Summer of '69(100)

“Oak Bluffs,” Luke growls.

Kirby glances back at the inn. She can’t leave—but she can’t risk Luke going to Oak Bluffs either. He’ll find Patty and make her pay. Kirby imagines a black eye or worse.

Mr. Ames told Kirby it was not okay for her to go to Chilmark because it would take too long, and it’s obviously against the rules for Kirby to leave the property while she’s on the clock; it wouldn’t matter if this took only five minutes. But in the moment, it feels like Mr. Ames doesn’t care about Patty’s safety, which means he’s technically siding with Luke, which makes sense because they’re both men and the entire country is one big oppressive patriarchy!

Kirby slides into the front seat; there’s no way she’s sitting in the back with Luke.

“I’ll tell you where to go,” she says to the cabbie. “And then you can bring me back here. Just drive. Drive as fast as you can.”



When Kirby gets back to the inn—she’s gone the better part of an hour because they missed the turn and had to double back—the lobby is quiet and the senator’s room key has been claimed. Kirby’s spirits are in a free fall. Are things okay or not? She walks down the hall to find Mr. Ames dozing in his chair by the side entrance. Gently Kirby touches his arm, and he startles awake.

“Kirby,” he says. He gets to his feet, shaking his head. “I told you not to leave. Who did you think was going to handle the desk when the senator got back?”

Kirby clings to what’s left of her self-righteous rage. “I had to go,” she says. “Luke wanted the cabbie to take him to my house in Oak Bluffs. He would have found Patty. He hurts her, Mr. Ames.”

“I understand you wanted to help your friend, but you have a job, Kirby, and with that job comes responsibility. Any idea how concerned I was when you just ran off without telling me?”

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

Mr. Ames says, “Well, you’re lucky. The senator came in the side door and I was right here so I went and fetched his key. He didn’t look much better than that other punk, to be honest.”

“Really?” Kirby says. “Was he drunk?”

“He was something,” Mr. Ames says. “Looked like he went swimming in all his clothes. He was disoriented, I guess, which was why he came knocking on the side door. He kept asking the time. I told him it was two thirty and he asked if I was sure it wasn’t earlier, so I had to lead him over to the clock and show him. Funny thing is, he was wearing a watch.” Mr. Ames shrugs. “Maybe it stopped.”



Mrs. Bennie makes a surprise appearance at seven in the morning. She looks crisp and fresh in a shamrock-green shirtwaist dress and pearls. It’s the first time Kirby has ever seen her boss with her hair down; she looks ten years younger, softer, prettier. Kirby supposes she wants to make a good impression on the senator. Compared to this new, glamorous version of Mrs. Bennie, Kirby feels wan and exhausted. Despite her keen desire to meet the senator, Kirby is relieved when Mrs. Bennie tells her she can go home. “I’m asking Mr. Ames to stay until nine,” Mrs. Bennie says. “So you’ll have to find another ride back to Oak Bluffs, I’m afraid.”

It’s not a problem. Kirby is too disconcerted by the events of the night to impose on Mr. Ames for a ride anyway. She calls a taxi, and they send a burly driver covered in tattoos who looks like a long-haul fisherman. Why couldn’t they have sent this guy last night? Kirby wonders. That would have solved everything.

Kirby promptly falls asleep in the back seat, awakening only as they turn onto Circuit Avenue, at which point she sits up and gathers her things. She can’t believe she missed the senator. She hates Luke Winslow! And then, as though she has somehow conjured him with this one thought, Kirby sees Luke pacing on the sidewalk in front of the house.

No! she thinks. No, this can’t be happening, but yes, that’s him, fists clenched, muttering to himself. He has showered and changed, at least. His hair is combed, and he’s wearing a white polo shirt and blue seersucker Bermudas. This is almost worse, she decides; he looks respectable.

“I’ve gotten the address wrong,” Kirby tells the taxi driver. “Keep going.”

“Keep going where?” the taxi driver asks. Kirby leans over the seat and notices a tattoo of a snarling Elvis on his forearm.

“Methodist Campground?” Kirby says. She doesn’t know Darren’s exact address. “The big blue house? Judge Frazier’s house? Do you know it?”

“I do, actually,” the driver says. He winds around Ocean Park and a few moments later pulls up in front of Darren’s house. “Buck twenty-five.”

Kirby gives him a dollar fifty, then gets out of the taxi. She stands at the white gate for a second, wondering if she would be better off waking up Evan in the basement or finding a pay phone—there’s one over by the fudge shop—and calling the police directly.

But…she’s here. She strides up the walk and knocks on the front door. A second later, she’s face to face with the good doctor. Dr. Frazier is wearing athletic shorts and a white tank top; her hair is held off her face by a striped sweatband.

“Hello,” she says.

“Dr. Frazier…”

“Darren’s asleep,” she says. “He doesn’t have to be at work until noon.”