from the club driveway, impatient.
I stopped. The driveway? Surely she hadn’t gone darting among the departing cars, in the twilight crossed by headlamps. Surely she hadn’t seen Mother and Aunt Julie roar off in the car and thought we’d left her behind.
I hovered, torn. Abandon the beach for the driveway? Which was the likeliest possibility? Which was the greater danger? I couldn’t think. I wanted to move, not to think.
Fight or flight, the scientists called it, as if a scientist were ever moved to do either. As if a scientist in his laboratory had any idea how precious a little girl could be, how infinitely important, how deeply and passionately loved. How silken her hair under your cheek, how warm and promising her shape in your arms.
“Kiki!” I screamed again, down the length of the beach.
Was that a movement, flickering in the darkness?
I froze and listened, listened, to the water moving in my left ear and the pulse hammering in my right.
Again. Like something passing between my eyes and the porch lights, as they stretched like a diamond string down Seaview’s long neck.
“Kiki!” I burst into a run, scrambling for footing in the deep sand. “Kiki!”
She appeared out of nowhere, one second darkness and porch lights and the next second Kiki, running forward with her perfect spiral conch brandished triumphantly in her right hand. She threw herself into my arms and said, “Look! We found it!”
“Oh, darling. Oh, darling.” I sank into the sand, weighed down by her wriggling body and my own trembling legs. “I was so worried. Oh, darling.”
“Why were you worried? Mr. Greenwald helped me. He’s awfully nice.”
My arms locked. I looked up, and there was Nick, ten or twelve feet away, just within range of vision, standing as still as a cliff face and about as friendly. His hat was off, held in his hand against his thigh.
“Mr. Greenwald?” I repeated thickly.
“I saw her running down the steps, just as we were leaving. I thought I’d better follow, just in case.” He brushed his hat against his leg once, twice. “She was only looking for some seashells, it seems.”
“He was so nice, Lily. We looked all over until we found them. He used his lighter so we could see.” She turned and looked at Nick adoringly.
“I hope you thanked him, darling.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greenwald.”
“You’re welcome.” He hesitated. “You can call me Nick, if you like.”
“No, no,” I said. “We have a strict rule about addressing grown-ups. Don’t we, Kiki?”
“We do.” Kiki hugged me. “Is Mother angry?”
“No, she and Aunt Julie left already. We’re walking back along the beach.” I rose and took her hand in mine and turned to face Nick. “Thank you for finding her. She does that often, running off. I should be used to it by now.”
“I heard you calling. I tried to answer, but the wind seemed to catch it. You’re not walking back, are you?” It was too dark to see his face, too dark to tell if he really cared.
“It’s not so far. Half a mile or so.”
“In the darkness?”
“There’s a moon.”
He stepped forward, shaking his head. “We’ve got the car out front. We can drop you off.”
“No! No, thank you. I enjoy the walk.”
“But surely it’s too far for your sister, at this hour.”
“Kiki’s a good walker. Aren’t you, darling?”
She jumped up and down. “I want to see Mr. Greenwald’s car! Oh, let’s go home with them.”
“Lily,” said Nick, “don’t refuse on my account.”
“I’m not. I . . .” I left my words to teeter and balance on the salt wind, until I could hear them from an objective distance and realized how frantic they sounded, and how false. I was still shaken from Kiki’s disappearance, still unsteady from the gin. “Well, all right. Thank you. It’s very kind.”
“It’s not kind,” he muttered, striking forward toward the clubhouse.
I had forgotten what it was like to walk next to Nick, with his height
I stopped. The driveway? Surely she hadn’t gone darting among the departing cars, in the twilight crossed by headlamps. Surely she hadn’t seen Mother and Aunt Julie roar off in the car and thought we’d left her behind.
I hovered, torn. Abandon the beach for the driveway? Which was the likeliest possibility? Which was the greater danger? I couldn’t think. I wanted to move, not to think.
Fight or flight, the scientists called it, as if a scientist were ever moved to do either. As if a scientist in his laboratory had any idea how precious a little girl could be, how infinitely important, how deeply and passionately loved. How silken her hair under your cheek, how warm and promising her shape in your arms.
“Kiki!” I screamed again, down the length of the beach.
Was that a movement, flickering in the darkness?
I froze and listened, listened, to the water moving in my left ear and the pulse hammering in my right.
Again. Like something passing between my eyes and the porch lights, as they stretched like a diamond string down Seaview’s long neck.
“Kiki!” I burst into a run, scrambling for footing in the deep sand. “Kiki!”
She appeared out of nowhere, one second darkness and porch lights and the next second Kiki, running forward with her perfect spiral conch brandished triumphantly in her right hand. She threw herself into my arms and said, “Look! We found it!”
“Oh, darling. Oh, darling.” I sank into the sand, weighed down by her wriggling body and my own trembling legs. “I was so worried. Oh, darling.”
“Why were you worried? Mr. Greenwald helped me. He’s awfully nice.”
My arms locked. I looked up, and there was Nick, ten or twelve feet away, just within range of vision, standing as still as a cliff face and about as friendly. His hat was off, held in his hand against his thigh.
“Mr. Greenwald?” I repeated thickly.
“I saw her running down the steps, just as we were leaving. I thought I’d better follow, just in case.” He brushed his hat against his leg once, twice. “She was only looking for some seashells, it seems.”
“He was so nice, Lily. We looked all over until we found them. He used his lighter so we could see.” She turned and looked at Nick adoringly.
“I hope you thanked him, darling.”
“Thank you, Mr. Greenwald.”
“You’re welcome.” He hesitated. “You can call me Nick, if you like.”
“No, no,” I said. “We have a strict rule about addressing grown-ups. Don’t we, Kiki?”
“We do.” Kiki hugged me. “Is Mother angry?”
“No, she and Aunt Julie left already. We’re walking back along the beach.” I rose and took her hand in mine and turned to face Nick. “Thank you for finding her. She does that often, running off. I should be used to it by now.”
“I heard you calling. I tried to answer, but the wind seemed to catch it. You’re not walking back, are you?” It was too dark to see his face, too dark to tell if he really cared.
“It’s not so far. Half a mile or so.”
“In the darkness?”
“There’s a moon.”
He stepped forward, shaking his head. “We’ve got the car out front. We can drop you off.”
“No! No, thank you. I enjoy the walk.”
“But surely it’s too far for your sister, at this hour.”
“Kiki’s a good walker. Aren’t you, darling?”
She jumped up and down. “I want to see Mr. Greenwald’s car! Oh, let’s go home with them.”
“Lily,” said Nick, “don’t refuse on my account.”
“I’m not. I . . .” I left my words to teeter and balance on the salt wind, until I could hear them from an objective distance and realized how frantic they sounded, and how false. I was still shaken from Kiki’s disappearance, still unsteady from the gin. “Well, all right. Thank you. It’s very kind.”
“It’s not kind,” he muttered, striking forward toward the clubhouse.
I had forgotten what it was like to walk next to Nick, with his height
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