Kayla drove down the Wauwinet Road, past the gatehouse, and onto the crooked finger of land that stuck out into Nantucket Sound. Great Point. It was so secluded, so remote, it was Nantucket’s only real destination, the place year-round islanders went when they wanted to get away, when they wanted to feel like they’d been somewhere.
Kayla cruised along the shoreline a good ten feet above the water line. The tide was going out, the water silvery in the moonlight, and Kayla had a feeling that this silence would be the best part of the evening. This peaceful coexistence.
She parked in the usual spot, beyond Great Point lighthouse. “Here we are.”
They sprang into action. Val. grabbed the bottle of champagne by the neck as though it were an unruly child and dragged it onto the sand. Kayla turned around to greet Antoinette. Antoinette’s frizzy dark hair was pulled back in a rubber band, and she had something green on her lip. Kayla reached out to wipe it off, exactly the way Jacob had reached for the potato chip that afternoon on the job site, but Antoinette recoiled from Kayla like a serpent, a wild look in her eye.
Kayla retracted her hand. “You have something on your lip.”
Antoinette wiped at her mouth defensively.
“Sorry,” Kayla said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“You didn’t frighten me, Kayla,” Antoinette said, and she smiled. “I’m just feeling a little guarded about my personal space.”
Because of her daughter coming, Kayla thought. The daughter whose existence had explained so much twenty years earlier.
“It’s eleven-fifty-eight, people,” Val said. “Let’s hurry.”
Kayla pulled a blanket out of the back of the Trooper and spread it in the sand. Val wrangled the wrapper and cage off the champagne. Kayla set out the cooler that held the cheese, the berries, and three champagne glasses. Antoinette plopped the tub of lobsters down, and Kayla handed Antoinette a chilled glass. Valerie let the cork fly out of the Methuselah with a deep, resounding thwop! The cork sailed toward the water.
Val poured the champagne. The three women raised their glasses. In the moonlight, bubbles rose to the surface of the flutes.
Val checked her watch. “Okay, ladies, it’s… midnight! Say it, Kayla.”
Kayla addressed the ocean. “To the night, to the water that surrounds us, to the island of Nantucket, and to our friendship. These things are eternal.”
“Eternal,” Val said.
“Eternal,” Antoinette said.
“Your secrets,” Kayla said, “are safe with me.”
“And safe with me,” Val said.
“And safe with me,” Antoinette said.
They drank the first glass of champagne all the way down-and the golden rush that went to Kayla’s head encouraged her. This part of the ritual always made her feel wild and daring-a nearly overweight, nearly middle-aged mother of four buzzed on champagne at Great Point at midnight. It made her feel exciting things were possible. They set their glasses carefully in the sand and joined hands. Val’s hand was warm and moist, like the hand of a preschooler, and Antoinette’s hand was dry and bony, like a bunch of sticks. They walked in a circle. “Our friendship… no beginning… no end,” Kayla said under her breath. Then they dropped their asses onto the blanket, and Val poured more champagne. Night Swimmers had begun.
It took only one more glass of champagne to make Val antsy about her secret. She cleared her throat, sucked in a deep, dramatic breath, and said, “I can’t wait another second. You know I’ve been seeing someone, a man, not my husband-I’ve been sleeping with someone. And I’m ready to tell you who it is. Now I don’t want you to freak out, okay? Especially not you, Kayla. You won’t freak out on me, will you?”
The muscles around Kayla’s heart steeled themselves for a blow. Why did Val think she would freak out? Was Val going to say Raoul’s name? Kayla dug her feet into the cool sand as she remembered the year when her secret had been this: I think Raoul is having an affair. This was back when Luke was a toddler and Kayla was still fighting to lose the weight she’d gained while carrying him. Her first suspicion was about Missy Tsoulakis. A picture of Missy popped into Kayla’s mind: her nineteen-year old blondness, her tennis skirt with matching bloomers that peeked out when she bent over to pick up a ball. Missy had taught Jennifer tennis at the “Sconset Casino, and Raoul had always been the one to drop Jennifer off and pick her up. He’d insisted on it. Once when Kayla happened to show up, he was engrossed in the tennis lesson, his fingers wound through the wire fence like claws as he watched them. Missy’s strong tan arms were wrapped around Jennifer, showing her how to execute the perfect backhand. Kayla felt the air being pressed out of her lungs as she watched Raoul watch Missy. He loves her, she thought. He’s obsessed with her. Kayla felt fat and dowdy-and unbearably matronly in her station wagon with Luke in the car seat in back. She drove past the courts and headed home, thinking of how the first thing she would do was cancel Jennifer’s tennis lessons, and the second thing was go on a diet, and start walking like the other women in her neighborhood. Raoul and Missy Tsoulakis. That night, she asked Raoul if her suspicions were true and he said, “She’s a girl, Kayla. Are you crazy?”
Antoinette nudged Kayla with her foot, and she snapped back to life.
“Speak, Val,” Antoinette said. “Confess.”
Valerie sipped her champagne with excruciating slowness, prolonging the dramatic moment. She wiped the lipstick smudge from her glass. “It’s Jacob Anderson,” she said.
“Jacob Anderson,” Kayla repeated. “Jacob, who works for Raoul?”
“Yes.”
Antoinette drained her champagne. “Jacob Anderson. That name rings a bell. Do I know Jacob Anderson?”
“He’s on Raoul’s crew,” Kayla said. “You know him, Antoinette. Dark hair, green eyes, a real sweet-talker.”
“Excuse me?” Val said.
Kayla thought of Jacob reaching out and touching her lip. How sure she’d been that he was going to kiss her. She had wanted him to, she realized now. She had wanted Jacob Anderson to kiss her-and so a part of her was stung by this news. A part of her did want to rebel against it. Valerie was sleeping with Jacob. He was her secret.
“He has a very sexual nature,” Kayla said. “He’s about thirty, he drives a blue-and-white Bronco.”
“He’s thirty-two,” Valerie said. “Antoinette doesn’t know him.”
“I know him,” Antoinette said. “He helped Raoul build my house.” She looked at Val. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Val said. She poured herself another glass of champagne. “We’re in love.”
“You’re in love?” Kayla said.
“What?” Val said. “I’m not allowed to be in love with Jacob Anderson?”
“Of course you’re allowed,” Kayla said. “It’s just… Oh, I don’t know.”
“You do know,” Val said. “You think it’s silly. You think he’s too young.”
“There’s no such thing as too young when you’re a woman over forty,” Antoinette said. She kicked off her Chuck Taylors, peeled off her leggings and leotard until she was nude before them in the moonlight. “Now I don’t know what you ladies came here for, but I came to swim. I’m going in.”
“Me, too,” Kayla said. She slid out of her sweats and her T-shirt. She examined her own naked body, but she knew how different she looked from Antoinette and Val. Antoinette had a ballerina’s body: tall, slender, and lithe. Statuesque. Val was more muscular-lifting free weights in her office was no joke-her arms were perfectly toned and she had a teeny-tiny little butt that probably fit into one of Jacob Anderson’s hands. Kayla, in comparison, was thick-full, droopy breasts, rounded belly, dimpled thighs. She tried not to get discouraged by this.