Page 103 of 28 Summers
“Is Bess giving you a hard time?”
“Not me.”
“Ursula?”
Jake nods. Bess doesn’t have a boyfriend, go to bonfires, or smoke dope. She stays home with her friend Pageant, and the two of them make incendiary posters for the rallies and marches and protests they attend on the weekends to fight for climate change, reproductive rights, transgender rights, immigration rights, gun control, Amnesty International. It’s hard to keep up, and whereas Jake tries to be supportive—he loves that Bess is using her voice—Ursula’s attitude is one of amusement, which comes across as patronizing.
Off to defend the lesbian cheetahs?Ursula asked recently.Or is today Ugandan dwarves?
You’re offensive,Bess said.If anyone knew what you were really like, no one would vote for you.
Bess!Jake said, but she had already slammed out of the condo.
Ursula tossed it off with a laugh.Let her go,she said.I hated my mother at that age too. It’s natural.
“What if we went out tonight after dinner?” Jake says. “What if we went to the Chicken Box for old times’ sake?”
“I’d love to,” Mallory says. “But we can’t. We dodged a bullet, Jake. I thought for sure Ursula would put you on lockdown and I’d be alone this weekend.”
“She seemed unconcerned,” Jake says. Mallory told him about the whole situation withLeland’s Letterand Ursula calling Cooper. Mallory found it strange that Ursula hadn’t simply confronted Jake, but that’s because Mallory doesn’t understand the architecture of his marriage. Ursula doesn’t deal with the issue head-on partly because she can’t summon the emotional energy and partly because she’s afraid if she pulls the wrong block, the whole Jenga tower will fall. A failing marriage is a death knell in politics; Ursula will maintain at any cost.
Jake isn’t thrilled that Cooper knows what’s going on, although Cooper covering for them has bought them some freedom. Why not enjoy it? “We’re so old now,” he says. “We won’t know anyone at the Box.”
“We might, though.”
“Let’s do something different, then,” he says. “How about if after dinner we take a bottle of wine down to the docks and drink it onboard theGreta? It’ll be nice to be out on the water. We can sit on the bow. No one will see us.”
Mallory purses her lips. “Mmm, I don’t know about changing up our routine. We do things the way we do them because they work.”
“No one is going to see us on the bow of your boat, Mal.”
She huffs. “Fine. But when we’re walking, stay six paces behind me with your hands in your pockets and wear a hat.”
Jake laughs. “Deal.”
They park Mallory’s Jeep downtown and walk—Mallory first, Jake following—past the Gazebo, Straight Wharf, and Cru and onto the docks. It’s fun to be out at night among people enjoying the last weekend of summer. Jake is nervous, which only heightens his pleasure; he’s drunk too much wine, probably, and Mallory has a second bottle in her bag. They may have to sleep on the boat and sneak off at the crack of dawn.
They come to the gatekeeper. Beyond a certain point, it’s boat owners and guests only. There’s a teenager with strawberry-blond hair curling out from beneath his University of Miami hat like lettuce peeking out of a hamburger bun. Jake nearly turns back. Mallory knows every teenager on this island. She’stheEnglish teacher—the best, the most popular. Any one of her students could whip his phone out of his pocket to snap a pic of the dude Miss Blessing is hanging out with and then post it on Snapchat. Someone else would then do face-recognition. First the high school and then the entire island would know that Miss Blessing was seen at the docks at nine o’clock at night with Jake McCloud, husband of Ursula de Gournsey.
Is he being paranoid? Probably.
“I’m on theGreta,” Mallory says to the kid. “Slip one oh six.”
“’Kay,” the teenager says.
They walk on. Jake feels so relieved that he reaches for Mallory’s hand, and she swats it away, as she should. He grabs her by the shoulders and she elbows him in the ribs. They’re at slip 100. TheGretais three boats ahead on the right. They’re almost in the clear.
A man and a woman step off one of the huge yachts on the left. The man is big and burly. Mallory and Jake have to move aside so the couple can pass.
“Evening,” Jake says.
The man stops. His weight makes the deck boards creak.
“Mallory?” he says.
Mallory turns. “Oh!” she cries as though someone goosed her. “Bayer?” She moves tentatively in the man’s direction but then seems to think better of it and offers half a wave. “Hello there. Good to see you.” She has clearly decided against a big reunion with Bayer—talk about an appropriate name; the guy is huge and hairy—and Jake is relieved.
Onward,he thinks. But he’s aware that the moment hasn’t quite ended. Bayer is staring at them—at Jake now—while the woman, a slim brunette with an armful of gold bangles, is focused on her phone.
