Family Secrets

by Nancy Thayer

  But not Julia. Sam had broken up with Jackie, the girl he’d been going with for the past two years, after he had broken up with Buffy. Now it was her turn.

  It was easy to find ways to be with Sam. She’d done it for years. She knew the television shows he liked: Saturday Night Live, old Star Trek reruns. When he came in to watch TV, she would already be there. It was only natural for him to sink down on the sofa next to her.

  “Want a chip?” she’d ask, holding out a bag of barbecued potato chips, his favorite kind.

  She knew he preferred looking for seashells to swimming, so she’d wander off alone down the beach, and eventually they’d run into each other.

  “Look at this,” she’d call out. “A perfect pair of angel’s wings.”

  She knew Sam liked to take long, early-morning bike rides. She programmed herself to wake at daybreak. Quietly she’d pull on shorts, a T-shirt, and sneakers and slip downstairs. When Sam approached the bike rack near the back steps she’d be sitting there, sipping a cup of steaming coffee, listening to the birds sing. It was as natural as the rising sun for him to ask her if she wanted to join him. By the middle of the month, they were going off together nearly every morning, exploring different parts of the island. They were relaxed with each other, easy in each other’s company, developing their own set of jokes, remembering their shared history. Now, Julia thought, if I can just get him to notice that I’m female.

  One Sunday they returned from an early-morning ride, wheeled their bikes up to the stand at the back of the house, and started up the back steps, intending to help themselves to coffee and orange juice. But Sam stopped abruptly. He held his hand palm out, stopping Julia. They froze outside the back door.

  “Honestly, Jim, you make me crazy!”

  “Diane, I don’t see why you’re so excited over a little bit of trash.”

  “ ‘A little bit of trash.’ That is so typical of you. Look. We agreed when we decided to try a summer place that we’d each have a chore. Chase does the grocery shopping, Julia and I keep the house relatively clean and do the cooking, and all you were supposed to do is take the trash to the dump once a week. The children do more than you do!”

  “You should have reminded me.”

  “Why? Why should it be my responsibility to remind you to take the trash to the dump? It’s not your responsibility to remind me to cook!”

  “I’ve just had other things on my mind.”

  “That’s clear. If I’d known you’d spend half your time driving back up to your lab or reading your damned reports, I wouldn’t have bothered to try a family vacation. Jim, this is probably the last time we’ll all be together. The children are almost grown up.”

  “Look. I said I’m sorry. What more can I do?”

  “You could take the trash to the dump before our luncheon guests arrive.”

  “Is the dump open on Sundays?”

  Sam and Julia could barely hear Diane’s reply: “Is it my responsibility to find that out?” Their voices faded as they went toward the front of the house.

  Julia leaned against the shingled wall, hanging her head in embarrassment. Sam stood next to her. Awkwardly, he reached out and took her hand. He stroked it.

  “It’s okay, Jul. My parents fight like that all the time, too. Just like that.”

  His touch mesmerized Julia. She couldn’t speak. Sam’s body was just inches away. She could smell his sweet-apple fragrance and healthy sweat.

  “Jul,” he whispered, “don’t cry.”

  He moved even closer, still holding her hand. She felt him looking at her. His look was like heat. She flushed.

  When they were kids, they’d tumbled together, arms and legs flailing, as they fell off their sleds into cold, sparkling snow or played tag in high green grass. They’d fed each other Julia’s experiments in cooking, Sam’s less appetizing experiments in science. They’d shared Play-Doh, bubble gum, popsicles, ice-cream cones. Each had seen the other scolded by an angry parent, and Julia had even witnessed Sam getting a spanking after he’d triumphantly managed to set a bunch of leaves and dry grass on fire using only a mirror and the sun.

