Summer of '69(64)

Kirby is stunned. She was wowed by Luke Winslow’s place on Nashaquitsa Pond, and in some ways, she prefers it to this. Who needs a grand piano and leopard-skin rugs and a Warhol in a summer home? Kirby always felt privileged growing up because of their house on Fair Street, right in town, and the mural in the living room, and their long legacy at the Field and Oar Club. But now that she has seen this house and Luke’s house, she understands that Fair Street is nothing special.

“Wanna swim?” Rajani asks.

Kirby strips down to her bikini and races for the water.



At lunchtime, Rajani plucks the car keys out of a ruby-colored glass bowl (“I think the Aldworths have key parties,” she whispers) and they climb into Mrs. Aldworth’s Porsche 911 and zip across Chilmark to Menemsha.

Menemsha has been built up in Kirby’s mind because she’s been told it’s a can’t-miss destination, but when they arrive, she finds it’s a teeny-tiny fishing village, a working fishing village. There’s a small harbor crammed with fishing vessels. All of the boats now, at midday, are unloading their catches; the avalanches of slippery silver fish look like quarters running out of a slot machine. There are enormous wooden traps bursting with lobsters.

Kirby blinks behind her cat’s-eye sunglasses. “Who is going to eat all those lobsters?”

“We are,” Rajani says. “Come on.” She pulls Kirby into a nondescript building with a sign that says HOMEPORT. Guests at the inn rave about the Homeport, and Kirby loves how understated it is. If people aren’t coming for the decor, they must be coming for the food. Rajani marches up to the counter and orders two lobster lunches. Kirby marvels at how confident her friend sounds and how beautiful she looks with her bronzed skin and dark hair and hazel eyes. She’s so much more relaxed now that it’s summertime and she’s away from the pressure cooker of the college.

The lobster lunch turns out to be a pound-and-a-half boiled lobster, an ear of corn, a cup of chowder, a dish of coleslaw, a mini-loaf of dense white bread, and lots of butter, both in packets and drawn. Over Kirby’s protests, Rajani springs for both of their lunches. “What the Aldworths pay me is obscene,” she says.

They sit at the only unoccupied table and Rajani crushes a claw between the silver arms of the cracker. “So, what’s new with you?”

Kirby blows across a spoonful of creamy chowder flecked with fresh parsley. What to say? She has already filled Rajani in on her job—the serenity she finds in the wee hours, the kind guests and wonderful Mr. Ames, the pending visits from singers, movie stars, and senators. Should she tell Rajani about Patty and Luke? Should she tell Rajani about Darren? Rajani has known Darren for years, but if Darren told Rajani that he and Kirby met and that they went on a date to the carousel, wouldn’t Rajani have said something?

The good news is that before Kirby has to decide what to say, their lunch is interrupted.

The bad news is that the lunch is interrupted by…Darren himself. Kirby blinks. Darren Frazier is standing next to their table flashing that drop-dead gorgeous smile as if he can’t believe his fantastic luck. He’s with an older gentleman whose completely bald head gleams like a polished bed knob. His father, the judge.

“Fancy seeing you two Oak Bluffs girls all the way out here,” Darren says.

“Darren!” Rajani jumps up to give him a hug, then turns to his father. “Your Honor.”

“Rajani,” the judge says. He takes her hand in both of his, then kisses her cheek. “We haven’t seen you once all summer. How is this possible?”

While Rajani explains her nannying job, Darren turns to Kirby. “I’m glad we bumped into you,” he says in a voice meant only for her. “I’ve been meaning to stop by to apologize for Sunday night. Something came up.”

Something came up. Kirby wants to know what, exactly, but she can’t very well get into a deep discussion with him right now, and so she shrugs and says, “Don’t worry about it.”

Darren reaches for her hand and gives it a surreptitious squeeze. Kirby feels a thrill zip up her spine.

“Meet my dad,” Darren says. He clears his throat. “Dad, this is Rajani’s friend Kirby Foley.”

The judge shakes Kirby’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Kirby.”

“We go to Simmons together,” Rajani says. “And I converted Kirby to the Vineyard way of life, even though her family has a home on Nantucket.”

The judge’s eyebrows lift. “Ah! You’re the one who lives on Nantucket. Yes, my wife mentioned you.”

Kirby feels her smile drop a fraction of an inch. “The Vineyard is a lovely change,” she says. “I’m working the front desk at the Shiretown Inn.”

“Well, please give Mrs. Bennie our best,” the judge says. “Darren, should we get this lunch home before it’s cold?” He smiles at Rajani. “Enjoy your lunch.”



Kirby runs through the entire interaction over and over again as she bikes home from Tea Lane. The judge was perfectly amiable, she thinks, until he figured out who Kirby was. Then he cut things short. Or maybe Kirby is being paranoid.

A paper bag holding the remains of her lunch swings from her handlebars. The bad news is that, after Darren and his father left the Homeport, Kirby was unable to eat a bite of food.

The good news is that Rajani was so caught up in describing what happens at the Aldworths’ key parties that she didn’t even notice.