The Lucky Ones (11 page)

“Don’t ask dumb questions,” another boy muttered. There was pushing and shoving, a few laughs.

“Boundaries,” Whit said in a louder voice. “No leaving the runway or green except to go into the woods behind the cup. You can’t go back to the clubhouse or hide behind the pro shop, either.”

“Yeah, Michael, no going into the swimming pool like last time,” someone called. Murmured agreement.

No. Not foxes and hounds—the Lost Boys, banding together for adventure. Whit was Peter Pan and she was Wendy. But a proud, daring
Wendy, Cecile thought, not a silly little nagger.

The breeze off the bay ruffled her hair. The moon slipped out from behind a wispy cloud and shone down on them before another cloud dimmed it; it lit up their faces. The air smelled of gentle sweat and borrowed aftershave lotion, hopefully splashed. The distant sounds of life on the porch were more memory than real.

“Okay. Let’s get going,” Whit declared. “The way everyone’s bailing out, the chaperones are going to come looking for us in about ten minutes.”

“Peter and I will be It.” A tall boy with curly hair and his tie dangling around his neck stepped forward with another boy beside him. “No tie pulling and no shirt ripping, either. If I come home from one more dance with a torn shirt, I’m going to catch hell.”

“Give us ten seconds,” the other boy said.

The two boys melted into the dark.

“One one thousand,” a chorus of low voices began. “Two one thousand…”

Cecile was filled with the same exhilaration she’d seen in the faces of the boys. It felt almost like
panic; her breaths were short and quick. She was determined not to look at Whit, not to make him think she needed him in any way.

“Some of them lie flat on the ground to fool you.” Whit’s quiet voice in her ear made Cecile start. He grabbed her arm to keep her close. “Watch out. It’s easy to trip.”

“Ten one thousand. Marco!” the group called in a single, exalted voice.

“Shhh.” This from Whit.

Silence. And then, over to the right—farther away than it seemed possible for someone to run in the dark in so short a time—“Polo!” came a taunting, hushed voice.

And a second later, “Polo!” over to their left, near the green.

There was a split second of indecision as the group glanced at one another, deciding which boy to pursue. Then they broke up and ran, some to the left, others to the right. Cecile ran, too, not in any one direction, but zigzagging over the course, following first one figure and then another, as the
darting shapes broke apart and came together again. Shouts of “Marco!” and “Polo!” resounded over the dark course, bouncing off the trees lining the fair-way, growing carelessly louder as the club fell away and they had the world to themselves.

“Got him! I found Peter!” came a triumphant cry.

“Hank’s It!”

“Marco!”

“Polo!”

“Marco!”

There was no way to make sense of it; Cecile felt dizzy with the effort. Panting, she darted over to the line of trees and fell against one. She pushed her hair back off her face and leaned forward with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. It was a good thing she’d taken off that silly bra. Because that’s what she had done: at the last minute, when her mother and father were waiting in the car, she’d cried, “Hold on a second!” and run upstairs over Natalie’s protests to rip her dress off over her head and unfasten her bra.

The relief had been immediate. Horrible thing’s like a tourniquet, Cecile thought as she moved her shoulders now, luxuriating in the delicious freedom of the fabric against her skin. She felt sleek and safe, hiding in the dark—an animal of speed, a spectator on the sidelines of an invisible game until she felt like joining back in. Someone plunged quietly into the trees behind her and swore. A low grunt sounded very near to where she stood, over to the right. There was the sound of heavy breathing. Then a sudden, breathless, “Polo!”

Whit was so close, all she had to do was reach out and touch him. Then she’d be the fox. Everyone would hunt for her. What would it feel like, to be the one the boys were hunting in the dark? To be a fox, outnumbered and surrounded?

Cecile’s chest heaved and caught as a hand clamped on her wrist and a voice whispered, “Do you want to be It?”

Whit’s breath was warm on her ear. Cecile turned her head. It was too soon, too sudden!

“Not yet,” she whispered back.

