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“You say that now. But when the wind comes up and a big cold wave comes over the bow and drenches you from head to toe, you might say different.”
She swims a few lazy strokes and looks back impishly over her shoulder. “Do I look like a girl who’s afraid of getting wet?”
He laughs, a great, booming sound that echoes across the pond, and Miriam sees heads swiveling on the bank: Harold and his sisters and their friends have stopped whatever they were doing and are all looking across the water toward her. Harold has even ventured into the sun to stand right at the water’s edge, his arms folded across his chest. Staring. Good and mad, probably, but Miriam doesn’t care. She’s had more fun in the span of this short conversation than in all the afternoons she’s spent in Harold Chandler’s company combined, and if that doesn’t meet with his approval, he can go jump in a lake.He can jump right in this one,she thinks.This lake, in particular—and then bites her tongue to keep from giggling at the image of Harold flopping angrily into the pond like a big pale frog.
Theodore swims up beside her. “I’m not sure your friends approve of me,” he says, tilting his head toward the group on the rock.
“I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think they approve of me, either,” she says, and feels a little flare of annoyance. The scowl on Harold’s face is clear, even at a distance, and she can just imagine how Peggy and Dodie must be teasing him, always doing their best to make every awkward situation worse. Those obnoxious little girls are so keen to stir up trouble, to fan every spark into a five-alarm fire, and suddenly, all Miriam wants is to give them a taste of their own medicine. It’s a mean impulse, the kind she’d never ordinarily indulge, but it’s at this exact moment that Peggy says something to Harold that makes him whip his head around and shout at her, and the girls all erupt in a chorus of wicked, gleeful cackling, and the words are out of Miriam’s mouth before she can think better of it.
“Why don’t you swim on over with me right now, and I’ll introduce you.”
It takes only ten minutes for them to swim back to shore, and only half that time for Miriam to realize that this was a mistake. The girls’ gleeful cackling had stopped the moment Theodore and Miriam began to paddle back; they were whispering to each other now, glancing periodically at the swimmers as the distance closed to twenty yards, then ten. Harold, meanwhile, is standing and staring, with his arms folded across his chest. But the idea of turning back is impossible to contemplate, and then just impossible, period, as her hand touches the submerged edge of the rock and she climbs carefully out of the water, slipping a little on the slimy surface. Harold rushes forward to help her at the same time as Theodore steps up beside her to do the same, and for a moment she is suspended between the two of them, one boy holding each hand, her toes frantically gripping for purchase in thegreenish muck. Then Harold pulls, too hard, and she falls forward as he stumbles back, yanking her other hand free from Theodore’s just in time to fling it out and catch her fall. One of her knees bangs hard against the rock and she gasps.
“Are you all right?” Theodore says, hurrying to help her up at the same time as Harold springs to his feet and snaps, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” in an angry tone Miriam has never heard before, and it takes her a moment to realize that Harold isn’t talking to her but to Theodore, who gazes back at Harold with an unreadable expression on his face. The girls are standing in a huddle a few feet back, their eyes wide, and Miriam has time to think that if Dodie and Peggy and the rest were always trying to start fires, she might as well have shown up with a canister of gasoline. Theodore’s friends are watching, too, looking down on the scene from their vantage point high on the ledge—and though the sun is still bright and warm, an ominous chill runs down her spine. She looks up at Harold and tries to smile. “Nothing to worry about,” she says lightly. “I only bumped my knee, that’s all. Harold, this is—”
“I asked you a question,” Harold says louder, not even looking at Miriam, and Theodore stands up a little straighter.
“Miss Day asked if I’d like to be introduced to her friends,” he says, mildly enough, but Miriam can see him shift his weight forward just a little, so that he’s standing on the balls of his feet. Like a boxer, not swinging but ready to move if it comes to that—only it can’t come to that, Miriam thinks, because Theodore would put Harold’s lights out with one punch. He extends a hand toward Harold, like he did for her back in the water, but no smile this time. “And I said sure, I’d love to meet Miriam’s friends. I’m Theodore Caravasios.”
Harold stares but doesn’t move. His face beneath his hat has turned pink at the mention of Miriam’s name, as if someone just uttered a forbidden oath. He looks at Miriam.
“You,” he sputters, then looks back at Theodore, his face twisting up like an angry little boy’s. But he lifts his own hand, and at firstit seems like it might be okay, like he might reach out for the handshake after all. Only he doesn’t, and what happens next happens in slow motion—a moment that lasts long enough for Miriam to look at Harold’s pinched face and think to herself,Oh no,and then, seeing his elbow drawing back, to think even more urgently,Oh, NO, and then there’s the lightthwapof flesh on flesh as he swings his arm forward and swats Theodore’s proffered hand out of the air, like it’s an insect.
Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. Even Peggy, who can usually be counted on to start giggling the moment her brother does something to embarrass himself, just stares with her mouth open and her hands clasped to either side of her face. It’s not the violence, but the ridiculousness of it: that a slap could be so weak, so limp-wristed, and yet so rude all at the same time, and Miriam realizes two things at once: first, that Harold Chandler is a loathsome, pathetic little weasel who she will never speak to again if she can help it.
The second thing is that if she doesn’t do something, he’s about to have his teeth caved in.
Theodore tenses as if he’s about to pounce, and Miriam leaps up, stretching her long arms and long legs, unfolding like a flower. In addition to those lessons about accepting attention graciously, Mother has explained that attention can also be cultivated and useful, that you could learn to move and speak so that every eye in the room is drawn to you. This was a woman’s power, a different sort of weapon but no less effective when used correctly, and while Mother’s lessons never explicitly addressed this situation in particular, Miriam sees the logic: if you are standing between two men, and they are both looking at you, then they cannot also be punching each other.
She allows her back to arch as she tosses her damp hair over her shoulder. Then she stands up straight, shoulders back, and walks right in between Harold and Theodore, both of whom automatically step back. The simmering tension that was in the air just a moment ago isn’t gone but displaced: She holds the power now, and this could be the end of it. She could let it go as easily as she seized it, let it dissipateinto the air. Catastrophe averted. She could even still make things right with Harold if she wanted to, taking his arm and asking him sweetly if they couldn’t go home now, as she’d caught a little chill in the water.
But this isn’t only about keeping Harold from taking a swing at Theodore or keeping Theodore from breaking Harold’s nose. Suddenly it’s hardly about the men at all. This is Miriam’s moment, and everyone is looking. Waiting, watching, to see what she’ll do—and Miriam herself suddenly has the strange sensation that she’s waiting, too, floating somewhere above the scene, watching it like a movie and wondering how it might end. Her gaze rises up the sheer face of the cliff and fixes on the ledge high above, where the boys are still standing, watching, a group of gangly silhouettes against the brilliant sky. For the second time today, a wild thought flashes through her mind... and before she knows it, she’s said the words. She points up at the ledge. “I think I’d like to try that.”
For a moment, nobody speaks. Then Peggy lets out a high, nervous giggle, like a horse’s whinny, and the other girls join in—as if Miriam has said something desperately funny, or maybe just something they desperately want to be funny. Harold snorts, a half laugh.
Theodore is the only one who doesn’t smile at all. He cocks his head and looks at her curiously. “The cliff? You want to jump?”
Harold rolls his eyes and turns away, bending over to gather some scattered items from the rock. “Of course she doesn’t. She’s just putting you on. Miriam, where’s your towel?”
“I didn’t ask you,” Theodore says, his eyes not moving from Miriam’s face. “I asked her.”
Harold scoffs, “Come on, Miriam. This is stupid. It’ll be more fun back at the cottage anyway. Hey,Miriam. I said come on. What do you say?”
A smile tweaks at the corners of Theodore’s mouth. “Well, you heard him. Whatdoyou say, Miriam? Because if you want to jump—”
“I said comeon,we’regoing,” Harold whines, and Miriam turns to face him.
“I’ll only be a minute.” She turns back, takes a deep breath. “I want to jump.”
Peggy squawks, “Oh,Miriam, but it’s dangerous,” and Theodore shakes his head.
“It’s not. I’ve done it a million times. Never once hit the bottom.”
Peggy falls silent, and Harold’s eyes narrow. He hesitates, and for a moment, Miriam thinks he might give it one more try. A last stand, a last chance to lay claim to the girl he’s been reliably informed is supposed to be his. Hadn’t he told her that this was the plan, that even hismummahad said so? But he doesn’t. Instead, he shoves a bag at his sister and stalks off into the woods. His parting shot at Miriam is tossed over his shoulder. “If you’re not at the car in ten minutes, I’m leaving without you.”
“I’ll fall just as fast as I can, Harold,” she calls after him, her voice sugary. Is this cruel? She doesn’t think so. It’s time Harold Chandler understood that she’s a person with a mind of her own, not an ornament to be paraded around as if her only purpose is to make him look good.
Neither of them speaks as Theodore leads her along the rocks, past the bobbing lily field to a narrow dirt path that rises steeply between the trees. It’s a short but hard climb, with bare roots and jutting rocks that she has to grab ahold of to keep her footing, and she keeps her eyes on the dirt beneath her bare feet. He doesn’t offer help, and she doesn’t ask for it; only once, the loose dirt slides out from beneath her and she feels the warm, broad weight of his palm against her hip, to keep her from falling. When she regains her balance, he takes his hand away, his fingers trailing momentarily over her bare back. The touch, rough and soft at once, is the most thrilling thing she’s ever felt.
