by Ann Herrick
"That was the idea!" He pulled me close to his side, and we walked together. "Come on. Let's find some place private, and I'll 'protect' you."
Nolan guided me to a secluded picnic table. We sat and melted into an embrace. Nolan started kissing me. I could feel his uneven breathing on my face. He held me tight with one arm and ran a hand down my back, around my waist, and up over the front of my blouse. He rubbed his hand over my breast. That warm tingle flowed over and through my body. My heart beat like hummingbird wings. I was excited, scared, and so sure we were in love.
At some point I realized it was dark. I did not want to leave Nolan, but I didn't want Mama and Karl worrying about me, wondering where I was. I gently pulled back from Nolan's kiss. "I ... it's getting late. I should be—"
"Late?" I thought I heard a mocking tone in Nolan's voice, but then he looked at his watch in a stream of moonlight filtering through the trees. "Yeah, I've got to go anyway. I'm meeting some of the guys over at Nicki's."
"Oh." I wondered if "some of the guys" included Bethany. But I didn't say anything. I was probably just letting my imagination work overtime, as usual.
"You'll be okay walking back to your house?" Nolan phrased it as a question, but somehow it came out sounding like a statement to me.
"S-sure."
"Okay, I'll see you."
Hand-in hand, we strolled back to Nolan's motorcycle. He gave me a goodnight kiss, then roared off. I hurried home, not sure how late it was.
Our porch light was on, and when I got to the door I could see lights on inside too. Mama was sitting in the living room, knitting. Karl wasn't there, and I figured he must be out with Caprice.
When I went in, Mama looked up from her knitting. "Hello, Vija. How was the movie?"
"Oh, it was a wonderful, Mama." I saw by the clock on the fireplace mantel that it was only a few minutes after ten. The movie had ended at nine, so I decided to cover all my bases before Mama could ask why I was getting home now. "I went to Maple Shade afterwards and had an ice cream cone. Then, I went for a walk in the moonlight."
"It sounds like a nice evening," Mama said.
"It was, Mama." I kissed her cheek before heading upstairs, glad she could not read my mind. "It really was."
It didn't take long for me to fall asleep, and when I did I dreamed golden sunny dreams of Nolan and me surfing together in the sky-blue waves along a beach in California.
Chapter Eleven
For two weeks I felt very noble. Papa came home from the hospital, Karl left for the waters off Vietnam, and I slaved away in the hot sun. Papa helped me clean the mowers. He gave me reminders: this customer likes his grass cut very short, that one wants the mower set at three inches. Every day, he praised my efforts, and thanked me for them. But after a while I had trouble keeping up. I had to start work earlier and stop later.
I longed for lazy days at the beach with Nolan. I tried not to resent the fact that he could spend seven days a week cooling off in the waters of Long Island. After all, I reminded myself, it wasn't his fault I couldn't be there with him. Maybe what I really resented was that he seemed so content to go to the beach without me.
At least we had Sunday afternoons together. We lay side by side on the beach. We swam. We walked to the jetty and sat in the shadows, where we didn't need to talk. Nolan's kisses, his touches, made me feel as if I were part of him.
If he stared at other girls, I told myself—or he reminded me—that it didn't matter. He chose to be with me. Sometimes he talked about going to California and becoming a beach bum. At first, it sounded so beautiful the way he described it. I pictured us together, following the waves. But when I really thought about it, I wasn't sure how I fit into those plans. I couldn't just quit school, leave home, and follow him. But maybe he thought I would.
Other times Nolan talked about the possibility of getting work in coffeehouses in New York. He was singing again almost every night. Nicki's had set up a little stage and he played there two or three nights a week. I hinted at just "dropping by" to hear him, but he said seeing me would take his mind off his singing. Besides, he didn't even go on until ten o'clock. Most nights I was so exhausted that I fell asleep by nine.
One night when Nolan was free and we went to the movies again, I found myself yawning and fighting to stay awake, even though "Rio Bravo" was a John Wayne movie with lots of noise and action. Nolan said it was only because it was a movie that he chose. When I protested that I was tired, he said that I was too sensitive, that he was only joking, that I had to remember not to look for trouble where there wasn't any.
