The Bay at Midnight

I thought of my impure thoughts, reassuring myself that they were mild in comparison to the things Marilyn Monroe had done.

“I heard about a girl who cheated on her husband.” Isabel had one elbow on the table, her hand holding a piece of crisp bacon that she waved a little in the air as she spoke. “She went off on a vacation with her boyfriend and they were in a helicopter and when they got out of the helicopter, the propeller was spinning around and it cut off her head.”

“Oh, Isabel!” my mother said.

“I am not listening to another disgusting word!” Lucy got up, lifted her plate from the table and carried it into the house.

But Isabel, as usual, had won my father’s affection. He looked across the table at her, nodding.

“Exactly,” he said.

My father was so blind. I wished I had the guts to tell him that Isabel and Ned met on the platform in the bay every night. My attempts to push Bruno and Isabel together had failed so far, and on those nights when I snuck out on the boat, there they were—Isabel and Ned, hugging and kissing…and much, much more.

My father left for Westfield later that afternoon and I saw that Wanda and her family were still on the other side of the canal. They usually fished only in the morning, but the weather was cool and I guessed they had simply decided to make a day of it. I thought I would join them.

I got my fishing gear from the garage, then walked around the side of the house to grab a dry towel from the clothesline. Isabel’s wonderful giraffe towel hung there among the plain old beach towels. I assumed that Izzy was already at the beach, so as long as I returned the towel to the line before she got home, she would never know that I’d borrowed it. I tossed the towel over my arm, then headed around the house to the backyard.

My fishing line had snapped the last time I’d used it, so I sat on one of the Adirondack chairs to repair it. Next door, Ned, Ethan and Mr. Chapman were in their boat in the dock. I could see the tops of their heads and I could hear conversation, some of it heated, but I could not make out the words.

Suddenly Mr. Chapman’s voice rose. “I said no!” he shouted.

Ned yelled something back at him, his words unintelligible.

“Go in the house, Ethan,” Mr. Chapman said, and I guessed that Ethan was either being punished for something or—more likely, from the sound of it—the conversation was not meant for his ears. I buried my head close to the fishing line, pretending to be engrossed in my task in case one of them glanced in my direction, but I was actually straining to hear what was being said.

Once the door to the Chapmans’ porch had slammed shut behind Ethan, Mr. Chapman spoke up again. “You’re not going to see her tonight,” he said.

Curiosity and hope welled up in me. If I couldn’t break Ned and Isabel up, maybe Mr. Chapman could. My nose was so close to the fishing line that I could smell the briny scent emanating from it.

“If you’ve known all this time,” Ned said, “why are you cracking down all of a sudden?”

Mr. Chapman lowered his voice, and although I leaned my head a few inches closer to their yard and pushed my hair behind my ear, I could not hear what he said. Their conversation lasted only a few more minutes before Mr. Chapman went into the house. I felt sorry for Ned. I knew what it was like to be chewed out and how powerless and angry it could leave you feeling.

I had long since finished working on my fishing line, so with the excitement over next door, I carried my pole and bucket and the giraffe towel to my own dock. I descended the ladder and was about to jump into the runabout when I heard Ned softly call my name. I peered over the bulkhead to see him walking toward me, and I dropped everything into the boat and rushed up the ladder to the sand.

I started to call hello to him, but he put his finger to his lips.

I nodded. I understand, I was saying to him. He didn’t want his father to hear.

He waited until he was right next to me before he spoke again, his voice very low. “Is Izzy home?” he whispered. He glanced toward his house as though afraid his father might be watching him. I could just about smell the fear on him.

“No,” I said. I looked at his hands expecting to see the toy giraffe, but he didn’t have it with him. “She’s gone to the beach with Mitzi and Pam, I think.” I watched his face to see if the mention of Pam sparked any reaction in him, but he barely seemed to notice. I was one-hundred-percent certain George had either mistaken someone else for Ned that day in the river or else he’d just been teasing me.

“I was wondering if you’d give her a message for me?” Ned asked.

“Sure.” I would do anything for you, I thought. It was great that he was talking to me on a Sunday. My hair always looked pretty and wavy on Sundays because I washed it and set it for church. I wondered if he noticed how good it looked. I tossed it over my shoulder as we talked, hoping the gesture was as sexy as I thought it was.

“Tell her I can’t see her tonight, okay?” he asked.

I nodded. I felt so adult. So proud to be trusted with their secrets. “Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I’ll tell her.”

“Thanks.” He reached toward my head and I gritted my teeth, expecting him to tousle my hair as if I were a kid, but instead, he rested his hand on the back of my head and looked into my eyes. “You’re the most, Jules,” he said.

I wanted to stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. It would have been easy. He was so close, so handsome. But I kept my bare heels glued to the sand and simply smiled at him, acknowledging the compliment. Then I headed for the ladder once again.

I was still elated by the thrill of his touch a short time later, as I cast my line into the water from the other side of the canal. I’d hung Isabel’s towel over the fence in front of me so that the giraffe was watching us with his big, long-lashed eyes. Wanda loved the towel so much that I wished I could give it to her.

“You ever seen one of them for real?” she asked me, pointing to the giraffe.