Wifey by Judy Blume Page B

against her. If he walked by right now, she would say,
Lie on me,
and he would, rubbing against her. Rubbing, rubbing, but not putting it inside her. It would be exciting enough that way, just rubbing on the outside of her suit, the way Shep used to do because she’d told him,
I can’t Shep . . . I promised my mother . . . I can’t do it . . . not all the way . . . but we can do this . . . and this . . . yes, Shep, yes . . . I can feel you through my clothes . . . can you feel me? Yes, I can come this way. I’m coming, Shep . . . oh, God . . . I’m coming . . . now now now . . .
    “I think I love you.”
    Sandy opened her eyes and sat up. A middle-aged man in madras bathing trunks was sitting opposite her, drawing in the sand with a stick. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Sandy asked, rearranging her bathing suit, hoping she hadn’t been squirming, that the man had no idea what she’d been thinking.
    “I said I think I love you.”
    Sandy jumped up, gathered her things in a hurry, and took off, running down the beach.
    He called after her. “Don’t go, I said I love you and I mean it. Come back. Come swim with me.”
    Jesus, a pervert on the private beach! She ran until her side ached, until she reached the safety of the crowded hotel grounds. God, he could have killed her. He could have bashed in her head with a coconut. Never again. From now on she was going to make her headquarters on the hotel beach.
    She used the Ladies Room near the hotel pool, got herself together, then went up to the crab races and found Bucky and Jen.
    “Hi, Mom, what are you doing here?” Bucky asked. He didn’t wait for her answer. He was too engrossed in the crab race. “Go little guy . . . go . . . look at that . . . go number three . . . go  . . .”
    “I lost,” Jen said. “I bet on number six and then he turned around and walked the wrong way.”
    “Maybe that will teach you a lesson about gambling,” Sandy said. “Where’s Connie and Kate?”
    “Oh, they went off with the ganja man,” Bucky said.
    “The ganja man?”
    “The dealer.”
    “What dealer?”
    “You know, Mom, quit acting dumb.”
    “Bucky, I do not know what you’re talking about.”
    “Ganja . . . it’s like grass . . . like dope . . . pot . . .”
    “Marijuana?”
    “Yeah, down here they call it ganja.”
    “And they went off with him?”
    “Yeah, but they’ll be back, don’t worry.”
    “They’re just down the beach,” Jen said pointing, “but Kate said if I told anybody she’d kill me. She said she’d hold me under water until I turn blue. That’s why I have to learn to hold my breath till one hundred, like Daddy.”
    “Nobody’s going to hurt you,” Sandy said. “Now, listen . . . you two stay right here and watch the rest of the crab races . . . don’t move . . . I’ll be back with Kate and Connie and then we’re going home.”
    Just what she needed. Where the hell were they and what was she supposed to do about them? And if they’d used her money, she’d kill them. The bitches!
    She found them in a clump of trees, laughing their heads off. “Hi, Aunt Sandy,” Kate said. “What are you doing way down here?”
    “I was just going to ask you the same question. I thought you were going to stay with Bucky and Jen.”
    “Bucky and Jen aren’t babies. They can take care of themselves.”
    “Have you been smoking pot?”
    They laughed again.
    “Do your parents know you smoke?”
    “I don’t know,” Kate said. “We’ve never discussed it.”
    “Are you going to tell them?” Connie asked.
    “Of course she’s not,” Kate said. “What purpose would that serve?”
    “Look,” Sandy said, “I’m not feeling well and I want to get home.”
    “Gee, that’s too bad, Aunt Sandy,” Kate said. “Would you like a joint? That might help.”
    “No, let’s just get out of here.”
    T HAT NIGHT N ORMAN ASKED, “Feeling stronger,