Ocracoke 1996
The nor’easter arrived the second week of January, after three days in a
row of higher-than-normal temperatures and sunny days that felt unfamiliar after the grayish gloom of December. I could never have predicted that a gigantic storm was in the offing.
Nor could I have seen the changes ahead in my relationship with Bryce. On New Year’s Eve, I still considered him nothing more than a friend, even though he’d chosen to spend the evening at my house while the rest of his family went out of town. Gwen brought over her television and we tuned in to Dick Clark’s show live from Times Square; as midnight approached, we counted down with the rest of America. When the ball dropped, Bryce set off a couple of bottle rockets from the porch that exploded over the water with loud bangs and tails of sparkles. The neighbors on their porches clanked pots with spoons as well, but within minutes, the town reverted to sleepy mode and lights in the nearby houses began to blink out. I called my parents to wish them a happy New Year, and they reminded me that they would be coming to visit me later in the month.
Despite the holiday, Bryce was back less than eight hours later, this time with Daisy, which was the first time he’d brought her over. He helped my aunt and me take down the tree—which was a definite fire hazard by then— and dragged it out to the road. After I repacked the decorations and swept up the needles, we took our places at the table for schoolwork. Daisy was sniffing around in the kitchen; when he called her over, she promptly lay down near his chair.
“Linda said it was okay to bring her when I asked her about it last night,” he explained. “My mom says she still wanders too much.”
I glanced at Daisy, who stared back at me with innocence and contentment, tail thumping.
“She seems fine to me. And look at her cute face.”
Sure enough, Daisy seemed to know we were talking about her, and she sat up, poking her nose at Bryce’s hand. When he ignored her, she moseyed toward the kitchen again. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about,” he said. “Daisy? Come.”
Daisy pretended not to hear him. It wasn’t until the second command that she finally returned to his side and lay down with a groan. Daisy, I noticed, was sometimes stubborn, and when she tried to wander off again, he ended up putting her on a leash and attaching it to the chair, a vantage point from which she watched us, looking glum.
That week or so was pretty similar to the previous week: schoolwork and photography. In addition to letting me take a lot of pictures, Bryce hauled over a file box filled with photos that he and his mother had taken over the years. On the back of every photo were notes on the technical aspects of the shot—time of day, lighting, aperture, film speed—and little by little, I began to anticipate how changing a single element could alter the image entirely. I also spent my first afternoon in the darkroom, watching Bryce and his mom develop twelve black-and-white photos I’d taken downtown. They walked me through the process of how to get the chemical baths just right—the developer, the stop bath, the fixer—and how to clean the negative. They showed me how to use the enlarger, and the way to create just the right balance of light and dark I wanted. Even though most of it went over my head, when I watched the ghostly images emerge, it seemed like magic.
What was interesting was that even though I was still a novice at taking pictures and developing prints, it turned out I was a bit of a natural when it came to Photoshop. Loading the images required a high-end scanner and a Mac computer, and Porter had purchased both for his wife a year earlier. Since then, Bryce’s mom had edited a bunch of her favorite photographs, and for me, reviewing her work was the perfect way to be introduced to the program because I could see both the before and after images…and then try to replicate them myself. Now, I’m not saying that I was the kind of computer wizard that Richard was, nor did I have the experience with the program that Bryce and his mom did, but once I learned one of the tools, it stuck with me. I also had a pretty good sense of what aspects of a photo
needed editing in the first place, a sort of intuitive understanding that surprised them both.
The point is, between the holidays and tutoring and all things photography, Bryce and I were together from early in the morning until evening, pretty much every day from Christmas until the big storm hit. With Daisy our constant companion once January arrived—she loved nothing more than to follow us when we were practicing with the camera—my life began to feel almost abnormally normal, if that makes any sense. I had Bryce and a dog and a newfound passion; thoughts of home seemed far away, and I was actually excited to get out of bed in the mornings. It was a new feeling for me but also kind of scary in an I hope it keeps going kind of way.
I didn’t think about what spending so much time with Bryce would mean for the two of us. In fact, I wasn’t really thinking about him much at all. For most of that period, he was just there, like my aunt Linda or my family back home, or even the air I breathed. Once I’d picked up the camera or studied photographs or played around with Photoshop, I wasn’t sure I even noticed his dimples anymore. I don’t think I realized how important he’d become to me until shortly before the storm rolled in. He was standing on the porch after another long day together when he finally handed me his camera, the light meter, and a new roll of black-and-white film.
“What’s this for?” I asked, taking it.
“In case you want to practice tomorrow.”
“Without you? I still don’t know what I’m doing.”
“You know more than you think you do. You’ll be fine. And I’m going to be pretty busy the next couple of days.”
As soon as he said it, I felt an unexpected pang of sadness at the thought of not seeing him. “Where are you going?”
“I’ll be here, but I have to help my dad get things ready for the nor’easter.”
Although I’d heard my aunt mention it, I figured the storm wouldn’t be much different from what we’d experienced on and off since I’d been in Ocracoke. “What’s a nor’easter?”
“It’s a storm on the East Coast. But sometimes—like it’s supposed to do now—it collides with another weather system and it feels like an out-of- season hurricane.”
As he explained, I was still trying to process my discomfort at the thought of not seeing him. Since we’d met, the longest time we’d spent apart was two days, which, I now realized, was also kind of strange. Aside from family, I hadn’t spent that much time with anyone. If Madison and Jodie and I spent a weekend together, we were usually getting on each other’s nerves by the end. But wanting to keep Bryce on the porch for just a little longer, I forced a smile. “What do you have to do with your dad?”
“Secure my granddad’s boat, board up the windows at our house and my grandparents’. Others, too, around town, including your aunt’s and Gwen’s. It’ll take a day to get everything set up and then the day after, we’ll have to take everything back down.”
Behind him were blue skies, and I was pretty sure that he and his father were overreacting.
But they weren’t.
* * *
The next day, I woke to an empty house after sleeping in later than usual, and my first thought was No Bryce.
To be honest, it left me feeling a bit out of sorts. I kept my pajamas on, ate toast in the kitchen, stood on the porch, wandered the house, listened to music, then ended up in bed again. But I couldn’t sleep—I was more bored than tired—and after tossing and turning for a while, I finally summoned the energy to get dressed, only to think, Now what?
I suppose I could have studied for finals or continued working on the next semester’s assignments, but I wasn’t in the mood for that, so I grabbed a jacket and the camera along with the light meter, loading all of it into the basket on my bicycle. I didn’t really have an idea of where to go, so I pedaled around for a while, stopping now and then to practice taking the same kind of photos I’d been taking all along—street scenes, buildings and houses. Always, though, I ended up lowering the camera before pressing the shutter. In my mind’s eye, I already knew that none would have been all that special—just more of the same—and I didn’t want to waste the film.
It was around that time that I sensed that the mood of the village had shifted. It was no longer ghostlike and sleepy, but strangely busy. On practically every street, I heard the sounds of drills or hammers, and when I rode past the grocery store, I noticed that the parking lot was full, with additional cars lining the street out front. Trucks filled with lumber rolled past me, and at one of the businesses that sold tourist items like T-shirts and
kites, I saw a man on the roof fastening a tarp. Boats at the docks were lashed with dozens of ropes while others had been anchored in the harbor. No doubt, people were getting ready for the nor’easter, and I suddenly realized that I had the opportunity to take a series of photos with an actual theme, something with a name like People Before the Storm.
I’m afraid I went a bit crazy with it, even though I only had twelve exposures. Because there was no joviality in the people I saw—just grim determination—I tried to be as circumspect with my camera as possible, all the while trying to remember everything that Bryce and his mom had taught me. The overall lighting, fortunately, was pretty good—thick clouds had rolled in, some grayish-black in color—and after checking the meter, I’d peer through the viewfinder and move around until finally achieving the perspective and composition that felt right. Thinking back on the photographs that I had studied with Bryce, I’d hold my breath, keeping the camera perfectly still while carefully pressing the shutter. I knew they weren’t all going to be amazing, but I was hoping that one or two would be keepers. Notably, it was the first time I photographed people going about their daily lives…the fisherman securing his boat with a grimace; the woman carrying a baby while leaning into a wind; a lean and wrinkled man smoking in front of a boarded-up storefront.
I worked through lunch, only stopping at the shop for a biscuit sandwich as the weather began to perceptibly worsen. By the time I got back to my aunt’s house, I had a single exposure left. My aunt had returned early from the shop—her car was in the drive—but I didn’t see her, and I arrived just as Bryce’s truck pulled in. When he waved, I crazily felt my heart speed up. His father was beside him, and I could see Richard and Robert in the bed of the truck. I grabbed the camera from the bike basket. After Bryce hopped out, he strolled toward me. He was wearing a T-shirt and faded jeans that accentuated his wide shoulders and angular hips, along with a leather tool belt that held a cordless drill and a pair of leather gloves. Smiling in that easy way of his, he waved.
“How did it go today?” he asked. “Anything good?”
I told him about my People Before the Storm idea and added, “I’m hoping that you or your mom will be able to develop them soon.”
“I’m sure my mom will be happy to. The darkroom is the happiest place in the house for her, the only place she can really be by herself. I can’t wait to see them.”
Behind him, at the truck, I saw his father unloading the ladder from the bed. “How was it on your end?”
“Nonstop, and we still have a few more places to go. We’re heading to your aunt’s shop next.”
Up close, I noted the smudges of dirt on his shirt, which didn’t detract from the way he looked in the slightest. “Aren’t you cold? You probably need a jacket.”
“I haven’t had time to think about it,” he said. Then, surprising me, “I missed you today.”
Bryce glanced at the ground, then met my eyes again, his gaze holding steady, and for a split second I had the distinct sense that he wanted to kiss me. The feeling caught me off guard and I think he must have realized it, too, because he suddenly hooked a thumb over his shoulder, quickly becoming the Bryce I knew once more. “I should probably get going so we can finish before dark.”
My throat felt dry. “Don’t let me hold you up.”
I stepped back, wondering if I’d been imagining things, as Bryce turned away. He fell in beside his father as they approached the storage area beneath the house.
Meanwhile, Richard and Robert lugged the ladder toward the porch. On instinct, I moved away from the house, unconsciously trying to figure out how best to frame a final shot with the single exposure I had left. Stopping when the angle seemed right, I adjusted the aperture and checked the light meter, making sure everything was ready to go.
