Girls of Summer(34)

Next to that picture was one of Atticus. The glass was cracked because one day years ago, in a fit of rage at Atticus for killing himself, she had picked up the photo and carried it out to the trash barrel and tossed it in, slamming down the lid as hard as she could. That night she hadn’t been able to fall asleep until she quietly retrieved the picture. She would never see him alive again, but she needed to have him with her somehow. And the cracked glass over his face seemed somehow appropriate, because he was broken. She never got a new one.

   Beth pulled on a light summer dress and flip-flops. Her father called out to her, “See you tonight!” and left for work. She found fresh coffee waiting for her, and in the middle of the kitchen table, a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, which had been her favorite cereal when she was a child.

“Sweet!” she said aloud, smiling at her father’s thoughtfulness.

But what she really craved was an onion bagel with cream cheese. She didn’t want to hurt her father’s feelings, but no way was she going to eat that sugary cereal. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

Carrying her mug, Beth walked through her home as if it were a museum. In a way it was a museum. Nothing had changed since she went away to college, seven years ago. No new furniture, no new carpet, no new drapes—one new thing, a large flat-screen on the wall in the den. Other than that, she didn’t think her father had changed a thing.

But why should he? Old Persian rugs that were once his family’s softened the wood floors, and the mix-and-match furniture was welcoming. The most modern place was his kitchen, with its gleaming chrome appliances and the rack over the stove, which was hung with copper-bottomed pans. The only art on the walls were three pictures Beth had painted at various times in her life. Her father had had them framed and hung around the large room.

He needed some good art. He could use a new armchair—the one he clearly favored was slightly sagging. She had usually come home from college at Thanksgiving and Christmas, and she’d also spent every summer at home, but she’d never considered the state of the house because she was working two jobs to make money for college and then for grad school and working for her master’s.

   And now? She wanted to brighten up the place.

First things first. She needed to get a job. She wanted to work for the Nantucket Historical Association, but they were fully staffed and now that summer was here, they would have plenty of volunteers. There were museums all over the country that needed qualified help, but Beth wanted to live and work on Nantucket. At least she thought she did. Now that she’d earned her master’s degree, she had no one to report to, no deadlines to meet, no papers to write, and it seemed only natural to return to her island home. That didn’t mean she had to stay here. She wasn’t locked in.

But actually, she was locked in, by her own emotions. She wanted to see Theo again.

Theo. It had always been Theo for her, but he was so popular, dating a different girl every weekend, she’d assumed he had no interest in her. Atticus was Theo’s best friend, and Atticus had been in love with Beth. He had told her that, and that had tied her to him. She had cared for him, she’d worried about him and tried to help when his dark depressions came over him. Somehow they had become a couple, and she believed, she was certain that she had made him happy, or at least less depressed. From time to time in classes or walking in the hallway, Beth caught Theo looking at her, and his look was like a song calling her home, and then he’d flush and turn away. So she had believed that Theo liked her, that he might actually want her in the way she wanted him—not simply sexually, but spiritually, too, as if he was missing part of himself, and if only she would go to him, he could be complete. That was how she felt about him.

They never talked about it. Once, at a school dance, when he held her as they moved to a slow song and the desire between them was so obvious, so strong, Theo had smiled down at her and asked, “Beth. What are we going to do?”

   “What can we do?” Beth asked, and there was no answer, or not the answer they wanted. She was Atticus’s girl, and he needed her in a serious way—so serious that his mother had actually taken Beth for coffee so they could talk about Atticus and his problem.

“You know,” Paula Barnes had said, “Atticus is afraid you will leave him for Theo.”

Beth had nearly knocked over her mug. “Why would he think that?”

“Atticus is very sensitive,” his mother had replied.

“Yes, I’m aware of that,” Beth snapped, because she wanted to say, good grief, every moment of every day when I’m with him, I have to be attuned to his precious sensitivity, and sometimes I want to run away and be free or do something that will offend that sensitivity! Immediately, she apologized for snapping at his mother. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard for him. I wish someone could help.”

“He’s seeing a therapist. And he’s on medication. And, Beth, Atticus’s father and I are so grateful to you for being there for him, for doing all you do. That’s why I asked to meet you. To thank you. To tell you we know he can be hard work, but we believe he’ll get better, he’ll get well. He’s so awfully brilliant, and he has a wonderful future in front of him—if we can just get him there.”

Mrs. Barnes was crying, quietly, gently. Beth knew what she had to say, and she said it, “I care for Atticus very much, Mrs. Barnes. I’ll be there for him as much as I can be. You can trust me.”