The Paper Palace(43)

Sometimes he would point out coyote scat or a trail leading into the bearberry hollows, where the low brush still held the imprint of a deer. We spent most days lying in the hot sand on the wide empty ocean beach, daring each other to swim out too far at high tide, riding the waves, trying not to get taken by the undertow. Often we didn’t even talk. But when we did, we talked about everything.

I knew our friendship made no sense. I wasn’t a loner, or even lonely. Becky was down the road, and I had Anna. I was fourteen and a half, he was twelve. But for some reason that summer, when so many things were falling away, when I began to feel like prey, Jonas made me feel safe.

We were an odd pair. Me—tall, pale, plodding around in Dr. Scholl’s and a bikini, hiding my uncomfortable breasts and new curves under fray-collared shirts I’d inherited from my father. Jonas, easily a foot shorter, always barefoot, in the same filthy green shorts and Allman Brothers T-shirt he wore every single day. Once when I suggested this habit was repulsive and that a washing machine might help, he shrugged and told me swimming in the sea and the ponds was antiseptic.

“Also,” he said, “you’re being extremely rude.”

“I’m being maternal,” I said. “I feel responsible for you.”

“I’m not a baby.”

“I know,” I said. “You’re a child.”

“So are you,” he said.

“Not anymore.”

“Meaning?”

The second I opened my mouth I wanted to punch myself. “Nothing,” I said. “I’m just older than you.”

Jonas wouldn’t let me off the hook. “No. You said you are no longer a child, but I am. You don’t have to hang around with me if you don’t want to. I’m not your responsibility.”

“Stop acting like a baby.”

“Apparently, I am a baby,” Jonas said.

“Fine. Whatever,” I said. “I’m a woman now, as my mother keeps telling me. It honestly makes me want to puke when she says it. ‘Eleanor, be proud. You’re a woman now.’”

He looked at me with a serious, unwavering expression. Then he reached up, put his hand on my shoulder, and gave me a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “That really does sound vile. Come on, I found something cool yesterday. By the way,” he said over his shoulder as we walked, “they teach sex ed in fifth grade, so I do understand that women bleed.”

“Gross.”

“The power to create life is a beautiful thing.”

“Oh my god!” I swatted him.

“Be proud, Eleanor, you’re a woman now,” he said in his best imitation of my mother, and ran ahead before I could tackle him to the ground.



* * *



—

Deep in the woods, in a grove of locusts, Jonas had discovered an abandoned house, the walls and roof long ago rotted away, leaving only the stone outline of two small rooms. Wild roses and woodbine had tangled themselves over everything. We jumped the low walls and stood in the center of what had once been someone’s home. Jonas found a stick and scratched at a bump in the sandy soil until he unearthed a sapphire-blue bottle, worn like beach glass. He cleared a space on the floor and we lay down beside each other, looking up at the white mackerel clouds. I closed my eyes and listened to the whisper of the pines, smelled the samphire and juniper. It was comfortable lying there with him in the quiet. Silent but connected, conversing without words—as if we could hear each other’s thoughts and so had no need to speak them aloud.

“Do you suppose this is where the marital bed was?” Jonas asked after a while.

“You’re such a peculiar child.”

“I was just thinking how lovely this spot is, and that we could rebuild the house and live here when we get married.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re twelve. And second of all, stop being weird,” I said.

“When we’re older, our age difference won’t matter. It barely matters now.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jonas said.

“Fine,” I said. “But I want a double boiler.”



* * *



—

“My brothers tease me about you,” Jonas said one afternoon as I walked him home from the pond. I knew his brothers a bit: Elias was sixteen. He and Anna had taken sailing lessons together two summers ago, and one time they had kissed during a round of spin the bottle. Hopper was my age, fourteen. Tall, with thick red hair and freckles. We’d said hello once or twice at the Friday-night yacht club dances, but that was it.

“They tease you because I’m old enough to be your babysitter. And they’re kind of right. It is a bit weird.”

“Hopper has a crush on you,” Jonas said now. “I think that may be why he’s giving me such a difficult time. Though I don’t suppose that explains Elias’s behavior.”

I laughed. “Hopper? I’ve barely ever spoken to him.”

“You should ask Hopper to dance sometime,” Jonas said. “Look.” He crouched down and picked up a tiny blue eggshell that had fallen into the tall grasses on the roadside. “The robins are back.” He handed it to me carefully. It was weightless, paper-thin. “I was worried the jays had chased them all away.”