Page 6 of Endless Summer: Stories
Margot said, “Okay, I’m going for a run. Enjoy the sugar!”
Drum had left a few minutes before, his surfboard strapped to their Land Rover. Margot had kissed him goodbye as though for the last time. He was going to meet Hadley Axelram and her son at the beach. Hadley Axelram, Hadley Axelram, Hadley Axelram. Nothing; Margot felt nothing. How was this possible?
On her run, Margot imagined a scene between Drum and Hadley Axelram. Hadley would be in her bikini, her bones jutting out. She would give Drum the big-brown-eyes stare because she was so grateful he had shown up to teach Curtis to surf. Curtis needed a father figure; everyone else had failed her, but not Drum, never Drum, he was the one she still thought about, he was the one she had wanted all along. If Colin hadn’t shown up in Aspen claiming to have a gun, she and Drum would be married by now; Drum hadn’t ever been serious about pursuing the other girl in New York. How could he have been, when he was permanently under Hadley’s spell? She would have given birth to a whole passel of little surfers. Hadley still thought about him every time she had an orgasm. Did he know that?
What would he say? Margot wondered. How would he respond? He would buckle, right? He would kiss Hadley; the kiss would ignite a spark; he would see the whole world differently, the way he used to see it when he was in love with Hadley. He would remember what it felt like when he’d dropped her off at Terminal E at Logan for her flight to Florence, where she would spend an entire year studying Giotto. She had taken his heart along for the ride, nestled among her cashmere sweaters inside her steamer trunk. But now she had been returned to him. He had finally, finally gotten her back.
Margot thought about all of this but felt nothing. How was this possible?
She decided to run to the beach to see for herself. If she saw Drum and Hadley together with her own eyes, if she spied on their private moments, she would feel something, she would be jealous, she would be heartsick, and the marriage would be saved.
Nobodywantedto be divorced—this was something Margot’s father had always said. Peopleneededto get divorced.
Margot ran up Main Street to the monument, past the lovely historic homes on Milk Street. Hydrangea bushes, weathered fences, brick sidewalks, leafy trees. She was moving and she felt great, healthy; she loved being out of the city, she loved being on Nantucket. She had thought that maybe being on Nantucket would do the trick for her and Drum—maybe they needed a change of scenery. This was where they’d met, fallen in love, conceived their first child.Help me, Nantucket!
Margot hadn’t run in months; there had been absolutely no time. She spent her days at the office, and when she got home, she wanted to be with her children. They had grown masterful at the guilt trip.We never see you, you’re never home, and when you’re home you’re always on your phone. We want you. We can’t stop wanting you.Margot was running hard; she was in the sun now, headed up the hill by the Maria Mitchell Observatory. She didn’t feel winded at all; that was the kind of person she was—when she said she was going to do something, she did it and she did it well. She didn’t quit things. Was getting a divorce quitting? Her therapist said no, but Margot felt the answer was yes. Yes, getting a divorce was quitting. She should do what countless others before her had done and stay for the sake of the children, stay until Ellie graduated from Fieldston, only fifteen years from now. Could she stay for fifteen more years?
Nope, no way. She needed to follow her mother’s advice and allow for her imperfect moments. The past year and a half had been a study in imperfection. But now, maybe Hadley Axelram could help.Help me, Hadley!
Margot was sweating buckets by the time she got to the dirt road that led to the antenna beach. This was the newly popular beach for serious surfers—Cisco had been overrun by college kids with cases of Budweiser. Margot saw their Land Rover parked at the beach entrance and next to it, a turquoise-blue Mini. Of course that would be what Hadley drove.
Margot stopped to stretch behind the cars. Some water would be nice; she was hot now and she still had to run all the way back. She surreptitiously opened the passenger door of the Land Rover, hoping that Drum had brought a bottle of water—of course he had, he was a Boy Scout that way, always prepared. She lifted it out of the console. Nice and cold.
She walked around the dune so that she could see the action on the beach without being seen herself. Drum was in the water waist-deep and Curtis was on the board next to him. Hadley was standing at the shore, watching. She wore a long sheer white cover-up over her bathing suit. When a wave came in, Drum positioned Curtis’s board and yelled, “Go!” and Curtis paddled like crazy, then got into his crouch, then stood. He stood! He rode the wave to shore, and Hadley cheered madly. Drum said, “Let’s do it again!”
Margot watched as a few more sets rolled in. She marveled at how Curtis’s body moved just like his father’s. He gritted his teeth in determination; his eyes bulged. He stood time after time after time; he had it down. Drum had taught him or had been able to coax out Curtis’s natural ability. Hadley clapped and danced; she got the hem of her cover-up wet in the froth of the waves.
Drum came in, and Hadley handed him a towel. He wiped at his face and pointed at Curtis. Curtis was going to try it by himself. This was good; this was great. Margot focused on Drum and Hadley standing side by side on the beach. If Drum turned and saw her, he would realize she was spying on him, but he would think it was for a different reason. He would think she wanted to catch him at something; he would think she had come out here to confirm her worst fears. He would never guess that she was wishing for something to happen; he would never predict her hunger to feel jealous.
Curtis paddled out. Hadley turned to Drum, she raised her face to him; she touched his bare chest with one Concord grape–painted finger. She was thanking him, telling him how miraculous he was, telling him how he had saved the day, telling him how amazing it had been watching Drum out in the water with her son. She drew a line from his heart down his chest, then down to his stomach, then down to his…
Drum grabbed Hadley’s hand. This was it! Margot thought. They were going to kiss!
Drum dropped Hadley’s hand; he didn’t exactly shove it away, but it was definitely a gesture of dismissal. He was giving her her hand back, saying,Please don’t touch me like that, I’m a married man.
Hadley tried again. Maybe her luck with men was based on pure persistence. She took a step closer to Drum and turned up her face, pursing her lips. One of the straps of her cover-up slipped off her shoulder. There could be no mistaking her intentions. Margot thought,Take the bait, Drum! This is the woman who taught you to love pistachio ice cream, who encouraged you to make “In the Blood” your own personal anthem.But Drum stepped back, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe her gall; he walked a few yards away, spread out his towel, and sat down. He pulled his cell phone out of his backpack.
Hadley called out something to him, but he didn’t even bother looking up.
Margot’s heart plummeted. Her eyes filled with tears. And at that second, her phone buzzed. She had a text message from Drum. I love you, it said. I wish you were here.
Margot looked up in alarm, thinking he must have seen her andthatwas why he hadn’t kissed Hadley,thatwas why he’d walked away. But when she checked, Hadley was staring at Drum, and Drum was resting his forearms on his knees, watching Curtis surf. He hadn’t seen Margot. If he had seen her, he would have beckoned her down. He didn’t play games like this.
Suddenly a man came up behind Margot and she nearly jumped out of her shoes. He was a couple years older than she was, and he wore only a pair of orange swim trunks; he was carrying a longboard. His bare torso was tanned the deep brown of a tobacco leaf; his hair was black and wavy with a few strands of gray in the front. He stopped next to Margot when he saw the scene transpiring down on the beach.
He said, “Holy Mother of God, look who we have here.”
Margot didn’t respond. The man sounded like a carnival barker who smoked a hundred cigarettes a day.
He turned to her. He said, “That there is the girl of my dreams.”
Margot nodded. The girl of everyone’s dreams. She said, “You’re Elvis?”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. He held out his hand, fingers stained with nicotine. “Do I know you?”
“No,” Margot said. “No, I don’t think we’ve met. I just… well, I’ve heard about you. You teach surfing?”
“At Cisco,” he said. “To the punks with rich mothers.”
