“And Beth,” Mary asked, as if she weren’t quite sure she recalled the girl’s name. “She’s there, too?”
Stefan nodded. “She lives in Beacon Hill,” he said. “I’m in Cambridge.” It was an elegant way to let Mary know that whatever he and Beth were, they weren’t living together. “But what about you?” he asked, forearms on the table, leaning closer to her. “What have you been up to these last”—he shook his head—“six years?”
“Going to school, working at the motel.” Mary’s eyes drifted to her sister, who was coloring on a photocopied children’s menu. “Helping my mom with Hannah.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about what happened.” His voice was low and intimate. “Was it . . . sudden?”
Mary let her eyes move to her drink. “It was a car accident.”
“And are you guys entirely on your own now?” he asked, making a subtle reference to her father.
Mary picked up her soda. “So it would seem.”
“Do you still have the motel?”
Mary shook her head. “We’re doing alright, though,” she said, looking at Hannah. “It’s actually easier to not have it.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” said Stefan. “In Northton, I mean. Besides the Murph, the schools are good. Or so I’m told.” He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his arm slung across his chest, his hand nestled in the crook beneath his arm. “Everyone here is so fixated on that kind of thing.”
Their entrees came, and as they ate, they talked about law school and Mary’s job, always circling the topic of their meeting, always lowering their voices when it came near. Their chairs moved closer and closer to each other’s around the circular table until they were beside each other, looking out at Hannah.
“Did you ever make it down to the islands?” asked Mary, her head drifting to one side as she leaned into her chair. Stefan’s presence relaxed her, warmed her to her bones.
“I did,” said Stefan. “Had to sail through a nasty storm, but I made it.”
Mary smiled, rested her cheek on her hand. “I knew you would.”
“I was a mate on a racing boat that summer. Sailed in the RORC for this insane Frenchman. It was a great experience, but I got a late start coming home.” Stefan pushed his empty beer glass forward, then looked at Mary. “I’m happy to be seeing you again.”
And Mary shifted in her seat, letting her knees drift to the side, resting lightly on Stefan’s thigh.
Dessert was ordered and the bill was paid, Mary offering to split it while Stefan chivalrously ignored her and Hannah sunk her spoon into an ice cream sundae. “Forget it, Mary,” he said. “This is my treat.” And they got back into the car, Hannah yawning in the backseat.
“You tired, Bunny?” Mary asked, turning to look at her.
Hannah nodded.
“We’ll get you home,” Stefan said.
Jazz played softly over the radio as they drove, Mary sinking into the leather passenger seat. It was so unusual to not be the one driving. And she let herself watch as the town rolled past. She watched the big front windows filled with evergreens strung in white lights; she watched the garland-wrapped streetlights, the stately old homes. They passed by her like memories, like flashes of present moving to past. “It’s beautiful here,” she said. And Mary felt that if she was capable of truly making any place her home it would be Northton.
Hannah was asleep in the back by the time they returned to Boosk Avenue, her head flopping awkwardly to one side, her skirt up above her white-stockinged knees.
Mary opened the rear door and unfastened Hannah’s seat belt, then bent down to scoop her up. “You sure you got her?” Stefan asked, as Mary gingerly coaxed her arms under Hannah’s body.
“I got her,” replied Mary, as her sister’s weight shifted and fell against her chest.
“Do you have the keys?” Stefan asked. “I’ll get the door.”
“They’re in my pocket.” Mary smiled and tilted her head down to her coat. “If you can get them.”
And Stefan reached inside, the warmth of his hand filling the thin lining of Diane’s old tweed, the intimacy of the touch a palpable thing. “Got ’em,” Stefan said, his voice quiet.
He walked with her, bursting ahead to prop open the door as Mary made her way up the path with Hannah, a concerned expression on his face. The walkway was slippery. And Mary’s steps were tentative as she moved with her sister in her arms, her breath clouding then vanishing in front of her face.
Mary stepped in ahead of Stefan and brought Hannah to their small bedroom. “I’m just going to set her down,” she called behind her.
In their room, the nightlight was on, casting stars about the room. She placed Hannah in bed, took off her shoes and stockings, then pulled up the covers.
“Night, Bunny,” Mary whispered, her hand skimming her sister’s forehead.
She walked back through the apartment, knowing Stefan would be there, knowing he would wait. And when she rounded the corner to the tiny kitchen, she saw him leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. The lights were off, and the only illumination came from the streetlamps outside, the blinds on the windows casting a ladderlike shadow on the wall.
When he saw her, he walked across the room without a word and stopped in front of her. They stood there for a moment facing each other, the space between their bodies creating something that had its own physical presence, its own charge.
He brushed the hair off of one of her shoulders, exposing the moon-white curve of her neck, and took a breath, admiring this one small part of the creature that was Mary. Moving his hand to her lower back, he pulled her toward him. And still they stared at each other. Then his head inclined and his lips moved against hers and Mary closed her eyes, feeling Stefan open her mouth with his own. She loved him already, of course. She had loved him since the night she had lain down under a swath of stars, feeling his weight on top of her and the sand below. She’d loved him since he pushed inside of her and crimson ran out, as if he’d pierced her heart.
Thirteen
1976
Mary walked quickly, hugging the road but keeping to the sand, which shifted under her steps. A car whizzed by and she tucked her chin, the wind whipping a strand of hair across her face as it burst out of the darkness. She was out of range of headlights, but everyone in town knew her. If they saw her out alone, they’d call Diane.