“Hello, sir,” said Luka in formal conjugation. “We’re friends of Danijela Babi?’s and we’re meant to meet her at her boat.” The guard shone his flashlight into the car, then thumbed again through his roster.
“She’s not here yet. I can’t let you in without the express permission of the owner.”
There was no way this was going to work, I thought, but Luka remained composed. “She said she might be late. I know the password.”
“Which is?”
“Absolut,” Luka said, then, more to me than the guard, “It’s the name of her dog.”
“She named her dog Vodka?” I said, and Luka shushed me.
“I’ve got the key,” he said, and held his house key up to the guard’s flashlight. The guard, who was now more confused than authoritative, was checking boxes on his sheet.
“Sign here.” He passed the clipboard down to Luka. Luka scribbled some illegible signature—his handwriting had always been atrocious—and handed it back through the window.
“We hope you enjoy your stay at Solaris,” said the guard, sounding almost defeated. He pressed a button that rolled back the gate, and we drove through.
“Amazing, right?” said Luka. “Her family’s always in Italy this time of year.”
“I can’t believe she named her dog Vodka.”
“Oh, come on. What’s your problem with her?”
“I just—” But I could not think of a reason to dislike her beyond the annoying way she touched Luka’s arm when she talked, so I didn’t finish the thought.
Inside the resort we parked and took the blankets from the trunk. Along a path of brick pavers we passed a restaurant with a crystal chandelier and fancy liqueurs lined up across a mirrored bar, and a wood-paneled hut labeled SAUNA. On the opposite side, yachts and boats bobbed beside the dock. Some had lights in the windows, but most were dark shadows atop the black water.
“Where’d Danijela’s family get their money?” I said.
“They owned a lot of seafront property and sold it to some German investment bankers who built a hotel on it.”
“Which one is her boat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then where are we going to sleep?”
“Here.” We came to a black wrought-iron fence encircling a swimming pool and a cluster of plastic lounge chairs, the gate padlocked shut. Luka slipped one foot between the stakes on the bottom crossbar and jumped over with ease. I handed him my blanket and followed in an unsteady copycat.
We set up camp on the chairs. I lay on my back to look at the sky, black and varnished with more stars than I’d seen in years, even more than I could see from the back field in Gardenville.
“Wow,” I breathed.
“Perks of being in the middle of nowhere.”
“New York doesn’t really lend itself to stargazing.”
“Neither does Zagreb.”
“I guess not.” I remembered nights Luka and I had spent on the balcony of my flat, searching relentlessly for Orion, which we’d deemed the best constellation because he had a sword. Now it seemed more likely we’d just been looking at airplanes or Russian satellites.
Luka didn’t say anything for a while, and I assumed he had fallen asleep. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, too, but I was keyed up, images of the forest and our breakin and Danijela all looping through my head. “Good night,” I said.
“I would kiss you,” Luka blurted.
“What?” I turned to look at him but could only see his outline in the dark.
“I’m not going to,” he said. “It’s not a good idea. But I thought you should know. That I would kiss you.”
“Why?”
“Well, you’re attractive and we’re sleeping outside together under the stars—”
“I mean,” I said, glad the darkness covered my blush, “why is it a bad idea?”
“Because I mess up relationships. Because you’re going home at the end of the summer.”
I thought of Brian and wondered if he had emailed. “I mess up relationships,” I said. “I basically broke up with my last boyfriend because he was too nice.”
I considered what it might mean to be with Luka, whether it was even something I wanted. Was the envy I felt at every mention of Danijela a sign that I had feelings for him, or simply a longing for the way things used to be, when we were young and each other’s whole worlds?
We hadn’t talked much about my plans beyond the summer, and in more whimsical moments I’d considered staying—I could transfer to the University of Zagreb, teach English afterward. Deep down, though, I knew I’d return to the States to finish school, go back to my family. I let the question float out to sea, and we lay still, comfortable as we always had been in one another’s silences.