“You take your meds?”
“Yes, I did.”
Another thing he was always after him about. That, eating right, and going back to school. What was left of his life’s checklist.
“Good boy. You need some money?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Before Brendan stepped out, he looked back at his grandfather with his cotton-wispy white hair and face so pale it seemed to glow in the dark. “Good night, Richard.”
“Good night, kiddo. And thanks for looking out for me.”
“Mmm.”
Then as the door was closing, Richard added, “Hey!”
Brendan stopped. “Yeah?”
In the strip of light, Brendan could see Richard’s mouth lopsided with emotion.
“I love you, Brendy Bear.”
Brendan could hear the catch in his grandfather’s throat. And for a moment, he was unable to breathe for the small glow in his chest. Then in a barely audible voice he muttered, “Thanks.” And he clicked the door shut.
But Brendan did not bound down the stairs as usual. Instead, he put his hand on his chest and gazed into the mirror again.
His heart was pounding. And his eyes were wet.
It was about eleven-thirty when Brendan pulled into the lot—a small tartopped parking area on the bluff hanging over the town beach. The only other car was Nicole’s mother’s SUV. She swung open the passenger door to let him in.
“W-w-what’s up?”
Nicole was dressed in white jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt. “I want to go down to the beach.” With that, she got out of the car, tugging a shoulder bag.
Brendan didn’t like beaches. He couldn’t swim. He didn’t like trudging in sand. He didn’t like the fishy brine. In the daytime, it was too hot and bright, at night it was dark and forbidding. But he followed her down the serpentine steps to the sand.
There were no lights on the beach, and the nearest residents were a mile away. The only illumination was a white crescent moon, which rocked in the sky about thirty degrees above the eastern horizon like a rib bone.
“I’m sorry for being such a bitch.”
It was a night of surprises. Brendan could not believe she was actually apologizing. Such a sentiment seemed antithetical to her nature. “N-no problem.”
“It’s just that what you said about getting a head operation freaked me out.”
“Did you ask them?”
“My mother said I got seizures when I was small. Maybe that’s what it was all about. I had chicken pox too. I don’t know.” She turned her face toward him so that the moon cast shadows across her eyes. “Do you really think they made you smarter?”
“I’m n-not sure, but that’s what the tests and the X rays s-suggest. Maybe I was au-autistic or had a t-tumor or something and they got me fixed. That’s what I don’t know. Whatever they did, I think it s-s-screwed me up big time. And I’d like to find the people who did it to me.”
Nicole said nothing.
“Did you ask them about that doctor—Lucius Malenko?” The name meant nothing to Brendan.
“Just that he’s some kind of specialist. I don’t want to talk about it.”
She took his hand.
“Don’t be afraid, I’m not going to jump on you.”
He was grateful for that.
“And I don’t think you’re a fag.” She brushed the hair out of his eyes. “It’s just that I wish I turned you on.”
“Sorry, b-but it’s not you.”
They were quiet for a while; still holding his hand, she pulled him up.
“How’s camp?”
“It’s okay. We just play a lot of head games.”
“It’s a g-g-genius camp, right?”
“There are lots of geeky kids there, if that’s what you mean.”
“What kinds of things do they have?”
“Computer workshops, physics, astronomy, math workshops, bio lab—stuff like that. It’s fun. Besides,” she added, “I want to go to med school someday, so it looks good on my record.”
“I’m s-sure you won’t have any p-p-problems there.”
“Whatever,” she said, then tugged on his hand. “I want to go swimming.”
“S-s-swimming?”
“Yeah, I’m warm.” She slipped off her sandals.
He watched her, but said nothing. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t swim, but decided against it. She peeled out of her clothes, and, thankfully, she was wearing a bathing suit. A black one-piece.
“Come on.”
“Nah. I’m fine.”
“Don’t be a pussy.”
“I d-d-don’t have a bathing suit.”
“You don’t need one. Nobody’s around for miles. Or go in your underwear if you’re so modest.”
“No, that’s okay.”
But she wouldn’t take no for an answer, and began to pull his shirt over his head. But he stopped her and took it off himself.
“Come on, the rest of it.”
Reluctantly he lowered his pants to his boxers. He did not like this. He did not want to get wet, but she was pushing him. It crossed his mind that she might have been nervous about going in the water alone. The waves weren’t very high, and were breaking a good distance out.
She pulled him into shallows, the initial shock, sending spikes through his body. It was also not a smooth sandy bottom, but one carpeted with large round rocks that made the footing precarious. He could feel sharp things between slimed rocks—shell fragments and seaweed clumps. They felt awful, especially to his tender feet.
But that did not seem to bother Nicole who bounded ahead, kicking up her long muscle-tight legs.
“This is as far as I go,” he announced.
“You’re being a wimp.” And she turned and splashed him.
The chill cut through him. “There m-might be an undertow, r-r-rip currents.”
“Not here,” she said, then dove in and came up in the foam of a breaker. With her slicked-back hair and black suit she looked like a seal.
She dove in again and surfaced beside him. “Come on,” she said, and grabbed his hand and pulled him in to his waist.
He began to feel nervous. It was deeper than he liked and he could swear he felt a current pull against his legs.
He stood in place with his feet firmly planted and watched Nicole cavort in the waves ahead of him. The cool air made his skin a sheet of goose rash, and he began to shiver.
The wind had picked up, and the breakers came in long even rows, cresting and crashing maybe thirty feet ahead of him in lines of foam running down the shore.
He tried not to think of what the water looked like from underneath. He tried not to think of the kinds of
