The Night Swim(49)

“It’s a sun-shower.” Mom laughed.

We joined her in the rain, not caring that our tank tops and shorts were soaked through. The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. Rather than go inside to change clothes, the three of us sat in the garden on upturned plastic crates and watched the garden puddles dry up along with the clothes on our bodies.

“Why aren’t you both at the beach?” Mom asked, as if suddenly realizing that we’d been home with her for days.

“We’d rather stay with you,” said Jenny, examining her mud-covered toes.

“There’s nothing to do at home. Besides, I’m feeling much better,” Mom said. “Tomorrow, go back to the beach. It’s the best place to be in this weather.”

Mom washed the mud off our feet with the garden hose before ushering us back into the house. That night, Jenny said that she still had a cold and needed to stay in bed the next day. I knew that it was an excuse to get out of going to the beach.

“What you need, Jenny, honey, is sun. The sun heals everything,” Mom said. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask why it hadn’t healed her.

“I’d rather spend the day at home,” Jenny mumbled. Mom looked at her in surprise. Jenny loved the sea. She was at the beach the moment the weather was warm enough to get into the water, and she’d keep going long after summer ended. Jenny’s reluctance to go to the beach on a perfect swimming day troubled Mom into a heavy silence that night over dinner. Eventually, Jenny relented. She didn’t want to worry our mom.

The next morning, I raced ahead with my towel slung over my shoulders. Jenny straggled behind me. She wore an oversized T-shirt and loose pants instead of her favorite sundress with the crisscrossed back.

Jenny didn’t stop at our usual spot when we reached the beach. She headed toward another beach beyond the jetty. That beach had strong currents that made swimming dangerous. Nobody went there, not even the surfers.

“Hey, Jenny.”

It was a boy from Jenny’s high school. He was athletic, with dark hair and a tanned chest. Around his neck he wore a leather necklace. He and Jenny had hung out together at the beach the previous summer, but I hadn’t seen him that summer at all. Jenny had mentioned something about how he had a job at a record store downtown. She never told me outright, but somehow I knew that she liked him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To that beach,” she answered, flushing slightly as she pointed farther along the coast at the deserted beach beyond the jetty. “My sister wants to collect shells.”

I opened my mouth to say that I wanted to do no such thing, but Jenny swung around and glared at me to shut up.

“Don’t waste your time. It’s covered in seaweed and there’re sand flies,” he told us. “Throw your stuff down and come for a swim.”

Jenny joined him for a swim while I laid out our towels near where he and his friends had left their bags. Later that afternoon, while I was lying on my stomach reading a book and Jenny was relaxing on her towel next to the dark-haired boy, I saw those boys again. The ones who’d given me a ride home in their pickup truck and taken Jenny away until late in the night. They were sitting on the dunes talking and smoking. I saw Bobby there, too, with his uncut hair and gray eyes. A cigarette hung out of his mouth. He sat a little away from the main group and seemed embarrassed to see me. I’d last seen him when he jumped out of the truck at the bridge after arguing with the driver the day they gave us a ride.

One of the boys caught me staring. I remembered that he’d sat in the front passenger seat right next to the door. He waved at me in a weird way that made me uncomfortable. I looked away. Jenny glanced up to see what I’d been looking at. When she saw those boys she went white and immediately averted her gaze. She trembled. I could almost see the wave of cold dread wash through her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boy who’d driven the truck that day wander over to a group of teenage boys from Jenny’s year at school who were drying off on their beach towels near the dunes. He told them something with an amused expression. I didn’t know what he said, but I saw them laugh out loud when he was done talking and then swivel around to stare at us. Jenny pretended not to be bothered. I could smell her fear. Her body shrank into itself.

“Let’s go home, Hannah,” Jenny said hoarsely. She shoved my buckets and hats and the rest of our lunch into the bag without trying to shake off the sand.

“It’s too hot to walk home now. There’s not a strip of shade.”

Her eyes darted around, trying to find a way to flee. They filled with resignation when she saw there was no escape. One of the boys from Jenny’s year at school stood up and went over to sit with another group of teenagers sitting near them on the beach. He whispered something to a couple of the boys. The same thing happened: Laughter followed. Heads turned. Eyes pierced into our backs. Jenny froze.

The pattern repeated itself until the whispers raced across the beach. It was the same each time. The laughter was the worst. It cut like a knife.

Jenny turned pale as people’s heads whirled around toward her. Her hands trembled. She gripped her towel until her knuckles were white. The gossip was coming closer and closer, like an approaching tidal wave. Jenny looked desperate. She said something to the boy with the dark hair. He nodded. They both went down to the jetty and dived together into the water as the hum of gossip reached my spot on the beach.