Mary let her arms lie limp above her head as she stretched out on the bow of the boat in her bathing suit, warming herself in the sun. The space behind her eyelids glowed orange as if heat were a visible thing, as if she were turning into light from the inside out. The Kellys’ summer party was that evening, and so she, Stefan, and Hannah had left early to spend the day on the boat. She could hear Stefan and her sister now as they leaned over the railing, spotting the fish that floated over the green and brown pebbled bottom of the marina, their voices distant and close all at once. “Did you see that, Hannah Banana?” Stefan asked. “I think that one was a shark.”
Hannah’s laughter came trilling up like bubbles, and Mary’s lips curled into a Pavlovian smile at the sound of it. “It’s not a shark,” giggled Hannah. “It was a minnow.”
“Alright, you make sure it doesn’t attack,” Mary heard Stefan say. “I’m going to go sit with your sister.” With her eyes still closed, Mary felt his steps, sure and solid, make their way toward her. He sank down next to her on the bow, and Mary brought her hand to his back, letting her fingertips slide underneath his shirt, letting them run up and down his skin, her center finger on his spine. “She loves you,” she said.
Stefan looked down at Mary, his head cocked to the side, his hair sun-bleached and salted with summer. “What about her sister?”
Mary smiled, and it felt as if ripples were moving through her body. “Her sister thinks you’re just okay.”
They stayed on the boat all afternoon: Mary, Hannah, and Stefan, on their own buoyant, moveable world. As the sun started to sink toward another ocean, making a slow exit from its vast blue sky, Stefan turned to Mary, and whispered, “We better get going.” Mary could imagine the catering trucks lining the driveway and the florists unloading arrangements from their vans as Martina whisked around the house in her robe offering her particular brand of polite, precise German instruction to the various staff. Mary reached above her head and stretched, the sun having sapped her motivation. But Stefan straightened up, dutiful though reluctant. He pulled off his T-shirt, balled it up, and threw it toward the duffel bag that sat slumped on the deck. “Everyone will start getting there soon.”
BY THE TIME MARY, STEFAN, AND HANNAH ARRIVED, the first wave of guests had been welcomed to Northton Avenue. Even among the privileged, the Kelly family seemed charmed. In a different era, Mary could imagine throngs of commoners lunging and grasping just to touch their hems in hopes of some transference of good fortune. Mary could hear the buzz of their laughter-spiked conversation rise through the air to mix with the music from the brass band that played from the gazebo. The sky was washed in a watercolor dusk, and Mary reached for Hannah’s hand as they made their way up over the thick carpet of grass. An atmosphere seemed to hover over the Kellys’ property like a pleasant hallucinatory haze. There, anything unlovely or troublesome seemed to cease to exist.
“Is this a wedding?” asked Hannah, her voice quiet and unsure.
Stefan laughed. “Not that I know of,” he said. And Mary understood his lingering smile.
They walked past long buffet tables laden with food and surrounded by guests who feasted like unwitting peasants. Eyes brightened as they alighted on Stefan and hands covered overstuffed mouths. But Stefan simply nodded politely and kept moving toward the back of the yard and the rose garden, where the Kellys stood like reigning monarchs—Martina, the benevolent queen, and Patrick, the shrewd king. Teddy was there with Claire—all excellent posture and white smiles.
Pair by pair, guests would make their way over to the Kellys. A hearty handshake would be exchanged, shoulders would be gripped, and cheeks would be kissed on each side. They had just finished such an exchange when Martina caught sight of her son. “Stefan, honey!” exclaimed Martina, waving him forth. “Come say hello to the Carlsons!”
She saw Teddy meet his brother’s eye and subtly tap the face of his watch, his face reproachful. And Mary heard Stefan take a breath before he adopted a smile, rested his hand on Mary’s back, and led the three of them into the breach. Nice to see you. The pleasure’s mine. And when Mary was introduced, eyebrows flitted up in recognition. This was, after all, the girl they had heard about. She fit into the story of the Kellys so well: the girl on the doorstep, the handmaiden turned princess. Is Hannah your father’s daughter as well? Martina had once asked. And Mary just shook her head. No, she said. She’s not.
Finally, after several introductions, Martina linked her arm through Mary’s. “I’m stealing the girls for a bit,” she said to Stefan, and she led Mary and Hannah off, leaving Stefan standing shoulder to shoulder with his father, watching them.
And as they wove their way through the crowd—Martina clasping Mary clasping Hannah—they drew stares of envy and intrigue and every point on the continuum between. Mary saw Beth in her floral sheath and her French twist, standing with her mother, her eyes searching about for Stefan. And she felt a temporary pang of pity for the girl, who thought her backseat blow jobs and inner-circle status would be enough to keep Stefan. Theirs was a polite, tentative romance, one that ended before it really even began. Beth would never understand the part of him that Mary did, the part of him that would sail across an ocean to find her. The part of him that could fall to his knees and promise a girl that he would come back. The part of him that would follow Mary to the bathroom of a restaurant, hike up her skirt, and back her against the wall while his family waited for their crème br?lée.
Martina put a wineglass in Mary’s hand and had the bar make a Shirley Temple for Hannah, who sucked it down until her lips were the artificial red of maraschino cherries. And laughter came like breath, unbidden and unconscious. And as they stopped in front of the gazebo, watching the black men in white shirts play golden instruments, Martina leaned her head toward Mary’s, her eyes still on the band. “I don’t know if Steffie ever told you, but my mother got Alzheimer’s when she was very, very young. I had to take care of her and my little brothers while my father worked. And we were not rich. My father was a teacher.” She reached for Mary’s hand and gave it a single squeeze. Mary waited for her to continue. “I know it’s been difficult,” Martina said, in her melodic Sound of Music voice. “Both raising your sister and having your job at the hotel. And I see what a hard worker you are. But . . .” She looked at Mary and smiled. “You’re not going to have to worry about that much longer. You’re going to be able to do anything you want.” Then Martina looked back at the band, and her head once again began to sway with the music.
Then Mary felt a hand wrap around her waist from behind. “Hey you,” Stefan said, his breath near her ear. Martina let out a cluck of approval, and her hands came together in a single clap as she smiled, as she saw just how nicely Mary and Stefan fit together.