Just a Summer Romance Read online

  “Mel, do you know what? You are crazy. You are loony tunes.”

  “I’ve got bats in my belfry.”

  “Rats in your attic.”

  “I’m a few bricks short of a load.”

  “A few cards short of a deck.”

  “The shingles are loose on my roof.”

  “You’re balmy.”

  “I am not of sound mind.”

  “What’ll it be, girls?”

  Mel looked up, startled. She’d had no idea the line was moving so quickly. “You go first,” she said to Lacey.

  “I’ll have, um…I’ll have a scoop of butterscotch. In a cone, please.”

  The boy behind the counter handed Lacey a cone.

  “And I’ll have a scoop of fudge ripple in a cone, please,” said Mel. She glanced sideways to find Lacey staring at her. “Well, it looked good,” she said defensively. “And it still has all the right ingredients—sugar, fat, and chocolate.”

  Lacey just shook her head. “All right,” she said at last. “Let’s go to the store.”

  “The store? I don’t need anything.”

  “I thought you’d want to see what he was doing. Maybe find out what brand of dental floss he uses.”

  “Oh, he’s already gone. I’ve been watching. I guess he didn’t buy anything. He walked right back out just as you were telling me I’m a few cards short of a deck.”

  Lacey giggled. “You are certifiably insane. Let’s go.”

  The next day, Mel saw the boy two more times. The first time was early in the morning. Mrs. Braderman had sent Mel to the Harbor Store to buy the New York Times. When Mel came out, carrying the paper gingerly so as not to get newsprint on her bathing suit, she noticed that the ferry had arrived from Patchogue. She paused to see who was coming over to the island so early on a weekday morning. That was when she saw him. He was waiting patiently at the end of the dock. Presently a middle-aged man with curly gray hair stepped off the ferry. He saw the boy immediately and held his arms wide open for a hug.

  The second time she saw him was late in the afternoon. The tide was out, and he was clamming on the bay side of the island. “All alone again,” Mel remarked to Lacey that evening.

  The next day, Thursday, Mel spotted him leaving the Harbor Store. “Still alone. I think it’s so sad. And beautiful.”

  Lacey raised her eyebrows. “Beautiful?”

  “He must be very lonely, but he always seems so…serene. That’s it. He seems serene. Like he’s at peace with himself.”

  “Mel, he’s not dying.”

  “Well, you know what I mean. But he’s kind of mysterious, too. And I’ll tell you something. Before we leave the island this summer, I am going to get to know him. I, Melanie Braderman, will crack that shell he’s hiding in and get to know the beautiful, secretive soul inside.”

  “Bonkers,” was all Lacey would say. “Stark, raving mad.”

  Chapter Three

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, MEL and Lacey woke up early enough to see the sunrise. Mel slapped her alarm off the second it began to ring, and leaped out of bed. She had slept in her bathing suit, so it took her only a few moments to get ready. She grabbed her sweat shirt and slipped it on as she ran barefoot through the chilly gray dawn to the Reeders’ house.

  Mel scratched softly on the screened window to the bedroom that Lacey and Jeanmarie shared. “Hey,” she whispered. “Lacey!…Lacey!”

  Lacey’s sleepy face appeared. “I’ll be right there,” she mumbled.

  “Okay, but hurry. We always manage to miss this.”

  Lacey had slept in her bathing suit, too. In exactly three minutes, she stepped onto her front deck, also barefoot, also wearing a sweat shirt. A camera dangled by its strap from her wrist.

  “You’re going to photograph the sunrise?” Mel asked. “I don’t think anything will come out.”

  “Well, I’m going to try. I’ve seen other pictures of sunrises, so I know it can be done.”

  “Come on,” said Mel. “Let’s go.”

  The girls ran quietly down the walk and along a network of wooden boardwalks.

  The last walk ended above the ocean at the top of the dunes. The girls found themselves looking down on the crashing ocean, gray in the early light, and a misty, deserted beach.

  “We made it!” Mel exclaimed in a whisper. “Look! It’s just beginning.”

