a promise we’ll see him tomorrow. At the very least, I tell myself, anything that happens will be four towns away from Herron Mills.
* * *
I make Kaylee promise to be on her best behavior while the Bellamys are around. She rolls her eyes, but agrees to keep the booze stashed in the pool house until they go to bed. We spend the rest of the afternoon at the pool, eating chips and reading the People magazines Kaylee brought from Brooklyn. As expected, by the time I hear Emilia leave to go meet Tom, the sun is starting its dip toward the tree line. They must get dinner out, because by the time their cars pull back into the garage, it’s after ten, and they go straight up to the second floor.
When their light goes out, we make margaritas and splash around in the pool. I take a small sip, then a bigger one. Our drinks glow like neon Kool-Aid in the pool lights, and Kaylee calls them “belly-ring green.” I have to admit, I’m having a great time. My whole body feels warm and loose. It’s like I’m glowing.
“Have we been here before?” I ask when I’m two drinks in and my skin is buzzing with tequila and the warm night air. I don’t know why Kaylee would lie to me, but that girl Becca, and the way she seemed to know her way around town today …
“Like, in another life?” Kaylee giggles. “Sure, probably.”
“No, seriously.” I don’t know how to ask this without sounding profoundly uncool. Kaylee drinks as much as I do, more, but she never blacks out. She already thinks I’m a lightweight. “Herron Mills, the Hamptons. Did we ever come out here?”
“What, no.” Kaylee sets her cup down on the side of the pool. Her face is suddenly serious. “Why would you ask that?”
“Forget it,” I say. I dive under and swim toward Kaylee, wrap my arms around her legs underwater. She yelps as I drag her down with me, and we both come up gasping for air.
15 THEN
July
Montauk, NY
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, we pack the mixers and unopened bottle of rum, and I request a Lyft to take us to Bridgehampton station. Emilia and Tom left around nine thirty; I listened to them load up the Lexus while Kaylee and I were still lounging around in bed. Max said to come anytime after noon; the party is an all-day kind of thing. Kaylee would have had us out of the house an hour ago, but I insisted on cooking us a big brunch and then thoroughly cleaning the Bellamys’ kitchen before we left. Who knows if there’ll be anything to eat besides potato chips once we get there. By two, Kaylee’s eager to hit the road, and I’ve run out of excuses to hang back.
When the LIRR’s path syncs up with the highway, I gape at the line of cars outside. The traffic on Route 27 is epic. The train is packed, but the highway is one giant gridlock. It’s like the whole world is driving to Montauk today. The train deposits us at the station, and I request another Lyft to take us to the beach, trying not to think about how much this weekend is cutting into my college fund. Kaylee texts Max from the car, and he gives us vague directions toward the patch of sand where we’ll find him and his crew.
Once we’re out of the car and burning the soles of our feet on the hot, white sand, I’m surprised—again—by how different the beach here is from the one in Herron Mills. We’re only twenty miles further east, but here at the tip of the East End, there’s a bit of an end-of-the-world vibe. The beach is rockier, wilder. We pound the sand toward Max’s coordinates, steep bluffs crested with a thick tangle of grass to our left and white-capped waves teeming with surfers to our right. I watch Kaylee taking it all in; the beachgoers are young, beautiful, rich. This is the place to be. She tosses back her hair and rolls her shoulders, pink bikini straps flashing beneath a gauzy white beach cover with shiny silver tassels. She probably thinks my whole summer has been like this.
Max and his buddies aren’t that hard to locate; fortunately, there’s a bright red food truck nearby, and Kaylee spots Max tossing a Frisbee around with a couple other guys in the hot midafternoon sun. We spread out our beach towels and