmarks of being a cop.
They stopped at the nurses’ station and I could hear them ask for Andi’s room. The nurse nodded and led them through the double doors to the patient ward. She came back a few minutes later. Noticing that I was now awake and staring intently at the doors, she smiled and beckoned to me.
“You look worried,” she said as I approached her desk. “You needn’t be. This is routine in cases of attempted suicide . . . it’s against the law, you know, to take your own life. The police have to put in an appearance. But, don’t worry; your girlfriend’s not in trouble.”
“Thank you, ma’am. Andi—I mean, Andrea—she’s a good girl. What happened must have been an accident.”
The nurse nodded. “Probably, you’re right.”
Her phone rang and I mumbled my thanks again and went back to the waiting room and began, again, to leaf through the outdated magazines.
It wasn’t long before my fatigue got the better of me again. When I woke up, it was past dawn and several other folks had made themselves comfortable in the lounge. I got up and went to the men’s room, relieved myself, splashed water on my face and combed my hair. When I thought I looked semi-presentable, I walked back out to the nurses’ station to ask about Andi.
A nurse was standing with her back to me, filing some papers in the cabinet that sat against the wall. I tried to wait patiently for her to finish but my anxiety over Andi’s condition won out.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said.
The nurse turned around. She was young, probably in her twenties. The one who had been on duty the night before was closer to my mother’s age.
“Yes, how can I help you?” she asked.
“Andrea Martin. I’m a friend. I was wondering how she’s doing.”
She eyed me closely. “You’re not family, I take it.”
“No, ma’am.”
She stared at me for a moment then rifled through the papers on her clipboard.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have any patient by that name here. Perhaps she was discharged last night or early this morning.”
“Can you find out?” I pleaded.
“Listen, young man,” she replied sternly. “You’re not family and, by law, I cannot tell you anything more. And, if you’re, as you say, a friend of this girl’s, then ask her parents how she’s doing. Now, excuse me, I have work to do.”
She turned abruptly back toward the file cabinet, dismissing me.
Not knowing what else to do and feeling totally depressed, I walked glumly to the row of pay phones. I would have to go home and, maybe, never find out what happened to my girl.
I was about to pick up the receiver when I noticed a woman coming from the ladies’ room. She had on a raincoat and hat, but I recognized her. It was the nurse who had been on duty the night before. She looked my way and smiled, recognizing me.
“Get some sleep last night?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
She smiled again and began to walk down the hall toward the elevators.
“Ma’am,” I cried.
She turned. “Yes, son?”
“Do you know what happened to Andi . . . I mean Andrea . . . Andrea Martin? The nurse on duty said she’s not here anymore.”
At this point, I was close to panic and I think the nurse recognized it. She removed her hat and took me by the arm.
“Why don’t we go down to the cafeteria and get some coffee? We’ll be able to talk more freely there.”
As she spoke, her eyes shot over to the young nurse who was now staring at us, a scowl on her face.
“Sure. I’d like that,” I replied.
“Good. And maybe a donut would be nice, don’t you think?“
I nodded and allowed her to steer me out of the unit to the other end of the hospital where the cafeteria was located.
It was a busy place this time of the morning—doctors, nurses, patients, and visitors all having breakfast or just a quick cup of java. We got donuts and coffee and sat down at a table far in the back.
She took a bite of her donut. “Ah, that tastes good. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the night shift. Luckily, I only have one more week left until I’m back to days.”
I sipped my coffee and waited, my patience beginning to run a little thin.
“Okay,” she finally said. “I can see you’re antsy. You want to know about your girlfriend, right?”
I nodded.
“Well, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but she was transferred out in the middle of the night.”
“Transferred? To where? Did she go home?” I asked.
The nurse hesitated. “No, not home. To a psychiatric facility in Massachusetts. Her mother had her discharged. Against doctor’s orders, I might add.”
“Can you tell me where she went? What facility?”
The woman studied me for a moment, taking another bite of her donut, then she sighed.
“If I tell you, what are you going to do? Go there? They won’t let you see her . . . in fact, they probably won’t even acknowledge that she’s there. And forget phoning, too. It’ll be the same story. No, my young friend, you are going to have to accept the fact that you’re not going to see her and you’re not going to talk to her. It’s just not going to happen.”
I frowned, staring down at my coffee, as her words sunk in.
“But there is one thing you can do,” she said.
I looked up, once again hopeful. “What? I’ll do anything.”
She smiled. “You can write her. They’ll read your letters but they just might give them to her. And maybe they’ll let her write back. I don’t know. I can give you the address, but you have to promise me one thing.”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
“I can see you’re really smitten with this young lady and right now you probably want to pour out all your feelings to her—love, anger, guilt—all those nasty emotions that have been tearing you up since she took those pills. Am I right?”
