Golden Girl(83)

The ring is no longer in the top drawer. JP either returned it…or moved it. It might be in his truck. Is she grasping at straws? Oh, hell, probably—but it stands to reason that any proposal JP had planned would have been pushed back by Vivi’s death. It’s not impossible that he’s going to propose today.

JP is in charge of the food. Amy is hoping they can go to the Nickel for sandwiches but JP feels awkward about seeing Joe DeSantis because apparently Leo and Cruz aren’t speaking. JP makes ham and Swiss with thin slices of ripe fig and a combination of mayo and Dijon on toasted sourdough that he got at Born and Bread. He packs a bag of dill-pickle-flavored potato chips (Amy’s favorite, a nice touch), some cold grapes, and several bottles of water.

Amy notices there’s no alcohol—no bottle of Whispering Angel rosé, no champagne, not even a beer. She nearly says something, but the picnic is JP’s department and she won’t interfere.

She’s deluding herself about the proposal. Nobody proposes without champagne.

As Amy wanders into the mudroom for towels, her expectations pop like so many party balloons. The best-case scenario now is that she and JP will have a nice, quiet, relaxing day at the beach. She grabs their striped beach umbrella, two chairs, the book she’s been reading since Christmas, and the book JP is reading, which is Golden Girl. Amy considers leaving it behind. Would it be too much to ask to have a beach day without bringing Vivi along?

Vivi is dead, Amy reminds herself. Her continued jealousy is childish and absurd. She tucks the novel into her bag.

When they’re finally ensconced in the front seat of JP’s pickup, she says, “So where are we going?”

“Fat Ladies,” he says.

“It’s just Ladies,” Amy corrects him.

“It was always Fat Ladies when I was growing up.”

“Well, it’s no longer appropriate to use that name. It’s body-shaming.”

JP scoffs.

“It’ll be crowded at Ladies,” Amy says. “What about Great Point?”

“Too far,” JP says, and Amy’s last hope is quashed. Daytime proposals always take place at Great Point; evening proposals on Steps Beach as the sun sets. “But you’re right. Ladies will be crowded. Let’s go to Ram Pasture.”

Amy doesn’t have the heart to say no but she hates Ram Pasture because that’s the beach where JP and Vivi went on their first date. JP has told Amy the story about how he met Vivi at the dry cleaner’s, asked her out, and took her to the beach for the day, which turned into a full-fledged summer romance, which led to us getting married. JP told Amy this story during her first week of work at the Cork, and at the time, Amy thought it was cute and romantic. She also thought JP and Vivi were happily married, a notion that eroded like a sandcastle in the surf over the course of the summer.

Maybe JP doesn’t associate that beach with Vivi any longer, but it’s undeniable that certain places remind you of certain people. Subconsciously, JP must be thinking of Vivi.

Well, Amy and JP will just have to make their own memories at Ram Pasture—ones that are more powerful.

Amy cranks up the music—Pearl Jam, because it’s a band they both like—puts her bare feet up on the dash, then takes them down because of the state of her toes. She reaches for JP’s hand. This is going to be fun. Relaxing. A much-needed reconnection. It’s a beautiful day with a scrubbed-clean sky, no humidity, a light breeze. The low vegetation and open land on the way out to Ram Pasture remind Amy of pictures she’s seen of the African savanna—but then, on the horizon, a thin blue ribbon appears. To the left, she catches the first glimpse of Little Ram Pasture Pond, which is ringed with rugosa roses in full pink and white blossom. Amy spends so many long hours in the salon that she forgets the rest of the island is outside showing off like this.

“You were right,” she says. “Paradise.”

They set up chairs and their blanket, place the cooler in the shade of the umbrella. JP peels off his T-shirt and Amy studies him. They haven’t had sex for weeks—not since a few days before Vivi was killed—and it looks like he’s lost some of the weight that he put on when he first opened the Cone for the season (too much peach cobbler ice cream). Still, his body is nothing remarkable, although Amy doesn’t care what he looks like. She loves him. She loves him. Has the magic worn off a little, has her infatuation settled into something less urgent? Yeah, sure. That’s what happens. But there’s still a surge there, an energy.

She puts a hand on his back and tries to turn him for a kiss but he goes charging into the water. He’s an exuberant and fearless swimmer; it doesn’t matter to him how big the waves are or how cold the water is. Over the years, Amy has conquered most of her fears, but the fact remains that she didn’t grow up near an ocean. She went to the beach infrequently and when she did it was the decidedly calmer and warmer Gulf.

Beyond JP, she sees the dark, sleek head of a seal, and although there’s a certain delight in seeing animals in their natural habitat, she knows that seals can mean sharks. She walks to the water’s edge and lets the foamy waves nip her feet, but she’s not going in.

She repairs back to their camp and decides to stretch out on the blanket rather than sit in a chair. Half-heartedly, she opens her book. It’s been so long since she’s looked at it that she should probably start at the beginning.