Whit moved immediately off. She heard him go deeper into the woods, leading the dogs away. She was afraid to breathe.

“Whit! Whit Riley!” A man’s heavy, commanding voice rang out over the course. “All of you! Over here now. Please.”

If nobody else moved, she wouldn’t either. There was no way for the caller to be sure they were out there. If they all stayed quiet, he’d give up and go back to the party.

“Aw, no fair, Mr. Riley!” a boy’s voice answered.

There was an immediate chorus of good-natured voices; loud laughter rang out of the trees and bounded carelessly off the green and the fairway; they filled the night. The jig was up. Better luck next year.

Cecile stepped onto the fairway as boys loomed out of the dark all around her; she followed them slowly as they streamed toward the voice. Flocking around the tall, broad-shouldered man in a dinner jacket standing at the end of the path, holding a glass, they fell back to leave an aisle for Whit down
the middle as he walked toward his father.

“Hey, Dad,” he said, ducking his head to hide his grin.

“Wise guy.” Mr. Riley threw his arm around Whit’s shoulders and looked around at the sheepish-looking group in front of him. “No wonder your mother’s on the warpath. You must have the entire male population of the dance out here. Those poor girls will be frantic.”

Poor girls, indeed! Cecile could feel the boys relaxing around her, basking in the maleness of Whit’s father. “We’re not all poor,” she wanted to say and step courageously forward into the light—there was one girl, at least, who wasn’t frantic. How dare they!

“Come on, boys, everyone back inside.” Mr. Riley turned with his arm still around Whit’s shoulder and started back. “They might bite you, but they won’t eat you,” he called over his shoulder consolingly, “and it’s almost over.”

The boys fell in behind them, grousing as they stooped to snatch blazers from the ground, to
smooth hair back from hot foreheads and exchange triumphant grins: a herd of male animals, bonded by their shared fate. Cecile was all but forgotten.

Silly boys, she thought as she trailed behind them. She couldn’t resent them, it had been too much fun. She’d never tell anyone about this, not a soul.

“Believe it or not,” she heard Whit’s father say, “but one of these days, I won’t be able to pry you boys away from the same girls with a crowbar.”

“No way!” a few boys yelled, and Mr. Riley laughed. The group broke up when they reached the terrace, each boy going in search of his shoes. Cecile waited until Whit’s father had joined the rest of the parents on the porch before she went over to the pillar where she’d left her shoes. Whit was there, putting on his.

“Go around to the front door and come in that way,” he said, giving her a dismissive glance. “If my mother sees I brought a girl out here, I’ll really catch it.” He stood up and straightened his tie, looking down at her coolly as she knelt to put on her sandals.

It was gone, all gone! She was nothing but a burden now. “You’re not the boss of me,” Cecile said, tucking her hair behind her ears as she stood back up. He gave a short, amused laugh as she twirled and walked away.

So what if she’d sounded more like Lucy than a twelve-year-old? She’d made Whit laugh, hadn’t she? It was a good kind of laugh, too. An amused laugh, not an “I’m only doing this to make you think you’re funny” laugh. He’d liked her enough to invite her to run around barefoot in the dark, too, and play a game with a bunch of boys.

Next time, she’d be ready.

Headlights swept across the path from the steady stream of cars pulling into the driveway in front of the club. Cecile leaned against the lattice, covered with vines, that lined the path to adjust her sandal. Somewhere ahead of her, a boy laughed. It sounded as if it came from the small space that had been cut into the privet hedge for a curved stone bench.

Cecile knew it well. It was where they used to hide when the family was on their way back to the
car. The children would run ahead and duck into the space to hide and then leap out, shouting, when Mr. and Mrs. Thompson drew near. She wondered if some of the boys from the course were hiding there now, hoping to scare her.

It was Natalie. She darted out of the space as if she were being pursued and was immediately followed by William. He grabbed Natalie’s arm and whipped her around, pulling her against him as he wrapped his arms around her back so she couldn’t get away. Natalie didn’t even try. She stood on tiptoe with her hands against William’s chest and kissed him.

