Be True to Me Page 9

  Gil didn’t seem upset. “Everyone thought I looked real handsome in that.” But he reached for my drink and took it over.

  “Your stepdad seems . . . no nonsense,” I said.

  “Hank swims in Lewis Smith Lake every morning. He swears by it,” said Gil. “And everyone likes when Hank gets his exercise and tires himself out, else he comes after us.” Gil made a swinging fist motion; even as a joke, it seemed frightening.

  I closed the album. “Your family looks very ‘salt of the earth.’ ”

  “One way of putting it.” Gil shrugged.

  “I’m glad Carp’s got an interest in you,” I said, carefully settling on the most honest thing I could think to say. “He’s a powerful person, and you’re his kin, and you know the saying—blood is thicker than water.”

  “One of the first truths my stepdad ever taught me.” Gil kept his words empty of emotion, but he shoved the album hard out of sight, under the bed. “I never counted on that lesson working to my advantage till this summer. Now I reckon—who needs a hardware store, when I could live in a house like this, with my beach on one side and a boat docked on the other? Not even the mayor of my town lives like Carpie Burke—or your folks, for that matter. I won’t lie, I’m hungry for it.”

  “And you deserve it. Carpie wants you here. Finally, the Burkes have something better to show off than Junior. I know it must be overwhelming sometimes, but . . . I’m always here to help, you know. Any way you want.” My buzz was speaking for me again. Too much, too fast. I was spinning clumsily through this complicated moment.

  Gil smiled. He was staring at me, and I could see some of that hunger.

  I pressed my legs harder against his.

  He didn’t move. He didn’t react at all. But he wasn’t pushing me away, either. Maybe he was waiting for me. I wouldn’t let my chance pass me by this time. I linked my arms decisively around his neck. Pulling him toward me, against his slight resistance.

  “Please? One kiss? You’ve kissed me before.”

  “Jean, I wonder if maybe you’ve had a lot to drink?”

  “So have you. More than me. Don’t you like me?”

  “You know I like you.”

  “It’s just—we had such a fun night last week,” I whispered. “Was that night a mistake?”

  “No,” he said, after a moment. “No, I guess not.”

  “Okay. So let’s make another not-mistake.” I sat up and snapped off the lamp, giggling, though I couldn’t tell if what I’d said and done was funny or not. But when I lay back down, the dark felt soothing. Easier.

  “That night in New York.” Gil’s voice was a hush through the darkness. “It held a magic for me. Like you’d lifted me up so high and given me this big view. You made me feel part of the real New York City. I wasn’t stuck on the ground, on the sidelines, an Alabama boy, eating alone in a diner or punching in my overtime at the firm. That night, it was my turn. And there you were, Uncle Carp’s own goddaughter. But I gotta be honest, it also felt like pressure. All night I felt like I was in another sphere, handling crystal. I really don’t want to mess up with my uncle and Aunt Weeze.”

  “Oh, stop it. I’m not crystal. I’m not going to break.”

  I heard him drain my drink, then felt the creak of the bed as he leaned over to set the cup on the floor. “And the truth is, I was relieved that I didn’t see you right away, when I first got to Sunken Haven.”

  I kept my voice looser than my feelings. “Because if you had?”

  Gil didn’t answer. Maybe he didn’t want to admit it was less pressure on him to date Fritz O’Neill. But I didn’t think I could bear to hear him say it. I’d worked so hard not to mention her, not to pollute the night with her presence. I leaned forward and touched his mouth with mine, my lips soft against his. I’d never in my entire life wanted to kiss anyone as much as I wanted to kiss Gil Burke.

  “We had a magic night,” I said. “I wouldn’t mind another one.”

  In his moment of uncertainty, I pushed up Gil’s T-shirt while, with the other hand, I deftly loosed my dress sash. Slipping open its buttons, my cotton bra the only barricade against his bare chest. He was breathing hard, then harder, and then all at once a spring seemed to release inside him, his own decision made, as he kissed me back, pressed against me, over me. His hand sliding up my leg, testing the limits of my intentions.

