The Tenderness of Thieves

by Donna Freitas

  I’d already turned around, but I stopped. “What’s that?”

  “It’s not your job to save anyone,” she said. “Not even if you fall in love with them.” Then the pedal started up, the sewing needle pricking the delicate chiffon mercilessly and leaving a trail of stitches behind.

  • • •

  “Bridget’s got a boyfriend,” Tammy was singing when I arrived at the beach.

  Bridget leaned over and whacked Tammy with her magazine. The “Us” in Us Weekly just barely readable on the curve. “What are you, twelve?”

  “Sometimes,” she said, rubbing her arm.

  “Yeah, well, Tammy’s got a boyfriend,” Bridget sang back to her.

  “That’s not fair,” Tammy said. “I don’t have a magazine to hit you with.”

  “I take it last night at the Ocean Club ended well,” I said, laying out my towel, watching as it floated down onto the sand. I threw my flip-flops onto the far corners.

  Bridget was busy guarding her magazines so Tammy couldn’t get ahold of one. “Tammy’s luck had nothing to do with the Ocean Club, though she’s not quite ready to admit it,” she whispered to me. Then she mouthed Seamus and put a finger to her lips.

  I nodded. I couldn’t help but smile, too. I loved the idea of Tammy and Seamus together. “What’s this about you having a boyfriend, B?”

  Michaela huffed. “If you’d stayed with us until we left, you’d already know the answer.”

  I let my hair fall from its knot on my head so I wouldn’t feel the bump when I lay down. “I was tired.”

  “Tired of us?” Michaela asked.

  I shook my head forcefully. “No way.”

  “The lady doth protest too much,” Tammy said.

  “Someone’s been doing their summer reading assignment,” Michaela said wryly.

  Tammy shrugged. “We can’t all be as smart as Jane,” she said, her voice singsongy.

  “You really are twelve,” I told her.

  “She totally is,” Bridget said with a sigh.

  I took refuge on the other side of Bridget. Slathered on sunscreen. Waited for the conversation to continue without me, but when it didn’t, I turned to the girls, wondering what was causing the silence. The sun burned on my bare skin. “Did I miss something?”

  Michaela seemed exasperated. “Jane!”

  “Fine.” I knew what they were waiting for, and it was about time to give in. “I have another story to tell. A longer one this time. About Handel,” I added.

  “I knew it,” Bridget chirped.

  “So did I.” Michaela sighed. She shifted on her towel, turning onto her side so she could face me. “I just hoped I was wrong.”

  I put my sunglasses on to cut the glare. “I’m not telling my story if you’re going to prejudge.”

  “Tell it, tell it,” Tammy said. “No prejudging on this part of the beach.”

  “I will, as long as you guys spill after I do.”

  “Of course,” Bridget said, her eyes sliding to the lifeguard who had just loped past on his break. “I’m dying to tell you my updates, anyway.”

  Michaela’s exasperation turned on Bridget now. “You’re too easy, you know.”

  This time, Michaela got whacked by Bridget’s magazine. A different one. People. “Well, you’re too bitchy. How ’bout that?”

  “Ladies, please,” I said, laughing. “We’re all friends here.”

  Bridget harrumphed. “I always thought so, but maybe I was wrong.”

  “Sorry, B,” Michaela droned. “You’ve got quite an arm.”

  Bridget smiled sweetly now. “I might be easy, but I’m definitely not weak.”

  “That you are not,” Tammy said. “You were saying, Jane?”

  My sunglasses provided adequate cover from their stares—I was glad I had them. I took a deep breath, then launched into the details. “I went down to the docks to meet Handel last night. And, um, we’ve seen each other more than I may have told you,” I admitted, then shrank back a little, waiting for possible contact with one of Bridget’s magazines.

  Bridget’s mouth opened in surprise. “You’ve been keeping things from us!”

  “I told you it was a longer story this time.”

  “Uh-oh,” Michaela said. “You really like him, don’t you?”

