Page 51 of It's a Love Story

Just the sight of his name makes my heart race. I don’t know what is happening to me, and I don’t know how I’m going to tell him I saw Jack and choked.

Me: I’m at the beach

Dan: Want me to come there?

Me: It’s fine. I’ll leave soon and see you back at the house.

I splay out on the sand like a starfish for a while, feeling my chest burn under the thin straps of my revenge dress and listening to the ocean howl.

I get a text from “Dad,” which is something I’m not likely to get used to: There’s a storm coming in. I’m headed back from Montauk. Are you still on a bike?

I look out at the horizon and see a patch of dark clouds.

Me: Yes, I’m at the beach

Cormack: Head home now and you should be fine

Me: What’s the plan for dinner? Can I pick something up in town?

Cormack: Hang on

The clouds appear to be moving toward me, so I head back toward the dunes.

Dad: Reenie needs berries

Me: On it

It starts to get drizzly and then dark as I’m biking back toward town. I know there’s a stand with a big wooden sign that saysBERRIESright on the corner where I turn off of Main Street. As it starts to rain harder, I pedal faster, not because I don’t want to get wet (I am already completely wet, and the great thing about wet is that you can’t get wetter once you’re saturated) but because I don’t want to miss the berry guy. Something in me rebels at the idea of disappointing Cormack.

I’m pedaling through a thick sheet of rain, my white dress sticking to my legs as I go. When I reach the edge of town, a traffic light sneaks up on me, and my bike’s wet brakes do not cooperate. Luckily, all of the sane people are indoors right now, so I skid into a fence rather than an untimely death. I’m at a park with a covered picnic area, and I wheel my bike to shelter and take inventory. The bike is fine. The tires are intact. My heart is racing. I sit on top of a wooden picnic bench and watch the rain pound the grass in front of me.

My phone, which has been safe inside the zippered pocket of my bag, rings. The rain is so loud that I can only feel it vibrate. “Tell me you’re not on your bike,” Dan says as a greeting.

“I’m not. I was, but now I am not.”

He lets out a breath. “I’m coming for you. Are you still by the beach?”

“A park at the end of Main Street.”

Dan pulls into the empty parking lot minutes later, steps out into the rain, and pops the trunk of his mom’s wagon. I walk my bike toward him through grassy puddles, and the rain drenches the dress that is stuck to me like plastic wrap. I am already the temperature of this storm, so it just feels like diving under a wave when you’ve been in the ocean for hours.

He takes my bike, starts to load it into the trunk, and shouts over the rain, “Get in the car.”

He’s in a hurry because he’s not soaked yet, but I’m not. I’m just standing there in the pouring rain smiling at the madness of this day. A streetlamp illuminates the spot in front of me where the silver rain is dancing against the blacktop.

“Are you about to laugh?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s been a day. And now this. It’s just like your dumb movie.” I raise my arms at my sides to catch the rain. It lands warm and hard on my skin.

He runs his eyes down my body. “It’s exactly like that, except Allie’s dress wasn’t quite that see-through.”

My face flames and I cross my arms over my chest.

“Get in the car,” he says again.

The front seat feels like the inside of a drum, dry and tight with a rhythmic pounding from the outside. The sky is dark, and while it’s probably around three o’clock, it feels like midnight. Dan does not start the car. He reaches into the back seat and hands me a beach towel. I dry my face and wring out the ends of my hair. He just sits, turned toward me, and watches. I can feel his eyes on me and hear his breath go jagged as I dry the bottom of my dress, now at mid-thigh. I dab at my chest where my too-sheer strapless bra is serving absolutely no purpose.

“Your legs,” he says.

---