Emily Franklin - Principles Of Love 06 - Labor Of Love (4 page)

"Here." He clinks his bottle against mine and watches me drink as though we've known each other awhile or as if it's totally normal to meet someone--your brother's underage girlfriend--and give her a beer and not say anything else.

"So, it just occurred to me--this isn't Charlie's cabin, is it?" I look around the room, my gaze pausing in front of the fireplace where Charlie and I made s'mores and kissed for hours. In my mind we were the only people ever to do that here, but I suddenly get that probably we aren't the first couple to wind up here after a proverbial walk on the beach. With a sting I realize also that I might not even be the first girl Charlie's been with here. Not that we've "been together" as far as that expression goes. But we could. Or, we've been semiclose. Semiclose-ish.

"No," Parker says, pulling me back to earth. "This isn't his. He'd like to think so, but it's not." An impressive twelve words in a row. Sip. "He's my brother, yes, I'm that Parker

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Addison--and God love him, but he has a way of acting as though anything he touches--anything with which he graces his presence--is his."

"That's kind of harsh." It's not just that I need to de fend Charlie--if I'm truthful, that characteristic, how com fortable Charlie is no matter where he is, is something that draws me to him. I never considered it possessiveness before, more confidence, but maybe Parker's known him longer and has a different perspective. Does that hold true for me? Am I one of Charlie's things?

"Harsh but true."

I chug the rest of my beer, suddenly wanting to be done with it and the conversation. Parker may have an impressive rep at Hadley, but he's not exactly winning me over with his brotherly love."I should go."

"Yeah?"

And we're back to one-word answers. "Into town, I guess."

"I thought you were looking for Charles."

"Charles. That always sounds so weird, so formal. Not at all boaty in the rough-and-tumble fisherman way, only boaty in the `I have a one-hundred-foot yacht and wear double-breasted blazers' kind of way." The beer hits my body with a rush, causing words to rush out even more than normal. I stand up and feel myself sway just a little.

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"Call me a lightweight, but I think two beers are all it takes. . . ."

"Lightweight."

"Huh?" I look at him.

"You asked me to call you that--just following orders." He stands up, too, seemingly immune to the alcohol con sumption, and motions to the front door. "Anyway, Charles Addison is not here, as I stated prior. He is in the area, however--at the big house."

"He's in jail?"

"Not that big house--though I wouldn't put it past him." Parker walks to the door and I follow. Out the door, down the steps, I wobble while Parker leads me back toward the beach, up a little path, and into thick bushes spotted with blackberries and bramble.

"Ooops." The thorns cut my thighs and I see thin streaks of blood rise to the surface of my skin, but it doesn't exactly hurt. Thanks, beer. "Anyway, I'm glad to hear Charlie's not in jail . . . the big house." My voice trails off.

"Nope--not that big house." He points to the clearing in front of us."That big house."

I'm agog since the sheer size of the structure is tremen dous. We keep walking, emerging from the brush onto the top of a sand dune, my back swaying with breeze and beer. "That's just massive."

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"Yep." Parker points to me and then to the house, and I nod.Without further ado, he nudges me down the dune-- alone--which is how I wind up running (what else can you do down a steep hill?), and arriving breathless, bloodied, and a bit drunk at the regal entrance to "the big house" where Charlie is just exiting. Contrary to any of my prior images, he is not in a blue T-shirt (in fact, Parker must have actu ally borrowed it because I recognized the frayed hem) but dressed in a light blue button-down shirt, khakis that at least upon first viewing appear to have been pressed, and--the kicker--loafers. Basically, he looks like the anti-Charlie.

"Charles!" I say as I halt from my running pace. I've never called him that before, but what else can you say to someone who looks like they've been competing in the World Preppy Competition--and placed. Or won.

"Love!" He takes in my disheveled appearance and then looks over his shoulder at the front door where two people-- I'm guessing Mr. and Mrs. Preppy--I mean Addison--are staring at us.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Great, now we're all reduced to one-word sentences," I mutter.

"What?" Charlie wrinkles his forehead for a second, then clicks into something and looks up to the dune from which

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I sprinted only moments before. Parker gives an exaggerated wave."I see you met my brother."