Bryce and his father had vanished inside the storage room, but after a few seconds, I watched Bryce emerge with a piece of plywood. He leaned it against the wall, then returned for another; within minutes, there was a stack of them. Bryce and one of the twins carried one sheet to the front door, while Porter and the other twin did the same. They disappeared inside, my aunt holding the door open for them, only to reappear on the porch a few seconds later. I lifted the lens as they began putting up the plywood over the sliding glass door, but the shot wasn’t worth taking because all of them had their backs to me. Bryce sank the first screw, the rest following in rapid succession. Up went the second piece of plywood with equal speed, and the four of them descended the ladder. Both times, I lowered the camera.
Two more pieces of plywood went over the front window just as quickly, and again I had a bad angle. I didn’t get the shot I wanted until the ladder was moved to my aunt’s bedroom.
Bryce went up the ladder first; the twins handed a smaller sheet of plywood to their father, who then passed it farther up to Bryce. I zeroed in on the focus and suddenly Bryce had to twist in my direction; as he gripped the plywood with both hands, I automatically pressed the shutter. Just as quickly, he twisted back, in position to secure the plywood, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d missed it.
And just like that, the window was covered, making it obvious this wasn’t their first rodeo. The twins carried the ladder back to the truck while Bryce and his father returned to the storage area. They emerged carrying something heavy that resembled a small engine. They set it next to the storage area, in a spot that would be sheltered from the wind and rain. With a pull of the cord, they started it, the sound akin to a lawn mower.
“Generator,” Bryce called out, knowing I had no idea what I was seeing. “It’s pretty much guaranteed the power will go out.”
After shutting it off, they filled the tank from a large can of gasoline that had been in the bed of the truck, and Bryce ran a long power cord into the house. I absently began to rewind the film, hoping that I’d miraculously gotten the shot of Bryce that I’d wanted.
When the film clicked, I turned toward the water, which had already become a sea of whitecaps. Had he really wanted to kiss me? I continued to wonder as I saw him skip back down the steps. The others were already at the truck and after another exchange of waves, I watched him drive away.
Lost in my own thoughts, I debated heading inside before impulsively hopping on my bicycle again. I sped to Bryce’s house, knowing they wouldn’t be there yet, relieved when his mom opened the door.
“Maggie?” She stared at me, curious. “If you’re here to see Bryce, he’s working with his dad today.”
“I know, but I have a big favor I wanted to ask. I know you might be busy getting ready for the storm and everything, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind developing these for me.” As with Bryce, I explained my theme, and I could see her studying me.
“You said you got one of Bryce, too?”
“I’m not sure. I hope so,” I said. “It’s the last photo on the roll.”
She tilted her head, no doubt intuiting its importance to me before holding out her hand. “Let me see what I can do.”
* * *
My aunt’s house was dark and cave-like, no surprise since there wasn’t a glint of light coming through the covered windows. In the kitchen, the refrigerator was pulled away from the wall, no doubt so it could be easily connected to the generator when the time came. My aunt was nowhere to be seen, and as I took a seat on the couch, I found myself replaying the moment when I thought Bryce might kiss me, still trying to figure it out.
Hoping to get my mind off it, I retrieved my textbooks and spent the next hour and a half studying and doing homework. My aunt eventually emerged from her room to start dinner, and as I was dicing tomatoes for the salad, I heard the unmistakable rumble of a vehicle on the gravel outside. My aunt heard it, too, and raised an eyebrow, no doubt wondering if I’d invited Bryce for dinner.
“He didn’t mention that he would be coming over,” I said with a shrug. “Would you do me a favor and see who it is? I’ve got chicken in the
pan.”
I went to the door and recognized the Trickett family van in the driveway, Bryce’s mom behind the wheel. The sky had grown increasingly dark and the wind was gusting hard enough to make me grip the railing hard. When I reached the van, his mom rolled down the driver’s-side window and held out a manila envelope.
“I got the feeling you were in a hurry, so I started developing them as soon as you left. You took some wonderful shots. You caught a lot of character in some of the faces. I especially liked the one of the man smoking by the store.”
“I’m sorry if you felt like you had to rush,” I said, straining to be heard over the wind. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to take care of it before we lost power,” she said. “I’m sure you’re on pins and needles. I remember the first roll I ever took by myself, too.”
I swallowed. “Did the photo of Bryce come out?”
“It’s my favorite,” she said. “But of course, I’m biased.” “Are they back yet?”
“I’m guessing they’ll be home any minute, so I should probably get going.”
“Thank you again for doing this so fast.”
“My pleasure. If I had my way, I’d spend every day in the darkroom.”
I watched her back up, waved as the van started rolling forward, then scurried back into the house. In the living room, I turned on the lamp, wanting as much light as possible as I went through the photographs.
As I’d suspected, there were only a couple of good ones. Most were close, but not quite perfect. Either the focus was off, or the settings weren’t ideal. My composition wasn’t always great, either, but Bryce’s mom was right in thinking the photo of the smoker was a definite keeper. It was the one of Bryce, however, that made me almost gasp.
The focus was sharp and the lighting dramatic. I had caught him just as his upper body had turned in my direction; the muscles in his arms stood out as if etched in relief, and his expression reflected intense concentration. He looked very much like himself, unselfconscious and naturally graceful. I traced my fingertip lightly across his figure.
It dawned on me then that Bryce—just like my aunt—had come into my life at the time when I’d needed him most. More than that, he’d quickly become the closest friend I’d ever had, and I hadn’t been wrong in reading his desire. Had we been alone, he might have even attempted a kiss, even if we both knew it was the last thing I wanted or needed. Like me, he had to know that there was no way a relationship between us could ever work. In a few short months, I’d leave Ocracoke behind and become someone new again, someone I didn’t yet know. Our relationship was doomed to failure, but even as that knowledge weighed me down, I knew in my heart that— just like Bryce—I longed for something more between us.
* * *
My thoughts continued to tumble and flop like clothes in a dryer throughout dinner and even as the storm approached. It howled as darkness overtook us, growing in intensity with every passing hour. Rain and wind lashed the house, making it creak and shake. My aunt and I sat in the living room, neither one of us wanting to be alone. Just when I thought the storm couldn’t get any worse, we’d be slammed by another gust, and rain would pound so hard it sounded like firecrackers. The power, as predicted, went out and the living room went pitch black. We bundled up, knowing we had to get the generator started. As soon as Aunt Linda turned the knob, the door practically flew inward; the rain stung my face as we hurried down the steps, both of us gripping the railing so we wouldn’t blow away.
Beneath the house, the wind kept me unsteady on my feet, but at least we were out of the downpour. I watched my aunt struggle to get the generator started; I took over and was finally able to get it going on the third attempt. We fought our way back into the house, where Aunt Linda lit a bunch of candles and plugged in the refrigerator. The tiny flickers did little to illuminate the room.
I finally fell asleep on the sofa sometime after midnight. The storm continued to rage until just after dawn. While it was still windy, the rain eventually diminished to a drizzle before finally stopping midmorning. Only then did we step outside to survey the damage.
A tree on the neighbor’s property had toppled over, limbs scattered everywhere, and patches of shingles had been ripped from the roof. The road out front was under more than a foot of water. Neighboring docks had twisted or been torn away completely, the debris nearly reaching the house. The air was frigid, the wind positively arctic.
Bryce and his father showed up an hour before noon. By then, the wind was a whisper of what it had been. Aunt Linda brought out a bag of leftover biscuits while I started toward Bryce. As I walked, I tried to convince myself that my feelings from the day before were akin to a dream upon waking. They weren’t real; they were nothing but flickers and sparks fated to vanish completely. But when I saw him reach for the ladder in the bed of the truck, I thought again about the way he’d paused before me and knew I was only kidding myself.
His smile was as ready as ever. He was wearing the s*xy olive jacket again and a baseball hat along with his jeans and the tool belt. I kind of felt like I was floating but did my best to appear nonchalant, like it was just another day for us.
“What did you think about the storm?” he asked.
“That was crazy last night.” It sounded like my words were coming from somewhere else. “How does the rest of the town look?”
He set the ladder on the ground. “There are a lot of toppled trees and there’s no power anywhere. Utility crews will hopefully get here this afternoon, but who knows? One of the motels and a couple of other businesses flooded, and half of the downtown buildings have roof damage. I guess the big thing was that one of the boats broke free and washed onto the road near the hotel.”
Because he seemed like his normal, casual self, I felt myself relaxing. “Was my aunt’s shop damaged?”
“Not that I saw,” he said. “We took down the plywood, but obviously we weren’t able to go inside to check for leaks.”
“And your house?”
“Just some downed limbs in the yard. Gwen and my grandparents were okay, too. But if you’re planning to try for some pictures today, watch for downed power lines. Especially in flooded spots. They can kill.”
I hadn’t thought about that, and visions of getting electrocuted made me shiver. “I’m just going to hang with my aunt, maybe do a little studying. But I’d still like to see the damage and maybe take some pictures.”
“How about I come by later and drive you around? I can grab some more film.”
“Will you have time?”
“Taking the boards down goes a lot faster than putting them up, and my grandpa already took care of the boat.”
When I agreed, he hoisted the ladder and carried it toward the porch. From there, Bryce and his father reversed the process from the day before; the only difference was that they used a caulk gun to fill in the screw holes. While they worked, my aunt and I began cleaning the debris from the yard, piling it near the street. We were still working when Bryce and his father backed down the drive.
With the yard done, Aunt Linda and I returned to the house, blinking at the light streaming through the windows. My aunt immediately went to the kitchen and started making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“Bryce said the shop seemed okay,” I commented.
“His dad said the same thing, but I need to head over there in a little while to make sure.”
“I forgot to ask, but does the shop have a generator?”
She nodded. “It comes on automatically when the power goes out. Or it’s supposed to, anyway. That’s another thing I want to check on. People will want biscuits and books tomorrow, since there won’t be much in the way of cooking or anything to do until the power’s restored. It’ll be swamped until then.”
I thought about volunteering to help, but because I hadn’t had my biscuit-making lesson with Bryce yet, I figured I’d just slow her down.
“Bryce is going to come by later,” I said. “We’re going to see what happened in the storm.”
She put the sandwiches on plates and brought them to the table. “Be careful of downed power lines.”
It seemed clear that everyone knew about this potential hazard but me. “We will.”
“I’m sure you’ll enjoy spending time with him.” “We’re probably just going to take photographs.”
I’m pretty sure Aunt Linda noticed my deflection, but she didn’t press.
Instead, she smiled.
“Then you’ll probably become an excellent photographer one day.”
* * *
After lunch I studied, or tried to, anyway. I kept getting interrupted by the sight of the manila envelope, which seemed to insist that I peek at Bryce’s picture instead.