  Sam had been a bony little boy, slighter and shorter than Chase. He’d been careful. Chase would charge bellowing into a pile of autumn leaves, brandishing a stick, plowing through the middle, scattering twigs and leaves every which way. For his turn Sam would patiently rake the leaves back into a billowing pile, return to the opposite end of the yard, and race like an arrow, silent, gathered, intent on the moment when he swung his arms up in the air, pushed with his feet, and leaped up and forward, into the perfect heart of leaves. He’d sink like a dolphin in water, leaves spilling over him, rustling, and he’d lie there in silence for so long Chase and Julia would never be able to stand it. Afraid he’d suffocated or broken his neck, they’d call out, “Sam? Are you okay?” He’d sit up, leaves in his glossy hair, grinning.

  Sam’s hand on Julia’s was silky, but fine black hair glistened from the backs of his fingers and along his arm. Julia saw a scar near his elbow and remembered a car accident he’d been in two years before when a friend of his had been driving drunk.

  “Hey, Jul,” Sam said. He lifted her chin with his hand and with his thumb lightly wiped away a tear.

  Julia looked up into Sam’s dark eyes. He leaned forward and kissed her mouth. Startled, they separated, then kissed again. Then they put their arms around each other and simply stood there, both of them slightly trembling in the steady beam of the morning sun. Unruly rose of Sharon bushes flowered at the corner of the porch, shielding them from the garage windows. Julia felt how new Sam’s body was to her, a sleek young man with hard arms and a deep chest. When she rested her head against his shoulder, she sensed his strength.

  They kissed again. Sam pressed his tongue between her lips and into her mouth. His tongue was huge; her knees felt weak and she sagged against him, needing him to support her, and he did support her, moving a hand down to press her hips against his. He was shaking.

  He pushed Julia away, so that the shingles of the porch warmed her back.

  “We can’t do this. Chase would kill me,” Sam told her.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re his little sister.”

  “You can’t kiss Chase’s little sister?”

  “No one’s supposed to kiss his little sister!” Sam grinned and leaned against the house next to her, still holding her hand.

  “Sam.” Why was this so hard? She’d dreamed of this moment a million times, but now she could hardly speak. “Forget Chase.”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “I love you.” There. She’d said it. As she said it, Sam squeezed her hand, hard, in response, and she felt his body jolt a little with the surprise.

  “You’re just comfortable with me.”

  “No. I love you. God, Sam, can’t you tell?”

  He dropped her hand. “We can’t do this.”

  Desperation made her brave. “Sam, Chase would be mad if you just played around with me. It would be different if we were serious about each other. I’m serious about you.” She waited, looking right into his eyes.

  He shook his head. “I’ve got to go.”

  He turned, jumped off the porch, and raced toward the garage. Julia waited on the porch for five minutes, ten, twenty, until she knew he wasn’t coming back. She went into the house, into her room, and fell facedown on the bed. Her friends were just getting up for the day.

  “We’re going to the beach now,” Sonja said. “Coming?”

  “I just got back from a bike ride. I think I got sunstroke or something. It’s hot. I’ll come later.” Julia kept her head buried in her pillow. She didn’t want her friends to see her face.

  “All right. See you.”

  All day Julia lay in a trance. Upon request her obedient mind replayed the moment with Sam over and over again, freeze-framing the kiss, each time sending delicious shots of desire and pleasure through her. She could see Sam bending toward her, h
is upper lip beaded with sweat, his mouth parted to reveal his almost perfect teeth—he’d had braces but had chipped a front tooth playing ice hockey. When she told him she loved him, he’d squeezed her hand so tightly it had hurt.

  That evening Chase and his friends left for a party on the other side of the island, and Sam went off with them. The next day Julia went to the beach with her friends, knowing Sam was there, but he was surrounded by people, and there was no way she could talk to him alone. He didn’t look her way all day. Julia felt quietly desperate. Only three nights remained before everyone left the Vineyard to go back to their fall lives, Julia at Gressex, Sam at Wesleyan.

  Then her parents announced that they were going off on an overnight sailing trip with friends. They left money for pizza and a list of instructions. The moment their car pulled out of the driveway, Chase was on the phone, organizing an end-of-the-summer party. He and his friends carried most of the furniture and anything valuable into one of the downstairs rooms and locked the door. They filled new plastic trash barrels with ice, beer, and wine. Chase had his portable CD player with him, and he and his friends stacked their CD’s, R.E.M., Pearl Jam, Def Leppard, Nirvana, beside it; he put the speakers on top of the antique cupboard in the dining room where they’d be most effective. Julia, Amy, and Sonja spent the day doing their nails and hair. After trying on every outfit they’d brought, and all of one another’s clothing, they ended up in shorts and T-shirts, so they wouldn’t look as excited about all this as they felt.