  On the horizon, the tip of a brilliant orangey-pink disk had appeared, staining the ocean with wavery bands of color.

  “Shall we watch from up here or go down to the sand?” asked Mel.

  “Let’s stay here,” replied Lacey, hugging her sweat shirt about her. “This is a great view. And I bet the sand is cold.”

  The girls settled down at the top of the wooden stairs that led to the beach. Lacey clicked her camera every few seconds, as the sun climbed the sky.

  Mel was enchanted. She couldn’t take her eyes from the sight.

  But when Lacey exclaimed, “Hey, I’m out of film,” she shook herself back to reality.

  That was when she noticed that they were not alone. Somebody else had enjoyed the spectacle. A figure in a green windbreaker was huddled, knees drawn to his chest, in the sand a little distance down the beach.

  It was the boy.

  As Mel watched him, he rose slowly, brushed the sand from his long legs, and began striding down the beach toward the western end of the island.

  “That’s him!” Mel whispered loudly. “There he is! Come on, I’m going to follow him! Maybe we can find out where he lives.”

  “You can’t do that!” exclaimed Lacey. “It’s invasion of privacy.”

  “Oh, he’ll never know. We’ll keep a safe distance. Hurry! He’s a fast walker.” Mel was already halfway down the stairs. “If he turns around and sees us, he’ll just think we’re out for an early walk. This is a public beach. We’re allowed. Look, there’s a guy walking his dog. We’re not the only people on the beach anymore.”

  Mel was jogging along, trying to keep up with the boy. Lacey ran beside her. “I don’t know, Mel. I think you’ve gone nuts.”

  Mel didn’t answer. She concentrated on pumping her legs up and down.

  She and Lacey followed the boy for five minutes. “Where is he going?” Mel asked finally. “We’re almost out of Davis Park.”

  “Maybe he’s taking a twenty-mile hike,” said Lacey. “I hope your legs are prepared for it. Mine aren’t. In exactly two more minutes, I am turning back.”

  But before two minutes were up, the boy suddenly veered to his right and cut across the sand toward a flight of wooden steps.

  Mel looked around. They were on an isolated stretch of beach. The area in which she and Lacey lived was crowded, the homes close-set, even those nearest the water. From where she stood then, however, Mel could see only one house, a rambling, older home with oddly placed sun decks and terraces.

  Mel waited until the boy had climbed the flight of steps. Then she hurried across the sand after him. Lacey followed, shaking her head. At the top of the steps, Mel paused and looked down the boardwalk. It was deserted. She ran along it until it intersected with the walk to a house. Mel peered up the walk. And there was the boy, rinsing his sandy feet with the hose before going inside his house.

  Mel pulled back, putting a row of shrubbery between herself and the boy. “It’s the house we saw from the beach,” she whispered to Lacey.

  “Amazing,” replied Lacey. “Now let’s go home. I’m starved. I want breakfast.”

  “Go home?” Mel exclaimed. “But we just got here. This is the closest I’ve come to finding out anything about—”

  “About him?”

  “Yes. About him. Come on. I want to go back to the beach. The view of his house is much better from there.”

  “You mean we’re going to spy on him? Mel, I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that. You know what? You’re obsessed.”

  “I am not.”

  “Are too.”

  “All right, I’m obsessed. I still want
to go back to the dunes and watch for a while. Maybe he’ll sit out on one of his decks. Maybe he’ll eat his breakfast there. I wonder if I’ll be able to tell what he’s eating.”

  Mel turned and trotted back along the boardwalk. She ran down to the beach, scouted around in the sand dunes, sat down, and looked at the house. Then she stood up, moved over slightly, and sat down again.

  “What are you doing?” asked Lacey as Mel stood up once again.

  “Trying to get the best view of his house, somewhere where I can see but not be seen. The trouble is, I don’t know whether I can be seen. Oh, well.” Mel sat down and patted the sand beside her. “Sit, Lace. It’s actually pretty comfortable here. You can lean back against this dune.”