Oh, ugh. And on the mouth, too. Was that what all the hair tossing and fake laughter had been about, so she could kiss a boy with fat lips?

Natalie and William broke apart and started walking toward the waiting cars. By the time Cecile came around the corner of the club, William was nowhere to be seen and Natalie was standing beside their mother in a group of parents near the front door. Groups of girls ran down the steps past them
and climbed into the backseats of cars. A few boys whose faces Cecile thought she recognized stood in a clump off to one side.

Natalie caught Cecile’s eye as she walked up to them and asked, “How long were you back there?”

“Long enough.”

Natalie’s eyes flashed, quick and telegraphic, like their mother’s smile.

“Your father’s gone to get the car,” Mrs. Thompson said as she bent to smooth Cecile’s dress where it had caught up on one side. “Did you have fun? How’d the dancing go?”

“Okay.”

“Come and say thank you to Mrs. Riley,” Mrs. Thompson said as she led them over to Whit’s harried-looking mother, who was standing in the foyer, saying her good-byes. “My daughters want to tell you what a wonderful time they had, Nina,” their mother said.

“Thank you,” Cecile said. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Thanks. It was spectacular.” Natalie flashed her smile.

“What charming daughters you have, Anne.” Mrs. Riley looked at them with vague eyes, as if unsure who they were. They could have been any of the girls she’d been in charge of that night. “And what charming Peonys. I do hope Whit had a chance to dance with you both.”

The girls entered their bedroom quietly so as not to wake Lucy. Cecile stepped out of her dress and dropped it on the bottom of her bed, then crawled under her sheets. They smelled of sunshine and fresh air. Sheba must have changed them during the day.

She listened to the sounds of Natalie in the bathroom: the heavy thunk of the cabinet door, water gushing into the sink, the flush of the toilet. After what felt like ages, Natalie opened the door and switched off the light. The bedroom was thrown into darkness.

“How could you?” Cecile said when she heard Natalie’s bed creak as she got into it.

“How could I what?” Natalie said, yawning.

“Kiss William.”

“I knew you were spying on us.”

“I was not.” Indignation made Cecile sit up. “If you really want to know, I was on the golf course, running around with a bunch of boys.”

“What boys?”

“None of your business.”

“Yeah, right, Cecile.”

Cecile lay back down. Neither one of them said anything for a minute. Then, “He has slobbery lips,” Cecile said. “I don’t see how you can stand it.”

“What’s the big deal?” Natalie said. “It’s only practice.”

“Practice for what?”

“You don’t think you wait until you meet the boy of your dreams and then immediately start mashing with him, do you? The last thing you want is for a boy you like to think you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Why not? Cecile wanted to ask. How can you kiss a boy you don’t even like? “I think it’s disgusting,” she said stubbornly.

“Fine. Do what you want.” She could tell that Natalie had rolled over and was facing the window.
“I don’t think you have to worry about it anytime soon, anyway.”

That’s all you know, Cecile thought. She’d rather be chased in the dark, any day, than kiss a boy with slobbery lips on the mouth. Cecile couldn’t even remember what Whit’s mouth looked like. All she could remember was the strange way the hairs on her arm had stood up when she felt his warm breath in her ear.

“D
on’t tell me you turned into a teenager after one dance.” Sheba looked up from the sink where she was holding the huge bowl she’d mixed muffins in when Cecile came into the kitchen the next morning and smiled.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s eight thirty. You missed Jack by a long shot this morning. Did you have a good time?”

“It was okay. Can I have a muffin?” Cecile put her face close to the muffin tin Sheba had just taken out of the oven and breathed deep. “Mmm, blueberry.”

“Take one for Jack, too,” Sheba said as Cecile carefully checked them all and selected the one with the most blueberries oozing their dark juice.
“Unless you’re not going down to the dock straightaway this morning.”

“Of course I am. Ouch!” Cecile held the muffin she’d bitten into away from her mouth as a swirl of trapped heat curled up.