  It wasn’t as if I hadn’t imagined this exact moment a thousand times. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t feel that Gil was hard, or that the change in his breath wasn’t telling me to keep going.

  And I knew I would keep going. I slipped my finger beneath his waistband, pushing down. Watching his eyes open, register my action in a glance of surprise.

  I was careful with the heft of him—his thing, we all said at Dalton, as in “I felt his thing when we danced close” or “he wanted me to touch his thing”—but this was more than a thing, it was real and warm and belonged specifically to Gil, and tonight, to me, too.

  Over the years, I’d given Bertie more hand jobs than we could count. The first one was in seventh grade. We both were so young that while it had been fun at the time, we’d felt shy about it afterward—to the point where we didn’t speak for months. Getting hot and heavy with Bertie these days was never really about daring. It was boozy, almost funny behavior that I remembered in friendship and left Bertie to think about any way he wanted—as long as he didn’t bring it up with me.

  That’s not what I wanted this night to be. With Gil, my feelings were potent. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to go all the way.

  “Jean,” he whispered roughly, breaking off just once to look at me. In the darkness, his eyes were heavy lidded as he searched my face for secrets. “I guess I’m confused about this. Are you sure you want this? What exactly do you want?”

  What did I want? I wanted Gil to belong to me more than he did to Fritz. I wanted this night to blossom naturally from all the potential of our night in New York. I wanted to be exactly that girl he’d imagined—the sophisticated Upper East Side Princess, sexy and independent, plunging headlong into this moment exactly the way I’d pushed through the door at Hollander’s. That distant, enchanted night.

  I wanted Gil to be my first so that Bertie never could be. And I wanted Gil to understand what Fritz could never be for him, if he wanted to make the right impression at Sunken Haven. That I could give him every bit of what Fritz could—plus even more. I could be his alliance here. I could be his “big view,” his future.

  Would that be so awful to admit?

  None of my thoughts were calm or rational, or even particularly sane, but they were the right answer. “I only want tonight,” I told him. “That’s all. Just tonight, all of it, all the way.”

  “Okay.” Then his eyes closed, as if he were accepting and denying the moment all together at once. “Sure. Yes.”

  I hadn’t been totally honest.

  But I’d never wanted anyone as badly as I wanted Gil.

  PART TWO

  FRITZ

  “It kind of knocks me out how you care this much.”

  “Red alert! People are coming!” I sat up.

  “Noooo!” Gil tugged me back down next to him.

  “Yes!”

  We’d been mellowing out underneath the clubhouse. It was only a stone’s throw from the main beach path, and in full plain sight of anyone who might have snooped through the slats.

  Nobody did.

  But if there was one thing we’d learned over these past couple of weeks—we liked time to ourselves. Whether stealing kisses in the library out of sight of frumpy Mrs. Davis, dozing over her knitting at the circulation desk, or sharing lunch in the church with its sleepy smell of furniture polish, our happiness felt private. We’d sit, feet up in the pew, wolfing down tomato sandwiches that we’d slapped together after working a lunch shift together at the club, and I’d think: There’s no place I’d rather be than right here, and no moment more golden than with him. The best part was I knew Gil felt the same.<
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  And so we scouted for the secret places of Sunken Haven. The shortcuts and the hidden spots where the adults wouldn’t think to go.

  Because there were plenty of chaperones around. Gil had me watching out for that. I’d never really noticed before.

  “So many damn eyes on us,” he’d say. “All these gossips, you couldn’t buy an hour on your lonesome if you tried.”

  It must have been the structure and checkpoints of my life on army bases that had made me so oblivious. I’d never paid mind to all these Sunken Haven eyes before. I’d never felt spied on by adults—only protected. Of course, Gil was fresh blood at Sunken Haven. He was being extra watched. He told me that in the three weeks he’d been here, he’d been asked about his future more than in his whole, entire life in Elmore.

  “Everyone’s curious about you,” I said. “Carpie never mentioned hide nor hair of a sister and a nephew—and now here you are, crushing poor Junior in every category. I’m not surprised people have a hankering for more.”

