Page 63 of On Fire Island

“Maybe a little.”

Matty looked at the clock.

“It’s two in the morning, and it sounds like it’s pouring out, and besides—one of us is not supposed to be riding.”

“Well, it’s two in the morning and pouring out, so no one will see either of us.”

“You’re half right. They won’t see me.”

Matty rolled back over and closed his eyes tight.

“Come on. Get up.” Shep shook him again. “There’ll be plenty of time to sleep in the grave.”

I laughed. Falser words had never been spoken.

Matty didn’t budge. I could hear the rain picking up.

“I bet the sidewalks are like rivers, Matty. You know there’s nothing better than riding your bike in the rain.”

Shep was right. There was nothing better. Some of my happiest memories of Fire Island were not from the beach or the ball field or the bay, but from getting caught in a storm coming back from town. I would laugh the entire way as the rain soaked my clothes and beat down on my face—feeling like a kid again. If you know, you know.

Matty knew.

Minutes later, Shep was pulling Ben’s bike from the shed with Matty right behind him. The rainwater had already begun collecting on the sidewalks, but they were both old pros. They peddled hard on the approach, lifting their feet in the air at thedeepest spots and coasting as far as the previous pedal would take them. Huge smiles were plastered on both of their faces. Mine too. They had to wipe their eyes to see. Shep began to sing an old army tune, though as far as I knew he had never been in the army. Word was he was a peacenik activist back in the day. Fire Island was a real haven for those types. Still, he crooned a George Cohan song like he was ready to enlist. I was surprised by how much these guys liked to sing.

“ ‘Over there, over there, send the word, send the word over there. That the Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming’—come on, Matty—sing!”

Matty tried to join in.

“ ‘Over there, over there,nannannan, nannannan, over there!’ ”

They continued singing and laughing and cruising through the puddles, as the rain poured down on their delighted faces.

But, while we chose to go out in the rain, someone else sinisterly took cover from it.

•••

Pam and Andie lived in one of the original old two-story cottages that lined the first few streets of Bay Harbor. They were sound asleep in their bed, with baby Oliver asleep in a bassinet next to them, when—BOOM—Pam awoke to what sounded like a door slamming open. She jolted straight up.

“Andie, did you hear that?”

“It’s just the rain. Go back to sleep.”

There was no way she was dismissing the loud boom. She shook Andie’s shoulder.

“I’m gonna go check. It sounds like the wind blew the door open.”

“We’ll close it in the morning.”

It had been a long night, their first hiring a babysitter, and they had both been overserved at Cherry’s.

“But a deer could get in, or a raccoon—what if it’s that three-bears bandit?”

“The Goldilocks Interloper? Maybe she’ll leave us breakfast.”

“I’ll go,” Pam said, not really meaning it.

“No, I’ll do it.”

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