The Bay at Midnight

I was thrilled! I couldn’t wait for a ride in the Chapmans’ Boston Whaler. I hoped we could ski. But Isabel was having none of it.

“Really, Mother,” she said, closing her book and getting to her feet, “that’s ridiculous.”

She walked into the house and Mom called after her, “Remember, you’re supposed to look for a job this summer.”

Mom began working on her sketch again as though nothing had happened, and disappointed, I returned to The Secret in the Old Attic. Later that day, I walked to the beach by myself and as I passed the little marina at the end of the canal, I saw Isabel standing on the bulkhead staring out at the water. I called to her, but she didn’t seem to hear me. Then I saw Ned pull his boat up tight against the bulkhead. He reached out a hand and Isabel climbed in.

I stopped walking, my mouth hanging open. I couldn’t believe she would so completely disregard our mother’s rules. I watched with envy as the boat picked up speed and raced out of the marina, and I tucked that image away for some day when I might need it.

“Come on, Lucy,” Mom said now. “Let’s go in the water.” I opened my eyes to see that she’d arranged the sandwiches and thermos, suntan lotion and her book, all in a row along one side of the blanket. Now she was ready to swim.

“I’m reading,” Lucy said. She was out of my line of sight, but I was certain she had not lifted her eyes from her book.

I saw Mom kneel down in front of her. “It’s a new summer, Lucy,” she said. “You’re eight now. It’s really silly to still be afraid of the water.”

Lucy didn’t respond.

“Chicken,” I said, closing my eyes again.

“Shh!” Mom said to me. “That’s not going to help.”

“Go in the water, Lucy.” I sat up, feeling guilty. I didn’t want to be a nasty older sister. I knew how that felt. “Then later I’ll go on the swings with you.”

With a sigh too heavy for an eight-year-old, Lucy got to her feet. My mother pulled on her own bathing cap, tucking her dark, wavy chin-length hair up inside it. Then she helped Lucy pull hers over her short permed curls, as though my sister might actually go into water deep enough to get her hair wet. I watched as the two of them walked toward the roped-off section of the water, holding hands. Mom pointed to a plane that was flying above the water, trailing a Coppertone banner behind it. As I’d figured, Lucy went in up to her knees and refused to go any farther. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but I could tell that my mother spent much of it coercing and Lucy spent much of it shaking her head no. Finally giving up, my mother walked into the water by herself. I watched her dive in once she’d reached the deeper water. She swam underwater to escape from the roped area, then began swimming parallel to the shore with long, fluid strokes. She looked beautiful, like a sea creature instead of a woman. I longed to be out there with her. She’d taught me to swim when I was half Lucy’s age.

I looked at my younger sister. She was still standing in the knee-high water, her yellow ruffly bathing suit dry, the pathetic Flintstones tube around her waist as she watched our mother swim. Suddenly I felt so sorry for her that I thought I might cry.

“Lucy, honey,” I called, the endearment slipping from my mouth before I could stop it.

She turned to look at me.

“Come back to the blanket,” I said.

She did. She trudged back to the blanket, pulled off the bathing cap, shimmied out of her tube and sat down next to me to read.

“Lay down and I’ll put some suntan lotion on you,” I said.

Mom had already coated her with it, but I just wanted to do something nice for her. She lay down on her stomach, and I rubbed the coconut-scented lotion on her back. I felt her shoulder blades, pointy beneath my palms. She seemed so fragile. I wanted to bend over and hug her. I wished I could give her just an ounce of my courage. I had more than I could manage.

I was putting the lid back on the tube when I realized Mr. and Mrs. Chapman were now on the beach directly behind us. They were sitting on striped, legless beach chairs, and Mrs. Chapman had her head tilted back, her eyes closed, face held toward the sun. She had pretty blond hair, cut short in a cap around her head. Mr. Chapman was reading a book, but he must have sensed me looking at him, because he took off his sunglasses and I could see him returning my gaze. He did not look happy to see me.

“Oh,” he said. “Hello, Lucy.”

“I’m Julie,” I said.

“Julie, of course.”

I looked toward the sea grass where I’d seen Ethan lying down, but he was no longer there. Then I spotted him sitting on the pier, holding one end of a string that disappeared below the water’s surface. He was probably crabbing. If I could still stand him, I would have enjoyed doing that with him.

“Has Charles…has your father gone back to Westfield for the week?” Mr. Chapman asked me.

I nodded. “Don’t you have to go home during the week, too?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Not since I’ve been on the Supreme Court,” he said. “We break for the summer.”

I was confused. I’d had no idea Mr. Chapman was on the Supreme Court. “Why did you outlaw school prayer?” I said, taking up my father’s fight.

“What?” He looked puzzled, then he laughed. His features were softer when he laughed and I could see some of Ned’s good looks in him. “That’s the United States Supreme Court,” he said. “I’m chief justice of the New Jersey Supreme Court.”

“Oh.” I felt embarrassed, as though this was something I should have known.