It was several hours before Bryce pulled up. As soon as I heard the truck idling in the driveway, I grabbed the camera and started down the steps, grinning at the sight of Daisy in the bed. She whined and wagged her tail as I approached, so I stopped to give her some love. Bryce, meanwhile, had hopped out and rounded the truck so he could open the door for me, and my heart did the crazy pitter-patter thing again. He offered an arm to help me up—he’d showered and I could see drops of water still dripping from his hair—and when he closed the door, a voice inside scolded me to get a grip.
We drove through town, chatting easily while stopping here and there to take photos. Near the hotel, where the boat was resting on its side in the middle of the road, I spent a lot of time trying to get just the right shot. In the end, I handed the camera to Bryce to let him try, and I found myself watching him walk away, noting again the fluid way he moved. I knew he was working out to get ready for West Point, but his natural grace and coordination made me think that he would have been good at any sport.
Then again, why should that surprise me? Bryce, as far as I could tell, seemed to be good at everything. He was the perfect son and older brother, smart and athletic, handsome and empathetic. Best of all, he made all of it seem effortless. Even his demeanor was like no one else’s I’d known, especially when compared to the boys at my school. A lot of them seemed nice enough when I talked with them one-on-one, but when they hung out
with their friends, they’d preen and act cool and say idiotic things and I’d end up wondering who they really were.
And yet, if Madison and Jodie found their attention flattering—and they definitely did—I wondered what they’d think of Bryce. Oh, they’d notice right off the bat that he was cute, but would they care about his intelligence or his patience or his interest in photography? Or that he was training an assistance dog to help someone in a wheelchair? Or that he was the kind of teenager who helped his father board up homes for people like Aunt Linda and Gwen?
I wasn’t sure, but I had the sense that for Madison and Jodie, the way he looked would have been more than enough, and the rest would be only mildly interesting. And, if J was any indication, I’d probably been the same way before I’d arrived here and met a guy who’d given me a reason to change my mind.
But why was that? I used to think I was mature for my age, but adulthood still seemed like a mirage, and I wondered if part of that had to do with high school in general. When I thought back, it seemed like I’d spent all my time trying to get people to like me, as opposed to figuring out whether I liked them. Bryce hadn’t gone to school or had to deal with all those idiotic pressures, so maybe for him, that had never been an issue. He’d been free to be himself, and it made me wonder who I would have become had I not been so caught up in trying to be exactly like my friends.
It was too much to think about and I shook my head, trying to force the thoughts away. Bryce had climbed on top of a dumpster to get a better view of the boat in the road. Daisy, who’d tagged along with him, stared upward before finally remembering my presence. She trotted toward me, tail wagging, then curled around my legs. Her brown eyes were so friendly, I couldn’t help but lean over. I cupped her jaw in my hands and kissed her on the nose. As I did, I heard the faint sound of a shutter clicking. When I glanced up, Bryce—still on the dumpster—wore a sheepish expression as he lowered the camera.
“I’m sorry,” he called out. He jumped down, landing like a gymnast, and started toward me. “I know I should have asked, but I couldn’t resist.”
Though I’d never liked photos of myself, I shrugged. “It’s okay. I took one of you yesterday.”
“I know,” he said. “I saw you.” “You did?”
He shrugged without answering. “What next? Anything else you want to see or do?”
At his questions, my thoughts began to race.
“Why don’t we hang out at my aunt’s house for a while?”
* * *
Aunt Linda had gone to the shop, leaving Bryce and me alone. We sat on the sofa, me on one end with my feet tucked up and Bryce on the opposite end. He was flipping through some of the photos I’d taken the day before, complimenting me even when I’d done something obviously wrong. Right before he got to the photograph of him, I suddenly felt the tiniest sensation in my tummy, like a butterfly flapping its wings. I automatically put my hands on my belly but otherwise stayed completely still. He must have asked a question, but concentrating hard, I missed it.
“What is it? Are you okay?”
Lost in what I was experiencing, I didn’t answer; instead, I closed my eyes. Sure enough, I eventually felt the fluttering again, like ripples moving through a pond. Though I had no prior experience, I knew exactly what it was.
“I felt the baby move.”
I waited for a bit but when nothing else happened, I settled into a more comfortable position. I knew from the book my mom had given me that in the not-too-distant future, those flickers would become kicks and my stomach would move on its own like that super-gross and scary scene in Alien. Bryce remained quiet but had paled a little, which seemed kind of funny, since he was ordinarily unflappable.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” I teased.
The sound of my voice seemed to snap him out of it. “I’m sorry,” he responded. “I know you’re pregnant, but I don’t ever really think about it. You haven’t even put on any weight.”
I rewarded his lie with a grateful smile. I’d put on thirteen pounds. “I think your mom knows I’m pregnant.”
“I didn’t tell her anything—”
“You didn’t have to. It’s a mom thing.”
Strangely, I realized that it was the first time my pregnancy had come up since we’d decorated the Christmas tree. I could tell he was curious but didn’t know how to express it.
“It’s okay to ask me questions about it,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
He set the photos on the coffee table, his expression thoughtful. “I know you just felt the baby move, but what’s it like to be pregnant? Do you feel any different?”
“I had morning sickness for a long time, so I definitely felt it then, but now it’s mainly just small things. I’m more sensitive to smell, and sometimes I feel like I need a nap. And, of course, I pee a lot, but you already know that. Other than that, I haven’t noticed much. I’m sure that will change once I start getting even bigger.”
“When’s the baby due?” “May ninth.”
“It’s that exact?”
“According to the doctor. Pregnancies last two hundred and eighty days.”
“I didn’t know that.” “Why would you?”
He laughed under his breath before growing serious again. “Is it scary?
The thought of giving up your baby for adoption?”
I deliberated over my answer. “Yes and no. I mean, I hope the baby will go to a wonderful couple, but you never really know. That part does kind of scare me when I think about it. At the same time, I know I’m not ready to be a mom yet. I’m still in high school, so there’s no way I could support her. I don’t even know how to drive.”
“You don’t have your driver’s license?”
“I was supposed to start driver’s training in November, but coming here sort of nixed that.”
“I can teach you how to drive. If my parents say it’s okay, I mean. And your aunt, of course.”
“Really?”
“Why not? There’s hardly ever any cars on the road to the far end of the island. It’s where my dad taught me.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I ask another question about the baby?” “Of course.”
“Do you get to name her?”
“I don’t think so. When I went to the doctor, the only thing he asked was whether I wanted to hold the baby after giving birth.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t answer, but I don’t think I will. I’m afraid that if I do, it might be harder to give her up.”
“Have you ever thought about names? If you could name her, I mean?” “I’ve always liked the name Chloe. Or Sofia.”
“Those are beautiful names. Maybe they should let you name her.”
I liked that. “I have to admit, I’m not looking forward to labor. With first babies, sometimes it can last for more than a day. And I have no idea how an entire baby will…”
I didn’t finish, but that was okay. I knew he understood when I saw him wince.
“If it makes you feel better, my mom has never mentioned how hard labor was. She does, however, remind us that none of us were good sleepers, and that we’re still responsible for making up for her sleep- deprived years.”
“That would be hard. I do like sleeping.”
He brought his hands together and I saw the muscles in his forearm flex. “If you leave in May, will you go straight back to school?”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I guess it depends on whether I’m all caught up or even ahead. I might not need to be there except for finals, and I might be able to take them at home. I’m sure my parents will have an opinion on it, too.” I ran a hand through my hair. “They’re supposed to come visit me at the end of the month.”
“I’m sure it will be nice for you to see them.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, but the truth was, I felt ambivalent about it. Unlike my aunt, they weren’t the most relaxing people to be around.
“Do you have any crazy cravings?”
“I love my aunt’s beef Stroganoff, mainly because it’s the best ever. And right now, I’m kind of in the mood for a grilled cheese sandwich, but I don’t know if that counts as a craving. I’ve always liked them.”
“Do you want me to make you one?”
“That’s sweet, but I’ll be okay. My aunt will be making dinner soon.”
He scanned the room, as if casting about for something else to ask. “How are your studies going?”
“Oh, don’t ruin the conversation,” I said. “I don’t want to think about school right now.”
“I will admit it’s a relief to be finished with high school.” “When do you have to leave for West Point?”
“In July,” he said. “Are you excited?”
“It’ll be different,” he said. “It’s not like being homeschooled. There’s a lot of structure and I hope I’ll be able to handle it. I just want to make my parents proud.”
I almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of what he’d just said. I mean, what parent wouldn’t be proud of him? It took me a moment before I suddenly realized he was serious.
“They are proud of you.”
He reached for the camera, lifted it, then carefully set it back in the same position. “I know you’ve mentioned that your sister, Morgan, is the perfect one,” he said, “but it’s not easy having Richard and Robert as brothers, either.” His voice was soft enough that I had to strain to hear him as he went on. “Did you know that they took the SAT last September? Remember, they’re only twelve, and both of them got nearly perfect scores: 1570 and 1580, which were a lot higher than I scored. And who knows if Richard will even need to go to college? He could go straight into a career in coding. You know about the internet, right? It’s going to change the world, trust me on that, and Richard is already making a name for himself in the field. He earns more than my grandfather does, working part-time and freelancing. He’ll probably be a millionaire by the time he’s my age. Robert will do the same. I think he’s a bit jealous about the money, so for the last couple of months, he’s been working with Richard on programming, in addition to building his plane. And of course, he finds it laughably easy. How can I compete with brothers like that?”
When he finished, I couldn’t say anything. His insecurity made no sense at all…except that in his family, it kind of did. “I had no idea.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m proud of how smart they are, but it still makes me feel like I have to do something extraordinary, too. And West Point will be a challenge, even though I’m under no illusions that I’ll ever be able to replicate what my father did there.”
“What did he do?”
“Every West Point graduate receives a final rating based on academics, merits, and demerits, which are influenced by character, leadership, honor, and things like that. My dad had the fourth-highest score in West Point history, right after Douglas MacArthur.”
I’d never heard of Douglas MacArthur, but by the way Bryce said the name, I figured he’d been someone pretty important.
“And then, of course, there’s my mom and MIT at sixteen…”
The more I thought about it, the more his insecurity began to seem justified, even if the standards in his family belonged in outer space.
“I’m sure you’ll be a general by the time you graduate.”
“Impossible.” He laughed. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”
Outside, I heard my aunt’s car pull onto the rutted drive and a loud squeak as the engine wound down.
Bryce must have heard it, too. “The drive belt makes that noise. It probably needs to be tightened. I can fix that for her.”
