He’s awfully nice.”
My arms locked. I looked up, and there was Nick, ten or twelve feet away, just within range of vision, standing as still as a cliff face and about as friendly. His hat was off, held in his hand against his thigh.
“Mr. Greenwald?” I repeated thickly.
“I saw her running down the steps, just as we were leaving. I thought I’d better follow, just in case.” He brushed his hat against his leg once, twice. “She was only looking for some seashells, it seems.”
“He was so nice, Lily. We looked all over until we found them. He used his lighter so we could see.” She turned and looked at Nick adoringly.
“I hope you thanked him, darling.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greenwald.”
“You’re welcome.” He hesitated. “You can call me Nick, if you like.”
“No, no,” I said. “We have a strict rule about addressing grown-ups. Don’t we, Kiki?”
“We do.” Kiki hugged me. “Is Mother angry?”
“No, she and Aunt Julie left already. We’re walking back along the beach.” I rose and took her hand in mine and turned to face Nick. “Thank you for finding her. She does that often, running off. I should be used to it by now.”
“I heard you calling. I tried to answer, but the wind seemed to catch it. You’re not walking back, are you?” It was too dark to see his face, too dark to tell if he really cared.
“It’s not so far. Half a mile or so.”
“In the darkness?”
“There’s a moon.”
He stepped forward, shaking his head. “We’ve got the car out front. We can drop you off.”
“No! No, thank you. I enjoy the walk.”
“But surely it’s too far for your sister, at this hour.”
“Kiki’s a good walker. Aren’t you, darling?”
She jumped up and down. “I want to see Mr. Greenwald’s car! Oh, let’s go home with them.”
“Lily,” said Nick, “don’t refuse on my account.”
“I’m not. I …” I left my words to teeter and balance on the salt wind, until I could hear them from an objective distance and realized how frantic they sounded, and how false. I was still shaken from Kiki’s disappearance, still unsteady from the gin. “Well, all right. Thank you. It’s very kind.”
“It’s not kind,” he muttered, striking forward toward the clubhouse.
I had forgotten what it was like to walk next to Nick, with his height and breadth looming by my side, and his long strides propelling us along. My heart was still thumping, my breath was still shallow. Kiki clutched my hand, skipping along by my other side, oblivious to the viscous currents swimming around the grown-ups as we walked through the sand.
“We should talk,” said Nick, out of the blue.
“What?”
“We need to talk. It’s why I came here, to talk to you.”
We reached the steps, and he stopped and turned to me. The railing shadowed his face in a long dark stripe.
“What do you mean?” I whispered.
“You know what I mean.”
My heart was pounding so hard against my ribs, I thought the force of it might knock me down. “I don’t see that we have anything to talk about, after all this time.”
“We have everything to talk about.” He lifted his hand, as if to close it around my arm, and then dropped it to his side.
“No, we don’t, Nick. Not a single thing.”
“Lily …”
I turned and climbed the steps, dragging Kiki along with me. My hair brushed against my damp cheeks; my dress stuck to my back from all the exertion, all the anxiety. I picked up my shoes at the top and struggled into them, teetering, ignoring Nick’s outstretched hand.
I had no pocketbook with me. I marched through the lounge, through the foyer, out the door. Budgie was waiting in their car, right outside the door, reclining elegantly in the passenger seat as the motor ran and ran. A lithe car, some dashing make, like the Packard Speedster Nick used to drive, too sporty for a rear seat.
“What’s this?” Budgie lifted her dark head from the back of the seat and watched us approach. Her lips were almost black in the darkness. She must have reapplied her lipstick, or else not touched her dinner.
“We’re giving Lily and her sister a lift back,” said Nick, opening the door. “Can you make room?”
Budgie smiled in welcome and slid over. “Of course! Plenty of room, if I spoon up to my husband. I see you found your adorable little sister. Koko, is it?”
“Kiki,” said Kiki.
I settled in and put Kiki on my lap. “Yes. Nick was good enough to go after her.”
Nick shut the door without comment and went around to the driver’s side.
“He was off like a shot, when she went by. It was very sweet.” Budgie leaned her head against Nick’s shoulder as the car thrust forward into the evening. “You’ll be a good father one day, won’t you, darling?”
“I hope so,” said Nick.
We would have driven back in silence, except for Kiki’s chatter. She asked Nick about the car, about its engine and its capabilities, and he answered in patient detail, giving her his full attention.
My family’s place sat near the end of Seaview Neck, past all the others. Nick drove his flash roadster with excruciating slowness over the pitted gravel of Neck Lane, as if afraid to disturb the neighbors or the car’s delicate suspension. Budgie’s long leg pressed against mine, moving in tandem with me at every jolt in the road. In ages, in no time, we were pulling up to the familiar old cottage, shingled in graying cedar just like the club, with a single light glowing at the entrance. “This is it?” asked Nick, looking across our bodies to the front door, freshly painted two days ago in gleaming white to withstand the ocean weather for another season.
“Yes. Thank you.” I reached for the door handle, but by the time I had fumbled around Kiki’s body to work it properly, Nick was out of the car and opening the door for us.
“Thanks again.” I let Kiki slide to the ground. “Say thank you to the Greenwalds, Kiki.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greenwald. Thank you, Mrs. Greenwald.” She sounded unnaturally docile.
“You’re welcome, darling,” said Budgie, over the car door.
Nick crouched on the gravel and held out his big hand. “You’re welcome, Miss Dane. It was a very great pleasure to meet you at last.”
“It’s Kiki.” She shook his hand gravely and looked up at me. “He can call me Kiki, can’t he, Lily?”
“I suppose so, if he likes.”
Nick straightened. “Good night, Lily.”
I turned before he could fix me with his eyes.
“Good night,” I said, over my shoulder so I didn’t have to watch him climb back into the car next to Budgie. Watch him drive away together with Budgie, back to the house he shared with Budgie, to the bed he shared with Budgie.
I took Kiki’s hand and passed under the climbing wisteria, into the darkened cottage my great-grandparents had rebuilt from rubble after the great hundred-year storm of 1869.