Summer of '69(98)

When she returned to Simmons in September, she would finally declare a major: political science. She would focus on her studies and apply for an internship, maybe at Tip O’Neill’s office. Or maybe, just maybe, Kirby would encounter Senator Kennedy at the inn and he would take a shine to her and offer her his card. There were rumors that he would make a run for president against Nixon.

Kirby could not, however, attend the party on Chappaquiddick. She had to work at eleven.

“Just come for a little while,” Patty urged. “It’s a barbecue, starting at seven. You could leave right after dinner. I’m sure someone will give you a ride to the ferry, then you can just walk to the inn.” She grabbed Kirby’s hand and Kirby saw dark bruises the size of dimes on Patty’s wrist.

“I wish I could,” Kirby said. For one second, she considered calling in sick and going to the party—she hadn’t missed a night all summer—but this was irresponsible and she knew there was no way she could endure the party without a drink or a toke. She didn’t belong there, anyway. If she went, she would be the ultimate hanger-on—Sara’s sister’s friend. Her instincts told her the better course of action was to introduce herself to Senator Kennedy later, at the hotel.

Still, she’d felt insanely jealous as she helped Patty pick out an outfit. “Does Luke know you’re going to this party?” Kirby asked. If she felt jealous, she couldn’t imagine how Luke must feel.

“It’s none of his business,” Patty said, and when she caught Kirby’s expression in the mirror, she said, “What? He doesn’t own me.”



Mrs. Bennie is rarely at the inn this late; Kirby supposes she’s here to make sure that everything goes smoothly during the senator’s stay. But her lipstick is faded and strands of hair are escaping from her bun. She looks frazzled and Kirby nearly tells her to go home, that she can handle things from here. But Mrs. Bennie feels compelled to issue one final reminder.

“Remember, Katharine, to exercise discretion. The senator’s privacy and personal comfort are our first priority.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Kirby says.

Kirby proceeds as though everything is normal. Everything is normal except for Kirby’s heightened state of awareness. At any moment, the senator might come strolling through the front door. It will be enough just to see him, Kirby decides, just to say, Have a good night. Teddy Kennedy is young and handsome, although not quite as handsome as Bobby and nowhere near as handsome as President Kennedy. What would it be like to be a member of such a family? Kirby wonders. She supposes Teddy Kennedy thinks of his brothers the same way that she thinks of Blair and Jessie.

Two by two, guests enter the lobby, then head up to bed. A few of the women stop to compliment Kirby’s dress, a yellow shift embroidered with daisies that’s the brightest, most cheerful dress she owns. She reviews the bills at the front desk rather than in the back office so she doesn’t miss anything or anybody.

When she’s finished, she allows herself fifteen minutes to indulge in thoughts of Darren. He had driven her home from Lobsterville Beach in silence and she thought he’d resigned himself to her way of thinking: he was too close to his parents for their relationship to proceed any further. But before she climbed out of the car, he took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

“I don’t want you to go,” he said. “I like you, Kirby.”

“Yes,” she said. “I like you too.”

“Maybe when we’re both back in the city, at school, we can—”

She opened the door and got out without letting him finish. She knew what he was proposing—that they revisit things in the fall, after they were back in school, after he was out of his parents’ house. Kirby could see how that idea would be appealing; they would have nine months to let their love blossom and grow without static from that pesky little thing called family.

But it wouldn’t be real.

Kirby was content to cast Darren as the weak one—but would she have the courage to bring Darren home to Kate and David? Yes, of course. Her parents were fair-minded. What about Exalta? Here, Kirby came as close to understanding Darren’s predicament as she could. She would not relish the idea of introducing Darren to her grandmother.

It wasn’t meant to be, Kirby thought.

She’d hitched her bag over her shoulder, marched into the house, ascended to the igloo, and threw herself onto the bed.

The next day there was a knock on her door. Michaela. Kirby supposed she was there to tell Kirby to stop playing her Simon and Garfunkel album over and over again.

“Go away,” Kirby said.

“Darren’s on the phone,” Michaela said.

“Tell him I’m out,” Kirby said.

Michaela put a hand on her hip. “You’re asking me to lie?”

“Yes,” Kirby said. “If you object on moral grounds, then just hang up and take the phone off the hook. Please.”

Michaela shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see if he wants to go out with me,” she said. “He’s cute.”

Kirby tries to put that conversation out of her mind. She shuffles the bills until they’re in an even pile, then returns them to the file folder with a sigh.

At half past one, a man comes striding into the lobby and makes a beeline for the desk.

It takes Kirby a second to recognize Luke. He doesn’t look like himself; his hair is wild and his face is bright red. He’s sweating and his eyes are bulging like a bullfrog’s. He’s wearing a green T-shirt with a rip in the neck and a pair of loose-fitting drawstring pants. He’s in his pajamas, Kirby realizes, and immediately she knows something’s wrong.