The Oysterville Sewing Circle

by Susan Wiggs

  “Wet suits are in the back of the pickup,” her dad said. Even though it was a hot summer day, the water was never warm enough to surf without a wet suit. They zipped themselves into the neoprene and brought their boards down to the water. Dad was already paddling out, expertly dipping under the incoming waves. Jackson and Austin grabbed their boogie boards, which were easier to ride.

  Caroline lugged her board to the surf. The water chilled her to the bone, but in a few seconds, the wet suit warmed her up. A wave rose, smacking her in the face. She laughed at the feel of the water and sunshine and fastened her ankle strap. Will was way ahead of her, as usual. She wasn’t surprised when he took to surfing as if he was on a mission.

  She knew he’d catch on pretty soon, because her dad was a really good surf instructor. He’d grown up in Southern California and he liked to say salt water ran in his blood. Thanks to him, all the Shelbys knew how to paddle out past the white water and find the gray-green curl of a wave. He used to stand in the surf for what seemed like hours, giving her board a shove at exactly the right moment and calling, “Attack position!”—her cue to pop up on the board and ride the wave to shore. His glee when she succeeded was almost as gratifying as the heady sensation of the ride itself.

  Will kept struggling with the waves and the timing, long after the younger boys got tired and started building a fort out of driftwood. Dad said Will had a high center of gravity because he was tall, so it might take more practice to get his stance just right. He got knocked around by the rollers coming in, yet he never gave up.

  “Timing is the hardest thing to get right,” Dad told him. “And it’s the one thing that makes all the difference. You want the wave underneath you just as it’s about to break. So you need to figure out if you have to wait or to paddle fast.”

  Caroline was working on riding the curl, not just the white water. She watched the horizon for a swell to come to her, and got lucky a few times, finding that one glassy spot in the unbroken wave.

  “Great work, C-Shell,” Dad called to her. “You too, Will. You’re doing all right.”

  “I’m gonna get it,” he said.

  And finally, in one sweet moment, he did. He spotted the right wave and paddled until Dad said, “Attack position!”

  Will popped up, wobbled a bit, and rode the wave with a look of such glee that Caroline laughed aloud. He wiped out, then surfaced, punching the air in triumph. This was summer, she thought. She wished it could go on forever.

  As the season waned toward its bittersweet end, Caroline felt a peculiar urgency to fill the days with everything she loved about summertime. Labor Day weekend reared up on the calendar, the last hurrah for so many on the peninsula—Will included. The Rotary picnic drew everyone to Sunset Beach. The moms showed up, toting wicker bags stuffed with egg salad sandwiches, bags of chips, trays of cookies, striped towels, and tubes of sunscreen. A local band was playing old dance songs from the eighties, and there was a volleyball game going on. Caroline and Will were lugging a picnic cooler from the boardwalk to the beach when a piercing whistle sounded. Will stopped walking and froze with a funny look on his face.

  “My dad’s here,” he said, setting the cooler down.

  She turned to see a tall man coming toward them. He wore a navy blazer and pleated flannels, his blond hair raked into gleaming comb furrows. His shoes shone in the sun. He had a clean-cut, square-jawed look and a perfect-posture stride that drew people’s attention as he passed.

  “Oh!” she said. “Is he coming to the beach with us?”

  “I doubt it.” Will wiped his hand on his shorts. “He’s not dressed for the beach.”

  True, she observed. He looked out of place—but not uncomfortable—amid the people crossing from the parking lot to the beach.

  “Howdy, son,” said Mr. Jensen. “Your grandparents said I’d find you here.”

  “Hey, Dad.”

  They didn’t touch or hug, but offered a mutual nod of greeting. “Are you coming to the picnic?” asked Will.

  “Maybe later,” said his father.

  “This is Caroline,” Will said.

