can, thought Philip. But it’s not Pamela.
“Your parents make it look easy,” Earl said, giving them a wave.
Philip watched his mom and dad as they stepped onto the dance floor together. Despite the fact that they claimed to know nothing about rock and roll, they were lost in each other’s arms while Eric Clapton’s voice rasped from the speakers.
“See what I mean?” Earl commented. “I wonder how they knew.”
“Nobody knows for sure,” Philip said. “That’s why so many people make mistakes. Not because they’re stupid, but because they can only hope they’ve made the right choice.”
Although his parents did indeed have a happy marriage, Philip knew for a fact that they’d gotten off to a rough start. The Bellamys had been completely opposed to the marriage. Philip’s dad, Charles, had defied his family to be with Jane Gordon, whose family had founded Camp Kioga. Charles had dropped out of Yale in order to marry her and take over the running of the camp.
Eventually, there was a reconciliation between Charles and his parents. Maybe it was the four kids Jane had in quick succession, or maybe it was that the Bellamys finally understood that Charles and Jane’s love would not be denied.
That was how it would work for him and Mariska. He was sure of it. They would encounter doubts and resistance at first. Then the world would come to realize what he had discovered for himself this summer. He and Mariska belonged together forever.
“Dance with us,” ordered the Nielsen girls, striding over to the table as the music changed. “No way can you guys sit through ‘Bohemian Rhapsody.’”
“Okay, you twisted my arm.” Earl got up, wiped his mouth with a napkin.
Sally and Kirsten Nielsen were fraternal twins. Guys at Kioga nicknamed them the Valkyries because of their size and handsome Nordic features, and their fearless tendency to grab guys they liked and carry them off. Philip was glad enough for an excuse to get out on the dance floor where Mariska was.
He noticed his parents and the Lightseys watching him, and felt a crushing weight of responsibility. There was so much he was expected to do once he finished college—Marry Pamela. Go to business school or law school. Have a family.
Mariska was dancing with Matthew Alger now. Philip felt a surge of possessiveness when he saw them together. Although he was heavyset, with straight blond hair, Alger tried to emulate his idol, John Travolta, right down to the blow-dried hair and polyester shirt open to display his chest. What a loser. Yet girls seemed to like him, for no reason Philip could figure.
The music glided into a slow song and Philip caught Mariska’s wrist, slipping between them. “My turn.”
“Back off,” said Alger, always spoiling for a fight. “You’re not wanted here.” “That’s up to the lady.”
“You two.” Mariska laughed, then turned to Alger. “I haven’t danced with Philip yet, and you’re all leaving tomorrow.”
“Not me,” Alger informed her, squaring his shoulders with self-importance. “I’m going to be living in Avalon. Doing my senior thesis on city administration, and Avalon is the subject.”
Alger didn’t come from money but apparently had his share of brains. Suddenly Philip was on fire with envy. Alger got to stay in Avalon while Philip would be exiled to campus for another year.
With phony expansiveness, Alger backed off. “I guess I’ll see you around anyway, Mariska.”
Alger was sharp, an ambitious guy, Philip supposed, though a little off. Despite working as a bookkeeper and counselor for the camp all summer, he never quite fit in. “He’s a weirdo,” Philip said. “You should stay away from him.”
“I have to live in this town,” Mariska reminded him. “I can’t afford to make enemies.”
“Don’t be silly. After I finish school, we’ll live anywhere you want—New York, Chicago, San Francisco.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, excitement sparkling in her eyes. Then her gaze darted to the sidelines. “So those are Pamela’s parents. They’re scary.”
Philip frowned. “Not really. They’re just—”
“Just like your family,” she said. “They’re made of money.”
“They’re people, same as anyone.”
“Sure. Anyone with Gold & Gem after their name.”
He didn’t like it when she talked like that, as though coming from a working-class background set her apart from him. “Forget it,” he said. “You worry too much.”
The deejay announced that everyone should head down to the lakeshore for the final bonfire of the year, and everyone surged out of the pavilion en masse. The fire had a practical function as well as a traditional one. It was a way to get rid of the wooden delivery pallets and scrap lumber that had accumulated over the summer.
As people moved toward the pyramid of fire, Philip pressed his hand to the small of Mariska’s back and veered off the path.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“As if you didn’t know.”
“Someone will see.” All summer long, she’d been as concerned about discovery as he was, determined not to earn a reputation for stealing other girls’ fiancés.
He took her hand and steered her toward the row of bunkhouses. “No, they won’t.”
Someone did see, though. As they headed away from the lake, a match flared, illuminating the contemplative, inebriated face of Terry Davis. He held the match at arm’s length so that its weak light winked over Philip and Mariska.
“‘Night, kids,” he said, an ironic smile on his face.
“Shit,” Philip said under his breath. “She’s not feeling well,” he explained to Davis. “I’m walking her … to her car.”
Davis’s gaze flickered. “Uh-huh.” He brought the match to the tip of his cigarette.
Philip and Mariska kept walking. “Never mind him,” Philip said. “He probably won’t remember anything tomorrow, anyway.” Despite the conviction in his words, he felt a thrum of apprehension in his chest. Over the summer, he and Mariska had grown increasingly inventive when it came to finding places to make love. They’d done it not just in the boathouse, but in some of the boats. In the panel van Mariska drove on her bread deliveries. On the bridge over Meerskill Falls.
Tonight, they decided to risk sneaking into the bungalow. As a senior counselor, he had private quarters, and there, illuminated only by a single night-light, he took her in his arms, leaning down to bury his face in her fragrant hair. “I can’t wait to be with you forever.”
“You’re going to have to. I better not stay out too late tonight. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment first thing in the morning.”
He pulled back, studied her face. “Are you okay?”
“Just a checkup,” she said.
A sigh gusted from him. “Whew. I’m going to miss you so much.”
With delicate fingers, she unbuttoned the front of his shirt. “How much?”
“More than you know.” He caught his breath as she parted his shirt and pressed her lips to his throat.
“You’ll probably forget all about me once you’re back at college with your rich fiancée and high society friends.”
“Don’t talk like that. You know it’s not true.”
“All I have is your word for it.” Despite the accusation, a teasing note lightened her voice. “The rich boy’s word. What do rich girls do all the time, anyway?”
“They