The Bay at Midnight (26 page)

Ethan jumped into the boat with ease and took his seat behind the wheel. The smell of oil and gasoline mixed with the scent of the water. I used to like that smell. I breathed it in, wondering if I could learn to like it again.

“You okay?” Ethan smiled at me.

I nodded.

Putting the boat in Reverse, he backed into the canal, then took off in the direction of the river. I was quiet and anxious, one of my hands still holding on to the side of the boat as we approached the new—to me, anyway—Lovelandtown bridge. This bridge was higher than the old one and the pilings were much farther apart, so that we sailed beneath it with ease. We passed houses that were unfamiliar to me, having been built or remodeled since the last
time I’d traveled the length of the canal, and I welcomed that unfamiliarity. We exited the canal and sped into the open water of the Manasquan River. The hot, damp air whipped my hair around my face and a spray of water cooled my eyes, and I found that those sensations brought back not the night I lost my sister, but rather the hours upon hours of fun I’d had in my little boat.

I studied Ethan’s face as we cut across the surface of the water. In his profile, I could still see the boy who’d dissected crabs and kept eel guts in alcohol and lay on his stomach in the reeds, examining marine life in the shallows. Who could have guessed I would be here with him now, enjoying him, wanting him,
loving
him?

I swallowed hard, suddenly hoping that Ned would
not
be found responsible for Isabel’s murder after all. It was going to hurt Ethan far too much.

He glanced over at me and smiled.

“You’re lovin’ this, aren’t you,” he said. It was not a question.

I moved closer to him, putting my arm across the back of the seat.

“I’m lovin’
you,
” I said into his ear, and I leaned my head against his shoulder.

Julie

T
wo nights later, my mother, sister, Ethan and I gathered at my house for a barbecue, the main purpose of which was to meet Tanner Stroh. I’d told everyone to arrive at six. It was now six thirty-five, and Shannon and the guest of honor had not yet arrived. I felt wound up as the minutes ticked by. If someone touched me in the wrong spot, I was going to unravel.

I carried the bowl of potato salad from the kitchen out to the porch. My mother sat at the head of the long, glass-topped table, slicing a few of the beautiful Jersey tomatoes she’d plucked from her garden and arranging them on a platter next to lettuce leaves and pickle slices. Outside on the patio, Ethan, who was wearing a blue-and-white-striped apron he’d brought with him, turned chicken and burgers on the grill. Lucy stood near him, nursing a glass of beer and chatting. I could tell she
liked him—she’d given me a barely concealed thumps-up sign the moment he walked in the door—and I was glad.

My mother had greeted Ethan warmly in spite of the fact that I knew she had not wanted me to nurture a relationship with him. She seemed her usual feisty self tonight, which relieved me after the somber way she’d reacted to the news of Ned’s letter the other day.

“Do you think it’s too warm to eat outside?” I asked her now. It had seemed cooler earlier, but I was probably in the midst of a hot flash.

“It’s fine.” She transferred the last tomato slice to the platter and set the knife on the cutting board. “What time did you tell Shannon to come?” she asked.

“Six,” I said, lifting the cutting board and knife from the table.

“This young man of hers is going to make a poor impression, strolling in here late.” She took a sip of beer from the glass in front of her. She always said she liked to drink a cold beer about once a year, and apparently tonight was the night. “I can’t wait to grill him,” she said. She actually rubbed her hands together, as if she was talking about devouring some choice morsel of food, and I had to laugh.

“Well, let’s try not to be too obvious about it,” I said over my shoulder as I carried the cutting board into the house.

I was back on the porch with the hamburger buns when I heard a couple of car doors slam out on the street.

“Maybe that’s them now,” I said, placing the plate of buns on the table.

I heard voices in the side yard, and then Shannon appeared on the patio holding the hand of a tall, slender man. Mom and I walked outside to greet them. Tanner Stroh looked freshly
showered with short, neatly cut dark hair. He wore khaki Dockers and a short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt in a muted blue pattern. There was a preppy look about him that I knew would be a turnoff to Lucy but which offered me some small bit of reassurance.

He held his hand toward me. “Hi, Mrs. Sellers,” he said. “I’m so glad to meet you. I’m sorry we’re late.”

“Not a problem,” I said, shaking his hand. “I’m glad to meet you, too.”

