The Bay at Midnight

like she won’t get caught.”

“Well, thanks, Julie,” he said. “You’re okay.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

He looked behind him to see if it was safe to pull away from the bulkhead, then waved as he took off, heading toward the bridge. When the sound of Bruno’s boat could no longer be distinguished from all the other sounds on the canal, George turned to look at me.

“You up to no good, girl,” he said.

I never gave Isabel the message from Ned. Lucy and I went to the boardwalk with our grandparents that evening, and Izzy went out with some of her girlfriends. I knew that she would eventually leave them to meet Ned on the platform. Her curfew was eleven-thirty, but I doubted she’d bother coming home first, because she knew Mom would be asleep by then. I was excited about my plan and it was all I could think about as I rode the merry-go-round and Tilt-A-Whirl and ate the cotton candy Grandpop bought us. I thought I was so clever.

After we got home from the boardwalk, I went upstairs with Lucy to wait for her to fall asleep. I lay on my own bed, rereading The Clue in the Jewel Box behind the curtain, but I couldn’t read more than a sentence before my mind turned to Isabel and what might happen at midnight. I hoped Bruno would come on a little smoother than he usually did. I pictured him pulling the boat up to the platform, saying, “Isabel, is that you?” as though he was surprised to see her. I hoped he would act surprised and not say something stupid like, “Julie told me I’d find you here.” God, if he did that, I’d kill him.

Then I imagined that Isabel would look over her shoulder toward the beach, wondering why Ned hadn’t yet arrived. Maybe it would make her nervous to have Bruno there as she waited. It probably would, because she wouldn’t want Ned to catch her with another boy. Maybe she and Bruno would talk for a few minutes, though, and she’d begin to relax. She’d realize that, for some reason, Ned wasn’t coming. Something had gone wrong with their usual arrangements. And maybe she would look at Bruno in a different way. There was only a little sliver of a moon out tonight, so it was unlikely she’d be able to see his pretty green eyes, but maybe she’d still be attracted to him. My fantasy did not go so far as to have her invite him onto the platform, but at least they would start talking. At least she would begin to compare him to Ned and, with any luck at all, find Ned lacking.

Lucy fell asleep quickly, as she often did when I was present, and I piled up the bedspread beneath the covers. Then I padded quietly across the attic floor and down the rickety steps.

Grandpop was already in bed—I could hear him snoring as I passed through the living room—and I joined my mother and grandmother on the porch for a game of canasta. I could not concentrate on the cards any better than I’d been able to on my reading.

“What’s wrong with you tonight?” my mother said, after I dealt twelve cards to each of us instead of eleven. It was the third or fourth mistake I’d made.

“I’m tired, I guess,” I said.

Grandma pressed her palm against my forehead.

“I’m not sick,” I said with a laugh.

“The two of you make a fine pair,” Grandma said, shaking her head. “Julie’s tired and Maria can hardly see.”

My mother’s eyes were red and teary. She’d told us that she’d shaken out a beach blanket before washing it and sand had blown in her face.

“I can see just fine,” she said. She sounded a little annoyed.

Grandma returned her attention to her cards. “I bumped into Libby Wilson at church this morning,” she said.

“Yes, I saw you talking to her.” My mother drew a card from the stock. “How’s she doing?”

“Oh, who knows,” Grandma said. “You never hear about how Libby’s doing from Libby.You just hear about everybody else’s problems, never her own.” She was talking fast, and I loved how cute and hard to follow her Italian accent could be when she was on a roll.

“What did you learn about everybody else’s problems?” Mom asked. She placed a four of spades onto the discard pile, then pressed a tissue to the corner of her red and watery left eye.

“Betty Sanders is sick again,” Grandma said.

“Oh, dear,” my mother said. “This is what? The third time. Do they think it’s…?” She let her voice trail off. People didn’t mention cancer in those days, as though speaking the word aloud might cause you to catch it.

I was trying to see my mother’s watch. It looked like it was around ten thirty-five, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Probably,” My grandmother placed four queens on the table in front of her. “But no one’s saying. They took all her female parts this time.”

“Ugh,” I said, my big contribution to the conversation. My mind was elsewhere and I didn’t know who Betty Sanders was, anyway.

“I’ll send her a card,” Mom said.

“Libby said that, last fall, Madge’s boy got arrested and you’ll never guess why,” Grandma said.

“Why?” my mother asked.

“Rape.” Grandma whispered the word.

“Oh, my goodness,” my mother said. “Is he in jail?”

“They couldn’t pin it on him because the girl was a tramp,” Grandma said. Then she nudged me with her elbow. “It’s your turn, Julie.”

“I think that’s terrible,” my mother said, as I drew a card from the stock. “Rape is rape, whether the girl is a tramp or not.”

I liked that they were talking about something to do with sex in front of me. I felt like I had crossed some kind