  “Caroline Shelby,” she added, sticking out her hand, even though it felt totally phony. His grip was quick and hard, like a bite. “My dad brought surfboards and wet suits. We’re going to go surfing, and you could come. That is, if you want.” She felt herself getting all talky again, which she did when she was nervous. Something about Mr. Jensen made her nervous.

  “Or you could come and watch. I can get up on a board now, Dad,” said Will.

  “Kind of pointless, if you ask me. The ocean is where I work, not play,” said Mr. Jensen. “You kids run along now. I’m going to drop into the pub for a pint and a half.”

  “Okay,” Will said. “See you later.”

  “Stay out of trouble, son.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Mr. Jensen made a brief saluting motion with his hand, then pivoted toward the main street. There were several bars and pubs where grown-ups sat around drinking, doing pull tabs and watching baseball on wide-screen TVs.

  She studied Will’s face. A peculiar sadness clouded his blue eyes. She wondered if he was remembering his mom, or if he was wishing his father would join in the fun on the beach. “Maybe he’ll come back in a bit,” she suggested, trying to cheer him up.

  “Nah. He won’t be back until the pub closes.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not quite certain that was the right thing to say.

  He stared at the retreating figure. “I’m not. If he’d stayed, he’d only spoil things.”

  She couldn’t imagine someone spoiling a day at the beach. “How?”

  “He’d probably drink too much and embarrass me.”

  “Oh.” And again, “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s my last day. I’m not gonna let anything ruin it. Let’s go.”

  They brought the cooler to the picnic area, where her brothers were already decimating the platter of deviled eggs her mother had made. Her sisters and their friends were French-braiding their hair and arranging themselves on blankets where the boys would notice them. Her dad was already in his wet suit, waxing the boards.

  “There’s a good surf today,” he said. “Want to have a go?”

  “Sure,” Will said. “I need all the practice I can get.”

  “Good attitude,” Dad said.

  Will grinned and in they went, surfing with the cluster of kids out beyond the break. As usual, Will kept at it, long after exhaustion and hunger drove Caroline to the barbecue area, where the Rotary volunteers were grilling for the crowd and drinking beers. After a while, Will showed up and devoured a burger with a look of bliss on his face.

  Just before dark, his father came to collect him. She recognized that stride, only now it was punctuated with a slightly uneven swagger.

  Dad came over and introduced himself. “Will’s got a natural talent at surfing. He did really well this summer.”

  “Yep, well, we need to get a move on,” said Mr. Jensen. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

  “Tell you what,” said Dad. “I’ll give you a ride up to your folks’ place. I’m heading that way myself.”

  No, he wasn’t, thought Caroline.

  “No thanks,” said Mr. Jensen. “I’m parked over there.” He gestured vaguely.

  “We’ll get the car back to your place tomorrow. On a holiday weekend, the patrols are out in force and they love to write tickets,” said Dad. “Can you give me a hand with the surfboards? Thanks, man.”

  Dad was totally smooth. He was an expert at dealing with people who’d had a few too many. He was a sommelier and had worked in bars his whole life, and he knew just what to do. Within a few minutes, the four kids were crammed into the club cab of the pickup, Dad at the wheel and Mr. Jensen in the front seat. Dad kept up a friendly conversation during the drive to Water’s Edge. Will was totally silent the whole way. Caroline could feel him breathing next to her. They had to share a seat belt, and his leg pre
ssed against hers, the muscles tense. When they parked in front of the old house, Will scrambled out of his seat as if he couldn’t get away fast enough.

  “Uh, thanks for the ride, Mr. Shelby,” he said.

  “No problem,” said Dad. “None at all.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the lift.” Mr. Jensen headed toward the house. “Let’s go, son.”

  Caroline hung back, painfully aware that this was goodbye. And she didn’t quite know how to say that. So she just said it. “Bye, Will.”

  He stiffened, as if the notion of goodbye had just struck him. “Okay,” he said. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Guess so,” she said. There were a hundred things she wanted to say to him, but he was already edging toward the house. Maybe she should offer to call him. But no, they didn’t talk on the phone. It wasn’t that kind of friendship. It was a “run around and play all day” kind of friendship. Trying to talk on the phone would only ruin things. Besides, there was no way to call Guam, was there?