  Word of the party spread like wildfire. At eight Julia and her friends put out cheese and crackers and emptied chips and nuts into bowls. By ten, most of the food was gone. People they didn’t know were searching through the refrigerator, grabbing apples, orange juice, anything they could find. Everyone Chase and Julia knew and about fifty people they didn’t know were dancing in the living room or guzzling beer in the kitchen.

  It was a hot, humid August night. With the house crammed with people the temperature seemed about two hundred degrees. Julia saw Sam when he helped Chase carry in a keg. “Hey, Julia,” he said, nodding, not looking directly at her. Then he hung out with a group of guys laughing in the kitchen. Occasionally a girl would break into the knot to pull Sam out to dance, but sooner or later Julia would see him threading his way through the crowd back to the kitchen. He leaned against the counter, drinking a beer, wiping its icy wetness across his forehead and chest, and his T-shirt became transparent in its wetness, so she could see his dark muscles under the white cloth.

  Several guys came up to Julia but she was cold to them all, until about midnight, when a tall blond guy, cute, lumbered up to her. “Wanna dance?”

  “Sure.” When he took her hand to lead her far into the living room, she pulled back. “Let’s stay here. I need to keep an eye on things.” What she needed was to be sure Sam could see her dancing. She moved deliberately, suggestively, swaying her hips and letting her head loll so that her long hair fell down her back.

  “You’re a good dancer,” the blond guy said.

  “Thanks.” She looked over at Sam. He was watching her.

  A slow dance came on. The blond-haired boy reached for Julia. She looked for Sam—was he going to stand there and watch this, too? Sam was looking at Chase, and Julia understood. Chase was hugging a redhead, a girl he’d met on the beach when they first arrived. Julia let the blond guy pull her against him. She danced, watching Sam over her partner’s shoulder. The boy’s every movement annoyed her. He was too tall, too heavy, too thick. As he pushed and pulled against her, he felt like the squirming toddlers she used to have to put up with when babysitting.

  Chase went out the back door with the girl.

  “ ’Scuse me,” Julia said to the blond guy. Forcing herself out of his grip, she made a path through the crowd toward Sam.

  Now Sam had his own blonde to contend with, a voluptuous young woman with a deep tan so oiled she looked like a piece of furniture. She had Sam pinned to the stove. With one hand she twirled a hank of blonde hair, with the other she gestured as she talked.

  “… but I might take the year off and just do Europe.”

  “Hello, Sam,” Julia said. Without hesitation or embarrassment, she slid between him and the blonde, putting her hands on his shoulders, pressing her body against his. She could feel the tension grip his body.

  “Julia.”

  “Chase left.”

  “I know.” Sam put his hands on Julia’s shoulders and lightly pushed her away from him. “Julia—”

  “Well, it’s been great talking to you,” the blonde said, sarcastically, moving back into the crowd.

  “What?” Julia asked.

  Sam swallowed. “I’ve been thinking … about us. About your family and mine. We can’t just— Julia, it’s got to be all or nothing.”

  Julia smiled. She said, “All.”

  She reached into the pocket of her shorts and brought out the key to the downstairs locked room. It gleamed against the palm of her hand.

  For a long moment she was suspended in a capsule of time, a diamond of suspense, which blocked out all sound, so that she could clearly see the bodies of the dancers wavering hotly like a mirage in the far landscape of the dining room, and nearby, Sam’s face, his black hair damp on his forehead.

  Sam looked odd, almost angry. Then he grabbed Julia’s hand. Forcing his way through the crowd, he hurried down the hall, to the room where the door was locked.

