Nantucket

Nantucket by Harrison Young Page B

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Authors: Harrison Young
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down on the sand, take off his sandals, shorts and tee shirt and go into the water, but he knew better than to swim alone. The ocean is full of monsters, his father had taught him when he was four. At some level, he still believed that.
    Presumably his father had seen it as a form of drown-proofing, a way of making an inquisitive toddler cautious during a vacation on the Jersey shore. His father had been a methodical and cautious man, who knew something about monsters, actually, but parents have no way of knowing which random comments their children will take to heart, what ideas will take root in their young imaginations. Andrew’s younger daughter, Florence, for example, it had recently emerged, was studying architecture because he had once remarked that law school would be boring.
    â€œYou know, I would have made a pretty good lawyer,” she’d said recently.
    â€œDid you ever think about it?” he’d asked.
    â€œYou told me not to,” she’d said.
    Which wasn’t what he’d meant at all. He’d never even gone to law school. How would he know? He’d meant that in his observation , lawyers needed an appetite for hard work, and that law school probably tested a person on that capacity.
    â€œOh,” she’d said.
    How else have I misled you? Andrew had said to himself.
    â€œNever mind,” she’d said. “I like architecture. Richard” – that was the boy she thought she was in love with – “he told me I pay attention to details the same as he has to. He says law school has taught him to read. I told him drawing is teaching me to see.”
    Which had brought the topic safely to a close. But still.
    In any event, he always gave his house guests a lecture on safety when they first arrived. And put a copy of Moby Dick in every bedroom.
    Andrew opened the refrigerator door to get a bottle of soda water and…screw it. He wouldn’t be able to see anything for several minutes. He grabbed the bottle, closed the refrigerator door and went into the pantry to get a glass.
    There was someone in the pantry. A shape. A monster? He slowly put down the bottle of soda water and reached out in the darkness, finding…goosebumps, a woman’s body, a shocking frizz of curly hair, wetness beneath. “Oh my,” he said, and even as he said it realised his hand had stayed too long where it shouldn’t have been. “I beg your pardon.”
    Whoever went with the goosebumps grabbed the sleeves of his nightshirt and pulled him toward her. “Relax,” she whispered. “What happens in the dark doesn’t count.”
    â€œWhy are you here?” he heard himself asking. “And naked?”
    â€œWhy are you asking questions?”
    Whispering didn’t extinguish her accent. She had to be Rosemary. His hands found her breasts, which were pushing forward, eager for attention. “Do you even know who I am?” she said.
    Andrew told his hands to behave. “Of course I know. But what are you doing here? Who were you looking for?”
    â€œI was looking for you. I wish you’d lose this nightshirt.” She began pulling it up, and he resisted. “I want to go swimming,” she said.
    â€œIt’s dangerous at night. And how long have you been here?”
    â€œIt’s not dangerous if I have a life guard. And the answer is I don’t know, maybe half an hour. I was awake anyway. Shiva snores. Your other guests, the newlyweds, finished their duties hours ago. Very traditional couple, if you like that sort of thing.”
    What sort of thing, he wanted to ask, but didn’t.
    Rosemary paused, and changed her tone. “Listen, you’re intelligent. You’re on the edge of being middle-aged. Your wife is a bit distant, if I’m any judge, though superbly trained. It’s three in the morning. Your profession involves sucking up to rich bastards. Wouldn’t it balance things out if we went

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