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She nodded again.
“Oh. I wish I'd known that.”
“I didn't tell you. How could you know?”
He widened the hole in the sand. Then he filled it in again. “You know, Bridget, when I first met you, you were so confident and so . . . sexy with me. I thought you were older than you are. I know better now. You haven't done very much. You're a young sixteen.”
“I'm fifteen.”
He groaned. “Don't tell me that.”
“Sorry. Just being honest,” she said.
“Couldn't you have been honest before?”
Bridget's mouth quivered. He looked sorry. He came closer to her and put his arm around her shoulders.
He forged ahead. “Here's what I wanted to tell you. We might not get to talk again, so I want you to remember it. Okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbled.
He let out a long breath. “It's a tough admission from a guy who's supposed to be a coach here, so listen up.” He looked at the sky for help. “You took my life by storm this summer. You've been in my bed with me every night since that day I first saw you.” He put his hand on her hair. “The day we swam together. Running together. Dancing together. Watching you play . . . I know I'm a soccer drone, Bee, but watching you play was a huge turn-on.”
She smiled a little.
“That's why you scare the shit out of me. Because you're too pretty and you're too sexy and you're too young for me. You know that too, don't you?”
Bridget wasn't sure if she was too young for him, but she knew she was too young for what she had done with him. She nodded.
“And now, after being so close to you, I can't be around you and not think about what that feels like.”
She was going to cry. Big fat tears quivered in her eyes.
He put his palms on either side of her head. “Bee, listen. Someday, when you're twenty, maybe, I'll see you again. You'll be this hot soccer star at some great school, with a million guys more interesting than I am chasing you down. And you know what? I'll see you and I'll pray you want me still.” He held two clumps of her hair in his hands like it was precious stuff. “If I could meet you again, at a different time under different circumstances, I could let myself worship you the way you deserve. But I can't now.”
She nodded yet again and let the tears fall.
She wanted his profession of feelings to do the trick. She really did. She knew he wanted that too. Whether he spoke the truth or not, he thought he could make her feel better, and he really, really wanted to.
But it wasn't what she needed. Her need was as big as the stars, and he was down there on the beach, so quiet she could hardly hear him.
Under the tent in the backyard, Carmen's father hugged her for a long time. When he pulled away his eyes were full. She was glad he didn't say anything. She could tell what he meant.
Lydia hugged her too. It was pure duty, but Carmen didn't care. If Lydia loved her father that much, all the better. Krista pecked her cheek and Paul shook her hand. “Welcome back,” he said.
If anyone noticed the fact that she was wearing jeans, they didn't say so.
“Bridal party! Time for formal pictures!” called the photographer's elderly assistant, taking no note of the fragile air. “Bridal party! Please gather under the magnolia!” she cried into Krista's ear. It was as though there were hordes of them rather than just four.
Carmen headed for the drinks table, but her father caught her hand. “Come,” he said. “You belong with us.”
“But I'm . . .” She gestured toward the Pants.
He waved away her concern. “You look fine,” he said, and she believed him.
She posed with the four of them. She posed with Krista and Paul. She posed with Lydia and her dad. She posed with her dad. The old assistant made a sour observation about Carmen's jeans, but nobody else said a word. She couldn't help feeling impressed by Lydia letting her fairy-tale wedding pictures be mucked up by a dark-skinned girl in a pair of blue jeans.
The drinks-and-dinner part of the wedding seemed to rush by. Carmen made small talk with her neurotic aunts until the bride and groom took the floor to loud applause. Shortly afterward, Paul arrived at her chair. “Would you like to dance?” he asked her formally, bowing slightly.
Carmen stood, deciding not to worry that she didn't really know how to waltz. She put her arm through his. On the parquet platform he began whirling her in time with the music.
Suddenly she remembered the girlfriend. She began studying the surrounding tables to see where the poison looks would be coming from. Paul seemed to sense her distraction.
“Where's . . . uh . . .” Suddenly Carmen couldn't think of her actual name.
“Skeletor?” Paul supplied.
Carmen felt her cheeks grow hot. Paul laughed. He had an unexpectedly sweet, hiccupy laugh. Had she really never heard it before?
Carmen bit her lip shamefully. “Sorry,” she murmured.
“We broke up,” he offered. He didn't appear to be the slightest bit sad.
When the song ended he drew away, and she saw her father striding over. Before Paul left the dance floor, he bent close to her ear. “You make your dad happy,” he said, surprising her, as he did pretty much every time he opened his mouth.
Her father pulled her into his grasp and waltzed them along the perimeter of the dance floor.
“You know what I'm going to do?” he said.
“What?” she asked.
“From now on, I'm going to be as honest with you as you've been with me,” he said.
“Okay,” she agreed, and let the twinkly white lights blur into a smeary snowstorm.
At the end of the night, on her way up to bed, she noticed the dining room window. Smooth glass followed a web of fracture lines to a hole. The pane wasn't fixed, but rather covered by clear plastic and a messy arrangement of silver duct tape. For some reason, this made Carmen feel ashamed and happy at the same time.
Lena,
I finally did something right in these Pants. I think Tibby did too. So we're sending them to you with some good Carma attached (heh heh heh). I can't wait to tell you about everything when we're all together again. I hope these Pants bring you as much happiness as they brought me today.
Love,
Carmen
Tibby went to work in her pajama top. She had to borrow a smock. Duncan pretended to be surly, but she could tell he was happy to see her after she'd called in sick for so many days. He complimented her on Carmen's pants.
At four o'clock her treacherous mind slipped back into the assumption that Bailey would show up. And then Tibby had to remember again.
“Where's your friend?” Duncan asked. Everybody at Wallman's knew Bailey now.
Tibby went to the back entrance to cry. She sat on the high concrete step and buried her face. Every so often she wiped her flowing nose on the borrowed smock. Her skin was sticky under her flannel pajama top.
Somebody was there. She looked up. It took her a moment to adjust her eyes to the sight of Tucker Rowe.
“Are you okay?” he asked her. Absently she wondered if he ever got hot in all that black.
“Not particularly,” she answered. She blew her nose into the smock.