  A smile wanted onto my face, but I tried to hold it off. Handel didn’t even have to be nearby to make me swoon. “I do.” Michaela was about to say something else, but I didn’t let her. “He’s different from how you guys think. He’s different from how everyone else says for that matter. I know he’s got that bad boy thing, but after spending all this time with him, I really don’t understand what’s so bad.”

  Tammy’s laugh was full of sarcasm. “Um, he’s a Davies.”

  “Which means he’s also connected to every single hoodlum in our town,” Michaela went on, but she wasn’t laughing. “Your father would have—” she started, but then was halted from finishing by another hard whack of a magazine, this time from Tammy, who’d grabbed one off Bridget’s towel to do it.

  The smile fell from my face. “I swear, Handel’s not like that. My dad would have liked him. Because of how Handel likes me,” I added.

  Bridget placed a hand on my arm. “I believe you, Jane.” Then she turned her glare on Michaela. “And I think if you want to tell us more about how you feel, there will not be any more judgment or negativity. Will there? Hmm?”

  “Sorry, J,” Michaela said. “Really.”

  Tammy just nodded. “Promise.”

  I reached for the remains of Bridget’s iced coffee, the cup anchored in the sand.

  “Go ahead,” she said, nodding.

  I picked it up, avoiding the wet chunks falling off the bottom. The sun was so hot, and I was suddenly so parched. I sucked down all that was left, my eyes widening at the shock of how sweet it was. Bridget always put in way too much sugar, but I wasn’t about to complain. “Thanks,” was all I said. Then, “I want you guys to like Handel. Actually, I need you guys to like him.”

  Bridget’s face lit up. “Oh my God. Do you, like, love him?”

  “No,” I said too quickly.

  Michaela, who’d been holding her breath, let it out.

  Tammy stared blankly.

  The burn in my cheeks had nothing to do with the sun overhead. I was thinking about last night and all that had happened between us. Things were starting to get . . . intense. “But there was quite a lot of, well, kissing, et cetera.”

  Michaela’s eyebrows went up. “Define et cetera.”

  Tammy glanced at Michaela. “Jane doesn’t need to give us details. It’s not like you ever give us details.”

  Michaela huffed but didn’t push any further.

  Bridget cocked her head, looking at me. “I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself, Jane. Maybe you do love him. And I say that because of the, well, et cetera you just mentioned. It’s not like you to, you know, go anywhere with a boy besides kissing—not that I’m disapproving because I’m absolutely not,” she added quickly. “I approve wholeheartedly if it’s what you really want.”

  I waited for the blush on my face to subside. “Maybe Handel and I are heading in that direction. You know, toward love.” It was strange to say that word out loud in reference to a boy and me. It tasted like a foreign substance. “But I’m not quite ready to decide that love is what’s happening. It feels serious, though, which is why it’s so important to me that you guys like him.”

  Tammy shifted positions on her towel. She was nodding. “Okay. Maybe all we need to do is spend some time with him. Maybe he’s suspicious simply because he’s an unknown.”

  “And because,” Michaela began, but Bridget shot her a glare, to which she replied, “I’m not gonna say anything bad,” with gritted teeth, before continuing her response. “Because we lo
ve you, Jane, and want you to be okay. We want you to be with someone who’s going to make you happy.”

  “I am happy,” I admitted. “He makes me happy.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Michaela said.

  “What is?” I asked.

  Michaela picked up her suntan lotion and began applying some to her arms. “You’re going to arrange for all of us to get together so we can start feeling about Handel the way you do.”

  This got Michaela a confused look from Tammy. “I don’t know about you, but I am not planning on liking Handel Davies the way Jane does.”

  Michaela switched to her legs. “You know what I mean.”

  I waved a hand in front of their faces, trying to get their attention back. “Um, I can try to make that happen, but Handel is a pretty private guy.”

  Bridget sighed dreamily. “Mystery is half of what makes the bad boy seem so bad.”

  “If he cares about you, then he’ll do it,” Tammy said simply. “We’re your girls.”

  “Right,” I said.

  But I wasn’t sure it was that simple.

  “Great,” Michaela said.

  “Oooh,” Bridget nearly squealed. “I’ve always wanted to get up close and personal with someone like Handel.”