I heard Aunt Linda coming up the steps before she pushed open the door. Her eyes went to the two of us and though she didn’t say it, I was pretty sure she was happy about the fact that we were on opposite sides of the couch. “Hey there,” she said.
“How’d it go?” I asked.
She took off her jacket. “No leaks and the generator is working fine.” “Oh, good. Bryce says he can fix your car.”
“What’s wrong with my car?”
“The drive belt needs to be tightened.”
She seemed confused by the fact that I’d said it, not Bryce. When I glanced at him, I could tell he was still pondering his recent admissions. “Can Bryce stay for dinner?”
“Of course he can,” she said. “But it’s not going to be anything fancy.” “Grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“Is that what you’d like? Maybe with soup?” “Perfect.”
“Easy for me, too. How about in an hour?”
I felt my craving burst forth like popcorn cooking in the microwave. “I can’t wait.”
* * *
After dinner, I walked Bryce to the door. On the porch, he turned around.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I asked.
“I’ll be here at nine. Thanks for dinner.” “Thank my aunt, not me. I just do the dishes.”
“I already thanked her.” He tucked a hand into his pocket before going on. “I had a nice time today,” he said. “Getting to know you better, I mean.”
“I did, too. Even if you lied to me.” “When did I lie?”
“When you said I didn’t look pregnant.” “You don’t,” he said. “Not at all.”
“Yeah, well”—I gave a wry smile—“just wait a month.”
* * *
The next week and a half was a blur of test prep for finals, getting a head start on next semester’s assignments, and photography. I had a quick examination with Gwen, who said that both the baby and I were doing well. I also started paying for the film and photography paper I was using; Bryce’s mom ordered in bulk so it was less expensive. Bryce was hesitant to take the money, but I was using so much film, it only seemed right. Best of all, with every roll I seemed to be getting a little bit better.
Bryce, for his part, almost always developed my film at night, when I did my extra schoolwork. We would review the contact sheets the next morning and decide together which images to print. He also helped me make flashcards when I thought I needed them, quizzed me on the chapters I needed to know in every subject, and pretty much had me ready for anything by the time my finals came around. I’m not going to say I aced them, but considering where my grades had been, I almost pulled a shoulder muscle patting myself on the back. Aside from that—and watching Bryce tighten the drive belt in my aunt’s car—the only big thing left to do was have my aunt teach us how to make biscuits at the shop.
We went in on a Saturday, a few days before my parents were to arrive.
My aunt had us wear aprons and went through each step with us.
As for the secrets, they really came down to this: It was important to use White Lily self-rising flour, not any other brand, and to sift the flour before measuring because it made the biscuits fluffier. Add Crisco, buttermilk, and a bit of (super-secret) confectioners’ sugar, which some people in the South might consider blasphemous. After that, it was all about being careful not to overwork the dough when you mixed it together. Oh, and never twist the biscuit cutter; press it straight down after the dough has been rolled out. Then, when the biscuits are fresh and hot from the oven, coat both sides of them with melted butter.
Naturally, Bryce asked a zillion questions and took the lesson way more seriously than I did. When he took a bite, he practically moaned like a little kid. When my aunt said that he could share the recipe with his mother, he looked almost outraged.
“Not a chance. This was my gift.”
* * *
Later that afternoon, Bryce finally showed me the photo he’d taken of me and Daisy when we’d been checking out the village after the storm.
“I printed one for you, too,” he said, handing it to me. We were in his truck, parked near the lighthouse. I’d just taken a few sunset photos, and the sky was already beginning to darken. “In truth, my mom helped me print it, but you get the point.”
I could see why he’d wanted one for himself. It really was an endearing photo, even if I happened to be in it. He’d cropped the image to capture only our faces in profile and he’d caught the instant when my lips touched Daisy’s nose; my eyes were closed, but Daisy’s were brimming with adoration. And best of all, my body wasn’t shown, which made it easy to imagine the whole oops! thing had never happened at all.
“Thank you,” I said, continuing to stare at the image. “I wish I could shoot as well as you do. Or your mom.”
“You’re a lot better than I was when I first started. And some of your shots are fantastic.”
Maybe, I thought. But maybe not. “I’ve been meaning to ask you if you think it’s okay that I’m in the darkroom. Being that I’m pregnant, I mean.”
“I asked my mom about that,” he said. “Don’t worry—I didn’t mention you—but she said she worked in the darkroom when she was pregnant. She said that as long as you use rubber gloves and aren’t in there every day, it isn’t dangerous.”
“That’s good,” I said. “I love watching the images start to materialize on the paper. One second, there’s nothing there…and then little by little, the picture comes to life.”
“I totally get it. For me, it’s an essential part of the experience,” he added. “I wonder, though, what’s going to happen when digital photography catches on. My guess is no one will develop pictures at all anymore.”
“What’s digital photography?”
“Instead of film, images are stored on a disk in the camera that you can then plug into a computer without having to use a scanner. They might even
have cameras where you can see the pictures right away on a little screen in the back.”
“That’s a real thing?”
“It will be, I’m sure,” he said. “The cameras are super expensive now, but just like computers, I’m sure the cost will keep dropping. In time, I think most people will want to use those kinds of cameras instead. Including me.”
“That’s kind of sad,” I said. “It takes some of the magic away.” “It’s the future,” he said. “And nothing lasts forever.”
I couldn’t help wondering whether he might also be referring to the two of us.
* * *
As my parents’ visit drew near, I began to feel antsy, a low-level nervousness that hummed beneath the surface. They were flying to New Bern on Wednesday and would take the early ferry to Ocracoke on Thursday morning. They weren’t staying long—only through Sunday afternoon—and the plan was for all of us to go to church and say our goodbyes in the parking lot right after the service.
On Thursday morning, I woke earlier than usual to shower and get ready, but even when Bryce showed up, I still had trouble concentrating on my studies. Not that there was much of anything to do—with finals behind me, I was plowing through second-semester work at a pace that would have made even Morgan proud. Bryce could tell I was anxious and I’m pretty sure Daisy picked up on it, too. At least twice an hour she’d come to my side and nuzzle at my hand before whining, the sound coming from deep within her throat. Despite her efforts to put me at ease, when Aunt Linda showed up to drive me over to the ferry so I could meet my parents, my legs were wobbly as I stood from the chair.
“It’s going to be all right,” Bryce said. He was stacking my work into neat little piles on the kitchen table.
“I hope so,” I said. As distracted as I’d been, I hardly noticed how cute he was or how much I’d come to depend on him lately.
“Are you sure you still want me to come over tomorrow?” “My parents said they wanted to meet you.”
I didn’t mention that the thought of being alone in the house with my parents while Aunt Linda was at the shop kind of terrified me.
By then, my aunt had poked her head inside the front door.
“You ready? The ferry should be here in ten minutes.” “Almost,” I told her. “We were just cleaning up.”
I dropped off my schoolwork in my bedroom, and after grabbing my jacket, Bryce followed me down the stairs. He offered a quick wink as he hopped into his truck, which gave me the encouragement I needed to crawl into my aunt’s car, despite my nerves.
It was cold and gray as we drove to the docks. My parents’ rental car was the second vehicle to roll off the ferry. When they saw us, my dad pulled the car to a stop and we walked over to join them.
Hugs and kisses, a couple of good to see yous, no comments about my size, probably because they wanted to pretend I wasn’t pregnant at all, and then I was back in the car with my aunt. My eyes occasionally flashed to the side mirror while my parents followed us home, and after parking beside us, they got out of the car and stared at the house. In the gloom, it struck me as shabbier than usual.
“So this is it, huh?” my mom asked, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. “I understand why we had to book a room at the hotel. It seems kind of small.”
“It’s comfortable and has a great view of the water,” I offered. “The ferry seemed to take forever. Is it always that slow?”
“I guess so,” I said. “But after a while, you get used to it.”
“Hmm,” she said. My dad, meanwhile, remained quiet, and my mom added nothing more.
“How about some lunch?” my aunt chimed in with forced cheer. “I made chicken salad earlier and thought we could do sandwiches.”
“I’m allergic to mayonnaise,” my mom said.
Aunt Linda recovered quickly. “I think I still have meatloaf leftovers, and I could make you a sandwich with that.”
My mom nodded; my dad remained silent. The four of us started up toward the front door, the pit in my stomach growing larger with every step.
* * *
Somehow, we made it through lunch, but the conversation was just as stilted. Whenever an uncomfortable silence settled over the table, Aunt Linda reverted to talking about the shop, chattering away as though their visit was nothing out of the ordinary. Afterward, we all piled into my aunt’s car for a quick tour of the village. She pretty much repeated the same things she’d told me when she’d first shown me around, and I’m pretty sure my
parents were as unimpressed as I had been. In the back seat, my mom appeared almost shell-shocked.
They seemed to like the shop, though. Gwen was there and even though they’d eaten, she insisted on giving them dessert biscuits, which were essentially biscuits made with blueberries and topped with a sugary glaze. Gwen immediately picked up on the awkward vibe with my family and kept the conversation light. In the book area, she pointed out some of her favorites, in case either of my parents was interested. They weren’t—my parents weren’t readers—but they nodded anyway, making me feel like we were participating in a play where all of the characters wanted to be somewhere else.
Back at the house, Aunt Linda and my dad began chatting about family
—their other sisters and my cousins—so after a while, my mom cleared her throat.
“How about we take a walk on the beach?” she suggested to me.
She made it sound like I didn’t have much of a choice, and the two of us drove to the beach, parking the rental car near the dune.
“I thought the beach would be closer,” she said. “The village is on the sound side.”
“How do you get here?” she asked. “I ride my bike.”
“You have a bike?”
“Aunt Linda picked it up at a garage sale before I arrived.”
“Oh,” she said. Back at home, she knew, my bike was in the garage, with tires cracking and low on air from disuse, the seat covered in dust. “At least you’re getting outside now and then. You’re too pale.”
I shrugged without answering. We got out of the car and I zipped my jacket up all the way before stuffing my hands in my pockets. Starting for the water’s edge, we skirted the dune, our feet sinking and sliding with every step. It wasn’t until we’d started up the beach that my mom spoke again.
“Morgan said to tell you that she wished she could come. But she’s the lead in the school play and there were rehearsals. She’s also trying for a scholarship with the Rotary, even though she’s already earned enough in scholarships to cover most of her tuition.”
“I’m sure she’ll get it,” I mumbled. Which was true, and though I felt the familiar pang of insecurity, I realized it didn’t make me feel as bad
about myself as it had in the past.