  But Gil didn’t like the attention, and as a result, my own eyes and ears were peeled, too.

  In this case, though, my red alert turned out to be some of the younger kids stomping down the stiles that led to the beach. I pressed my hand to Gil’s mouth as he tease-bit my fingers. We watched the parade of scabby legs, close enough to pinch. Gil pulled down my hand and nipped the outline of my chin.

  I stifled my laughter as they tramped past us.

  “Trade you for grape-flavored?”

  “Stick bugs are predators!”

  “Woof woof woof listen to me! I sound like a real dog!”

  “Shut up, they eat grass.”

  “Where should we go that’s private?” I asked. “It’s getting hot.”

  “We could drop by Bertie Forsythe’s barbecue. It starts at eleven.”

  “That’s not private. Let’s hang out at your house.”

  Gil looked uneasy. “Eh. Junior.”

  “We can always handle Junior,” I said. “Plus I know Weeze is playing doubles. And Carp’s only ever at the club.”

  “I hate how Junior looks at you. Like he’s mentally beating off to you.”

  “You’re not used to him. I am. I can’t stay long. I’ve got my waitress uniform in my bag, so I’ll leave from there to work my shift. Come on, I want to watch Wimbledon.”

  “The thing is . . .” In the shadows, it was hard to read Gil’s face, but I could sense his discomfort. “Weeze gets so uptight when I bring guests over.”

  I sat back on my elbows. “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t know, but . . . she gives me a hard time about girls. She doesn’t like me getting serious.”

  “Oh.”

  “I mean, it’s nothing personal. It’s not you. Weeze wouldn’t cotton to any girl coming around.”

  Gil wasn’t a good liar—just the fact that he’d had to emphasize “any girl” confirmed what I basically knew: snooty Weeze Burke did have a problem with me, personally. Of course Weeze would have preferred Gil to go steady with a Sunkie girl. But now other doubts needled me. How much did Weeze dislike me, exactly? Did she speak out against me? Was I unofficially banned from their house?

  I reached out and pinched Gil’s nose. I didn’t want to seem insecure about it. “Nobody’s home to disapprove. And it’s our best option for TV and free drinks.”

  “I’d need to ask Junior not to tell. I don’t like owing him.”

  “I’ll tell him. Junior wouldn’t rat us out.” Kids never narced on other kids to adults here, not even bad eggs like Junior. Gil still looked reluctant, and we finally agreed to spend an hour at the house if there was no Carp and Weeze, and to detour over to the Morgue if the Burkes were hanging around.

  We scrabbled out from the pilings and picked up our bikes. The late-morning air felt clean after we’d been hunkered down in a crawl space where the club’s beach chairs and extra sun umbrellas were stored.

  Gil rocketed off like he always did, eating up the distance like he was being chased. He shortcut the path through the Forsythes’ garden to hook up with Ridge Way. Daring me to cut, too, and to stay on whip-smooth pace with him. He was fast but so was I, even if I barely kept him in eyeshot.

  Fifteen minutes later, after the final uphill turn-in, sweat was running off me in rivers.

  “Slow down!” I shouted to the back of his straw hat.

  In love with the speed, Gil pretended like he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he really didn’t, he was so intent on rushing into any opportunity to feel free.

  You couldn’t even see Snappy Boy till you wheeled up the private entrance, which rolled over a wooden bridge that crossed their pond, then widened out to a wild lawn of knee-high salt hay.

  Until this summer, I’d never been once to the Burke house. I still felt like an intruder as I crossed the path to where Snappy Boy stood on the highest point of the ridge, overlooking the sea. It was an ideal party house, except Weeze and Carp only held small, exclusive adult parties. The Burkes weren’t one of the families known for fun. The thing they’d been best known for, until the good luck of Gil, had been the bad luck of Junior.

  In the few weeks since he’d been here, Gil had put Sunken Haven in a stir. He was so different. He didn’t have any of those usual smirking prep-school airs. Girls wanted him and guys wanted to be him. Even Junior liked to claim him, doing all he could—in public, at least—to make everyone think that he and Gil had a special, cousinly bond.