  “Mel, I am not sitting down. I am going home to have breakfast. Then I am going to spend the day reading on the beach like a normal American.”

  “Not all Americans spend their days reading on beaches.”

  “And statistics show that even fewer spend them lolling around in sand dunes, spying on boys their brothers hit with Frisbees.”

  “Well, anyway, do me a favor. After you eat breakfast, could you bring me Jackie’s binoculars? I have a feeling they might come in handy.”

  “His binoculars? Me-el. How long do you plan to stay here? And what am I supposed to tell your parents if they ask where you are?”

  “Tell them the truth. Tell them I’m on the beach.”

  “Well…okay.”

  “Thanks, Lacey.”

  “You’re welcome. I guess. See you later.”

  “Bye.” Mel trained her eyes on the house, and Lacey retreated down the beach. After a while, as the brightening sun reflected itself in the windows, Mel had to shield her eyes against the glare.

  She watched and watched, but nothing happened. Police stakeouts must be incredibly boring, she thought.

  She wished she had her watch. She wished she had her tape player.

  The sun rose a bit higher, and Mel removed her sweat shirt.

  She was just beginning to feel slightly drowsy when she caught a flicker of movement on the highest deck of the house. Mel sprang to attention. A door slid open and the boy stepped out. He was wearing blue bathing trunks, the same ones he’d had on the first time Mel had seen him. That’s no coincidence, she thought. It’s fate; it’s kismet.

  A dark-haired woman wearing a white dress, or maybe it was a white uniform, followed the boy onto the deck. She was carrying a tray.

  The boy sat down in a lounge chair and the woman placed the tray on his lap. Then she sat on a bench near him, crossed her legs, and watched him eat.

  Mel strained her eyes until they stung, but for the life of her, she couldn’t make out what the boy was eating. She was still trying to see, when suddenly a pair of binoculars was thrust in front of her.

  She looked up, blinking. “Thanks, Lace.”

  “Candidate for the loony bin,” Lacey muttered. But she dropped a bag containing an orange, a hard-boiled egg, and a muffin onto the sand next to Mel before she left again, so Mel knew she wasn’t really angry.

  Mel was starving, but first things first. She wanted to get a good look at the scene on the deck before the woman and the boy left. She aimed the binoculars at the sun deck and adjusted the focus.

  The result was more than she had hoped for. There was the boy, his handsome face looking pleasant but serious as he talked with the woman. Mel zeroed in on the tray in his lap. Nothing. The plate was empty except for a crumpled napkin.

  She shifted to the right for a look at the woman. Curly brown hair. Dark, friendly eyes. Yes, the white dress was definitely a uniform. Perhaps she was a housekeeper.

  A few moments later, the woman rose and picked up the empty tray. She carried it inside the house. The boy rose, too, and walked to the edge of the deck, where he rested his arms on the rail and gazed out to sea.

  Hastily, Mel lowered the binoculars. She scrunched down in the sand, hoping the dunes hid her from the boy. When she dared to peep up again, he was gone.

  Mel sighed. She raised the binoculars and scanned every inch of the house. She was halfway through counting the windows when a hand was suddenly clapped over the binoculars, blocking her view.

  Mel shrieked and dropped the binoculars in the sand.

  She looked up.

  The boy was standing over her.

  Chapter Four

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” the boy demanded.

  Mel paused. “Bird-watching?”

  The boy’s stern face almost relaxed into a smile. “I was watching you,” he said. “From the deck. And you were watching me. Or the house. Although I can’t figure out why you would want to watch my house.”

  “No, honest,” said Mel. “There are great birds here. I saw a—a flamingo and a loon and twelve robins. Oh, and a sea gull.”

  The boy finally smiled—the same friendly grin that Mel had fallen in love with.

  “Do I know you?” he asked suddenly.

  Mel blushed. She’d hoped he would remember her. “We met once before. On the beach. My brother hit you with the Frisbee…?”

  “Oh! Yes.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Just had a little bump for a few days. No big deal. Didn’t even leave a bruise.”