Nolan also was getting gigs in New London, Hartford, and New Haven. He even performed once in Boston, though just a couple of songs as an opening act for someone who was building a following there. Nolan could really go somewhere as a folksinger, he said.
This was what I wanted to hear. I fell in love with a folksinger. When I first heard Nolan sing and play the guitar, I felt that he knew me inside and out. I felt that destiny brought us together. Singing, not surfing, was the path Nolan would choose.
***
One morning wispy gray clouds filled the sky. The air felt heavy against my skin. It did not look as though there would be any rain, just oppressive humidity. "It won't be long before I can work again," Papa said, as he wiped grass off the blades of a mower. "Then you won't have to work so hard."
Though Papa was taking care of the mowers, and puttering around the house and yard as much as he could before Mama would scold him about taking it easy, I knew it would still be several weeks before he could return to work. So I just smiled, and nodded.
Mama called Papa into the house to help her with something, which was her way of checking on him and making sure he wasn't "overdoing."
Just as I finished loading the truck, a car pulled up to the curb. Joel, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and rubber-soled shoes and carrying a big black lunchbox, trotted over. "Joel Gerber, reporting for duty."
"Duty?"
"How quickly they forget." Joel cocked his head to one side and grinned. "I said I'd help you with your work. Remember?"
"Ah, yes. And I said I'd let you know if I needed help."
"When I was eating my Rice Krispies this morning, I heard a voice telling me that you needed me today."
"Hmm. Must've been the voice of Snap, Crackle, or Pop."
"You'd be doing me a favor. I'm really a lousy caddy. Oh, I can lug the golf bag around, but I don't know what club to use for a long putt or to get out of a sand trap. My tips were pitiful, and deservedly so."
"Really?" I raised my left eyebrow a fraction.
"Would I kid you?"
"Well ...."
"Please. You'll be doing me a favor. Instead of making a fool of myself on the golf course, I can reveal my ignorance about yard work—I mean, help you."
"When you put it that way, how can I say no?"
Joel grinned. "You can't."
"In that case, let's go." We hopped in the truck and I had Joel stow his lunch box with my thermos and sack lunch. "We're going over to Westfield, Mr. Redfern's estate. He's very particular," I explained.
It was a long ride, so I headed for the turnpike to save time. "Since I thought I'd be working alone, I planned on spending the whole day there. So, don't worry, you can go slow and take it easy."
"That's me, slow and easy," Joel said with a laugh.
After a few minutes, I exited the turnpike and turned left.
Eyeing the forest-lined road, Joel said, "Are you sure anyone lives way out here?"
"Watch the side of the road," I said. "Every now and then you'll see a mailbox and driveway."
After a few minutes, Joel said, "Those driveways are spaced pretty far apart. There must be some nice homes hidden in back of all those trees. How much farther to Redfern's?"
"About another mile." Soon I spotted the plain white mailbox with the simple lettering, and turned right.
"Man," said Joel, as we bumped along the shaded dirt driveway, "this is on
e long entrance."
"People out here like to be 'set back from the road a bit,' as Mr. Redfern would say."
"Yeah, well, any farther back and they'd be in Rhode Island."
A couple of twists and turns later the driveway opened up to Mr. Redfern's house nestled into a hillside. An iron statue of a deer stood halfway up the hill.
Joel let out a soft whistle. "Wow. That's some place."
I parked the truck in a short spur off the driveway, next to a stone wall shaded by a stand of oak trees. As Joel and I started unloading equipment, I explained, "Mr. Redfern built the house around an antique barn frame. He's put on several additions, and it's now something like six thousand square feet." I rummaged around until I found the small hand clippers. "The wall of the basement is granite trap rock. Inside there are antique timbers, ceiling boards framed with original chestnut beams, linseed-oiled pine floors and an enormous rock fireplace. The rocks all came from this property."
"You've been inside?" Joel's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and for the first time I noticed his eyes were as green as the well-tended slope of lawn in front of Mr. Redfern's house.
"It takes all day to do this property. The Redferns have been kind enough to offer to let me and Papa use the bathroom. It'd be a long drive home or to a gas station. And," I added with a smile, "the woods are not an option."