Until that moment, I hadn’t realized that I’d been expecting him to have numerous body piercings, baggy pants and long greasy hair. He did
not
look like the artsy sort of guy Shannon was usually drawn to, but he was an attractive man nonetheless. Way too old for her, though. His hair was actually beginning to recede and I could see creases at the corners of his eyes.

Introductions were made all around, and I caught Shannon giving Ethan the same sort of scrutiny that I was giving Tanner, a fact which, I had to admit, made me smile. Everyone shook hands and uttered greetings in a respectful interchange. Tanner was cordial and courteous, and I thought of Eddie Haskell, the kid on
Leave it to Beaver
who hid his sociopathic tendencies behind impeccable manners.

The food was ready. Ethan brought the platter of burgers and grilled chicken onto the porch and Lucy and I took drink orders. Tanner wanted a beer; Shannon, lemonade. I would be sure to monitor Tanner’s alcohol intake. I realized it would be more than three years until Shannon could legally join him in a drink. She hadn’t even had her driver’s license for a year yet.

Once we were all seated at the table on the porch, it was my mother who got right down to the nitty-gritty.

“So,” she said, her attention squarely on Tanner. “How did you let this happen?”

Surprised, Tanner opened his mouth to speak, but Shannon rescued him. Even
I
felt ready to rescue him. My mother could sometimes lack tact.

“It was my fault, Nana,” Shannon said. “I forgot a pill.”

“It’s not the best way to start out a future together, Mrs…” Tanner blanked on my mother’s last name.

“Bauer,” she said.

Tanner nodded. “Mrs. Bauer,” he said. “But I love Shannon and we’re going to do our best to have things work out.”

“She’s my only grandchild,” my mother said, “so I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I promise,” Tanner said, looking uncomfortable for the first time since his arrival.

“Where are you from originally, Tanner?” Ethan tried to shift the conversation to something neutral.

“Southern California,” Tanner said. “My family’s still there.”

“How do they feel about…” I waved my hand through the air, encompassing both him and Shannon. “About everything,” I said.

He hesitated. “They’re not happy about it,” he said, and I respected his honesty, “but they’ll accept Shannon. They’ll love her once they meet her.”

Where would he and Shannon spend their vacations? I wondered. With his family or with hers? East Coast or West? Would I ever get to see my daughter?

“Shannon said you’re working on your doctorate,” Lucy prompted him.

“Yes.” Tanner added a second slice of tomato to his burger.
“It’s sort of my own independent study program. Part history, part social science.”

“Have you started your dissertation?” Lucy asked.

He nodded. “It’s on the children of Holocaust survivors meeting the children of Nazi perpetrators. I’m half German and half Jewish, so the subject had a natural fascination for me.”

“Wow,” Lucy said, with genuine interest. “How cool.” She engaged him in one of the intellectual, academic discussions that she adored, and her enthusiasm was matched by Tanner’s. Ethan added his own contribution; he’d recently seen something about the children of the Nazis on the History Channel, and my mother talked about a Holocaust survivor who was a regular customer at McDonald’s. Shannon piped in from time to time, showing that she knew something about the topic herself and that their relationship was
not
just about sex. Why, oh why, couldn’t he be a decade younger or Shannon a decade older? I would have felt so much better about the entire situation.

I seemed to be the only person at the table who could think of nothing to say about Tanner’s dissertation. My mind was elsewhere, and when there was a long enough lull in the conversation, I spoke up.

“Tanner,” I said, “I think Shannon really needs to stay here at least until the baby is delivered and she has her feet on the ground and gets into the routine of caring for—”

“Mother.”
Shannon nearly stabbed me with her eyes. “We’ve already discussed this.”

“I’ve got a doctor lined up for her, Mrs. Sellers,” Tanner said, wiping his lips with his napkin. “I have some money put aside that will hold us until I’m out of school and teaching. We’ll be okay. I know it’s upsetting to you, and I was sort of upset, too,
at first. I thought Shannon was a lot older when I met her. She looks older, she acts older. She’s so intelligent and…” He looked at my daughter and smiled. “She’s amazing.”

Shannon smiled back, almost shyly. He was gaga over her, of that I was certain, but I didn’t think he had a clue what he was getting himself into.

“Mom said your daughter got pregnant when she was my age, too,” Shannon said to Ethan.

I winced, but Ethan seemed undaunted.

