Beverly Byrne (7 page)

A
little past noon they reached Lawrence, and could look across a small bay to
Far Rockaway. The big summer houses were all closed and boarded over. They
stood like hulking sentinels, exposed by leafless trees that skirted long
impressive drives.

"The
bridge to Atlantic Beach should be on our left." Warren said.

"Have
you been here before, Uncle Warren?" Amy asked.

"No,
I've seen pictures. And a map."

So
he had bought the house sight unseen. Amy marveled at the audacity of it, but
when she remembered the cuttings she understood. If Lil didn't agree to join
him, Warren was quite prepared to spend his summers there alone. Sometimes, Amy
realized, people are absolutely determined to have their own way. She mulled
over the notion and decided she approved of it. Her estimation of Warren was
growing by the minute.

Luke
found the bridge that spanned the narrow tidal channel known as East Rockaway
Inlet. He drove the Lincoln across, and they had arrived. But where? Atlantic
Beach was nothing. Not even a village. Off to their right was a distant coast
guard station, with a high tower that interrupted the expanse of sea and sky.
In front of them was the breakwater that divided the inlet from the ocean, and
a long sandy beach. That was all.

Amy
turned to look at Lit. The older woman was very pale, but she said nothing.
Beside her Maureen sniffed and pressed a handkerchief to her running nose.
Warren stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the desolation. Luke
finally broke the silence. "Where's the house supposed to be, Uncle
Warren?"

"To
the left. One hundred twenty Montgomery Street." It sounded absurd. Where
were the other one hundred and nineteen? Amy swallowed a giggle.

They
drove along a dirt road. Finally they saw a cluster of obviously new houses and
a few weather-beaten shacks. There was a crude grid of streets, apparently laid
out by someone with more faith than realism. One bore a signpost that said
Montgomery, and they followed it to three finished houses and a
half-constructed fourth.

Number
one-twenty was on a corner of sorts, close to the beach and the ocean. It was a
sizable two-story house built of white stucco with a red tile roof. There was a
screened entry porch. The door leading to it was locked, but Warren produced a
set of keys. He stood aside for his sister to enter.

"I'm
going out back to see the yard," Warren said when they were all huddled
together in the cold and silent foyer.

Lil
stared after him. Amy took her hand and tugged her toward the stairway.
"Come, Aunt Lit, let's start at the top and work our way down." They
left Luke to cope with Maureen, who was still sniffling loudly.

There
were four bedrooms and two baths. Amy remarked on the nice size of the rooms
and the pleasant views. Lil said nothing. She followed the girl around on stiff
wooden legs.

"Here's
the maid's quarters," Amy said. They were in a rear suite comprising two
rooms and a bath. "You know, I think Maureen will be impressed with this.
After all she only has one room in the apartment." The rooms were small,
and the view was only of the neighboring house. Still, the fact of two separate
rooms was likely to strike Maureen as luxury. "I think we'd better get her
up here to see this right away," Amy said. "It may stop her
moaning."

"It's
so empty, so far from everything," Lil whispered. "I couldn't live
here. Warren just has to see that."

Amy
studied the pale, crumpled face. Then she made a hasty decision. "Listen,
Aunt Lil, he's afraid to tell you himself, but Warren's already bought the
house."

"No!
He couldn't do that. Not without my agreement. We've always done these things
together. Why when we bought the apartment ..."

"He's
desperate for a garden, you know that. And this place was offered at a price he
could afford."

"No,"
Lil said again. But with less conviction.

"It's
true, Luke told me." She took the older woman's hands in hers.
"Warren means to live here alone if you won't join him. That would be a
shame, Aunt Lil. You'd both be so lonely."

"Alone?
Without me?"

"I
think so, yes. But I'm sure he'd much prefer it if you'd live here with
him."

Lil
walked to the window and stood looking at the wall of the next house. Finally
she turned back to Amy. Slowly a change came over her features. She had been
ghostly pale; now she flushed. The thin lips trembled for a moment, then set in
a half smile. It was forced, but firmly held in place. "Of course if
Warren's made up his mind ... These other houses are sure to be sold soon. And
more will probably be built." She turned and hurried out of the maid's suite
to a large bedroom with a superb view of the sea. "This could be my room.
I could paint it pale blue. What do you think, Amy? Is blue too cold a
color?"

"I
think it's a lovely choice for a summer house."

 Lil
nodded and looked at her watch. "Goodness! It's after one. We'd better
have our picnic lunch."

All
the while she nibbled roast chicken and picked at potato salad Amy thought
about the lessons of the morning. Getting what you want is largely a matter of
determination, she decided. And knowing whether you want it badly enough.

"How
about a walk on the beach before we start back?" she said after they'd
eaten.

"You
two youngsters go do that," Lil said. She sounded like her old self when
she added, "I want to measure some of these windows. It will take forever
to get the curtains made. Warren, you must tell me whether you mean to have the
bedroom next to mine, or the one across the hall."

"You
decide," he said. "It doesn't matter to me." He left to go back
to the barren yard heaped with builder's rubble in which he planned to make a
garden.

