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They walked out to where he had parked the Aston Martin convertible, one of the few cars left in the lot. Even the valet guys had punched out. Ryan opened the door and Mara stepped inside. "I didn't realize it was so late," she said.
She rubbed her eyes, smearing her eye makeup all over her face. "God, I look like a mess!" she said, pulling down the visor to check out the damage in the mirror.
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Ryan turned. "You make a pretty cute raccoon."
She wiped her face with tissues, amazed at how much makeup came off. Jacqui had really outdone herself.
They drove back to the house in comfortable silence. The night air smelled fresh and a little wet, and in the quiet of the night Mara could feel what made this place so special. Yes, all
that posturing all the time was a little much, but it was beautiful. "Well, good night ... ," Ryan said, helping Mara up the steps. "Good night." She smiled at him sleepily. She walked down the garden path toward the servants' cottage.
Ryan lingered at the doorway, his forehead knit in a frown. "Hey, are you going to bed?" he called after her.
"I was ... ," Mara said tentatively.
"I thought maybe I'd build a bonfire on the beach. It's a nice night, and, well, I've got some sleeping bags."
Mara smiled into the dark. "That sounds great. Just let me change."
A few minutes later Mara watched as Ryan dug a hole in the sand and filled it with firewood and kindling. She was wearing a T-shirt and pajamas and had scrubbed off all the makeup.
He struck a match. The newspapers flared up, but the firewood didn't catch.
"I think they're a little damp."
"Here, let me help," Mara said. She was an expert at building fires. Her parents liked to heat their house with their woodstove
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through the harsh New England winters; they thought it was quaint, even though Mara knew there wasn't much quaint about their single-story ranch. "You just need a little more kindling ... and blow on the smoke... ." She arranged the sticks into a teepee over the newspaper, and when the initial blaze died down, a few red embers remained.
"Blow, blow!" she told Ryan, and the two of them huffed and puffed on the small sparks. The sparks became larger and finally the wood caught fire. Mara and Ryan cheered.
"I found some marshmallows in the pantry," Ryan said, opening a bag. He grabbed a long stick from the cattail bushes and stuck one on. He handed it to Mara. She held it over the fire, watching the sugar melt into a brown glaze.
"When I was little, I always left the marshmallows in too long and they would burn and fall off," Mara said, taking a bite.
"But you have to leave them on for a long time! That's when they taste best!" Ryan argued.
He left his stick in the fire, and the marshmallow sizzled and fell into the flames.
"See, I told you!" Mara laughed at his dismayed expression. Ryan speared another marshmallow. "This time you're not getting away!" he said sternly to his food.
They sat in companionable silence for a while. Mara dug her bare toes into the cold sand until it started to feel wet a few inches down. She could see the smallest orange reflection of their fire as the waves rolled in again and again. Behind them were the
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biggest houses she'd ever seen, but it was the beach that impressed her the most.
"I always thought I'd stay here forever," Ryan said, breaking Mara's silent reverie.
"What do you mean?"
"Growing up, when we used to come out to the Hamptons, I never wanted to leave come September. I promised myself that when I was older, I would live here year-round."
"It must get so cold, with the ocean right there."