"Spare the trees—got it."
When we finished unloading the equipment, I handed Joel the small clippers and began giving instructions. "See that slate walkway leading to the front door? Use these small clippers to trim the grass along the edges, and don't dig down and make a groove. The Redferns entertain a lot, and the ladies with high heels might get a heel stuck in a groove, and trip."
"Got it. No grooves."
"And be sure to clean up all the clippings."
Joel nodded.
"I'm going to start mowing. When you're done edging the walk, start raking the grass where I've cut it and then I'll cut it again in the other direction. That'll take us all morning. During lunch, I'll fill you in on what else needs to be done."
"Yes ma'am." Joel saluted me with the clippers.
I heard my father's words tumble out of my mouth. "Be careful with those clippers. You could lose an eye."
"The no-cyclops rule." Joel grinned. "Got it."
It took all morning to do the front lawn. I signaled to Joel to stop for lunch, and we headed for the truck. As we grabbed our lunches, I said, "Let's sit on the grass in the shade. It'll be cooler than in the truck."
"Sounds good," Joel said.
I leaned against the stone wall. A slight breeze cooled my face, a wonderful relief from the heat and humidity. I closed my eyes and savored the smell of freshly cut grass, the sounds of birds' clear whistles, buzzy trills, and long warbles.
"Lemonade?"
I opened my eyes. Joel held out a cup for me.
"Thanks." I gulped the cold drink, not realizing until then how thirsty I was.
"I hope I didn't wake you," Joel said. "You looked so peaceful. Wait, that sounds as if you were dead!" He laughed.
I elbowed him. "Fortunately, I'm not dead, just tired. But a good kind of tired. You know?"
"Yeah." Joel pointed to himself. "Me, I'm way past tired. I'm exhausted. But I know what you mean. When I caddied, it was fine when I was actually lugging a golf bag around the course. But I spent half my time sitting around waiting for someone to ask me to caddy. Then I stood around watching guys hit the ball. I'd get really tired, but it was because I was bored. Sweating-tired beats bored-tired any day, in my book."
"That's good," I said, "because the back lawn is nearly twice as big as the front lawn."
Joel clasped his hands to his heart and pretended to faint.
"You can't get out of it that easy." I reached over and tickled Joel's ribs.
"Aieeee!" Quicker than a blink, Joel grabbed my hands and pulled them off his ribs. He sat up, still holding tight to my hands, and said, "No fair. I'm the most ticklish being on the face of the earth. If we're going to work together, we've got to have a no-ticking rule." He tried to look serious, but the corners of his mouth twitched.
"I—" I started to say something, but as I looked into his dark green eyes I saw a sweet tenderness in his gaze. I was unexpectedly pleased by this. How could that be? This was known-him-forever, help-me-with-homework, freckled-face Joel. He was just a friend. Nothing more. I was in love with Nolan.
"What?" Joel let go of my hands, and cocked his head to one side.
"A ... a no-tickling rule is a good idea." I hoped my face was pink enough from the heat to hide the blush I could feel creeping into my cheeks. "Um ... I guess we should finish lunch. I'm starved."
"Oh, yeah, food." Joel plunged his hand into his lunch bag and pulled out a sandwich made of thick bread stuffed with at least an inch of what looked like thin slices of ham. "Thanks for reminding me," he said with a grin. "I hate it when I forget to eat."
"I never have that problem," I said, glad Joel was kidding around. Apparently that light I thought had passed between us was all in my imagination. The heat probably had something to do with it. In any case, the rest of lunch was easy and relaxed, and our conversation centered on the work we had ahead of us in the afternoon.
Maybe it was because it was getting hotter than the inside of a volcano, but the back yard seemed bigger than ever. We mowed, raked, trimmed shrubs, and pulled weeds until we were ready to collapse. Joel and I both took more than one bathroom break. Joel was truly impressed with the inside of the Redfern's house, especially when I told him Mr. Redfern had done a lot of the work on it himself. He was even more impressed when Mr. and Mrs. Redfern insisted we stop work and come inside for a few minutes to cool off.
