Ann Brashares - The Last Summer (of You and Me) by Ann Brashares Page B
Authors: Ann Brashares
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the sand. She thought fleetingly of the shadow shape made by Alice and Paul. She thought of her bag, thrown around on the waves, drawn out to deeper water. She thought of it growing waterlogged and heavy, sinking to the bottom. She pic tured her towel, her extra suit, her goggles, her pills. Had the bag been zipped, or was each of her belongings finding a separate place underwater?
It was easily possible that it hadn't been swept out by the tide. Somebody might have found it. It could have washed in farther down the beach. She'd check the lost and found. She always wrote her name in permanent marker on her suits. Maybe somebody would find it and call.
That could easily happen, she told herself, several times over the course of the day. But every time she thought of her bag, she pictured it at the bottom of the ocean.
� 96 � Eight
The Kind of Person to Be
S o, how is it being back?"
Paul sat on a picnic table outside the market early in the morning, drinking coffee and waiting for Riley. He got Ethan instead.
"It's all right," Paul said. He looked into his coffee cup.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ethan sat on the end of the table, in spite of the fact that Paul offered no welcome. He was tanned and confident, but just underneath his tan, he wasn't.
"A few years."
"Makes a big difference at your age."
What was Ethan trying to say? "It does and it doesn't," Paul said evasively.
Ethan was the first grown-up Paul had ever been purposefully rude to, and now it was habitual. It had been strange, when he
� 97 � Ann Brashares
was ten, starting to uncover the weaknesses and mistakes of the grown-ups in his life. Riley understood them, too, but she was quick to forget, whereas Paul always remembered. As a child he'd liked the feeling of power and he'd also hated it. He abused it, but he didn't want it.
"Riley said you two were going to fish for blues this morning."
Paul nodded. It occurred to him that Ethan was probably hop ing to be invited.
Ethan was handsome, and he was funny. He did accents and im pressions. He would speak for a whole day in his Russian accent and another day in his Scottish burr. Riley and Paul and Alice screamed and yelled in protest, but they really loved it. Ethan cooked badly, but he prided himself on it nonetheless. He cried easily and forgot things. He gave them third scoops of ice cream when Judy wasn't home. He taught his daughters to skateboard, fish, and windsurf.
There was a time when Paul used to look at himself in the mir ror and wonder if his hair would look like Ethan's when he grew up. He practiced his accents in a room by himself. When he thought of being a man, he tried to picture his own father, but he usually thought of Ethan.
Ethan did know how to be happy, but over the long haul he wasn't the guy to pin your ideals on. He wanted to be more than he was. That's what Paul came to understand about him. Dead men made better idols than living ones.
And yet, in spite of Paul's principles, he found it hard not to love Ethan. While in the case of Paul's mother, it was the opposite.
Paul thought of the beach the previous night. He thought of Alice, and then he felt ashamed. He didn't want to think like that. It
� 98 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)
was a weakness that could make him too able to understand a desire- driven man like Ethan, and he did not feel like understanding Ethan.
Ethan looked at him hopefully. He wanted to be man-to-man, now. He thought they could be friends.
u
There was something about his bedroom that made Alice do it. That's what Alice told herself the following afternoon. Not the bed itself, though that was something. Maybe it was the unfamil iarity of it; neither of them had spent time there in past summers. It was on the island, but it had a sort of embassy quality. It stood in one country but belonged to another.
A part of her, a big part, just wanted to know. It didn't matter so much what the answer was, she
It was easily possible that it hadn't been swept out by the tide. Somebody might have found it. It could have washed in farther down the beach. She'd check the lost and found. She always wrote her name in permanent marker on her suits. Maybe somebody would find it and call.
That could easily happen, she told herself, several times over the course of the day. But every time she thought of her bag, she pictured it at the bottom of the ocean.
� 96 � Eight
The Kind of Person to Be
S o, how is it being back?"
Paul sat on a picnic table outside the market early in the morning, drinking coffee and waiting for Riley. He got Ethan instead.
"It's all right," Paul said. He looked into his coffee cup.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Ethan sat on the end of the table, in spite of the fact that Paul offered no welcome. He was tanned and confident, but just underneath his tan, he wasn't.
"A few years."
"Makes a big difference at your age."
What was Ethan trying to say? "It does and it doesn't," Paul said evasively.
Ethan was the first grown-up Paul had ever been purposefully rude to, and now it was habitual. It had been strange, when he
� 97 � Ann Brashares
was ten, starting to uncover the weaknesses and mistakes of the grown-ups in his life. Riley understood them, too, but she was quick to forget, whereas Paul always remembered. As a child he'd liked the feeling of power and he'd also hated it. He abused it, but he didn't want it.
"Riley said you two were going to fish for blues this morning."
Paul nodded. It occurred to him that Ethan was probably hop ing to be invited.
Ethan was handsome, and he was funny. He did accents and im pressions. He would speak for a whole day in his Russian accent and another day in his Scottish burr. Riley and Paul and Alice screamed and yelled in protest, but they really loved it. Ethan cooked badly, but he prided himself on it nonetheless. He cried easily and forgot things. He gave them third scoops of ice cream when Judy wasn't home. He taught his daughters to skateboard, fish, and windsurf.
There was a time when Paul used to look at himself in the mir ror and wonder if his hair would look like Ethan's when he grew up. He practiced his accents in a room by himself. When he thought of being a man, he tried to picture his own father, but he usually thought of Ethan.
Ethan did know how to be happy, but over the long haul he wasn't the guy to pin your ideals on. He wanted to be more than he was. That's what Paul came to understand about him. Dead men made better idols than living ones.
And yet, in spite of Paul's principles, he found it hard not to love Ethan. While in the case of Paul's mother, it was the opposite.
Paul thought of the beach the previous night. He thought of Alice, and then he felt ashamed. He didn't want to think like that. It
� 98 � The Last Summer (of You and Me)
was a weakness that could make him too able to understand a desire- driven man like Ethan, and he did not feel like understanding Ethan.
Ethan looked at him hopefully. He wanted to be man-to-man, now. He thought they could be friends.
u
There was something about his bedroom that made Alice do it. That's what Alice told herself the following afternoon. Not the bed itself, though that was something. Maybe it was the unfamil iarity of it; neither of them had spent time there in past summers. It was on the island, but it had a sort of embassy quality. It stood in one country but belonged to another.
A part of her, a big part, just wanted to know. It didn't matter so much what the answer was, she
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