I nod and wait for the next part of my vision--the mouth to mouth meeting that assures that feelings remained constant while I was away. I wait--swaying just enough to let Charlie know I might have been drinking--but the kiss doesn't come.

Over refreshments served by the pool, I try to regain some semblance of order while being given the more-than-once over from Charlie's parents. So far, the drinks are only a tad icier than my reception.

"So, Charles tells us you're still in high school?" Mrs.Ad dison asks. Her legs are crossed at the ankle and she's man aged to sip her drink without getting any of her perfectly appropriate lipstick on the glass.

"I do. I am. I'll be a senior at Hadley this fall." I figure high school's a topic that's safe, and I leave off the "Hall" from Hadley's name on purpose, to show just how familiar I am with life there, with that world. It's as though somehow the fact that I attend the same school that their son did con notes something. That I'm worthy? Then I despise the fact that they've made me feel insecure enough to flaunt my prep-school status.

Mrs. Addison nods while Mr. Addison sits back in his

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chair, looking into the distance as though an interesting game of tennis is being played on the lawn. Both he and his wife are the essence of Vineyard style--she's decked out in a white linen shirt that miraculously never wrinkles and a pair of black trousers that don't seem heavy despite the fact that I'm sweating in my shorts and sloppy summer top, while he's in a white polo shirt that offsets his tanned arms and a pair of khaki shorts. From the outside, they appear placid and genteel. From my point of view this is slightly misleading. But maybe I'm being too sensitive due to my fading buzz and oncoming headache.

"Parker excelled at Hadley," Mr. Addison says. "I trust you're finding it a challenge?"

It's this type of comment that I don't know how to inter pret. Is he merely making conversation--as in prep school's a challenge--or is he saying that though his super-smart, socially elevated son excelled at Hadley, I--as the dim and disheveled girl who appeared at their door unannounced-- must find it a challenge? So I give something equally am biguous."I've really grown there.We're a good match."

Charlie takes a drink when I say this, his eyes flickering over his glass at me.Are we a good match, too? "Love's doing really well at Hadley.They're lucky to have her."

Mrs. Addison smiles without showing her teeth. "Was that the only school you applied to? I remember your

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interview there, Charles." She raises her eyebrows and Charlie nods, not offering any other info about this."And Parker . . ." She turns to look at Parker who sits at the far end of the pool doing the New York Times crossword and generally ignoring our group presence."Parker breezed through."

I sip my lemonade and rest the cold glass on my knee. I'm not wearing sunscreen and I can feel my skin reacting to the hot sun--I'll achieve perma-blush soon."I didn't, um, actually interview."

Mr. Addison's face registers a look of being impressed, the corners of his mouth downturned, his eyes wide."Well, now--she's got you beat there, Parker!" He raises his voice so Parker can hear, though he shows no sign of caring.

Charlie explains, "Parker interviewed like everyone else does, but his records and personality were such a winning combination that they never made him file an application."

"And Mike went to Exeter?" I bring up the sibling who isn't present, Charlie's sister Mikayla.

"Mikayla . . ." Mrs. Addison sighs as she refills my glass without asking if I'd care for more.

"Well, she graduated." Mr. Addison says this so it's clear we all understand the diploma could very well not have been given.

"Mike's great," Charlie says. Then to me he adds, "She's off-island right now. In New York."

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I think I'm done with the first encounter of meet the parents when Mrs. Addison stands up. Still unwrinkled, she gives a mere toss of her chin-length coiffed blond-white hair and Parker appears. Charlie shakes his head, then stops once he notices his father looking."Parker and I are playing doubles today at the club."The comment enters the air for everyone's--or no one's--benefit.

Charlie purses his lips. He's different, subdued, as though he's blocked a certain part of himself here."Have fun."

"And you, Charles?" Mr. Addison places his glass on the tray where it drips condensation.

Charlie doesn't look my way and it hits me that I feel like an intruder. They've been pleasant, of course--what else does one do in polite company but offer the random girl a lemonade on a hot day--but not welcoming. Not that I expected an embrace or anything, but a little curios ity aside from my school application would be nice.With a shudder I realize I never clarified why I didn't interview at Hadley--not because my records were so stellar like they now suspect--but because of my dad. Something tells me they'd be even less impressed if they knew I didn't get in on my own merits. Not that I haven't been succeeding of my own accord there.