"Your father wouldn't want us to overwork you," Mrs. Redfern said with a twinkle in her eye.
"It's ninety-two degrees out there," Mr. Redfern, as he whipped up a couple of root beer floats for us in their spacious kitchen.
"And that humidity!" Mrs. Redfern exclaimed as she offered us a plate of her oatmeal raisin cookies.
The snack was just what Joel and I needed to recharge ourselves for the rest of the work we had to do. When we finished the root beer floats and cookies, we thanked the Redferns and started back to the yard.
"Now you say hello to your father for us," Mr. Redfern said.
"And tell him to get well soon," Mrs. Redfern added.
"I will," I said. "And thanks again."
Out in the back yard Joel said, "The Redferns are nice people."
"The best," I said. "If only all of Papa's customers were like them."
Joel nodded.
For the rest of the afternoon Joel and I cleared underbrush and bramble from the edges of the wooded area of the property. It had to be done by hand so not to destroy the woodland flowers. It was hot, sticky, scratching work, that seemed to take forever, but finally we were done. We loaded the truck, hopped in, and unrolled the windows all the way to catch what air we could.
Joel turned on the radio. As soon as a song was finished on one station, he flipped to another. Sixteen Candles. Chapel of Dreams. Oh, What a Night. He sang along with all of them, word for word.
"Do you know the lyrics to every doo-wop song ever written?" I asked, as I pulled off the turnpike.
"I can't quite figure out what the phrase is that the Flamingos sing after 'I only have eyes for you.' I've played it over and over, I've played at a slower speed. It always sounds like 'duh-moche-a-mo.'"
"If that's the only part you can't figure out, you're an expert." I stopped at a light on the Post Road. "And maybe it is duh-moche-a-mo."
Joel let out an exaggerated gasp. "You're the only person who ever thought that! Everyone else thinks I'm nuts."
"Does 'everyone else' have a better idea of what they're saying?" The light turned green and I went left.
"No."
"Well, then. You must be right."
"I like the way you think."
"Uh, oh."
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Joel laughed. Suddenly he turned up the radio. "Listen to this."
"It's Pat Boone singing Love Letters in the Sand. So ...?"
"Sand. Beach. I'm broiling. Let's go!"
"Go?"
"For a swim."
"A swim?" Another stop light. "You're forgetting one thing."
"And that is ...?"
"Swimsuits. We don't have any," I said. "And don't even mention skinny dipping!"
"Skinny dipping? Moi?" Joel said. "We can go in our clothes."
"Our clothes?"
"Is there an echo in this truck?"
I thought for a moment. "It would be nice to cool off ...."
"We're only two blocks from Chatfield Town Beach, and I always carry my beach pass with me ..."
"All right, then." I turned down Waterside Lane, and held my breath as I guided the truck over the narrow wood bridge spanning the creek that separated the beach from the road. Joel flashed his pass to Mr. Keyes, who waved us on with a nod and a smile. I drove to the far end of the parking lot, and we walked past the rock jetty to a part of the beach heavy with the sharp blades of beach grass that kept most people away. I was glad to have my dungarees and work shoes on as we hiked our way to the water. We sat in the cool damp sand and removed our shoes and socks. Joel peeled off his shirt. "Last one in is a rotten egg!" he shouted as he ran into the water. But running through water in dungarees, as I discovered, was no easy task.
"We'd better not get in too deep," I said. "We'd sink to the bottom in these wet clothes."
"Good idea," Joel said. "Drowning was not on my list of things to do."
We decided to go only up to our waists, then drop down until the water came up to our necks. The cold water came as a shock at first. But I got used it. We dogpaddled around until we forgot that we'd ever been hot and sweaty. We leaned back and floated as best we could in our wet, heavy clothes. A few thin clouds marked the soft surface of the powder blue sky. With my ears under the water, I could hear only the sound of a distant motor boat. Time did not move as we drifted in peaceful silence.
But then a couple of families arrived, driving a herd of children into the water. Their squeals and shouts and splashes broke the hypnotic state we were in. We stood up and headed toward the water's edge, where we picked up our shoes and socks.