“She did,” he said. “She was sixteen, and her baby was adopted by a wonderful couple who couldn’t have kids.”

“I don’t think I could do that,” Shannon said.

“Well, her situation was different.” Ethan took a sip of his beer. “She didn’t have a real relationship with the boy. She’d been out with him a couple of times and on this particular occasion, he forced himself on her.”

“Date rape?” my mother asked, and I was surprised she even knew the term.

“Exactly,” Ethan said. “Abby was afraid to tell us at first, but she did and we helped her press charges against the boy. He had to serve time and do some community service.”

“At least we don’t have that problem,” Shannon said, for my benefit, I thought.
See?
she was saying.
Things could be worse.

I liked what was happening. Not the topic of conversation, of course, but I liked the fact that we were sitting around like adults, talking. I liked that Shannon was, for the most part, not acting in an openly hostile way toward me. I knew now that I owed that to Lucy, that they’d been talking. I didn’t know what Lucy had said to her, but I was grateful to her for saying it, whatever it was. I tried to look at Shannon in a new light, as an adult,
but no matter how hard I tried, she still looked like a pregnant child to me.

The conversation continued through dessert, and only when we’d finished eating and everyone was helping me clear the table did I realize that my mother had grown very quiet. She hadn’t said a word while we’d eaten our ice cream and cake.

I watched her as she stood at the counter, transferring the left-overs into plastic containers, and I leaned over to speak into her ear, “Are you okay, Mom?” I asked.

She nodded. “Beer makes me tired, though,” she said. “I think I’ll go home.”

She’d walked the two blocks to my house. It was still fairly light out, but I didn’t want her walking home alone if she wasn’t feeling well. I studied her color, which was her usual healthy olive tone, pink-tinged by her time in her garden.

“Why don’t you take a nap here and one of us will drive you home later?” I suggested.

“All right,” she said, setting down the lid for the container she’d filled. I was surprised that she gave in to me without a fight.

“Bye, Nana!” Shannon, oblivious to the conversation, plowed between us to give her grandmother a hug. “We’ve got to go.”

“Goodbye, darling,” my mother said, hugging Shannon tightly and kissing her cheek.

We all said goodbye to the couple, Lucy the only one able to muster up a sincere hug for Tanner, and once they were gone, I turned to my mother again.

“You can use my room,” I said. I was reminded of the other day when I’d told her about Ned’s letter. She was behaving the same way now as she had then. “Do you want me to come with you?” I offered.

My mother didn’t respond. She stood in the middle of the kitchen, shaking her head slowly back and forth. She was actually scaring me.

“Mom?” I said, with enough concern in my voice that Lucy and Ethan turned to look at us.

“Nobody said one word tonight about Shannon and her cello,” my mother said. There were tears in her eyes. “As long as that girl’s been able to speak, all she’s ever cared about was music. And tonight it was like that part of her didn’t exist.” She pointed toward the door through which Shannon and Tanner had made their exit. “That boy cares about himself and his own…his Nazi children, or whatever they are,” she said, waving a hand through the air. “I bet he’s never even asked to hear her play.”

Lucy tried to put an arm around her shoulders, but our mother brushed it away.

“I’m tired, Lucy,” she said. “I’m going to take a nap. Then maybe later you could drive me home.”

“Of course,” Lucy said, dropping her arm to her side.

Ethan came to stand next to me, and we watched my mother disappear down the hallway.

“Whoa,” Lucy said. “What’s with her?”

I remembered Shannon as a little girl. She didn’t want to listen to the funny little songs that other kids found entertaining. “I wanna hear YoMaMa!” she’d say, cracking Glen and me up.

“She’s right,” I said. “No one said a word.”

Maria
1944

D
ate Rape.

I knew many people my age ridiculed that term, believing it was a way of pinning the rap on a boy when a girl later had regrets, but I embraced the concept, because it eased my guilt about what happened toward the end of the summer of 1944.

That was the first summer that Charles spent his weekdays in our new home in Westfield while I remained at the bungalow with my parents. Charles was doing his residency at a veterans’ hospital, choosing it over pediatrics because he was passionate about continuing to serve his country in whatever way he could. The war permeated every aspect of our lives, from the constant newscasts on the radio to the rationing that affected our food and our gasoline and nearly everything else we needed to exist.