"I have work," Charlie says. I fight a smile, thinking of him at the docks, where I first met him--how at ease he is

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by the water. How much fun we have together--enough so that even cleaning his boat is exciting.

I try to act lively, realizing the beer and the nerves have kept me from being my usual warm self. Just because they're slightly cold doesn't mean I have to be, right? "Are you going to the docks? What's the catch of the day?" I put my hand on Charlie's arm, enjoying the heat from his skin until he makes absolutely no move to touch me back. He doesn't go so far as to remove my hand from his forearm, but he doesn't register my touch at all.

Charlie stands up and looks at his parents and then to the house. "No. Not the docks." He looks at me, finally, his eyebrows raised so he looks just like his mother. "I'm done with all that."

All that? Like the ocean, the job he's had for a year, the rugged lifestyle he embraced is summed up as all that? "Oh." Here I am back to one-word sentences. Maybe that's why Parker says so little--there's not a lot of room for anything else, despite the high square footage count.

Charlie nods."With classes starting in late August I have only a few weeks to make up for lost time."

Mr. Addison nods, concurring with his body as well as his words. "Charles is making great headway." He makes it sound as though Charlie is a yacht conquering the seas. "And you? Have you picked a place?"

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For a second I don't know what he's talking about--then I realize he means college, as though choosing one and get ting accepted are as simple as picking a restaurant for dinner. "I'm not quite sure. . . ." I pause and look at the other people around me. In each pair of eyes I sense that I'm not supposed to offer up my true feelings, but that there's a correct an swer."I'm thinking about staying in the Northeast. . . ." This comes out of my mouth before I can rein the words back in. Maybe my psyche knows more than I thought.

"Whereabouts?" Mrs. Addison collects all of the glasses and holds the tray, unwavering, in her hands.

I swallow.The truth is that I have no idea. But this isn't what they're looking for in their son's girlfriend. So rather than complicating everything further, I just spit it out."Har vard, maybe?"

Mr. Addison smiles fully for the first time since I've met him. "Good girl!" He's so thrilled that I feel excited, too, even though it's not real and he called me good girl, which sounds like praise meant for a retriever. I smile back, feeling fraudulent and idiotic while he goes on."Mikayla went the city route but the boys know that the gods' honest truth is that the Crimson still reigns supreme. Not to mention there's the legacy to consider."

"My dad went there," I offer and it sounds like an apol ogy, or like I'm trying to prove something.

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"Fantastic choice." Mr. Addison nods. I nod back. Oh, like all I have to do is say I want to go to Harvard and-- boom--I'm in. Thanks--thanks so much--the college process really was a breeze! I'm practically choking on the tightness of the air.

"I'll see you for dinner," Charlie says, giving a rather offi cial nod to his parents and to Parker. Charlie and his brother exchange a look that means something but what exactly I don't know.

I stand up and wonder how I'm going to get back to town. It would be easy to exist in a bubble out here, forget my life at the caf�, the life that's waiting for me. At least, it would be easy if the Addisons welcomed me with open arms. But with Mrs. Addison pretending not to notice my unkempt hair, my scratched-up and now-enflamed skin, my unworthy last name (read: The Bukowski clan did not come over on the Mayflower--we do not have entire buildings named after us), leaving sounds good.

"Well, thanks very much for having me. Especially spur- of-the-moment." I feel like doing a curtsy as though I have an audience with the queen, but I don't. Instead I try to memorize all of the details I can so I can report back to Chris with accuracy--the cylindrical glasses, Parker's ef fortless but domineering presence, Charlie's . . . what--his apathy? Not just that. The veil that's been drawn over him.

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With a jolt of worry it dawns on me that this person--the guy who sits and says little, the gorgeous but ineffectual one who defended me but in a way that made it clear I had to be defended--might be the normal Charlie.The person he was before he dropped out of Harvard and became an island- bound fisherman in touch with the sea and himself.