“You know those things are hot,” Sheba said. “How many times have you been burned?”

“A million.” Cecile took the muffin Sheba had wrapped in a napkin for Jack and headed for the back door.

“Is that all you’re going to tell me about last night?” Sheba said.

“Umm…” Cecile held open the screen door while she thought. “Boys have sweaty hands, chaperones are like wolves…and dances are dumb.” She let the door slam behind her. “Bye!”

She cut across the lawn, onto the drive. The muffin was still warm in her hand when she reached the dock. Jack and Leo were sitting side by side on the float in their matching orange life vests.

“Are those your feet I see in the water?” she called as she walked down the dock.

“King’s here.”

“Where? I don’t see him.”

“In the boathouse, fixing an engine.” Jack said something quiet to Leo. They quickly lifted their feet out of the water and stood up as Cecile came down the ramp. “I saw you coming,” Jack said. “And I can swim as well as you and Natalie.”

“That’s not the point. What about Leo? Here.” Cecile handed Jack the muffin. “I didn’t know Leo was here, so I only have one.”

“We’ll split it,” Jack said.

“For the last time.” Leo said, turning his mournful, pale face to Cecile. Other than a sprinkling of bright freckles over his nose and cheeks, it showed no signs of his having spent the past week in the sun.

“What’s wrong with you?” said Cecile.

“He has to go home tomorrow,” said Jack.

“Right. I forgot. Oh, well,” Cecile said carelessly, only halfway through her vacation. “Maybe you’ll come back next year.”

That meant Jenny was leaving tomorrow, too.
Even that thought didn’t dampen her spirits. She liked the idea of being alone again. She might go to the club with her mother, or she might not. She could do anything she wanted.

“Hello! Anybody out there?”

“King?” Cecile said. She slowly approached the boathouse doors and peered into its murky depths, strangely shy. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light.

“Cecile, wonderful! I need your help. I’m trying to fix this blasted thing.”

King was kneeling in a far corner in front of a small engine he’d apparently taken apart and which was now scattered in pieces around him on the cement floor.

“Stefan couldn’t get the dinghy started yesterday,” King told her as she came up to him. “I’m trying to see what the problem is.”

“Who’s Stefan?” Cecile said.

“The cabin boy,” King said, glancing up at her. “Actually,” he added as if he’d just recognized it, “at seventeen, I suppose we should call him the cabin
young man, shouldn’t we? And a very competent cabin young man he is, at that.”

Stefan. So that was his name.

“You’re young and agile. Crawl under there and see if you can find the screwdriver, would you?” King said, gesturing toward the low bench against the wall. “I can’t see a damned thing with my eyes.”

Cecile crouched down and felt around underneath the bench. “You mean this?” she asked, holding up a tool.

“Perfect. Thank you.” King started unscrewing a screw from the engine. “How was your dance, Cinderella? Did you make it home before midnight?”

“It wasn’t my dance.”

“I trust you weren’t part of the bunch that made a mess on the golf course,” King said, rifling through the toolbox beside him. “I hear the pro was fit to be tied this morning.”

“What kind of mess?” Her father would kill her.

“They tore up the sixth green a bit. Apparently someone pulled out the flag and tossed it into the woods. That kind of thing.”

So that was what the boys had been throwing between them when she and Whit arrived. “You think I’d run on a green, with
my
father?” Cecile said.

“Right. You’re a seasoned little golf orphan, aren’t you?” King sat back on his haunches and looked at her. “I’m sure it was the boys. Boys have been ducking out of those dances since I was forced to go to them. Are they still as torturous as they used to be, or are you one of those girls who likes dances?”

“I think they’re silly,” Cecile said. “How’d you know it wasn’t girls running around on the course?”

“That’s the spirit, Heathen. When you start liking dances, I’ll know it’s time to throw in the towel.”

She stood watching King in silence for a minute. “How come you know so much about engines?” she said at last. “You’re a lawyer.”