  Julia opened the door with shaking hands. Once inside she locked it again. They didn’t turn on the lights but made their way through the shadowy room by the light from the moon and the stars spilling in from the high, wide windows. The room was piled haphazardly with furniture from the rest of the house, and in one corner several dhurrie rugs had been brought in to protect them from spilled beer and dancing feet. Sam led Julia to the pile of thick carpeting.

  Julia lay back and Sam stretched out against her, half on his side, half pressing against her. He kissed her for a long time. She ran her hands over his fine, silky hair, down the back of his neck where the bristles made her fingers tingle, over his shoulders, down the length of his torso.

  He was exploring her, too, very gently running his hands over only her shoulders, arms, waist, and hips. She understood his restraint and loved him for it, as she loved him for everything he was, this man who as a little boy had wrestled with her, not hesitating to grab the crayon or Monopoly piece they were fighting over from her hand. Now they were grown-up, and she understood his tenderness. He did not want to hurt or shock her. She took his hand and placed it on her breast. She felt his stomach muscles contract in surprise.

  “Julia. Do you know what you’re doing?” His voice was tense and husky with desire.

  “I want to make love with you, Sam.”

  He pushed himself up, and she sat up next to him. “Do you have a condom?”

  She was shocked. “No.” Her voice was small.

  “That’s just dumb. You shouldn’t have sex with anyone without a condom. And you know that.” He was staring straight ahead, and it was too dark to see his expression.

  “You’re not just anyone, Sam. And I don’t want to have sex. I want to make love. With you.” When he didn’t reply, she said, “I’ve never done this before.”

  He turned on her then in a fury. “But I have. What do you know about me? I’m a senior in college. How many women do you think I’ve been with? I could have anything—”

  “I trust you, Sam.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t just trust anybody. You should at least ask questions.”

  “All right. Do you have herpes?”

  “No.”

  “AIDS?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, teasingly.

  “Yes. I had a test this summer.”

  She was shocked into silence.

  “I’m fine,” he added. “I was just concerned because a girl I—went with—for a while last spring was pretty—active. I jus
t wanted to be sure. I haven’t been with anyone since then.”

  She put her hand on his back. “Then it’s okay.”

  Sam cleared his throat. “I care a lot for you, Julia. I wouldn’t want you … hurt.”

  Julia held his words in her mind, searching them, inspecting them for meaning. Did “I care a lot for you” mean only that he was fond of her, or did he love her? That was too much to hope for, so perhaps it meant he liked her very much—and then Sam turned and she saw in his face all she’d ever dreamed of. He pulled her T-shirt up over her head, and she slowly shook her long brown hair so it fell down her back. He slid her bra straps down her shoulders, then moved his hands behind her back and unsnapped her bra. It dropped silently to the rug. Sam looked at her breasts in the moonlight.

  “God, Julia, you’re so beautiful,” Sam whispered.

  His words made her shiver. He cupped her left breast in his hand so that her nipple pressed against his palm. His hand was warm. She could feel her heart thudding against his wrist.

  Mirroring his movement, she put her hand on the left side of his chest so that she felt the marblelike hardness of his nipple. When he gasped, she understood what friends had told her, that men were sensitive there, too. They sat facing each other, breathing rapidly, not speaking. Sam raised his arms to take off his white T-shirt and Julia saw the tufts of black hair under his arms, the swirl of black hair on his chest and belly. She slid her hand down his hard stomach and inside his jeans, and she had barely touched his pubic hair with her fingertips when almost roughly he pulled her shorts down, taking her underpants with them, and unzipping his jeans, pushed her back on the carpets. He knelt between her legs, supporting himself on his slender, muscular arms. Looking up at him, Julia let her eyes roam over his body from the hollow in his throat to his flat belly, his narrow hips, his upturned, dark, rigid penis. She tilted her pelvis eagerly, but to her surprise Sam slid downward and, running his hands over her body and pressing kisses against her breasts and belly, he nestled his face in her pubic hair. She gasped and grabbed his shoulders and tensed her muscles in surprise. She was embarrassed. She felt invaded, exposed. Looking down, she saw only Sam’s shining black hair just above her abdomen, and she was about to speak, to stop him, when she heard him moan.