We walked a few more steps before I heard my mom’s voice again. “She says that the two of you haven’t spoken in the last couple of weeks.”
I wondered if Aunt Linda had mentioned that she took the phone cord with her to work. “I’ve been really busy with school. I’ll call her next week.”
“Why did you fall so far behind in the first place? Your aunt was really worried about you, and so were your teachers.”
I felt my shoulders sag a little. “I guess it just took me a while to adjust to being here.”
“You’re not missing anything back home.”
I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Have you heard from Madison or Jodie?”
“They haven’t called the house, if that’s what you’re asking.” “Do you know what they’ve been up to?”
“I have no idea. I suppose I could ask Morgan when I get home.” “That’s okay,” I said, knowing my mom wouldn’t. To her mind, the less
people were talking or wondering about me, the better.
“If you want to write them letters,” she went on, “I suppose I can have them delivered for you. Of course, you can’t be too specific or hint at what’s really going on.”
“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t want to lie to them, and since I couldn’t tell the truth, either, I wouldn’t have anything to say.
She adjusted her jacket collar to cover her neck. “What did you think about the doctor Linda found? I know Gwen could probably deliver the baby, but I told Linda that I’d be more comfortable if you were in a hospital.”
As soon as she asked, I immediately visualized Dr. Chinowith’s giant hands. “He’s older, but he seems nice and Gwen has worked with him a lot. I’m having a girl, by the way.”
“The doctor’s a man?” “Is that a problem?”
She didn’t seem to want to answer and simply shook her head. “Anyway, you’ll be home and back to normal in just a few more months.”
At a loss, I asked, “How’s Dad doing?”
“He’s had to work overtime because there’s a big order for the new planes. But other than that, he’s the same.”
I thought about Bryce’s parents and the tender way they treated each other, which was so different from mine. “Are you still going out to dinner twice a month?”
“Not lately,” she said. “There was a plumbing leak and between getting that repaired, Christmas, and coming out here to see you, we’ve been on a tight budget.”
Even though she probably hadn’t meant to, that made me feel bad. In fact, the whole walk was making me feel more depressed than I’d been before they arrived. But it got me to wondering…
“I guess the tutoring is expensive, too.” “That’s being taken care of.”
“By Aunt Linda?”
“No,” she said. She seemed to debate before explaining and finally sighed. “Some of your expenses are being taken care of by the prospective parents, through the agency. Your school, the part of your doctor’s bills that our insurance won’t cover, your flights out here and back. Even a little spending money for you.”
Which explained the envelope of cash she’d given me in the airport. “Have you met the parents? I mean, are they nice people?”
“I haven’t met them. But I’m sure they’ll be loving parents.” “How do you know for sure if you haven’t met them?”
“Your aunt and her friend Gwen have worked with this particular agency before and they know the woman in charge, so she screened the candidates personally. She’s very experienced, and I’m sure she’s evaluated the prospective parents thoroughly. That’s really all I know, and you shouldn’t want to know more than that, either. The less you worry, the easier it will be in the end.”
I suspected she was right. Even though the baby was moving regularly now, my pregnancy still didn’t always seem real. My mom knew better than to harp on the subject, so she let it pass. “It’s been quiet in the house since you’ve been gone.”
“It’s quiet here, too.”
“Seems like it. I guess I thought the town would be bigger. It’s so remote. I mean…what do people do here?”
“They fish and cater to tourists. In the off season, they fix their boats and equipment and hunker down for the winter,” I answered. “Or they own
or work for small businesses that keep the town up and running, like Aunt Linda does. It’s not an easy life. People have to work hard to get by.”
“I don’t think I could live here.”
But it was okay for me, right? And yet…“It’s not all bad.” “Because of Bryce?”
“He’s my tutor.”
“And he’s teaching you photography, too?”
“His mom got him into it. It’s been a lot of fun and I think I might keep it up when I get back home.”
“Do you ever go to his house?”
I was still wondering why she didn’t seem interested in my new passion. “Sometimes.”
“Are his parents home when you visit?”
With that, I suddenly understood where all this was coming from. “His mom is always there. His brothers are usually there, too.”
“Oh,” she said, but in that single syllable, I could hear her relief. “Would you like to see some of the photos I’ve taken?”
She walked a few steps without saying anything. “It’s great you found a hobby, but don’t you think you should be concentrating on school instead? Maybe use your free time to study on your own?”
“I do study on my own,” I said, hearing the defensiveness in my tone. “You saw my grades, and I’m already way ahead this semester, too.” From the corner of my eye, I could see the waves rolling steadily toward the shore, as though trying to erase our footprints.
“I’m just wondering if you’re spending too much time with Bryce, instead of working on yourself.”
“What do you mean by working on myself? I’m doing okay in school, I’ve found a cool hobby, I’ve even made friends…”
“Friends? Or friend?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, there aren’t a lot of people here my age.” “I’m just worried about you, Margaret.”
“Maggie,” I reminded her, knowing my mom only used Margaret when she was upset. “And you don’t have to worry about me.”
“Have you forgotten why you’re here?”
Her comment stung, reminding me that no matter what I did, I would always be the daughter who let her down. “I know why I’m here.”
She nodded, saying nothing, her eyes darting downward. “You’re barely showing.”
My hands went automatically to my belly. “The sweater you bought hides a lot.”
“Are those maternity pants?” “I had to get them last month.”
She smiled, but it couldn’t hide her sadness. “We miss you, you know.” “I miss you, too.” And in that moment, I did, even if she sometimes
made it very hard to do.
* * *
My interactions with my father were just as awkward. He spent nearly all of Thursday afternoon with my aunt, the two of them either sitting at the kitchen table or standing out back, near the water’s edge. Even at dinner, he didn’t say much to me other than “Can you pass the corn?” Tired from their trip, or maybe just stressed out of their minds, my parents left for their hotel not long after dinner was over.
When they returned the following morning, they saw Bryce and me working at the table. After a quick introduction—Bryce was his normal charming self while my parents studied him with reserved expressions— they sat in the living room, speaking quietly while we went back to work. Even though I was ahead in my assignments, their presence while I was studying made me nervous anyway. To say the whole thing felt weird was an understatement.
Bryce picked up on the tension, so we both agreed to make it an early day and finished by lunch. Aside from my aunt’s shop, there were only a few places to eat, and my parents and I ended up at the Pony Island Restaurant. I’d never been there, and though it served only breakfast food, my parents didn’t seem to mind. I had French toast, as did my mom, while my dad had eggs and bacon. Afterward, they poked around my aunt’s shop while I went back to the house to nap. By the time I got up, my mom was talking to Aunt Linda, who’d already returned to the house. My dad was drinking coffee on the porch and I went out to join him, sitting in the other rocker. My first thought was that he looked as low as I’d ever seen him.
“How are you doing, Dad?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t noticed. “I’m okay,” he said. “How about you?”
“I’m kind of tired, but that’s normal. According to the book, anyway.”
His eyes flashed to my stomach, then up again. I adjusted myself in the chair, trying to get more comfortable. “How’s work? Mom says you’ve had a lot of overtime lately.”
“There are a lot of orders for the new 777-300,” he said, as though everyone shared his expertise in Boeing aircraft.
“That’s good, right?”
“It’s a living,” he grunted. He took a sip of his coffee. I shifted in my seat again, wondering if my bladder would start screaming at me, giving me an excuse to go back into the house. It didn’t.
“I’ve enjoyed learning photography,” I ventured. “Oh,” he said. “Good.”
“Would you like to see some of my photographs?”
It took him a few seconds to answer. “I wouldn’t know what I was seeing.” In the silence after his answer, I could see the steam rising from his coffee before quickly vanishing, a temporary mirage. Then, as if knowing it was his turn to move the conversation forward, he sighed. “Linda says you’ve been a big help around the house.”
“I try,” I said. “She gives me chores, but that’s okay. I like your sister.” “She’s a good lady.” He seemed to be trying hard to avoid looking in
my direction. “I still don’t know why she moved here.” “Have you asked her?”
“She said that once she and Gwen left the order, they wanted to live a quiet life. I thought convents were quiet.”
“Were you close growing up?”
“She’s eleven years older than me, so she took care of me and our sisters after school when I was little. But she moved away when she was nineteen and I didn’t see her again for a long time. She’d write me letters, though. I always liked her letters. And after your mom and I were married, she came out to visit a couple of times.”
It was as much as my dad ever said in one go, which kind of startled
me.
“I only remember her visiting us once, when I was little.”
“It wasn’t easy for her to get away. And after she moved to Ocracoke,
she couldn’t.”
I stared at him. “Are you really doing okay, Dad?”
It took him a long time to answer. “I’m just sad is all. Sad for you, sad for our family.”
I knew he was being honest, but just like the things my mom had said, his words made me ache.
“I’m sorry, and I’m doing my best to make it right.” “I know you are.”
I swallowed. “Do you still love me?”
For the first time, he faced me, and his surprise was evident. “I’ll always love you. You’ll always be my baby girl.”
Peering over my shoulder, I could see my mom and my aunt at the table. “I think Mom is worried about me.”
He turned away again. “Neither of us wanted this for you.”
After that, we sat without speaking until my dad finally rose from his seat and went back inside for another cup of coffee, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
* * *
Later that evening, after my parents had gone back to the hotel, I sat in the living room with my aunt. Dinner had been awkward, with comments about the weather interspersed with long silences. Aunt Linda was sipping tea in the rocker while I lounged on the couch, my toes tucked under the pillow.
“It’s like they aren’t even happy to see me.”
“They’re happy,” she said. “It’s just that seeing you is harder for them than they thought it would be.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not the same girl who left them in November.”
“Of course I am,” I said, but as soon as the words came out, I knew they weren’t true. “They didn’t want to see my photographs,” I added.
Aunt Linda set her tea off to the side. “Did I tell you that when I worked with young women like you, we had a painting room set aside? With watercolors? There was a big window that overlooked the garden and nearly all the girls gave painting a try while they were there. Some of them even grew to love it, and when their parents visited, many wanted to show off their work. More often than not the parents said no.”
“Why?”
“Because they were afraid they’d see the artist’s reflection, instead of their own.”
She didn’t explain further, and later that night, while cuddling with Maggie-bear in bed, I thought about what she’d said. I imagined pregnant
girls in a bright, airy room in the convent with wildflowers blooming outside. I thought about how they felt as they lifted a brush, adding color and wonder to a blank canvas and feeling—if only for a brief moment—that they were like other girls their age, unburdened by past mistakes. And I knew that they felt the same way I did when I stared through the lens, that finding and creating beauty could illuminate even the darkest periods.
