Barefoot: A Novel

Stil no flicker of interest from Peter. Peter thought of Josh as the help. A servant, a slave. Whereas Peter was the husband, the neighbor, the peer, the equal, the chieftain in Melanie’s real life. But Peter Patchen was also a genuine crumb who cheated and lied— that was Melanie’s real life.

Josh trudged down the street, Porter in one arm, his pack-mule load in the other, beach umbrel a slung across his back. The white shel s of the street reflected the sunlight in a way that hurt Josh’s eyes. The glare made Josh squint and gave him a headache; he’d had nothing to eat and his stomach was sour, and he was transporting a hundred pounds at least. He felt weak and shaky in the knees. He was stupid, an idiot; he should have declared himself sick when he had the chance. He encouraged Blaine to walk in the shade.

Josh found Melanie waiting for him at the rotary. She was leaning against the railing outside Claudette’s, where he couldn’t miss her. He saw her and flooded with relief and love, but this was replaced with a rush of fury and suspicion. Be careful blinkered in his mind.

“There’s Melanie,” Blaine said.

“I see her.”

She was al decked out for power walking—the stretchy shorts, the white sneakers. Her hair was in a ponytail, but she’d been sweating and curls fel around her face. Her cheeks were hot and pink. She took up stride alongside of them and reached for the handle of the cooler.

“Let me help.”

“I’ve got it.” Josh’s voice sounded angry, so he said, “You’re carrying your own load.”

“Josh?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to her. “What?”

Blaine stopped, too, and looked up. “What?”

They both looked at Blaine and continued walking.

“I didn’t know,” she murmured. “I had no idea. It came as a total shock. You have to believe me.”

“What about last night?” he said. “Where were you?”

“I fel asleep.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Where did he stay? With you?”

“He said he was getting a hotel, but he couldn’t find a room, so he came back—this was after I fel asleep—and crashed on the sofa. When I woke up this morning, he was there. No one was more surprised than me . . .”

“Are you guys talking about Peter?” Blaine asked.

“No,” Josh and Melanie said together. The parking lot of the public beach was up ahead. “The beach is crowded today,” Josh said to Blaine. “Do you want to run ahead and save our spot before someone else takes it?”

“Takes our spot?” Blaine said, clearly worried. “Okay.” He dashed off.

“Be careful!” Josh cal ed out.

Be careful. To Melanie, Josh said, “I think we should end things.”

“No,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was thick; his throat felt like it was coated with a film or mucus. “It’s going to be over in a couple of weeks anyway.”

“But that’s a couple of weeks . . .”

“Melanie,” he said. “You’re going back to Peter. He came to take you back.”

“He came to take me back,” she said. “But I said no. I’m staying here until . . .”

“But you wil go back to him eventual y. When you leave.”

She was quiet.

“Right?”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’re going back to him. Just say it.”

“I don’t want to say it.”

Girls, women, Josh thought. They were the same. Lure you in, trample your heart, but instead of letting you break away clean, there was al this muddling confusion, al this talking.

“I have feelings for you, Josh.”

“I have feelings for you, too,” he said. “Obviously.” He had cal ed it love to his father and he might have used the word with Melanie if it hadn’t been for this morning.

“It’s only two more weeks,” Melanie said. “What’s the point of ending it now?”

What was the point in ending it now? Wel , for one thing, Josh felt in control right now. Sort of. Peter’s visit was a blessing in disguise, maybe; it gave Josh the impetus to get out while his head was stil above water—because the possibility of drowning in Melanie, in his feelings, his love for her, was very real.