Luke
grinned at Amy, and they slipped out the door and headed for the beach.
"Now, tell me what you said up there," he demanded. "When Lil
went upstairs with you she was horrified. When she came down she'd given
in."

"I
told her the truth. That Warren had bought the house and meant to spend his
summers in it. With or without her."

Luke
stopped in his tracks and stared at her. "Little Amy," he said
softly, "you are a very tough lady."

She
shook her head. "No," she said. "But sometimes I understand how
things are."

They
walked the length of the deserted beach. The tide was out, and the ocean was a
lacy froth trembling in the distance. Amy turned and looked back the way they'd
come. "The houses are little dollops of cream on the horizon."

Luke
took her hand. "Don't look back, Amy, look forward. "

She
was not quite sure what he meant. "What does that look like to you?"
She nodded toward the coast guard station. The spit of land that was Atlantic
Beach narrowed at this point, and the building was close behind them. They
could see the boat ramp reaching into the inlet and the tower high above.

"I
don't know," Luke said. "I've no gift for metaphor."

"Cyclops,
the one-eyed giant."

"He
wasn't very nice."

"No,
let's forget about him." She had left her hat at the house and a soft
breeze ruffled her dark hair. December was still pretending to be May.
"It's beautiful here. If I were Lil, I'd never want to go back."

He
smiled and took her upturned face between his hands. "Don't be Lit. Don't
be a spinster, Amy. You're meant for love and marriage and all the happy
things."

Their
eyes caught and held. Amy's lips parted slightly. She felt his fingers lightly
touching her cheeks. Tentatively, she put her hands on his arms.

"Oh,
God," Luke whispered. It was half-prayer and half-curse.

Then
he was holding her tight and his mouth was on hers and it was like that day in
Central Park, only more so. This time they tasted each other avidly, hungrily.
Their tongues probed and their bodies locked so close it was as if there were
no layers of clothes separating their flesh. His hands moved down her spine.

He
was feeling, groping, seeking. She shivered beneath his touch. Her fingers
tangled in his thick blond hair and held his face against hers. The kiss went
on and on. Luke's hands were on her buttocks pressing her even closer. She felt
him move. His hard taut body seemed to imprint itself on the softness of her
belly, her thighs, and her breasts.

Finally
the kiss ended, but neither of them moved out of the embrace. Amy buried her
face in his shoulder. She nuzzled his neck and smelled the warm spicy maleness
of his skin. She heard him moan and sensed the increased urgency of the movement
of his hips. Her tongue licked his flesh. She wanted to bite, to devour the
essence of all that was Luke. He made a sound deep in his throat that ended in
a gasp. It was like nothing she'd ever heard. There was something elementary in
that cry. It frightened her and pleased her at the same time, and Amy could
interpret neither feeling.

Suddenly
he let her go and almost pushed her away. "Oh, God," he said again.

Luke
turned and walked some distance from her. Amy stared after him. His shoes
raised little puffs of sand, then he stood still and stared out at the ocean.
She put her hands to her face. Her cheeks were hot, but she was shivering. For
some unaccountable reason she wanted to laugh aloud. She wanted to strip off
her clothes and run into the icy sea. She only smoothed her skirt over her hips
and adjusted the collar of her jacket. A few minutes passed. Then Luke returned
to where she stood.

He
reached out to touch her again, then drew his hand back, as if she were fire
and he would be burned.

"Listen
to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. "What happened, what we,
that is, what I did. I don't want you frightened."

I'm
not frightened, Amy thought. You are. She didn't say anything, just kept
looking at him.

"It's
natural and even beautiful," he said, "but only when you're married.
This way it's all wrong. That's not your fault, it's mine. You're too young and
innocent to know better."

She
didn't know what he was talking about, but she didn't care. Married, he'd said.
She had watched his sensitive mouth form the word. Married. Two people joined
together for always; sharing a home, their hearts, the very air they breathed.
Married. Mrs. Luke Westerman. Yes, Amy thought. Oh, yes!

Don't
say anything, Eve-like instinct warned her instantly. Not yet. "It's okay,"
she whispered. "Don't worry." She smiled at him, and all the sunshine
of her seventeen years was in that smile. "Come," she said quietly.
"The others will be waiting."

He
nodded and they retraced their steps along the beach toward the new houses
thrust so incongruously into the primitive landscape. "They don't look as
if they belong at all," Amy said. Luke merely grunted. He was still lost
in his own thoughts. Amy didn't mind. She understood everything with her pores,
her nerves, and her instinct. Married, her blood sang. Married, married,
married.

For
a day or two she worried that he might start avoiding her because the truth she
perceived so clearly was a worry or an embarrassment for him. "Men can be
very difficult," her mother had sometimes said with a sigh. Usually the
comment followed some obstinacy of Daddy's or some small quarrel. But Jessie
had smiled knowingly at her daughter, and in a brief time the cloud, whatever
it may have been, was lifted. Amy had learned the lesson well, without ever
realizing that she'd learned it.

She
took to washing her hair every other day, so that she would look her best
whenever Luke appeared. Each morning she dressed with special care, grateful
for the pretty new things Lil had made her buy and no longer worried about the
expense. After four days her patience was rewarded.