“Lawyers do know one or two things besides law,” King said, tinkering with the engine again. “My father made me take apart and rebuild the engines
of more of his cars than I like to remember.”

“Oh,” Cecile said. Then, nonchalantly, “What does it mean when a boy says a girl is too much work?”

“Ha!” King glanced up at her. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I don’t know.” Cecile shrugged. “The dance?”

“You certainly were around a bunch who’re going to grow up to be a lot of work, in that crowd.”

Cecile slung her arm around one of the poles that held up the roof and leaned away from it like a flag at half mast. “So, what does it mean?”

“It means she’s demanding. Costly to maintain,” said King. “Our old Bentley is too much work. I’m still paying the earth to keep it on the road and it’s old enough to be my father.” King looked up as Cecile circled the pole slowly with it nestled in the crook of her arm and said, “That pole’s riddled with splinters. Creosote-covered ones.”

Cecile stopped and brushed the skin on the inside of her elbow as she said, “So it’s an insult.”

“I guess it is,” said King. “But as you will come
to find out, Cecile, if you haven’t already, many girls like expensive jewelry and clothing. When they grow up, their husbands have to pay for manicures and hairdressers and a grand house. It adds up, let me tell you.”

“I’ll never be like that,” Cecile said. “I don’t even like jewelry.”

“No, I don’t think you will.” King tossed the screwdriver into the toolbox and stood up, smiling at her as he brushed off the knees of his slacks. “It’s a good thing, too. As successful as your father is, no man should have to support four demanding women in one family.”

“Four?” Cecile said, counting quickly. “You mean Lucy?” she said, amazed. “You can already tell about
Lucy
?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” King tousled her hair as he went past her, heading for the door. “I have to find Mr. Peabody and enlist his help with this blasted thing. Just keep your sense of humor,” he said as Cecile followed him out into the sun. “Boys like a girl with a sense of humor.”

“Not all boys!” Cecile shouted as King bounded up the steps.

“The ones worth running after do,” he called. “Bye, Heathen.”

Jenny was as droopy as Leo when she came down to the dock. She didn’t want to get wet, she said, because she’d only have to dry off, and she insisted on wearing her sandals on the beach. “What’s the point?” she said. “I’m not going to walk barefoot in New York City.”

The only interest she showed in the dance was to ask, “Was it horrible?” When Cecile told her about the first boy she danced with, Jenny said, “I told you to wear a back shield,” in an unsympathetic voice.

“One of them wasn’t too bad,” Cecile said.

“I’m going to a party tonight, but it’s for families.”

“You’ll have to dance with Leo.”

“Don’t make me barf.”

It was a listless sort of morning. A chasm had opened up between them, with the person who was staying on one side against the person who was leaving
on the other; there seemed to be no common language. They searched the pools on the rocks for a while, but there wasn’t any excitement in it. Jenny finally had to go home so her mother could curl her hair and spray it. Cecile walked with her up the drive, picturing Jenny in huge pink rollers and afterward, her straight hair marked with ridges.

“Hair spray’s for old ladies,” Cecile told her.

“The curls will fall out in about ten seconds if I don’t,” Jenny said fussily. For the briefest second, she looked like her mother.

Cecile was happy to go back to the house when they parted at the cottage. She stood in the front hall and listened for sounds of life, but it was quiet. Everyone must still be at the club. She went onto the terrace and lay down on Granddad’s chaise under the awning.

The rest of the terrace was baking in the hot sun. Someone had put a vase of roses under the umbrella on the glass-topped table. The striped mallets from the croquet set their father had set up on the lawn stood ready and waiting in their cart. So this is what
the day after a party feels like, Cecile thought contentedly as she stretched her legs and wiggled her toes. Maybe she would go upstairs to borrow some of her mother’s nail polish. No, she’d only have to take it off.

She heard voices in the living room. “Who goes there?” Cecile called.

There was a silence before her father opened the screen door and stuck his head out. “What’re you doing out here all by yourself?”

“Not much.” Cecile craned around. “Who’s with you?”

