Lies That Bind Us(19)

“No,” I said aloud, hands raking the water desperately. “No!”

It was futile. And stupid. I had lost them. My only pair—of course they were—and I had lost them. I was more than angry. I was humiliated, ashamed even, because this was just so me.

I continued to tread water a little longer where I was, sobbing quietly, my piggy snuffling loud in my ears as the infuriating fucking jet skier zoomed away so that I had the Aegean to myself. At last I began my pathetic splashing back to the shore.

I remembered coming out of the optician’s shop when I was twelve in my first pair of glasses, astonished by the clarity of the bricks in the wall across the street.

People can see like this? I had wondered, amazed to the point of disbelief. It had always seemed to me quite logical that things got harder to see the farther away they were, and I had breezed through the first decade of my life sure in my own mind that there was nothing wrong with my eyes. No one else had figured it out either because I developed ways of hiding the truth, even from myself. I sat at the front of class; I kept clear of sport, professing that I would rather read books; and when other people pointed things out that I couldn’t see, I pretended I could.

More coping strategies. More lies.

But my eyes were terrible. So bad, in fact, that it was only because the beach was largely deserted that I was able to find the others as I splashed my way out of the water. If it had been crowded, my humiliation would have been increased by having to wander from group to group, peering . . .

But I found my chair without a word and braced myself for the questions about what I had done with my specs. But the questions didn’t come. No one noticed. Not even Marcus, and while it was a relief not to have to explain my idiocy aloud, this too felt like a kind of defeat.

I lay in my recliner, eyes shut, angry at myself and at the others for not realizing I was upset. I stayed like that for ten whole minutes, so locked in my own head that it took me a while to note the edge in Simon’s voice.

“I thought the whole point was that we would come to the beach on our way to get them from the airport?”

“But we’re hot and sweaty and covered in salt and lotion,” Melissa wheedled. “It’s over an hour in each direction to the airport, and we’ll just take up space in the car.”

“Kristen and Brad are expecting to see you there,” said Simon. “I’m not the fucking chauffeur, Mel.”

“Come on, Si,” said Melissa. “It’s such a waste of the afternoon . . .”

“For you,” Simon shot back. They were keeping their voices low but everyone could hear. “I have to drive there and back regardless.”

“And I appreciate it,” said Melissa.

“So you say,” Simon snapped. “But you’d rather lie in the sun.”

“Of course I would! Who wouldn’t? Right, Gretchen?”

“Well, sure,” said Gretchen, guardedly.

I kept my eyes shut, determined not to be drawn in.

“Maybe we could call a cab to get them,” Simon mused. “Bring them here, then we all go up to the villa . . .”

“They’re expecting you,” said Melissa.

“They’re expecting us,” Simon returned.

“Come on, sweetie,” said Melissa. “Don’t make us all go.”

“Fine,” said Simon, standing abruptly and snatching up his towel so fast that I felt a faint shower of sand on my legs.

“Simon!” Melissa exclaimed. “Careful!”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Simon replied with mock politeness. “Did I disrupt your busy day of sitting?”

“Don’t start, Simon,” said Melissa. “I’ve done as much as you to make everything nice.”

“I’m the one ferrying everyone back and forth from the airport! By myself.”

“I’ll go with you.”

It was Marcus. I turned in surprise and opened my eyes, dismayed to find how indistinct everyone looked.

My glasses.

But I didn’t need perfect vision to see that Simon was glaring at Melissa.

“That’s OK, Marcus,” he said. “This isn’t your fight.”

“It’s OK,” Marcus answered, sitting up. “I could use a break from the sun, anyway.”

Simon turned to look at him, and everything about him softened a little, the tension draining from his face and shoulders.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Sure,” said Marcus. “Gives us the chance to do some manly bonding. You know . . . talk football. Boobs.”

“Deal,” said Simon. “I have things to say on both.”

“As do I, brother man, as do I. See you all later.”

I nearly offered to join them, but I couldn’t, and not just because it would feel disloyal to Melissa. Simon walked away without another word.

“Big baby,” said Melissa, pushing her sunglasses back into place and sitting back in her lounger. “I’m ready for another drink.”

I had seen Brad and Kristen less than the others, only once, in fact, since our first visit to Crete, and even then they had been more peripheral to the group, though I suppose that was true of everyone but Melissa. She was the sun at the heart of our little solar system, the gravity that drew us in and held us together. Simon was next, of course, a giant planet like Jupiter or Saturn, though with the looks of Apollo, as I’ve suggested, and the personality of Mars. I said this once to Marcus and he had agreed, though he’d suggested that since we were in Greece, we’d be better off thinking of Simon as Ares rather than Mars. He had said it half to himself, as if he was making a point, but when I asked him why he had corrected me when he knew it had just been a mental slip on my part, he replied, “Oh, you know me. Always the teacher.” He had said it miserably, with a kind of low-grade contempt for himself that bothered me.