I understood then what my aunt had been trying to tell me, just as I knew my parents still loved me. I knew they wanted the best for me, now and in the future. But they wanted to see their own feelings in the photos, not mine. They wanted me to see myself in the same way they did.
My parents, I knew, wanted to see disappointment.
* * *
My epiphany didn’t lift my spirits, even if it helped me understand where my parents were coming from. Frankly, I was disappointed in me, too, but I’d tried to lock that feeling away into some unused corner of my brain because I didn’t have time to beat myself up in the way I once had. Nor did I want to. For my parents, almost everything I was doing had its roots in my mistake. And every time there was an empty seat at the table, every time they passed by my unused room, every time they received copies of grades that I earned across the country, they were reminded of the fact that I’d temporarily broken up the family while shattering the illusion that
—as my dad had put it—I was still their baby girl.
Nor did their visit improve. Saturday was pretty much the same as the day before except that Bryce didn’t come by. We explored the village again, which left them about as bored as I expected. I took a nap, and though I could feel the baby kicking whenever I lay down, I made sure not to tell them. I read and did homework assignments in my room with the door closed. I also wore my baggiest sweatshirts and a jacket, doing my best to pretend that I looked the same as I always had.
My aunt, thank God, carried the conversation whenever tension began to creep in. Gwen too. She joined us for dinner on Saturday night, and between the two of them, I barely had to speak at all. They also avoided any mention of Bryce or photography; instead, Aunt Linda kept the focus on family, and it was interesting to discover that my aunt knew even more about my other aunts and cousins than my parents. As she did with my father, she wrote to all of them regularly, which was yet another thing I
didn’t know about her. I guessed that she probably wrote the letters when she was at the shop, since I’d never seen her put pen to paper.
My dad and Aunt Linda also shared stories about growing up in Seattle when the city still had plenty of undeveloped land. Once in a while, Gwen talked about her life in Vermont, and I learned that her family had six prized cows that produced a rich butter used in some upscale restaurants in Boston. I appreciated what Aunt Linda and Gwen were doing, yet even as I listened, I found my thoughts wandering to Bryce. The sun was going down and had my parents not been here, he and I would have begun playing around with the camera, trying to capture the perfect light of the golden hour. In those moments, I realized, my world shrank to nothing but the task
at hand while expanding exponentially at the same time.
I wanted more than anything for my parents to share in my interest; I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted to tell them that I’d begun to imagine a career as a photographer. But then the subject turned to Morgan. My parents talked about her grades and her popularity and the violin and the scholarships she’d received to Gonzaga University. When I saw the way their eyes lit up, my gaze dropped, and I wondered whether my parents would ever glow with pride in the same way when talking about me.
* * *
On Sunday, they finally left. They were flying out in the afternoon, but we all caught the morning ferry, went to mass, and had lunch before we said our goodbyes in the parking lot. My mom and dad hugged me but neither of them shed a tear, even as I felt my own forming. After pulling back, I wiped my cheeks, and for the first time since they’d arrived, I felt something resembling sympathy from both of my parents.
“You’ll be home before you know it,” my mom assured me, and though all my dad did was nod, at least he looked at me. His expression was mournful as usual, but more than that, I detected helplessness.
“I’ll be okay,” I said, continuing to swipe at my eyes, and though I meant it, I’m not sure either of them believed me.
* * *
Bryce appeared at the door later that evening. I’d asked him to come over, and though it was chilly, we sat on the porch, in the same spot that my dad and I had a couple of days earlier.
I poured out the story of my parents’ visit, leaving nothing out, and Bryce didn’t interrupt. By the end, I was crying and he scooted his chair
closer to mine.
“I’m sorry it wasn’t the visit you wanted it to be,” he murmured. “Thanks.”
“Is there anything I can do to help you feel better?” “No.”
“I could drop Daisy off and you could snuggle with her tonight.” “I thought Daisy wasn’t supposed to get on the furniture.”
“She’s not. So how about I make you some hot chocolate instead?” “That’s okay.”
For the first time since I’d known him, he reached over and placed his hand on mine. He gave it a squeeze, his touch electric.
“It might not mean anything, but I think you’re amazing,” he said. “You’re smart and you have a great sense of humor and obviously, you already know how beautiful you are.”
I felt myself blush at his words, thankful for the darkness. I could still feel his hand on mine, radiating warmth up my arm. He seemed in no rush to let go.
“You know what I was thinking about?” I asked. “Right before you got here?”
“I have no idea.”
“I was thinking that even though my parents were here for only three days, it seemed like an entire month.”
He chuckled before meeting my eyes again. I felt his thumb teasing the back of my hand, featherlight.
“Do you want me to come by tomorrow to tutor? Because if you need a day to unwind, I completely understand.”
Avoiding Bryce, I knew, would make me feel even worse. “I want to keep going on my reading and my assignments,” I said, surprising even myself. “I’ll be okay after I get some sleep.”
His expression was gentle. “You know they love you, right? Your parents, I mean. Even if they aren’t too good at showing it?”
“I know,” I answered, but strangely, I found myself suddenly wondering whether he was talking about them, or about himself.
* * *
As we eased into February, Bryce and I fell back into our regular routine. It wasn’t quite the same as before, though. For starters, something deeper had taken root when I’d sensed he wanted to kiss me and had grown
even stronger when he’d taken my hand. Though he didn’t touch me again
—and certainly didn’t attempt a kiss—there was a new charge between us, a low-level and insistent hum that was almost impossible to ignore. I’d be doing a geometry problem and I’d catch him staring at me in a way that seemed unfamiliar, or he’d hand me the camera and hold it for an instant too long, making me pull, and I felt like he was trying to keep his emotions in check.
Meanwhile, I was sorting through my own feelings, especially right before drifting off to sleep. I’d get to the point of no return—that brief and hazy period where consciousness blends with the unconscious and things get swimmy—when all of a sudden, I’d picture him on the ladder or remember the way his touch had set my nerves on fire, and I’d immediately wake up.
My aunt, too, seemed to notice that my relationship with Bryce had… evolved. He was still having dinner with us two or three times a week, but instead of leaving immediately afterward, Bryce would sit with us in the living room for a while. Despite the lack of privacy—or maybe because of it—he and I began to develop our own secret nonverbal communication. He’d gently raise an eyebrow and I’d know that he was thinking the same thing that I was, or when I impatiently ran a hand through my hair, Bryce knew I wanted to change the subject. I thought we were pretty subtle about the whole thing, but Aunt Linda wasn’t easily fooled. After he’d finally gone home, she’d say something that would make me reflect on what she was really trying to tell me.
“I’m going to miss having you around here once you leave,” she’d say casually, or “How are you sleeping? Pregnancy can have all kinds of effects on hormones.”
I’m pretty sure it was her way of reminding me that falling for Bryce wasn’t in my best interest, even if she wouldn’t say it directly. The net effect was that I would reflect on her comments after acknowledging their underlying truth: my hormones were running wild and I was going to be leaving soon.
And yet, the heart is a funny thing, because even though I knew there was no future for Bryce and me, I would lie awake at night listening to the gentle lapping of sea against the shoreline, knowing that a big part of me simply didn’t care.
* * *
If I could point to a single notable change in my habits since I’d arrived in Ocracoke, it was my diligence when it came to schoolwork. By the second week of February, I was completing March assignments and I’d done well on all of my quizzes and exams. Simultaneously, I continued to grow more confident with the camera, and my proficiency was steadily improving. Chalk it up to our narrow focus on schoolwork and photography, but Valentine’s Day was just…okay.
I’m not saying that Bryce forgot about it. He showed up that morning with flowers, and though I was momentarily touched, I quickly noticed he’d brought two bouquets, one for me and one for my aunt, which sort of diminished their impact. I later confirmed that he’d gotten his mother flowers as well. All of which left me wondering whether everything that was happening between us was simply a hormone-induced fantasy.
Two nights later, however, he made up for it. It was Friday evening— we’d been together twelve hours by then—and my aunt was in the living room while we were on the porch. It was a warmer-than-usual night compared to what it had been, so we left the slider open slightly. I figured my aunt could hear us, and even though she had a book open in her lap, I suspected she was sneaking the occasional peek at us as well. Meanwhile, Bryce squirmed in his chair and shuffled his feet like the nervous teenager he was.
“I know you have to be up early on Sunday morning, but I was hoping you might be free tomorrow night.”
“What’s happening tomorrow night?”
“I’ve been building something with Robert and my dad,” he said. “I want to show it to you.”
“What is it?”
“A surprise,” he answered. Then, as though he was in danger of promising too much, he went on, the words coming quickly. “It’s not a big deal. And it has nothing to do with photography, but I was checking the weather and I think the conditions will be perfect. I guess I could show you during the day, but it will be a lot better at night.”
I had no idea what he was talking about; the only thing I knew for sure was that he was acting the same way he had before inviting me to the New Bern Christmas flotilla with his family. The sort-of date. He really was unbearably cute when he was nervous.
“I’ll have to check with my aunt.”
“Of course,” he said.
I waited and when he added nothing else, I asked the obvious. “Can you give me a little more information?”
“Oh yeah. Right. I was hoping to take you to dinner at Howard’s Pub, and then after that, the surprise. I can probably have you home by ten.”
Inwardly, I smiled, thinking that if a boy asked my parents whether I could stay out until ten, even they would have agreed. Well…in the past they would have, but maybe not now. But still, this sounded like a date date, not a sort-of date, and even though my heart suddenly boomed in my chest, I rotated in my rocker, trying to look calm and hoping to catch my aunt’s eye.
“Ten o’clock is fine,” she said, still gazing toward her book. “But no later.”
I faced Bryce again. “All good.”
He nodded. Shuffled his feet. Nodded again. “So…what time?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean what time do I have to be ready tomorrow?” “How about nine?”
Though I knew exactly what he meant, I pretended not to, just to be funny. “You’ll pick me up at nine, we’ll have dinner at Howard’s Pub, see the surprise, and you’ll have me home by ten?”
His eyes widened. “Nine in the morning,” he said. “For photos, I mean, and maybe a little Photoshop practice. There’s also this place on the island I want to show you. Only the locals know about it.”
“What place?”
“You’ll see,” he said. “I know I’m not making much sense, but…” He trailed off and I suppressed a thrill at the thought that he’d actually asked me out on a date date. Which sort of scared me but kind of excited me, too. “See you tomorrow?” he finally added.
“I can’t wait.”
And truth be told, I couldn’t.
