Was that any different from sitting outside the grocery store alone, eating chicken alone, or going to the beach alone, which was where Jem was headed next? He felt like a loser-he kept messing up at his simple job, and after five weeks on the island, he still had no friends. If this was what happened to him on Nantucket, what the hell would California be like?
The Stop & Shop parking lot was jam-packed: cars lined up at the entrance, snaking onto Pleasant Street. These were the Summer People, Jem supposed, coming to refill their cupboards with watermelons, hamburger buns, Popsicles.
Jem gnawed on a chicken leg and watched a woman roll a shopping cart with about fifty shopping bags and a baby girl up to her Isuzu Trooper. She loaded in her groceries, which probably cost as much money as Jem made in a week. The shopping cart with the baby rolled backward just as a couple of college chicks in a red Cherokee rounded the corner. Jem ran out in front of the Cherokee. The car jerked to a stop. Jem pushed the shopping cart closer to the Isuzu, although he was chagrined to see the cart hadn’t really been in the way.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said to the girls. “And slow down.”
The girl driving said, “For your information, I was watching where I was going. I wasn’t even close to hitting it.”
The baby’s mother turned and saw Jem holding the cart.
“I’m sorry?” she said. Her eyes locked on Jem’s fingers gripping the handle of the cart. Jem started to sweat. It was about a hundred degrees out and his face and hands were shiny with chicken grease. He pictured a scenario where he grabbed the shopping cart and it slipped from his greasy grasp and rolled right in front of the Cherokee, making him not a baby snatcher but a baby murderer. He needed to be more aware. Awareness, how did one acquire it?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Those girls almost hit your cart. Your baby.”
The woman looked at him blankly and Jem experienced the uncomfortable feeling he got when he was waiting for a tip from one of the hotel guests. He walked away.
Jem returned to his bench and found Maribel sitting next to his messy pile of napkins and chicken bones.
“Busy saving the world?” she asked.
“Wait a minute,” Jem said. This was exactly what he meant about being more aware. Where had Maribel come from? “You saw that?”
“Brave and valiant. This damsel’s impressed.” She shifted a backpack at her feet. “So, what are you doing here?”
“It’s my day off,” Jem said. “I’m headed for the beach.”
“Me too,” Maribel said. “The library is closed on Mondays.”
Maribel was in a pair of jeans shorts and a yellow flowered bikini top. Her blond hair was in a bun. Jem saw faint yellow hairs on the tops of her thighs.
“Do you act?” he asked. “Sing? Dance? Juggle?”
Maribel laughed. “No, why? Do you only sit on benches with people if they have special talent?”
“I just thought you could be my first client,” Jem said. “You know, I thought maybe you needed an agent.”
“I’m a librarian,” Maribel said. “In fact, I’m not even a librarian. I’m not brainy or organized enough to be a librarian. I’m a fund-raiser. I ask people for money, and when I get the money I think of ways to spend it. Now, do I need an agent? Yes, I do. A beach agent.”
“I’m actually a very good beach agent,” Jem said.
“Meaning you can guarantee me a fun time while I’m there?” Maribel asked. “What’s your cut?”
“Fifty percent,” Jem said. “Of the fun time.”
“Okay,” Maribel said, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Maribel drove a Jeep Wrangler just like Mack’s, but newer. It was black and the inside was roasting hot. Jem’s legs stuck to the vinyl seats.
Maribel pulled out of the parking lot, and said, “So, do I dare ask? How’s work?”
“It’s great,” Jem said, trying to sound upbeat. Usually Jem felt comfortable with women, but with Maribel he was going to have to watch what he said. Talking to her was as good as talking to Mack.
“You like Bill and Therese?” Maribel asked.
“I almost never see them,” Jem said. “Bill sits in his office reading and Therese is busy chasing the chambermaids around. She rides those girls hard.”
“Therese is a renowned slave driver,” Maribel said. “I suppose you’ve heard she hates me.”
“No,” Jem said, “I hadn’t heard.”
“Things used to be okay between us, but ever since Cecily got to high school-Cecily’s their daughter, you know-Therese has been dead set on pushing Cecily and Mack together. An he’s twelve years older than she is! It’s ridiculous.”
“Do you ever think maybe Mack will give in? You know, to get a piece of the Beach Club and all?”
“No,” Maribel said sharply, “I don’t.”
“Sorry,” Jem said. He should just keep his mouth shut! “I didn’t mean I thought he should. Hell, no. You two make a great couple. How long have you been together?”
“Six years,” Maribel said.
“Are you planning on getting married?”
“No,” Maribel said. “We have no plans to get married.” She paused. “You know what the funny thing is about Cecily? She and I are good friends. Everything would be so nice if Therese just backed off.”
“Oh,” Jem said.
“Never mind,” Maribel said. “It’s just politics. You’re smart to stay out of it.” They turned left by the high school. “So tell me, do you have a girlfriend?”
“Me?” Jem said. “No, not right now.”
“Haven’t met anyone on the island, a handsome guy like you? Mr. November?”
He’d opened his mouth during his job interview, and it would haunt him forever. “I haven’t been out much,” he said.
“Cecily’s coming home next week,” Maribel said. “Maybe you’ll like her.”
“I don’t know,” Jem said. “I hate being set up.”
Maribel patted his knee. Jem felt a sort of thrill when she touched him, and instantly he began to worry. What was he doing with his boss’s girlfriend? Maribel turned onto a sand road. The Jeep started bouncing up and down in whoop-dee-dos.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Miacomet,” she said. “The pond’s coming up on the left.”
Jem looked out Maribel’s window. Cattails and dune grass bordered the pond, and there were a few wild irises. A red-winged blackbird.
“This is one of my favorite spots,” she said. “And the beach is terrific too-very peaceful. It’s a nude beach.”
Jem took a deep breath. Nude beach? “Wait a minute, I’m the beach agent here. I don’t know if that’s in the contract.”
“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Maribel asked. “Because we can go someplace else.” But she made no move to slow down the car.
“Well…”
“You can keep your suit on,” she said. “I sometimes do. Tell you what, I will today, how about that?”
Now Jem felt like a child. What was wrong with a nude beach, really?
“Whatever you want,” he said.
Maribel shrugged. “Okay.”
Maribel drove the Jeep over the dunes onto the beach. She was right-it was peaceful. The beach was a long stretch of practically deserted sand-way down to the left Jem saw the mob of folks at Surfside, where he usually went. The waves here were giant and rolling, and the water bottle green. Behind them, all Jem could see was blue sky and dune grass. This was the real Gold Coast. He started to relax.
“This is nice,” he said.
Maribel spread out a blanket, stripped off her shorts, and sat down. She waved Jem over. “Join me,” she said. “I brought lunch.”