I’d considered staying in Westfield with Charles, only going to the bungalow during the weekends as he did, but he insisted there was no point in my staying in the heat of the suburbs when he would be able to spend so little time with me there. His hours were long and grueling, but he loved what he was doing and the contribution he was making. I was very proud of him, yet I missed him during the week. I missed sleeping next to his warm body and our long, happy conversations about the future. We’d talk about the children we would have and all the things we wanted to be able to provide for them. And we made love, though not as much as I would have liked. I knew he was tired, but I often wondered if I simply had a stronger sex drive than most women. My friends and I never talked about that sort of thing, so I was not sure if I was normal.

My parents had developed a thriving social life as more people who were tolerant of my mother’s heritage moved to Bay Head Shores, so they were often out having fun, and my old girlfriends were either working or busy with new babies. Many of their husbands were enlisted men, some of them fighting in Europe. I knew I was lucky that
my
husband was safe on American soil. But without Charles or my friends around, I was lonely, and loneliness could be a dangerous thing. In the fall, I would begin my second year as a teacher, but that summer was nothing but one lazy day after another. I read a great deal and thought about Charles and had far too much idle time on my hands.

One weekday night when my parents were out, I was on the porch reading
A Bell for Adano
when I spotted Ross sitting alone on the bulkhead in his backyard. Dusk was quickly falling, and I could see the burning tip of his cigar. He’d flick the ashes into the canal from time to time, and I felt mesmerized by the red glow arcing through the darkness.

I watched him smoke for the longest time, my book forgotten. I imagined how his mouth would taste—like wood and leather—and then, as if on automatic pilot, I stood up from the rocker and walked outside. I let the screen door slam behind me so he would not be surprised when I appeared in my own yard.

I walked toward the canal and sat down on the bulkhead, bending my legs and wrapping my arms around them. The water was as smooth as gelatin, and the reflection of the nearly full moon was a brilliant white disk floating on its surface. I was perhaps four yards away from Ross, and although he had put out the cigar, the scent of it was still strong in the air.

“Beautiful night,” I said, turning to look at him. I could see him more clearly than I’d expected, the moon was so bright. His eyes were on me, his hand rubbing his jaw lightly as if he were deep in thought.

“It is,” he agreed.

“How come you’re able to be here during the workweek?” I asked.

“I took the summer off from law school to be with Joan and the baby,” he said.

I turned to look back at their darkened bungalow. “Where are they tonight?”

“Joan has some friends in Brielle,” he said. “She took Ned over there for a visit.”

“Ah,” I said. He, too, was alone.

“I imagine it’s hard not having Charles here during the week,” Ross said.

“Yes,” I said. “But it could be worse. He could be overseas.” I thought of how, without Charles at the bungalow, I felt like the
single girl I used to be, ready to go to Jenkinson’s at night with my gang of friends or to the movies with a date.

Ross stood up and stretched, and for a moment, I feared he was going to go into his house. But he walked toward me and my head felt light as he sat down next to me, letting his legs hang over the bulkhead.

“I’m glad you found someone like Charles, Maria,” he said. “His politics are screwy, but he’ll be able to lift you up. Your social status, I mean. The wife of a doctor.”

“That was not why I married him,” I said.

“No, of course not,” Ross said. “But that’s a nice bonus for you.”

“I really don’t care about that sort of ‘bonus,’” I said.

He smiled. “You’re still a feisty one, aren’t you.” He lifted his hand to my chin, turning my head toward him. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “Not just…you know, the physical part of our relationship. I’ve missed
you.
All of you. The friendship we used to share.”

I wasn’t certain how to answer. Did I miss him? Yes, I did, but it
was
the physical part of our relationship I missed. Charles met my needs for adult conversation and companionship, but there was a puritanical quality to his infrequent lovemaking that left me wanting more. I longed for the stolen, impassioned sex Ross and I used to enjoy in the blueberry lot.

“I miss…” I gently pushed his hand away. “I miss things I have no right to miss,” I said.

Ross glanced toward my house. “Where are your parents?” he asked.

“Out,” I said.

He stood up and held out his hand. “Come with me,” he said.