  There was always email over the computer, but in Caroline’s family, there was only one computer and they all had the same email address—Shelbyfamily@willapa.net. She sure as heck didn’t want her sisters seeing her notes to Will Jensen.

  She hated this goodbye. It was rushed and weird. Not that she wanted to linger over it like Romeo and Juliet, but she kind of wanted to say a few things, like that she’d had fun. That she’d miss their adventures. That she’d think of him during the endless school year.

  “Are you coming back next year?” she asked.

  “Sure am.”

  “I’ll be here,” she said.

  Chapter 15

  Caroline was singing “The Winged Herald of the Day” with her mouth wide open when she saw Will Jensen again the next year. She was in her usual spot in church—the middle of a pew in the middle of the sanctuary—when she happened to look over while belting out, “Take up thy bed, to each He cries,” and there he was, a row behind and across the aisle.

  She nearly choked on the chorus. Her cheeks filled up with color, and she whipped her head back around.

  Right after he left last summer, she had missed him so much that she wrote down all kinds of things she wanted to tell him, everything from what she had for dinner (tuna casserole made with her uncle’s fresh catch and little English peas) to her schedule of classes (her favorite was something called domestic arts, which involved sewing). She never sent a single letter, though. For one thing, she didn’t have his address in either Guam or Coronado. Oh, she could have asked his grandmother, but she was too bashful to do that.

  She had to fight her sisters and brothers for computer time, and finally sat down and typed out an email one day. The modem kept squawking, and just at the crucial moment, it disconnected and the laboriously typed message disappeared like mist. After that, she gave up. Compared to long summer rambles and epic bike rides around the peninsula, email was a yawn.

  After church, they met up at the cookie table. “Hey, stranger,” said Will. “I’m back.”

  “Hey, yourself. You’re back.”

  “Yep. For the whole summer,” he said.

  “Cool. Church is lame but the cookies are good. They’re looking for a new pastor. Maybe they’ll find one who isn’t too boring.”

  She couldn’t stop smiling, yet still she felt awkward. He looked so different—taller. Bigger in the shoulders, maybe. And his voice was totally different, kind of crackly and deep, a human computer modem. She wondered if she looked different to him. Probably not. She was still skinny and flat-chested, something her sisters liked to remind her of. She’d started wearing a bra anyway, hoping it would speed things up.

  “Check out your crazy hair,” he said.

  Well, at least he was checking something out. “What about my hair?”

  “It’s pink. Duh.”

  “I was in a march for breast cancer awareness,” she said, then blushed because she’d said breast. “Can you go to the beach tomorrow?” she asked, to change the subject. “There was a good surf report.”

  “Sure thing. My grandparents got me my own board.”

  The first Monday of summer was special, like a magical holiday, marking the first day kids didn’t have to drag themselves out of bed, whine their way through breakfast, race for the bus as if it came at a different time every day, and sit through classes while their eyes turned to glass.

  True to the weather prediction, the first Monday was a beach day, crowded with people welcoming summer. The hours went by like a series of snapshots—volleyball, kite flying, sandcastles, surfing. Caroline stayed in the water until she could barely stand up. She staggered ashore, peeled off her wet suit, and rinsed off at the outdoor showers. She put her wet suit in the back of the truck, pulled on a pair of shorts, and grabbed a sweatshirt.

  “He’s not going to notice you in that,” Georgia said, taking the sweatshirt from her.

  “What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right.” Georgia adjusted the strap of her lime-green bikini. “That boy who came back for the summer. This outfit makes you look like his kid sister.”

  “So?” She glared down at her cutoffs and lace-up canvas sneakers.