I started to say no, to deny what she was saying, but her eyes were so full of compassion I knew I couldn’t lie to her.
“Yeah . . . you’re right.”
“Okay, good. I’m glad you admit that. So, here’s what you’re going to do. You write that letter—pour it all out—tell her everything you’re feeling. Just keep writing until you’re empty.”
I nodded.
“Good. But when you’re done and there’s nothing more to say, you take that letter and tear it up. Rip it to shreds and toss it in the trash.”
I looked at her puzzled. “But, why?”
“Because, my young friend, she doesn’t need to hear all that crap right now. You can’t burden her with your guilt, your questions, your love. She’s already got enough to deal with. Her actions last night indicate that whatever it is she’s got on her plate is already too much for her to bear. She doesn’t need your stuff. No, you purge yourself of all your feelings, toss them aside, then when that’s done and you’re feeling steady, sit down and write her a letter that will help her heal her wounded soul.”
“But what should I write about?”
She hesitated for a minute, then gestured toward the window. “Look outside . . . it’s raining. Write about how the raindrops sound as they hit the windowpane . . . about how you feel when the sun finally comes out. Tell her what you’re going to do today so she can feel she’s with you, having fun . . . doing mundane, everyday things. But stay clear of those pesky emotions—she doesn’t need them right now. Okay? You think you can do that?”
I stared at my donut for a moment, thinking about what she’d said. She was right. Finally, I looked up and smiled.
“Yeah. I can do that.”
“Good.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a pen. Hastily, she scribbled the name and address of a hospital outside of Boston onto a napkin.
“Here,” she said, handing it to me. “And don’t let me hear that you went down there or tried to phone. Trust me; the only way you’ll get in contact with her is through the U.S. Mail. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. “I promise. And, thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”
She smiled again. “I think I do.”
She wiped her hands on a napkin and stood. “Now, I’ve got to get going. My family is probably worried sick. You take care, young man. And don’t worry over much about Andrea. She’s in good hands.”
I stood and held out my hand. “Thank you again.”
“Just all in a day’s—or in this case, night’s—work. Take care of yourself.”
She shook my hand, turned and hurried out of the cafeteria. I sat for a moment, sipping my coffee and thinking about the advice she had given me. I wrapped what was left of my donut in a napkin, put it in my pocket, and headed to the gift store which had just opened. There I bought some writing paper, a pen, and some stamps. I called my folks collect again and my dad said he and my brother would be there to pick me up in about an hour.
I spent the time waiting for them writing. I wrote the first letter fast and furiously, letting out all my bottled-up emotions. When I was finished, I did as the nurse had instructed . . . I tore it up and tossed it in a waste receptacle.
Then I started again. At first I wasn’t sure how to begin, but as I stared out the window at the early morning rain, somehow the words began to flow.
I believe that first letter was five pages long. I ended it with Love, Jake-with-a-J.
I folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, addressed it, and licked a stamp. There was a mailbox outside the hospital entrance and I slid the letter through the slot just as my dad drove up.
When he saw me, he hopped out of the truck, gave me a big bear hug, then told me to get in and show him where I had parked Betsy’s old blue Ford. Once there, he told my brother, who was sitting in the back, to drive Betsy’s car to the island lot and wait for us there.
“Jake and I have a stop to make on the way back, but you shouldn’t have to wait too long. Now, get!“
My brother nodded and took off in Betsy’s car, leaving my father and me behind.
“Okay, boy,” my dad said as he turned our truck around and headed for the highway. “I think it’s time you got your license. I don’t want to have to do this again and your mother was like to have a fit when she heard you were driving by yourself.”
I grinned. Every time I’d brought up getting my license, he’d had an excuse for putting it off. But now, because of Andi, it was finally going to happen.
We were lucky; the Department of Motor Vehicles on Marginal Way was practically deserted that morning. My dad sat in the waiting room while I took the written test which I passed easily. Then an officer escorted me out for the driving exam. When we returned, he looked at my father.
“You feel safe with this boy driving?” he asked.
My dad smiled. “I’d trust him with my life, sir. He’s a good kid.”
“Okay, then,” the officer said with a grin. “Let’s get his mug shot. He’ll get a temporary license here. His regular one will be mailed to him in about a month.”
Grinning now from ear to ear, I posed for my picture and placed my temporary license carefully in my wallet.
My dad clapped me on the back as we left the station. “Okay, Jake. Since you’re legal now, how about you drive me home? I’d like to catch a little catnap on the way.”
“Yes, sir!” I exclaimed, climbing into the driver’s seat and, as I put the key in the ignition, I mouthed a silent thank you to Andi.