I stood up, not stopping to think, and took his hand, which was smoother than Charles’s, the skin softer, cooler. I had al
most forgotten the feel of it. We walked through my small yard, then along the path between our two houses and past the bedroom window through which I used to escape to meet him. We continued down my short, packed-sand driveway and only then did I admit to myself where we were headed. I felt the cool orange dirt beneath my feet as we crossed the narrow road, and then we were on the white, moonlit sand of the blueberry lot.

“We shouldn’t do this, Ross,” I said.

He didn’t reply, and I didn’t let go of his hand. I could feel my heartbeat—or perhaps I was feeling his—where our hands were pressed together. The delicious sense of doing something forbidden and daring propelled us, as it always had, and soon he was pulling me down inside the half circle of blueberry bushes. He plucked a few of the berries from one of the bushes and held them to my lips. I took them in, rolling them around in my mouth before biting into them. I would never again be able to taste blueberries without feeling the rising tide of guilty pleasure.

He lay me back in the sand, then leaned over to kiss me. Briefly I thought of Charles, of how the feral hunger I felt in my body at that moment was something he had never experienced from me. I returned Ross’s kisses as I unbuttoned his shirt. He took off my blouse, my shorts, my bra, my panties, leaving me nude and aching with desire for him. I felt the moonlight reflect off my skin as he sat back on his heels to look at me.

“I’ve missed your beautiful body,” he said. He leaned over to run his tongue across my nipple. “Joan has a boy’s body,” he said. “Even when she was pregnant, she had no breasts to speak of.”

The words were his mistake. At the mention of Joan, my body went cold. I could not do this to her. I could not do it to Charles.

Ross pressed his thigh between my legs to spread them apart, and I gripped his thigh with mine to stop him.

“Let’s not do this, Ross,” I said.

“Don’t be crazy,” he said. Somehow, he’d managed to get both his legs between mine. I felt the pressure of his penis against my pubic bone.

“Ross, I mean it,” I said, trying to squirm out from beneath him. “I don’t want to do this.”

He drew back slightly, letting his penis find its mark. No matter how desperately I wanted to keep him from entering my body, the earlier hunger I’d felt had left me wet and vulnerable, and he slipped inside me effortlessly. Furious, I pushed down on his shoulders. I bit his collarbone and dug my fingernails into his back. My attempts to stop him only seemed to increase his ardor, and he thrusted harder and deeper, his breath ragged in my ear. I started to cry, my body going limp, my own breath coming out in small gasps.

“
Please,
Ross,” I begged.
“Please stop.”

He finished quickly, and for that much I was grateful. He pulled out of me, then rolled onto his back, and I sprang to my knees as I searched the sand for my underwear.

He caught my arm as I picked up my bra. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Don’t get dressed yet.”

I stared down at him, incredulous. “I told you to
stop,
” I said.

“I didn’t think you meant it,” he said.

I swatted his chest with my bra. “I
did
mean it. You forced yourself on me.”

“Maria,”
he said. “Come on. You were an animal. Just like you used to be.”

“I was trying to fight you
off.
” My voice broke.

“If you really wanted to fight me off, you could have.”

“You’re a thousand times stronger than I am,” I said.

“I don’t remember any objections when I kissed you,” he said. “Or when I undressed you.”

He was right, and I was so filled with shame that I wished I could rewind the night back to the moment I spotted him from my porch. I would have chosen differently if I’d taken two seconds to think about Charles and Joan—and the little baby, Ned.

I put on my brassiere while he watched.

“Let me do that for you,” he said, when I struggled with the hooks.

I stood up, nearly leaping away from him as I tossed my blouse on over my unfastened bra.

“Are you really upset?” He sounded perplexed.

“Yes!”
I said. “I’m
extremely
upset.”

I pulled on my shorts; I could not find my panties.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up. He reached for my ankle and missed. “I’m very sorry, Maria,” he said. “Honestly.”

I ran through the lot, kicking sand behind me, and I didn’t stop until I was in the bungalow. I sobbed as I heated water on the stove to bathe in. I wanted to clean any trace of Ross Chapman from my body. I changed into my robe, shook the sand out of my hair, then stood barefoot in the kitchen watching the water slowly warm up. I felt crazy. Insane. And I repeated over and over again,
“I’m sorry, Charles, I’m sorry, Charles.”

I never really got over that night or forgave myself for it. Even at eighty-one years of age and with the knowledge that what happened could well be considered date rape, I would sometimes still wake myself up in the middle of the night, chanting that phrase of apology and guilt.