  “You’re so obsessed with designing clothes, but you dress like a tomboy. Here, try this.” With her customary bossy officiousness, Georgia traded the sweatshirt for a sheer blouse from her beach bag, rolled it up at the waist, and knotted the shirt tail under her chest, leaving her midriff bare above her cutoff shorts. “There. That’s better. You’ve got those cute little abs.”

  “Jeez,” said Caroline, feeling a blush come on. “Nobody cares about my cute little abs.”

  Her big sister tossed the sweatshirt back into the truck. “Huh. Tell that to Baby in Dirty Dancing.” Georgia and her friends were obsessed with the old movie. Songs from the soundtrack were on every mix CD they made. Even Caroline secretly loved the parts where Baby transformed from geek to goddess.

  Will came up from the beach and peeled off his wet suit. He didn’t seem to notice her abs, cute or otherwise. She handed him a can of root beer, which they both agreed was the best thing to drink after surfing. After a while, they joined in a game of volleyball, and she saw some of her friends checking him out.

  “He’s a total babe,” said Rona Stevens, a girl in Caroline’s class. Rona watched Will dive for a shot. “He looks just like Brendan Fraser. Only blond.”

  “What? No.” It was so weird, having her friends check him out. A few of them already had boyfriends. Nearly all of them had boobs. Caroline had neither, and it didn’t really bother her. Okay, so maybe it did, a little.

  “He’s a stone-cold fox,” Rona declared. As captain of the cheerleading squad, Rona had been one of the most important girls in junior high—as far as she was concerned, anyway.

  “What does that even mean? Jeez.” Caroline shook her head. Several things confused her these days: The prospect of going to high school in September. The way she sometimes cried for no reason at all. How embarrassed she was that most of her friends already had their periods and wore bras. And how she got a funny feeling inside when she looked at Will Jensen. There was a part of her—a very big part—that just wanted to go back to being summer friends with him, the way they’d been the previous year.

  At the end of the day, the sunset turned everything to pure gold, and people aimed their cameras to the horizon, trying to capture the brilliant image. The colors melded like spilled liquid as the sun sank lower. A group of kids sat together on the sand, goofing off and talking about their plans for the season.

  “I have to work at the restaurant this summer,” Caroline said mournfully. “My sisters both did it, and now it’s my turn.” She wrinkled her nose. “Bussing tables and washing dishes. Yuck. I made a big stink about it, but it’s the family business and I have to do my part.” She echoed the lecture her parents had given her when laying down the law.

  “I got a job, too,” Will said. “Part-time at Scoops.�
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  “That’s cool. I love their ice cream.”

  “Me too. Plus the owner said the tips can really add up. I’m saving my money to buy my own surfboard back home.”

  She wondered what his dad would say about that. Did Mr. Jensen still insist that the ocean was for work, not play? “So the surfing’s good down there?”

  “It is. I’ve been practicing.”

  “I could tell today. You’re getting really good.” She sighed, leaning back on her elbows and tracking the flight of a seagull across the water. He was good at everything. Probably even math. “Hey, ever seen a green flash when the sun sets?” she asked him.

  “A green flash?” He frowned, shook his head.

  “It’s a thing you can sometimes see the moment the sun goes down. Not always, but on really clear days like today, the light separates out into different colors when it passes through the atmosphere.” She grinned at his expression. “Sometimes I do pay attention in science class. Maybe if we watch tonight, we’ll see it.”

  He hooked his arms around his knees and stared at the shimmering horizon. “If it works, it’d be a new one on me.”

  “Don’t look straight at the sun until the last second,” she said.

  “If I wait, I might miss it.”

  “Nah, I’ll tell you when to look. I always look for the green flash. There’s a saying that once you see it, you’ll never go wrong in matters of the heart.”

  He snorted. “I don’t see how they’re connected.”

  Was he more sarcastic than he’d been last year? “Whatever. It’s just something people say. I still look for it, though. Just in case, you know?”

  A bunch of other kids joined in, lying belly down on beach blankets and facing the endless horizon. Rona Stevens managed to wedge herself in right next to Will, but he didn’t seem to notice.