Page 44 of 28 Summers
He’s happy. The date is going well, then? She’s not sure why but she feels there’s something at stake here.
They take their glasses of wine to the water’s edge and get their feet wet. The sun is setting; there are stripes of magenta flaring across the sky. A gull soars low, just skimming the surface of the water; the ferry glides across the horizon, heading for the mainland. Mallory has lived on Nantucket for four years and still she finds the summertime here so beautiful that it hurts. Probably because the summer is fleeting, evanescent. It always ends. Mallory doesn’t want it to end. She yearns for something that will stay, something permanent. Is she talking about Bayer? Is she talking about Jake?
She’s getting drunk. She leads Bayer back to the table.
A second bottle of wine. The seafood fondue appears. Mallory spears a shrimp with her fondue fork, plunges it into the hot oil, and then, when it’s plump and pink, she dunks it into one of the three delectable sauces.
This dinner is perfect; this restaurant, the entire evening, couldn’t be any better. Right?
Before dessert, Oliver sends over shots of sambuca in tiny frosted glasses. Mallory holds hers aloft. “To you, Skipper,” she says.
Bayer grins. “To you, Mary Ann.”
A woman materializes out of nowhere. She’s in a red floral wrap dress with a matching headscarf. She has dark hair and wears red lipstick. She’s pretty enough. Older. Bayer’s age.
“Bayer?” she says. “Is that you?”
Bayer stands up. “Caroline, hello, yes.” Air kiss, hand on Caroline’s back, and a sweeping arm to introduce Mallory. “Please meet my friend Mary Ann.”
Mallory has been raised by Kitty; she knows to stand up when meeting someone. But she doesn’t account for the sand or the proximity of her chair behind her or her drunkenness or her confusion because Bayer has chosen not to use her real name. Mallory’s chair falls backward at the same time that she lurches forward, and she practically watches herself fall face-first into all the glassware and the candle’s flame, but at the last minute, she catches herself and nothing breaks or spills.
“Pleasure to meet you, Caroline.” Mallory’s words, while not slurred, are not exactly crisp either.
Caroline’s hand is smooth, her grip firm, her eyes assessing. She takes Mallory in and must draw the conclusion that further conversation is unnecessary because she turns back to Bayer. “I heard you were here,” Caroline says. “From Dee Dee.”
From Dee Dee. Mallory reaches for her wineglass and, finding it empty, picks up Bayer’s and throws back what’s left. Is this rude? She doesn’t care.
Bayer says nothing. His face is still; his eyes are those of a man facing his own execution.
“How are the children?” Caroline asks. “Enjoying camp?”
“Not if you believe their letters,” Bayer says. His lips turn up ever so slightly at the corners. “Good to see you, Caroline.”
“Oh,” Caroline says. “Well, okay, then. Good to see you too.” She nods at Mallory. “Enjoy your evening.”
Caroline’s visit brings the evening to a premature end. Mallory says she doesn’t want dessert. She goes to the ladies’ room, trying to tell herself that there’s an explanation, that the only lie is who he named the boat for, which is minor.Dee Dee Ramone.He was making a joke and she didn’t know any better. When she returns to the table, Bayer is leaving a pile of hundreds for the check, and it’s this that lets Mallory know he’s guilty. Just throw money at the people you’re wronging and their friends, and they’ll forgive you. Isolde sees the pile of bills as she brings a to-go box with complimentary desserts from the kitchen and she murmurs in Mallory’s ear, “Everything okay?”
“Yes, yes,” Mallory says—though actually, she has no idea.
Back on the boat, Bayer lights a cigarette, sits in the stern, and pats the cushion next to him.
Mallory shakes her head. She feels she should remain standing. Where does she even start? “You have children?” she says.
“Guinevere, age ten. Gus, age nine. They’re at camp in Maine this summer.”
Guinevere, ten. Gus, nine. Why is this the first she’s heard of his children? Well, there can be only one reason, right? “And Dee Dee?”
He clears his throat. “My wife.”
“Your wife.”
“Yes,” Bayer says. “When I told you I had a bigger boat at home, with a crew, and I needed time away from them…”
“You meant you had a family.”
“It was a euphemism.”
“It was a lie. Alie,Bayer.”