  I laughed. “I think it’s about time you told me how your night ended, now that I’ve told you about mine.”

  Michaela rolled onto her stomach, like she couldn’t bear to go through the details, but on her way there, she said, “Bridget had three guys fighting over her.”

  “It was wonderful,” Bridget sighed.

  I smiled. “And what were you two doing while this was going on?”

  Tammy snorted. “Making bets.”

  Michaela lifted her head an inch. “I thought Hugh might win.”

  “But it seems Logan has the edge,” Tammy said. “Then again, James was in the lead at one point. Bridget, would you care to share?”

  “You girls make it sound so pedestrian,” she said.

  “Pedestrian? Apparently it’s not just me who’s been studying,” Tammy said.

  Bridget took off her sunglasses. Batted her eyelashes at us, then put them back on. “I’ve got plenty of SAT words up my sleeve.”

  “You’re really good at that, B.” Tammy was sincere. “The batting-your-eyelashes thing, I mean.”

  “You should try it,” she said with a slight pout. “Boys love it. All it takes is a little practice.”

  “We’re getting off-topic,” I said. “Which boy has the edge, B?”

  There was that dreamy smile of hers. “They’re all really sweet. Ask Michaela what she thinks of Hugh, for example.”

  Michaela shook her head. Then shrugged. “Fine. Hugh is kind of hot. I’ve never dated a black guy. Maybe I should.”

  “Maybe you should,” I echoed, giving her a smirk.

  “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally.

  A woman lugging two beach chairs and an umbrella nearly knocked into me as she walked by our setup. I ducked away just in time. “And Miles?” I asked, righting myself again. “What about him in all of this jockeying?”

  Tammy tsked. “He was rather shattered when you took off.”

  I dug for an elastic in my beach bag, but it was stuffed with so many things I couldn’t seem to find one. I needed to get my hair off my neck. It was too hot to have it down. “Nah.”

  “Yeah,” Tammy said, tossing me one of her elastics. “Don’t deny it. He has a thing for you.”

  Bridget got serious. “Jane, you shouldn’t let him hang on to hope if he hasn’t got any. He’s a nice guy.”

  Guilt sprung up like a weed. I tried to distract myself from it by focusing on putting up my hair. “I know he is.”

  Michaela rolled over. Looked at me. “Unless Miles has a real chance?”

  I finished fixing the knot, then shrugged. “I’m with Handel. We just went over that.”

  “We’ve yet to see this for real, however,” Michaela said. “If you’re with Handel, then where is he now?”

  “Working,” I said. “Why would you even ask that?”

  “Do you know this for sure?”

  “Yes,” I answered, even though I didn’t really know the answer. She was right. I just assumed that’s where Handel was. That this was where he was all day every day. “I thought you guys were going to try to be nice about him now that—” But I didn’t get to finish.

  “Incoming,” Tammy interrupted, looking off into the distance, toward the lifeguard chairs at the far end of the beach. Miles and company were headed toward us. “From the left.”

  “Ooh,” Bridget cried. “Make yourselves pretty for the boys!”

  “Jane, since you’re not all the way toward love with Handel yet, why don’t you make yourself available to Miles,” Michaela suggested. “Maybe a little? That’s all I’m asking. A teensy bit.”

  “I’m not justifying that with a response,” I said as the four of us watched the band of boys approaching, moving across the beach like the tide, picking up shells and sand and more than a few glances from the other girls lying out in the sun.

  “Hello, hello,” Miles said cheerily when they reached us. Then he gave me one of those blinding, golden-boy smiles, the kind they must have you practice at prep school. “Can I sit here?” he asked, gesturing at the space in the sand next to my towel.

  “Sure,” I said, smiling back, but immediately felt a little bit guilty about it. Bridget was right: Miles was a really nice guy, and he had no idea that right after seeing him last night, I’d gone out to meet Handel at his boat. I really shouldn’t lead Miles on. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t the kind of thing I did.