“Everyone. Mom and Natalie went upstairs, and Lucy and Jack are in the kitchen, begging. I’m going up to change.” The door started to swing shut as her father stepped back into the living room. “By the way,” he said, sticking his head out again. “I have a message for you.”

“From who?”

“Whit Riley.”

Cecile sat up and swung around to face him with such a surprised expression on her face that her
father laughed. “How do you know Whit?” he said.

Cecile shrugged. “He was one of the boys I danced with. What’d he say?”

“It was very cryptic.” Her father looked amused. “He said, ‘Tell Cecile NMP at eight o’clock tonight.’ You two aren’t spies, by any chance?”

“NMP?” Cecile said, working to keep her face blank. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you don’t know, I don’t know,” her father said. “Whit’s a nice boy. Anyway, that’s the message.”

He let the door slam behind him this time. Cecile lay back down. Nighttime Marco Polo. Whit, inviting her. But how could she get to the club tonight when they’d been there last night? Her parents would never let her go by herself. Maybe she could talk Natalie into it and they could convince the whole family to go. They could say they wanted to have dinner and swim in the pool after dark. Cecile could slip away and join the game. In her bathing suit, yet! Wouldn’t they be surprised.

Imagining the soft night air whispering against her skin as she ran and hid, Cecile shivered. The
breath of the panting boys as they chased her would be warm on her neck if she were caught. Then would come the grip of a hand on her arm—

When the screen door slammed, Cecile sat up guiltily. “Granddad’s about to come down, Cecile,” her mother said. “Get up from his chair, would you?”

Her mother’s dark hair was slicked back from her forehead, her face more beautiful for being without makeup. Her sleeveless white dress, falling in elegant folds, was as simple as a sack. A white headband dangled around her neck like a necklace. “Hungry?” she asked invitingly, holding out a platter of cheese and crackers.

“Thanks.” Cecile got up off the chaise and took a piece of cheese. Her mother put the platter on the table and sat down. “What’d you do today?” she asked, girlishly pulling up her legs to rest her heels on the edge of her seat. The polish on her toenails was the faintest pink; even her narrow feet were beautiful.

She looked happy and relaxed; it was the perfect time to ask.

Cecile sat down next to her. “Nothing much,” she said. “I fooled around with Jenny, but it wasn’t much fun. Jenny’s depressed because they’re leaving tomorrow. So’s Leo.”

“It’s been nice for you having her here, hasn’t it?”

“It’s been okay. It’ll be nice having the Island to ourselves again.” Cecile took another piece of cheese. “Where’s Natalie?” she asked.

“Upstairs taking a shower.” Her mother was tou-sling her wet hair with one hand. “She’s going to a party tonight with William.”

Perfect.

“Really? Then can I go to the club after dinner for a while?” Cecile leaned forward. “A bunch of kids I know will be there.”

“Tonight?” Her mother sounded surprised. “You’ve never wanted to go to the club at night before. What kids?”

“Just some I met at the dance. They’re playing a game.”

“Oh. Well, not tonight. One late night in a weekend is enough at your age.”

“That’s not fair. How come Natalie can go out two nights in a row, and I can’t?”

“I wasn’t going to let her, but William’s mother put in a word for her.” Her mother tucked a few stray hairs behind her ears. “Mr. and Mrs. Cahoon are going to be at the same party and Mrs. Cahoon asked because it’s William’s last night.”

“I don’t see why I can’t go if Natalie can.”

“Because I said no.”

“You wouldn’t let her go if you knew the things she and William have been doing together,” Cecile said.

“Cecile Thompson.” Her mother stopped preening and frowned. “You sound like a little prude,” she said coldly.

Her mother meant for it to sting. Cecile felt the unfairness of it in the tightness of her throat.

“For one thing, Natalie’s almost fifteen and you’re twelve,” her mother said. “For another thing, Granddad, Dad, and I are going to the Whites’ for dinner. We are not leaving you at the club, on your own, at night, and that’s final.”