Summer of '69(77)

The judge says, “And you’re here to see Darren?”

“I am,” Kirby says. “We’re going to the beach.”

“The beach?” the judge says, as though he’s never heard of the place. He turns to face the doorway. “Darren! You have a visitor!”

Kirby wants to compliment the room—it’s so cool, with all the art deco flourishes, so unexpectedly fun and fresh. She wants to take a mental picture of the fruit plate so that at some point in her own adult life, when she has money for that kind of exquisite produce, she might re-create it—pale green slices of honeydew melon, brighter green kiwi, fresh pineapple, pale disks of banana, strawberries cut into fans, a pile of blueberries and blackberries in the center. She wants to ask Cassandra where she got her scarf and her bracelets. Is the scarf from Paris? The bracelets look vaguely African; were they purchased at a market in Nairobi? Kirby also wants to ask about the music. She usually listens to rock ’n’ roll but the clarinet has a cheerful cadence that makes it perfect for a summer morning. Is it Benny Goodman? Basically, Kirby would like to be invited to be a part of this world, but she’s afraid of sounding pushy, and so she says nothing, and the four of them stew in awkward silence until Darren comes down to the kitchen. When he sees Kirby, his expression is one of unadulterated alarm.

“What are you doing here?” he says.

Kirby tries to smile. “We’re going to the beach…right?”

“I didn’t know your friend works with Cal at the Shiretown Inn,” Cassandra says. “You should have told me.”

Darren gives his aunt a distracted nod. To Kirby he says, “I thought I said Tony’s.”

“You did, but I was in the neighborhood.”

“You’re off to the beach?” the judge asks.

“The nudie beach?” Hank crows.

“Lobsterville,” Darren says. “We’re meeting people there.”

They are? This is news to Kirby.

The judge takes his time folding the newspaper and everyone watches as he does so. Kirby can tell he’s deliberating over something. What will his verdict be?

“Go on, then,” he says. “Get out of here before your mother gets home.”

They head out to the car in silence. Kirby feels she owes Darren an apology; it was rude of her to show up unannounced. She wanted to prove something, but what? That she wasn’t afraid? That she could hang out with Darren’s family and fit in? In the end, she has proved nothing and now Darren’s angry. He parks the Corvair in front of Tony’s Market and runs in without a word. Kirby nearly calls out to offer him money, but in the end, she just folds her hands in her lap and bows her head. Get out of here before your mother gets home. It doesn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out what the judge meant by that.

When Darren emerges from the store, he’s grinning. He’s himself again. He puts the ice and beer on the floor in the back seat, starts the engine, turns up the radio. It’s Dylan singing “Lay, Lady, Lay.”

“Let’s get out of this town,” he says. “I want to relax.”



It’s Kirby’s fourth time up-island and she’s beginning to recognize landmarks—the Ag Hall and Alley’s General Store in West Tisbury and then the long stretch of Middle Road. They pass the turnoff for Tea Lane, where Rajani nannies the demon twins in the beachfront castle with the Warhol, and then, once Middle Road turns into State, Kirby recognizes the driveway to Luke’s compound on Nashaquitsa Pond. They pass through Menemsha, turn right, and end up at Lobsterville Beach.

“I’ve heard about this beach from guests at the inn,” she says. “One man got such a bad sunburn, he renamed it Turned-into-a-Lobster-Ville Beach.”

Darren laughs and it sounds genuine. The day started out a little topsy-turvy, but Kirby feels it righting itself.

Lobsterville Beach is nearly empty; they are very clearly not meeting anyone else. Darren carries the chairs and the cooler to a secluded cove where they can see the cliffs of Gay Head jutting out into the ocean. It must be the most picturesque spot on the island, Kirby thinks, and he sought it out for her. He sets up the chairs and towels and then he strips off his T-shirt. His skin is such a beautiful color that Kirby wants to compliment it, but she isn’t sure what words to use.

He notices her staring at him. “You ready to swim?”

“Hell, yeah,” she says and she races him to the water.

Darren bought Schlitz beer, her favorite, and it’s icy cold. They crack a couple open, and then, because there’s no one else in sight, Kirby produces a joint that she tucked into her change purse before she left the house.

“Smoke?” she says.

“I don’t usually,” he says. “But today I’ll make an exception.”

Kirby lights the joint, takes a toke, and passes it over to Darren, who inhales with deep appreciation. They smoke the joint down to an itty-bitty roach and then Kirby falls back on her towel, suffused in a cloud of sweet smoke and a sense of great well-being. Drugs are a public scourge and yet they make absolutely everything better, at least temporarily. Before she knows what’s happening, Darren pulls her up by the hand and leads her behind a giant boulder at the edge of the cove. He starts kissing her. It’s novel for them to be standing, with their hips pushed together, and then, as if that isn’t seductive enough, Darren lifts her up. Her back scrapes against the rock but she doesn’t care. She wraps her legs around him and squeezes and gets lost in the kissing and in the pressure and in the heat between their bodies. When she opens her eyes, she sees the green, raging sea beyond and she knows she will never forget this moment.