  Miles and his friends set their towels in a circle around us, doubling our little beach setup. Miles sat down next to me, that easy smile never leaving his face. He didn’t seem to have a care in the world, and I realized right then that I liked this about him. It was infectious. Even a relief. Miles wasn’t even the smallest bit bad or dangerous, or from a notorious family like Handel. He was good all the way through like I used to be, a nice boy who thought of me that way, too.

  So instead of telling Miles immediately and honestly that I had a boyfriend—well, more or less—I let myself soak up all the ease that was rolling off him in waves.

  I have to admit, as I looked around at my friends who, despite their protests, were obviously enjoying this literal circle of male attention, I saw how simple it would be for my friends to approve of someone like Miles. How, if I chose him, I could have one of those fun summer romances I used to dream about when the boys didn’t know we were alive, the kind that aren’t weighty or dark or serious, but as light as the cotton candy they sold by the baseball field near the wharf. A tiny part of me wondered, too, if Michaela wasn’t a teensy bit right and I should leave myself open to the possibility of Miles, even if, in the end, it was really only a little part of me that thought this was a good idea.

  NINETEEN

  “STOP FIDGETING,” MY MOTHER said. “Do you want me to stick you?”

  I looked down at her warily. “It’s hot.” She was holding pins dangerously close to my chest as she worked on the bodice of the wedding dress I was modeling. “If you stop threatening me with a sticking, maybe that will help with the fidgeting. You’re making me nervous.”

  She took a step back and put her free hand on her hip. “How many years have you been doing this for me? And how many times has there been a pin-related injury?”

  I rolled my eyes, the only part of my body I could easily move. “Once.”

  “And that happened because?”

  “Because I slipped off this pedestal thing you make me stand on.”

  My mother went around to the back of the dress, stepping carefully around the train. She bent down to fix the snap on the bustle. “And you slipped off because?”

 
Thank God she was too invested in her work to see the expression on my face. “I slipped off because I was trying to get to the phone.”

  “Exactly,” my mother said, her words slightly muffled. I didn’t need to look at her to know she had pins in her mouth. “It wasn’t me that was the problem.”

  “Bridget had important news!”

  “Not so important that it was worth a serious stabbing.”

  I put my hand over my mouth, trying to hold back the laughter. Laughter would be bad right now. “Definitely not,” I admitted, the laughter spilling out of me, anyway.

  My mother came around to the front of the dress again. “No giggling,” she protested, trying not to laugh herself. She stopped working for a moment. Looked up at me with a smile. “My silly daughter.”

  “I’m not silly.”

  “It’s not a bad thing,” she said. “Giggling and silliness are nice to see. It’s been a while since I’ve heard you so relaxed.”

  I stiffened a little at this. “I guess so.” I didn’t want to think about the reasons why I hadn’t been silly lately. That same morning, I glimpsed a headline about the break-ins on the front page of the newspaper. I’d gone to retrieve it from the front steps, the clear bag it came in covered with dew.

  SUSPECT IN RASH OF BREAK-INS TAKEN IN FOR QUESTIONING; POLICE WON’T REVEAL IDENTITY

  My mother was still in bed, so she hadn’t yet seen it. I grabbed the paper and took it inside, shoved it far underneath my bed so she wouldn’t. Just like I’d erased the messages Officer Connolly had left on the machine about needing to talk to me before my mother knew they were there. If I avoided these things, I could almost pretend that life was normal, protecting myself and my mother from further worry.

  “So, my darling daughter,” she was saying as she bent low to the ground to touch up the hem of the gown, “what are you doing for the Fourth of July? Going to the beach with the girls? Or anyone else?”

  She didn’t mention Handel directly, but I could tell that she was fishing for information. Her tone said it all.

  I felt my cheeks reddening. Even the thought of spending an evening with Handel was enough to make me flush with want, with all the desire I felt for him—an embarrassing reaction to have in front of my mother. “I’m going to watch the fireworks like always. Probably up in a lifeguard chair if I can get ahold of one.” If I just referred to myself, then I didn’t have to do the work of figuring out who else to mention in the equation—the girls, Miles, his friends, Handel. Handel and I still hadn’t made plans for that night, and Miles had already said he wanted to hang out with me if I was around.