Nantucket Blue - By Leila Howland Page 0,44

and took several deep breaths. The sun was low. A few distant fireworks went off. The insects were singing. Zack took my hand, weaving his fingers with mine. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

Twenty-two

ZACK HELD THE LITTLE ROWBOAT close to the dock, and I stepped in. He handed me the canvas bag with the champagne and plastic cups he’d taken from 4 Darling Street. “Dad hates champagne, and Jules forgot all about it. So that whole case of Dom Perignon in the pantry is for me.”

“What’s Dom Perignon?” I asked, lowering the bag into the stern.

“The good stuff,” he said, untying the line.

“Won’t your dad notice it’s gone?”

“I don’t think he’d notice if the fridge was gone and a white tiger sat in its place,” he said, and stepped in. I couldn’t help but picture the bizarre image. He slipped the oarlocks into place, slid in the oars, and rowed us into the harbor with long, even strokes.

“Hey, you said champagne. Does this mean you’ve gotten over the French girl?”

“Maybe,” he said, smiling. I leaned back, elbows on the edge, and looked up. The sun had set, but it wasn’t dark yet. The sky was purple. Above us, a half-moon tipped. We rowed past the homes that lined the harbor; past the squares of lighted interiors; past people sitting on verandas, drinking and laughing. Voices floated out to us on waves, turned to wisps, drifted away. The oars slapped the dark water, slid under and emerged, tilted and weeping as they skimmed the surface. I dropped an arm, let my fingers trace the water. I felt like I could’ve stayed in the back of that boat all summer and been happy.

“So, you see that McMansion with all the lights on?” Zack asked, taking both oars in one hand as he turned and pointed to a house on a distant cliff.

“Yeah.” It was a huge place with a hundred windows.

“Okay, now, you see the one next to it, with only one light on? That’s where we’re headed. It’s the best spot to see the fireworks.” He turned to face me again, rowing with effortless strength and confidence. Maybe this was where he got his soccer-player body. The thought made me shiver.

“Here,” he said, taking off his sweatshirt and tossing it to me.

“I thought you had a fungus,” I teased.

“I told you, it cleared up,” he said, splashing me a little with the oar. I wiped up the drops on my leg with the sweatshirt and put it on. It smelled like the beach.

Farther out were some yachts. On one of them, there were at least thirty people, all dressed up like they were set to sail to the Academy Awards. A tall, thin woman with long red hair in a short, sparkling gold dress talked to two men in tuxedos. I wondered if that was Jay’s mom. It was hard to tell, but she had the same model-like silhouette. Zack waved. One of the tuxedoed men waved back.

“Looking for Bella Figura?” the man asked.

“Excuse me?” asked Zack.

“Bella Figura!” the man said.

“Bella what?” Zack asked, rowing us closer to the yacht. Now the woman in gold was looking at us. I felt certain she was Jay’s mother. Oh god. Had Jay told her what I’d said about his brother?

“Aren’t you the one we sent to bring us more wine?”

“No,” Zack said. He handed me the oars and stood up, hands on his hips.

“Oh my god,” I said under my breath. I hid my face in his sweatshirt.

“On my yacht”—he unfurled his arm, his forehead crinkling as he named the little boat—“La Principessa, we only drink Dom Perignon!” Zack said. “Isn’t that right, Principessa?”

“Uh…yes?” I said quietly. I was afraid to look at the reactions of the fancy party people. Especially Mrs. Logan.

Zack sat down, took the oars, and rowed on. “Hey, why were you hiding?”

“Wasn’t that Mrs. Logan?”

“Was it?” He shrugged. “So?”

“So? We know her. And who knows who those people are. Maybe they’re important.”

“You care too much what other people think.”

“Well, it matters.”

“No it doesn’t,” he said, maintaining eye contact. “Anyway, she was laughing.”

“Hey, can I row?” I asked, anxious to change the subject and get back the mood of five minutes ago.

“Sure.” The boat rocked as we switched spots. “Keep your eye on that buoy.” My strokes were choppy and uneven. “So, you don’t need to go so deep in the water. Just go right beneath the surface. And you want to keep the oar pretty flat.” I