* * *
My aunt was quiet after I closed the door. Oh, she hid it well—what with the open book and all—and she didn’t offer any remarks brewing with hidden meanings, but I sensed her concern, even though I felt like I was floating.
I slept well, better than I had in weeks, and woke feeling refreshed. I had breakfast with my aunt, and in the morning, Bryce and I shot some pictures near his house. Afterward, we worked with his mom at the computer. Bryce sat close to me, radiating heat, making it harder than usual to concentrate.
We had lunch at his house, then climbed in his truck. I thought he was taking me back to my aunt’s, but he turned onto a street I’d ridden down dozens of times but never really noticed.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“We’re taking a quick detour to Great Britain.”
I blinked. “You mean England? Like the country?” “Exactly,” he answered with a wink. “You’ll see.”
We passed a small cemetery on the left, then another on the right before he finally pulled the truck over. When we got out, he brought me to a granite memorial located near four neat rectangular graves surrounded by pine bark and bouquets of flowers, all encircled by a picket fence.
“Welcome to Great Britain,” he said. “You’ve lost me completely.”
“In 1942, HMT Bedfordshire was torpedoed by a German submarine just off the coast and four bodies washed ashore in Ocracoke. They were able to identify two of the men, but the other two were unknown. They’re buried here, and this spot has been leased to the British Commonwealth in perpetuity.”
There was more information on the memorial, including the names of everyone who’d been on the trawler. It seemed impossible that German submarines had patrolled here, in the waters of these desolate islands. Wasn’t there someplace else they should have been? Though World War II was a topic in my history books, my views of the war had been shaped by Hollywood movies more than books, and I found myself visualizing how horrible it must have been to be on board as an explosion ripped through the hull. That only four bodies were recovered out of the thirty-seven on board struck me as terrible and I wondered what had happened to the rest of the crew. Had they gone down with the ship, entombed in the hull? Or washed ashore elsewhere, or perhaps floated farther out to sea?
The whole thing gave me shivers, but then I’d never been really comfortable in cemeteries. When my grandparents had died—all four of them before I was ten—my parents would bring Morgan and me to their
graves, where we’d leave flowers. All I could ever think about was the fact that I was surrounded by dead people. I know death is pretty much unavoidable, but it still wasn’t something I liked to think about.
“Who put the flowers here? The families?”
“Probably the coast guard. They’re the ones who take care of the plots, even though it’s British territory.”
“Why were there German submarines here in the first place?”
“Our merchant fleet would pick up supplies in South America or the Caribbean or wherever, and then follow the Gulf Stream north, then over to Europe. But early on, the merchant ships were slow and unprotected, so they were easy targets for the submarines. Scores of merchant ships were sunk just offshore. That’s why the Bedfordshire was here. To help protect them.”
As I studied the neatly manicured graves, I realized many of the sailors on board the ship probably hadn’t been much older than I was and that the four people buried here were an ocean away from the relatives they’d left behind. I wondered if their parents had ever made the trip to Ocracoke to see how they’d been laid to rest, and how heartbreaking it was, no matter what the answer might be.
“It makes me sad,” I finally said, knowing why Bryce hadn’t suggested that we bring the camera. It was a place better remembered in person.
“Me too,” he offered.
“Thank you for bringing me here.”
He brought his lips together and after a while, we walked back to the truck, moving more slowly than usual.
* * *
After he dropped me off, I took a long nap and then called Morgan. I’d done that a couple of times since my mom and dad had visited, and we chatted for fifteen minutes. Or more accurately, Morgan did pretty much all the talking and all I had to do was listen. After hanging up, I started getting ready for my date. Clothing-wise, I was limited to the stretchy jeans and the new sweater I’d received for Christmas. Thankfully, my acne had receded, so I didn’t need a lot of foundation or powder. Nor did I go overboard with blush or eye shadow, but I did put on lip gloss.
For the first time, I could really tell I was pregnant. My face was rounder and I was just…bigger, especially my bust. I definitely needed
larger bras. I’d have to get them after church, which didn’t quite seem appropriate somehow, but it wasn’t like I had another option.
Aunt Linda was at the stove; she was planning on making beef Stroganoff and I knew Gwen would be joining her. The aroma of her cooking made my stomach rumble and she must have heard it. “Do you want some fruit? To tide you over until dinner?”
“I’ll be okay,” I said. I took a seat at the table.
Despite my answer, she dried her hands and grabbed an apple. “How was today?”
I told her about Photoshopping and the trip to the cemetery. She nodded. “Every year on May eleventh, the anniversary of the sinking, Gwen and I go there to leave flowers and pray for their souls.”
Figures. “I’m glad you do. Have you ever been to Howard’s Pub?” “Many times. It’s the only restaurant here that’s open year-round.” “Except for yours.”
“We’re not a real restaurant. You look pretty.”
She quickly sliced the apple into wedges and brought them to the table. “I look pregnant.”
“No one will be able to tell.”
She went back to cleaning mushrooms while I nibbled on one of the apple slices, which was exactly what my stomach needed. But it made me think…
“How bad is labor?” I asked. “I mean, I’ve heard so many horror stories.”
“That’s hard for me to answer. I’ve never given birth so I can’t speak from experience. And with the girls who stayed with us, I was only in the hospital room with a few of them. Gwen could probably give you a better answer since she’s a midwife, but from what I know, contractions aren’t pleasant. And yet, it’s not so terrible that women refuse to go through it again.”
That made sense, even if it didn’t really answer my question. “Do you think I should hold the baby after I give birth?”
She took a few seconds to answer. “I can’t answer that, either.” “What would you do?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
I picked up another wedge, nibbling on it, thinking, but was interrupted when I saw headlights flash through the windows and across the ceiling.
Bryce’s truck, I thought with an unexpected burst of nervousness. Which was silly. I’d already spent half the day with him.
“Do you know where Bryce is taking me after dinner?” “He told me today before you went to his house.”
“And?”
“Make sure you bring a jacket.”
I waited, but she added nothing else. “Are you mad at me for going out with him?”
“No.”
“But you don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“The real question is whether you think it’s a good idea.” “We’re just friends,” I responded.
She said nothing, but then again, she didn’t have to. Because like me, I realized, she was nervous.
* * *
Confession time: This was my first real dinner date. Oh, I’d met a boy and some friends at a pizza parlor once, and the same boy had taken me to get ice cream, but other than that, I was pretty much a novice when it came to how to act or what I was supposed to say.
Fortunately, it took me all of two seconds to realize that Bryce hadn’t ever been on a dinner date, either, since he was acting even more nervous than I was, at least until we got to the restaurant. He’d splashed on an earthy-smelling cologne and he wore a button-up shirt, rolling the sleeves to his elbows, and—maybe because he knew my clothing options were limited
—he was wearing jeans just like I was. The difference was that he could have strolled out of a magazine photo shoot, while I resembled a puffier version of the girl I wanted to be.
As for Howard’s Pub, it was pretty much as I expected, with wooden plank floors and walls decorated with pennants and license plates, and fronted by a crowded, boisterous bar. At the table, we picked up the menus, and less than a minute later, a waitress came by to take our drink orders. We both ordered sweet tea, probably making us the only two who hadn’t come for the pub part in the restaurant’s name.
“My mom says the crab cakes are good here,” Bryce remarked. “Is that what you’re getting?”
“I’ll probably go with the ribs,” he said. “It’s what I always get.” “Does your family come here often?”
“Once or twice a year. My parents come more often, whenever they need a break from us kids. Supposedly there are times when we can be a bit overwhelming.”
I smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that cemetery,” I commented. “I’m glad we didn’t take pictures.”
“I never do, mostly because of my grandfather. He was one of those merchant marines that the Bedfordshire was trying to protect.”
“Has he ever talked about the war?”
“Not much, other than to say it was the scariest time of his life. Not only because of the submarines, but also because of the storms in the North Atlantic. He’s been through hurricanes, but the waves in the North Atlantic were beyond terrifying. Of course, before the war, he’d never even set foot on the mainland, so pretty much everything was new to him.”
I tried and failed to imagine a life like that. In the silence, I felt the baby move—that watery pressure again—and my hand automatically went to my stomach.
“The baby?” he asked.
“She’s getting very active,” I said.
He set his menu aside. “I know it’s not my decision or even my business, but I’m glad you decided to put the baby up for adoption and not have an abortion.”
“My parents wouldn’t have let me. I suppose I could have gone to Planned Parenthood or whatever on my own, but the thought never crossed my mind. It’s a Catholic thing.”
“I meant that if you had, you never would have come to Ocracoke and I wouldn’t have had the chance to meet you.”
“You wouldn’t have missed much.”
“I’m pretty sure that I would have missed everything.”
I felt a sudden heat at the back of my neck, but thankfully the waitress arrived with our drinks, rescuing me. We placed our orders—crab cakes for me, ribs for him—and while we sipped our tea, the conversation drifted toward easier, less blush-inducing topics. He described the many places around the United States and Europe he had lived; I related the conversation I’d had with Morgan—which mostly revolved around the stress she was under—and shared stories about Madison and Jodie and some of our girlhood adventures, which really centered around slumber parties and occasional makeup fiascoes. Strangely, I hadn’t thought about Madison or
Jodie since the conversation with my mom when we’d walked on the beach. Had anyone suggested before I’d arrived here that they would slip my mind for even a day or two, I wouldn’t have believed them. Who, I wondered, was I becoming?
Our salads arrived, then our meals, as Bryce discussed the grueling application process to West Point. He’d received recommendations from both of North Carolina’s U.S. senators, which sort of amazed me—but he said that even if he hadn’t gotten in, he would have gone to another university, then entered the army as an officer after graduation.
“And then the Green Beret thing?”
“Or Delta, which is another step up. If I qualify, I mean.” “Aren’t you afraid of getting killed?” I asked.
“No.”
“How can you not be afraid?” “I don’t think about it.”
I knew I’d think about it all the time. “What about after the military? Have you ever thought about what you want to do then? Would you want to be a consultant like your dad?”
“Not a chance. If it was possible, I’d follow in my mom’s footsteps and try to do some travel photography. I think it would be cool to go to remote places and tell stories with my pictures.”
“How do you even get a job doing that?” “I have no idea.”
“You could always go into dog training. Daisy’s doing much better lately at not wandering off.”
“It would be too hard to give the dogs away over and over. I get too attached.”
I realized that I’d be sad, too. “I’m glad you’re bringing her to the house, then. So you can see her as much as possible before she leaves.”
He rotated his glass of tea. “Would you mind if I stopped to pick her up tonight?”
“What? For the surprise?” “I think she’d have fun.”
