Summer of '69(76)

At night, they neck in the front seat of the car—they park on little-used Thayer Street—but in the mornings, they keep themselves to just a hand squeeze in case any of Kirby’s housemates are looking out the window. Kirby longs to be more intimate with Darren—sexually, certainly, but also emotionally. They talk in the car and they kiss in the car; the mere sight of the red Corvair turning the corner makes Kirby’s heart breach like a whale. But she wants another date. She wants to go to the movies or to dinner at the Boston House or even to shoot a game of pool at Lou’s Worry. She’d like to double with Patty and Luke, although ever since that night with Tommy O’Callahan, Patty and Luke have kept to themselves, and Kirby understands. All she wants is to be alone with Darren.

“Can we do the carousel again?” Kirby asks him. “Maybe tonight before work?”

“It’s my auntie’s birthday,” he says. “The judge is making oyster stew.”

“I love oyster stew,” Kirby says, though this is an outright lie. She likes clams, shrimp, and mussels and she’s a fool for lobster, but the pleasure of the oyster still eludes her. She’s just angling for an invite.

None comes.

“We’ll go back to the carousel,” Darren says. “Just not tonight.”



But then…serendipity! They have the same day off, Tuesday, and Darren proposes a beach outing.

“I’ll plan everything,” he says. “All you need is your bikini and a book.”

Kirby loves that he said she needed a book—what is the beach without a good book?—but she hopes they are too busy swimming and kissing and splashing and tussling in the sand to read. Even so, she packs Myra Breckinridge, which she hasn’t even cracked open, and she decides she’s finally tan enough to wear her white crocheted bikini.

Darren asks Kirby to meet him at Tony’s Market; he wants to pick up beer and ice, and they can leave from there. Kirby agrees…but as she’s walking from Narragansett Avenue to Tony’s, she passes right by Darren’s house and his car is still out front. Should she go knock on the door or keep going and meet him at Tony’s like he asked her to?

Her head advises her to keep going. Her heart tells her differently.

She marches up the walk and knocks on the door.

“Come in!” a voice booms from inside.

Kirby pulls open the screen door and enters. She peers into the sunny front room with its bright furnishings; on the white kidney-shaped table there’s a glass pitcher holding periwinkle hydrangeas that make the room even more summery and inviting. In addition to being beautiful and accomplished, Dr. Frazier has impeccable taste. Kirby is nearly frantic to win her over. She continues down the hall, passing a small powder room with green bamboo-printed wallpaper, to the last door on the right, which opens to an eat-in kitchen that is decorated to resemble a Parisian brasserie. There is a black-and-white-tile floor and marble countertops and frosted-glass globe pendant lights and a wooden sign that says CAFé, CHOCOLAT, PTE, ET SIROPS over the copper sink. There’s jaunty clarinet music playing.

The judge is leaning against the counter, bifocals on, with the newspaper spread out in front of him. He’s wearing green golf pants and a yellow polo shirt. There’s a couple sitting at the round bistro table drinking coffee and helping themselves to a rainbow pinwheel of fruit and a platter of muffins.

“Hi,” Kirby says. The man and woman at the table are older, the judge’s age, and Kirby tells herself to act natural, as though she were meeting friends of her own parents. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m looking for Darren.”

The three adults stare at her for a second as though she’s an alien arrived from Mars. Kirby is, frankly, relieved that Dr. Frazier isn’t present. This is her chance to charm the judge, maybe. She gives him her best smile. “Your Honor, I’m Kirby Foley. I met you at the Homeport with Rajani?”

“Yes,” the judge says. “I remember. Good morning.”

The woman stands up. “I’m Cassandra Frazier,” she says, offering her hand. Her hair is in a towering bun that’s wound with a colorful scarf. She’s wearing wooden bangles that clatter as she shakes Kirby’s hand. “And this is my husband, Hank,” she says as she sits down.

Hank has a mouthful of muffin but he rises to shake Kirby’s hand, and then, once he’s swallowed, he says, “Hank Frazier, first cousin of the honorable judge.”

Kirby looks at Cassandra. “Are you by any chance the sister of Mr. Ames’s wife, Susanna?”

Cassandra cocks her head and offers a half smile. “I am, yes. How do you know Susanna?”

“Oh, I’ve never met her. But I work the night shift with Mr. Ames at the Shiretown Inn and when I mentioned that I was friends with Darren, he said his wife’s sister was married to the judge’s cousin.” Kirby feels a small sense of triumph, as though she has just plugged the last piece into a jigsaw puzzle.

“Yes!” Cassandra exclaims. “You’re the young lady from Nantucket, then? Cal raves about you.”

“That’s very nice to hear,” Kirby says. She checks to make sure that Judge Frazier has taken note of this, that his cousin’s wife’s sister’s husband raves about Kirby. See? she wants to say. Someone you know, even ever so tangentially, thinks I’m worth raving about.