  But whatever pride the Burkes might have enjoyed through Gil, he was also here on trial. “I’ve never known Carp to put Junior to the test like he does with you,” I’d mentioned to Gil once. “He’d never make Junior take off a day to caddy for him over at Rockaway, or tell him to wash down his boat, or ask him to tend bar for free for one of their Association dinner parties.”

  “Junior’s got a legitimate claim on Carp,” Gil answered. “But right now, I’m nobody.”

  “Yeah, but I bet Carp already favors you over Junior.”

  “No he doesn’t. And he never will.” Gil’s words were flat and hard and sure. “But if I can get Carp to trust me, that would make a difference.”

  Going in through the front door, I heard the tennis match, turned up loud. Junior was lounged in the den, a cig and a Rolling Rock in one hand, two empties on the coffee table in front of him.

  “Fritz!” He raised his beer.

  “Heya, Junior.” I paused in the den’s open archway. “I’m supposed to be starting my shift at the club, so you didn’t see me here, got it?”

  “Sure, no sweat.”

  I turned to Gil and winked. See? “Come back with a lemonade?” Gil nodded and headed to the kitchen.

  Junior’s eyes were now perving all over me like a tuna net to drag me down. “So Fritzie, are you a tenny-bopper for Borg like all the other chicks?”

  “Borg’s all right.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Who’s winning?”

  “Come closer and see for yourself.” Junior patted the place next to him. “And maybe we can talk about anything else that pops up.”

  I stayed where I was and made my face a mask. I wouldn’t react to his dumb joke. Ever since Minnows days, Junior had picked me out as the girl to say the dirtiest things to—and I let him because he was a Burke, and the Burkes had power.

  But now I had another Burke, a better Burke, and it probably tortured Junior. Who knows, maybe it was partly why I liked coming over to Snappy Boy. Maybe making out with Gil in Junior’s own house was my way of getting back at the kid, after all those years he’d harassed and pestered me.

  “You look sore, Fritz. I was only playing.” Junior heaved his whole body forward with the effort of stubbing out his smoke in the ashtray. “I won’t bite. Sit down over here if you want.”

  I gave Junior a smile, and I stayed put as I faked watching the tennis even though I could hardly see the set.

  As soon as it went to commercial, I found Gil in the kitchen. “You were never going to rescue me, were you?”r />
  “Nope.” He handed me my lemonade.

  “He’s in a good mood.”

  “It’s Bicentennial parties all weekend and Goldwater’s backing Ford for President. The whole Burke family’s in a good mood.”

  “The whole family?” I teased. Gil was a Southern Democrat, with pretty strong opinions about Vietnam and Watergate and Jimmy Carter, but at his Republican uncle’s house, Gil held his political views close. More than once, I’d seen him glaze over and clam up when the topic of the elections came up at the club. But he’d never step out of line and risk rousing Carpie over politics.

  Gil’d always take me through the conversations later, his fingers tight-laced through mine, whispering fiercely as we strode along the dunes. He’d explain how Carter was a real stand-up guy, not “soft” or “fuzzy” like how the Sunkie Republicans slammed him. Then he’d tick through his own plans about how he wanted to become a lawyer for his town, and how he’d represent the shop owners and schoolteachers of Elmore who couldn’t afford a strong legal voice.

  I melted, listening to him. Gil never seemed so soulful as when he spoke about his plans, and he was just as good at listening to mine—even if my future changed by the day, from marine biologist to news journalist—anything, basically, where I got to travel.

  But in the Burke house, Gil obeyed Burke law.

  Now I followed Gil up the front staircase, where we locked ourselves in the second-floor rec room. Gil’s attic bedroom wasn’t an option. We’d tried it, but between the single bed and lacy curtains, it was too old ladyish. Which seemed unfair, since Junior’s bedroom was huge, tricked out with a foosball table, a beer-stocked mini fridge, and framed blowup photos of every regatta he’d ever won.

  Lip-locked, we fell into a pileup on the saggy sailcloth couch. We were so new to each other that every moment felt like a first. I buried my nose in Gil’s shirt, inhaled his beach-salted skin.