“What are we doing? Can you at least give me a hint?” He thought about it. “Don’t order dessert.”
“That doesn’t help.”
I saw the slightest of twinkles in his eyes. “Good.”
* * *
After dinner, we drove to Bryce’s house, where we found his parents and the twins watching a documentary on the Manhattan Project, which didn’t surprise me in the slightest. After loading an excited Daisy into the bed, we were back on the road and it didn’t take long before I knew where we were going. The road led to only one place.
“The beach?”
When he nodded, I peered at him. “We’re not going in the water, right? Like that opening scene in Jaws, where the lady goes out swimming and gets eaten by a shark? Because if that’s your plan, you can turn around now.”
“The water’s too cold to go swimming.”
Instead of stopping in the parking area, he made for a gap in the dunes, then turned onto the sand and began driving down the beach.
“Is this legal?”
“Of course,” he said. “But it’s not legal to run over anyone.”
“Thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
He laughed as we bounced through the sand, my hand gripping the handle above the door. It was dark—really, really dark—because the moon was just a tiny sliver, and even through the windshield, I could see stars spreading across the sky.
Bryce remained quiet while I strained to make out a shadowy outline ahead. Even with the headlights, I couldn’t tell what it was, but Bryce turned the wheel as we drew near and eventually brought the truck to a halt. “We’re here,” he said. “But close your eyes and wait in the truck until I
get things ready. And don’t peek, okay?”
I closed my eyes—why not?—and listened as he got out and closed the door behind him. Even so, I could vaguely hear him occasionally reminding Daisy not to run off while he made a few trips back and forth between the truck and wherever he was going.
After what was probably a few minutes but seemed longer, I finally heard his voice through my window.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he called through the glass. “I’m going to open the door and help you down and walk you to where I want you to go. Then you can open them, okay?”
“Don’t let me fall,” I cautioned.
I heard the door open, felt his hand when I reached for it. Lowering myself carefully, I stretched out my toe until it finally reached the ground. After that, it was easy, Bryce guiding me across the cool sand, the strong wind whipping my hair about.
“There’s nothing in front of you,” he assured me. “Just walk.”
After a few steps I felt a surge of heat and there seemed to be light pushing its way through my eyelids. He gently pulled me to a stop.
“You can open your eyes now.”
The shadowy outline I had spotted earlier was a pile of sand forming a semicircular wall around a flat-bottomed pit about two feet deep. On the ocean side of the hole was a pyramid of wood already glowing with dancing flames, and he’d set up two small lawn chairs facing it, with a blanket draped over each. In between the chairs was a small cooler and behind that was something mounted on a tripod. In the realm of romantic movie gestures, it might not have counted for much, but to me it was absolutely perfect.
“Wow,” I finally said, my voice quiet. I was so overwhelmed that nothing else leaped to mind.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“How did you get the fire going so fast?” “Charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid.”
“And what’s that thing?” I asked, pointing toward the tripod.
“A telescope,” he said. “My dad let me borrow it. It’s his, but the whole family uses it.”
“Am I going to see Halley’s Comet or something like that?”
“No,” he said. “That came in 1986. The next time it’s visible will be 2061.”
“And you just happen to know that?”
“I think everyone with a telescope knows it.”
Of course he thinks that. “What will we see, then?”
“Venus and Mars. Sirius, which is also called the Dog Star. Lepus. Cassiopeia. Orion. A few other constellations. And the moon and Jupiter are almost in conjunction.”
“And the cooler?”
“S’mores,” he said. “They’re fun to cook over campfires.”
He swept an arm toward the chairs and I sauntered over, choosing the one farthest away. I leaned forward, freeing the blanket, but as I spread it
across my lap, I realized that the wind was now practically nonexistent because of the pit and the sand wall behind me. Daisy wandered up and lay beside Bryce. With the campfire, it felt downright toasty.
“When did you do all this?”
“I dug the hole and set up the wood and charcoal after I dropped you off.”
While I was napping. Which explained the difference between him and me—he did, while I slept. “It’s…incredible. Thank you for doing all this.”
“I also got you something for Valentine’s Day.” “You already brought me flowers.”
“I wanted to give you something that will remind you of Ocracoke.”
I already had a feeling I’d remember this place—and this night— forever, but I watched in fascination as he reached into the pocket of his jacket, removed a small box wrapped in red-and-green paper, and handed it to me. It weighed next to nothing.
“Sorry. There was only Christmas wrapping paper in the house.” “It’s fine,” I said. “Should I open it now?”
“Please.”
“I didn’t get you anything.”
“You let me take you to dinner, which is more than enough.”
At his words, my heart did that funny racing thing again, which had been happening all too often lately. I lowered my gaze and began picking at the wrapping before finally pulling it free. Inside was a box for a staple remover.
“There were no gift boxes, either,” he apologized.
When I opened it and tilted the box, a thin gold chain fell into my palm. I gently shook the chain, freeing up a small gold pendant in the shape of a scallop shell. I held it up to the flickering light of the fire, too heart-struck to say anything. It was the first time a boy had ever bought me jewelry of any kind.
“Read the back,” he said.
I turned it over and leaned closer to the firelight. It was hard to read, but not impossible.
Ocracoke Memories
I continued to stare at the pendant, unable to turn my gaze away. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered past the lump in my throat.
“I’ve never seen you wear a necklace, so I wasn’t sure you’d like it.” “It’s perfect,” I said, finally turning to him. “But now I feel bad about
not getting you anything.”
“But you did,” he said, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. “You gave me the memories.”
I could almost believe the two of us were alone in the world, and I longed to tell him how much he meant to me. I searched for the right words, but they wouldn’t seem to come. In the end, I let my gaze slip away.
Beyond the firelight, it was impossible to see the waves, but I could hear them rolling onto the shore, muffling the sound of the crackling fire. I smelled smoke and salt and noticed that even more stars had emerged overhead. Daisy had curled into a ball at my feet. Feeling Bryce’s eyes on me, I suddenly knew that he had fallen in love with me. He didn’t care that I was carrying someone else’s child or that I would be leaving soon. It didn’t matter to him that I wasn’t as smart as he was, or as talented, or that even on my best day, I would never be pretty enough for a boy like him.
“Will you help me put it on?” I was finally able to ask, my voice sounding alien to me.
“Of course,” he murmured.
I turned and lifted my hair, feeling his fingers brush the nape of my neck. When it was hooked, I touched the pendant, thinking it felt as warm as I did, and slipped it inside my sweater.
I sat back again, dizzy at the realization that he loved me, and wondering how and when it had happened. My mind flashed through a library of memories—meeting Bryce on the ferry, and the morning he’d shown up at my door; his simple response when I’d told him that I was pregnant. I thought about standing beside him at the Christmas flotilla and the sight of Bryce striding among the decorations at the farm in Vanceboro. I remembered his expression when I’d gifted him the biscuit recipe and the anticipation in his eyes when he’d first handed me his camera. Lastly, I pictured him standing on the ladder as he boarded up windows, the image I knew I would own forever.
When he asked if I wanted to gaze through the telescope, I rose from my chair in a dreamlike state and put my eye to the eyepiece, listening as Bryce described what I was seeing. He rotated and adjusted the lens several times before launching into an introduction to planets and constellations and distant stars. He referenced legends and mythology, but distracted by
his closeness and my newfound realizations, I barely registered anything he said.
I was still under a kind of spell when Bryce showed me how to make the s’mores. Loading marshmallows onto wooden stakes, he showed me how high above the flames to hold them so they wouldn’t catch on fire. Assembling the graham crackers and Hershey bars, we each put together our s’mores, savoring the sweet and gooey delight. I watched as a strand of marshmallow trailed from his lips on his first bite, making him lean forward and fumble with the s’more. He sat up quickly, bobbling the sticky concoction, somehow getting the strand into his mouth. He laughed, reminding me that as good as he was at practically everything, he never seemed to take himself too seriously.
A few minutes later he stood from his chair and walked back to his truck. Daisy trailed behind as Bryce pulled something large and bulky from the bed; I couldn’t tell what it was. He carried it past our spot and finally stopped at the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge. Only when he launched the kite did I recognize what he was holding, and I watched it rise higher, until it vanished in the darkness.
He waved at me with childlike glee, and I rose from my spot to join him.
“A kite?”
“Robert and my dad helped me build it,” he explained. “But I can’t see it.”
“Can you hold this for a second?”
Though I hadn’t flown a kite since I was a child, this one seemed glued to the sky. From his back pocket, Bryce pulled out what appeared to be a remote control, similar to a television’s. He pressed a button and the kite suddenly materialized against the dark sky, lit by what I guessed were red Christmas lights. The lights ran along the wood framing, etching a large triangle and series of boxes in the sky.
“Surprise,” he said.
I took in his excited face, then turned back to the kite again. It bobbed a little and I moved my arm, watching the kite respond. I let out some more string, watching as the kite rose higher, almost hypnotized by the sight. Bryce was staring up at it, too.
“Christmas lights?” I said in wonder.
“Yes, along with batteries and a receiver. I can make the lights blink if you’d like.”
“Let’s leave it the way it is,” I said.
Bryce and I stood close enough that I could feel his warmth despite the wind. Focusing, I felt the seashell pendant pressing against my skin and thought about dinner, the fire, the s’mores, and the telescope. As I looked up at the kite, I reflected on who I had been when I first arrived in Ocracoke and marveled at the person I had become.
I felt Bryce turn toward me and mirrored his movement, watching as he took a hesitant step closer. He reached out and placed a hand on my hip, and in that moment, I knew what was about to happen. As he gently tugged me closer and tilted his head, he leaned in, and his lips touched mine.
It was a gentle, soft, and sweet kiss, and a part of me wanted to stop him. I wanted to remind him that I was pregnant and just a visitor who would soon be leaving; I should have told him there was no future for us as a couple.
But I didn’t say anything. Instead, feeling his arms wrap around me and his body press against mine, I suddenly knew I wanted this. His mouth opened slowly, and when our tongues met, I lost myself in a world where spending time with him was the only thing that mattered. Where holding him and kissing him were all I ever wanted.
It wasn’t my first kiss, or even my first French kiss, but it was the first kiss that felt perfect and right in every way. When we finally pulled apart, I heard him sigh.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered. “I love you, Maggie.”
Instead of responding, I leaned back into him, letting him hold me as his fingertips gently traced my spine. I imagined our hearts beating in unison, even as his breath seemed steadier than mine.
My body was shaky, and yet I’d never felt more comfortable, more complete.
“Oh, Bryce,” I murmured, the words coming naturally. “I love you, too.”
