Chapter Fourteen, part two

It was a glorious June day, the kind that inspires birds to bravura performances. Violet changed into her white cotton waist and skirt, braided her hair into a tight coil, and pinned her hat. Sadie, who had appeared in time for luncheon, was keen to swim and had borrowed a black bathing costume from Flora. She pulled up the black stockings, slipped into the bathing shoes, cinched the belt around her tunic, and pronounced herself ready. Violet tried to engage her about the words she’d murmured the night before, but Sadie laughed it off.

“One more night? I suppose I was dreaming about dancing with Floyd. Do you know the strap on my brown shoes is about to break? That’s probably what I meant about fixing.”

When they came down, the cars were parked in the drive, engines running. Charlie was already in the back seat of the Worths’ Cadillac, his boater pushed back on his head.

“Ride with me?” Earl asked, taking Violet’s arm to lead her to his Pierce Arrow. It would be rude to say no to such a courteous offer, so she rode beside him, one hand on her hat. The cars wound northward in a caravan to the pleasure grounds of Easton’s Beach, an elegant collection of bath houses and restaurants. Pockets of people dotted the sand. Along the boardwalk, couples strolled arm-in-arm as the shrieks of children floated over from the roller coaster.

“Come on down to the sand,” Earl said when they’d parked. He offered his arm. She glanced over her shoulder for Charlie, but he was already being guided down by the Breakers’ driver, so Violet caught Earl’s arm and followed him down the wooden steps to the sand.

It was hot, and she instantly regretted not bringing a buttonhook so she could take her shoes off. The staff had driven ahead to set up a cluster of beach umbrellas and canvas chairs away from the main crowd. Anna had a tub packed with ice, and from it produced daiquiris that she poured into glasses and handed to the guest as they arrived on the beach. Most of the others were in bathing costumes. A few of the boys downed their daiquiris in three gulps and raced into the water.

“Aren’t you going to swim?” Earl asked. He wore a striped swimming costume and his straw boater.

“Maybe later. Why don’t you go in? I think I may walk the beach a bit first.” What she really wanted was for him to go. Go, go, go, she urged silently. How else could she flit off to join Charlie, who was sitting under a shady umbrella removing his shoes? He’d remembered a buttonhook, clever boy. She accepted a glass from Anna and stood with Earl while he swallowed his daiquiri, then waved him off as he ran toward the splashing group in the water.

At last. In seconds she was at Charlie’s umbrella. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” he said. “Should I move over? Do you have enough shade?”

“Just right.” She settled down in the sand beside him. “This umbrella’s lovely.”

“The staff here really thinks of everything. Anna and Mary worked up a long list of supplies last night. They allowed me to consult.”

“Do we have you to thank for the umbrellas, then? And may I borrow your buttonhook?”

He held it out for her. “No, I really added nothing. Except the buttonhook.”

He rolled up the cuffs of his white trousers and leaned back on his hands, feet digging into the sand. He appeared, Violet thought, more at peace than she’d seen him anywhere except on the loggia. Or playing his clarinet.

“You seem cheerful this afternoon,” she said as she worked at her shoes.

“Do I?” He leaned toward her, his gaze landing on her nose. “I’m relieved, probably. I did Flora’s frightening thing earlier, so that’s off my mind. And, well, this is nice, isn’t it? Didn’t you want to swim?”

“I may later,” she said. But she knew she wouldn’t. Why listen to Earl talk about cars and yachts when she could be here? Conversations with Charlie were interesting.

He was interesting. And there was always the chance that their hands might brush, ringing her brain like a brass bell.

Besides, she had no interest in going in that water. It was the same ocean that had swallowed the Lusitania.

“Can I ask you what your frightening thing was? Now that you’re through it?”

“It’ll seem silly.” He lifted a handful of sand and let it filter through his fingers. “It was just going outside. On the lawn, where you saw me.”

“Oh, but I think that is brave. There’s uneven footing, trees, cars, dogs. So much that’s unknown.”

“Exactly.”

Violet plowed her fingers into the sand, wondering how close she could come to his hand without him noticing. “Have you never thought about using a stick?”

“I have. Many times. I just—I suppose I haven’t wanted to give in. I’d rather bark my shins on a hundred coffee tables than look so obviously blind. Stupid, isn’t it? Pretending I can see when I can’t. It’s idiotic.”

“I don’t know. You haven’t had that much time. Just because you don’t want a stick now doesn’t mean you won’t later. But,” she added, “if you’d had one when we met, I wouldn’t have asked such a silly question as whether you’d seen my sister.”

He dipped his head, and when he lifted it, his cheeks were pink. “I was terrible to you that night. If I’d known—”

“Known what?”

“Well just— If I’d had a cane, you might not have given me the time of day.”

“Considering we both had the same idea of hiding against the wall, I’m sure we’d have met at some point. But I understand your pride. I do. Maybe you could have a secret cane that you only use when you trek outside. The rest of the time you keep it in your vest pocket.”

That earned a smile. Violet wiggled her toes and sniffed the salt air. This was glorious, sitting here. Sadie ran by, chased by Floyd into the waves. The group laughed and frolicked, but Violet doubted they were having as fine a time as she was. Charlie’s profile was sharp against the backdrop of sand. He’d set his boater on his shoes and, like the other fellows, was in his rolled-up shirtsleeves—no tie, no vest. His forearms rested on his knees, wrists bent gracefully, hands relaxed. She thought of Leaves of Grass and blushed.

Yesterday morning, when she was pulling up her stockings, she’d allowed her mind to imagine Charlie’s hands reaching around her waist. Settling on her back. Her mind had burst with tingles, and the vision had hung like a backdrop all day and all night.

She studied his profile again, the shape of his brow, his nose, the curve of his lips. Misery me! She pulled her gaze away and fixed her eyes on the edge of the umbrella.

“All right.” He sat forward suddenly, crossing his legs, burying his hands in the sand. “I told you my frightening thing. Let’s hear yours.”

“Oh.” Violet’s face went hot. “I’m not going to do mine.”

“What do you mean, not going to do yours?”

“Too chicken!”

“But that’s the whole point—to overcome the chicken.”

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Well, will you at least tell me what it is?”

Now the heat ran down her neck. Charlie’s gaze was fixed on her mouth, and that made her blush all the harder. She should lie. It would be easy. She could tell him her frightening thing was reading her mother’s letters—she was terrified to open them. But…it was also true that the thing that had popped into her head when Flora issued the challenge was very, very different. And she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Why not?” He was leaning closer. She could barely breathe.

“It has to do with you.” Her voice was so soft, she thought he might not have heard.

“With me?” His face was bright with curiosity, dark eyes boring into her skin. Good heavens. Did she dare?

She opened her mouth, ready to deliver her lie. But in the same moment, her hand, buried under the sand near his, undertook the frightening thing all on its own. It pushed toward his, softly, steadily, until her fingers reached the side of his hand. He didn’t jump, didn’t turn away. She pushed further, and he opened his fingers to twist around hers.

They sat, silent, as the waves washed the sand. Warmth traveled into her fingers from his. She’d been so scared that he would pull his hand away. Or act strange and stiff. Instead, he tipped his head toward hers.

“You’re no chicken,” he said.

She glowed. Then, good heavens, he moved his hand closer. His slid his sideways until their palms were together, her pulse beating against his skin, his pulse beating against her wrist. The sand cradled their hands. The waves rushed the shore. And Violet smiled until she thought her face would crack.