  Mel looked at his perfect face and was unreasonably glad that the Frisbee hadn’t flawed it in any way.

  The boy dropped down in the sand beside her, hugged his knees to his chest, and looked out at the sea.

  “You haven’t been in Davis Park very long, have you?” said Mel.

  “How could you tell?” The boy turned away from the ocean and fixed Mel with his brown eyes.

  Mel could think of only one word to describe those eyes. It was a word she had come across in a book she’d read in English class that spring, and it was one of those words she’d thought you only read but would never actually have the occasion to use. Yet there she was, using it, or at least thinking it. The boy’s eyes were limpid. They were like deep, clear pools of water. Mel was sure they indicated great sensitivity.

  “How could you tell?” the boy asked again.

  “Oh,” said Mel. “Well, for one thing, you didn’t know what Bedside Manor is.”

  The boy smiled. “I do now, though. I asked my father about it that night.”

  “Your father,” Mel repeated. “He’s been here before?”

  “Just for the rest of this summer. I’ve been…busy this summer. This is the first chance I’ve had to come out to his house.”

  Mel looked over her shoulder at the rambling beach house. “Did your father just buy it?”

  “Oh, no. He’s renting it. Usually he rents a place in Southampton, but this summer he wanted to try something new. What about you? How long have you been here?”

  “Since as soon as school let out. And before that, every weekend that the weather was nice. We own a house. I’ve been spending summers here my entire life. Mom and Dad had the house before they had me, even before they had Dee—she’s my older sister. I think the house is like their first child.”

  The boy laughed.

  Mel laughed too and stretched her legs out in front of her, suddenly self-conscious. She hoped she wasn’t talking too much. She wondered if she was acting the way you’re supposed to act the first time you talk to a boy you like. She wondered if Dee would handle things differently. After all, Dee had had a lot more experience than Mel. Then Mel wondered how it was even possible to like someone you’d barely met. For all Mel knew, the boy was an ax murderer.

  No, she thought, not with those limpid eyes. It was not possible.

  Conversation had lagged. Mel wanted to start it up again, but she wasn’t sure what to say. She was also starving, and was dying to open the bag that Lacey had brought her, but she knew she’d be embarrassed to eat in front of the boy. And, thanks to her spying, she knew he’d already eaten and probably wouldn’t want to share her breakfast.

  Finally, however, the food won out. Mel felt t
hat her stomach was about to rumble and decided she’d rather do almost anything than rumble in front of the boy. She opened the bag and took out the muffin.

  “Want half?” she asked, just to be polite.

  “Sure,” replied the boy.

  Pleased, Mel broke the muffin in two and handed him a piece.

  “Thanks,” he said. He peered in the bag. “What are those? Provisions?”

  Mel giggled. “I was prepared for a long stay.”

  The boy shook his head, smiling. “How did you know where I live?”

  “Oh, I didn’t,” said Mel. “My friend—Lacey, the one who was with me when Timmy hit you—she and I were watching the sunrise on the beach. It was the first time in fourteen summers that we actually got up early enough to see it. Anyway, when it was over, I saw you, and then I began watching you instead. When you walked back here, I sort of followed you.”

  Mel and the boy had finished the muffin. Mel took the orange out of the bag and began to peel it.

  “Where are you from?” asked the boy. “I mean, aside from down the beach.”

  “Bronxville,” Mel replied. “My dad works in New York City, but he and Mom don’t want to raise kids in the city, so Dad commutes from the suburbs. I wish they did want to raise us in New York. It’s my favorite place in the whole world, next to Fire Island. My friend Lacey lives in New York. She’s so lucky.”

  “I live there, too,” said the boy.

  “Really?” asked Mel with interest “Where?”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On whether I’m at my dad’s apartment or my mother’s.”

  “Oh,” said Mel knowingly. So his parents were divorced.

  The boy found a piece of shell in the sand and began tracing patterns with it, moving it back and forth, back and forth.

  “How long have your parents been divorced?” asked Mel.