She replaced the picture on the nightstand.
“Yeah, right, Summer,” she muttered. “Why not also tell them that maybe they won the lottery so they should both quit their jobs? Maybe they should think Jonathan is alive and then find out he isn’t, so they can go through all that pain again.”
There was a discreet knock at the door. Quiet as it was, it made Summer jump.
“Yes?”
“It’s me.” Diver’s voice.
“Come in,” she said, relieved.
He stuck his head in. “I thought I heard you talking to someone. I was just going to make some breakfast.”
“No, I wasn’t talking to anyone,” Summer said. “Go ahead. Hey, I have some excellent juice in the fridge if you’d like some.”
“Cool.” He looked at her quizzically. “Talking to yourself, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess so.” She smiled at him. “I’m going to lie out on the beach with Marquez, so take your time here.”
“You’re okay, right?” Diver asked. He was searching for the juice in the refrigerator.
“Mmm. Yes, I’m okay,” she said thoughtfully. “I’m sort of like Typhoid Mary. You know, someone who has a disease, only it doesn’t affect them but they give it to whoever they touch? And then whoever they give it to is sick?”
Diver had found the juice. Now he withdrew his hand gingerly. “Um, what disease? You didn’t drink out of this bottle, right?”
Summer laughed softly. “Don’t worry, Diver. This disease won’t affect you. J.T., sure. And his parents, and my parents…”
She was silent for a moment while Diver poured and drank a glass of juice. She could just tell her parents what she knew, let them do all the checking. After all, they were parental units, and she was slightly too young to be taking on all the burdens of the world.
Only, it would devastate her parents. It would raise their hopes, and then, if it turned out not to be true, it would leave them feeling worse than ever.
Suddenly she jumped up. “No,” she said decisively. “As a matter of fact, it isn’t going to be anyone’s problem. Not until I’m completely sure. Thanks for working it through with me, Diver.”
“No problem,” he said.
It was a bright, sunny day. It almost always was in the Florida Keys. Which did not change the fact that bright was still bright, and sunny was still sunny, and the heat was just as real for being almost constant.
Summer and Marquez were heading for the beach, wearing sandals and sunglasses and bathing suits—as common an outfit on Crab Claw Key as a business suit was in Manhattan or a down parka in Minnesota. It was strange, Summer reflected, how quickly she had become inured to the idea of walking around in public half naked all the time. The other day she’d gone into Burger King dressed in a bathing suit—not a thing one did back where she was from.
“I have a question,” Summer said.
“What?”
“Is your butt painted green?”
Marquez stopped and twisted around to look. “Huh. Yes, it is.”
“Any particular reason?” Summer asked.
“I was painting. I guess when I cleaned up I missed a spot.” She resumed walking, but shot Summer a wicked grin. “Maybe later I’ll ask Diver if he can come over and help me clean it off.”
Summer wasn’t buying it. Marquez was just trying to distract her. “What were you painting?”
“Stuff,” Marquez said.
“Stuff like…J.T.?”
“Big deal. That doesn’t mean anything,” Marquez said unconvincingly. “I was just tired of that big, blank white spot on the wall.”
“Right. I completely and totally believe you, Marquez.”
“Oh, shut up,” Marquez grumbled. “Besides, he’s still seeing Lianne. It’s not as if we’re back together. And I need someone to go with me to the Bacch. J.T.’s with Lianne. Diver is with whatever weird, invisible spirit he’s with.”
“The what?”
“The Bacch. The McSween Bacchanal,” Marquez explained to Summer. “What, you don’t know about it? The party to end all parties? It’s in five days. Jeez, do you live in a cave? It’s this big street thing, like Mardi Gras, only no one speaks French. Lots of food, lots of drinks, lots of everything else you can think of. Music. Dancing. Vandalism. Guys peeing in alleyways. You know, pretty much the kind of good time you’re used to back home in Blimpyburg, Iowasota.”
“When are you going to stop making fun of Bloomington?” Summer asked grumpily. She hadn’t slept all that well, and now, out in the heat, she felt groggy. First had come the strange, disturbing dream. And Diver had kept her awake, which was unusual. He slept on her roof deck, unless it was raining. Most nights she never even knew he was there. But the previous night he’d been humming some song for an hour. Very un-Diver-like. And then she’d spent the morning deciding just how many lives she should throw into turmoil. “So what are you saying? This is like some kind of local Mardi Gras?”
“Yeah, it’s to celebrate the day when the guy who founded Crab Claw Key was hanged.”
“Excuse me?”
“This guy named John Bonner McSween was some kind of pirate, and he used to have his boat here. But then the British Navy caught up with him and hanged him. So I guess before they finished him off he made some big speech about how he hoped they’d all have themselves a big party celebrating the fact that they’d got him at last. Anyway, that’s the story. Every year it’s a big thing.”
“Like costumes and all?” Summer asked. They turned left, and the beach came into view at the end of a blessedly tree-shaded road. The trees framed a nice view at the far end of the street—a perfect, three-layered slice of crystal white sand, blue-green water, and pure, unclouded blue sky.
“It’s not quite that organized,” Marquez said. “Costumes would require actual planning. Mostly we’re talking bathing suits.”
“That’s all people ever wear around here. This has to be the only place on earth where people wear shorts and halter tops to church.”
“The important thing is, don’t let them make you work that night,” Marquez said. “They’re going to try to get you to. But only total losers and married people work the night of the McSween Bacchanal.”
“I guess I’ll ask Seth what he’s going to do,” Summer said.
Marquez rolled her eyes. “Oh, so now you need his permission?”
They had reached the beach and were hotfooting around, looking for the perfect spot to spread their blanket. For Marquez, a perfect spot was usually defined as one with an easy view of good-looking guys playing volleyball.
“I don’t need Seth’s permission, but he and I are kind of boyfriend and girlfriend now,” Summer said. “I mean, that’s sort of official. Look, just put the blanket down already.”
Marquez looked at her curiously as she unfolded the blanket. “What exactly went on between you two in that cave?”
Summer lay back and began spreading sunblock on her stomach. She had achieved a good tan and now didn’t want to carry it too far. On Crab Claw Key the sun was out almost every day, and if she wasn’t careful, she’d be a piece of leather by the time summer came to an end. Plus she didn’t have Marquez’s naturally dark skin.
“Nothing,” Summer said. “I just kind of realized that I was being silly, keeping Seth at a distance.”
“Uh-huh. So did you guys do it?”
“No!” Summer said, flustered, as she often was, by her friend’s directness.
“You didn’t?” Marquez seemed surprised. “You’re stuck in a cave with a cute guy and only a few hours to live and you didn’t even think to yourself, whoa, I don’t want to die a virgin?”
“It didn’t really come up,” Summer said, tossing a handful of sugar white sand on Marquez’s oiled back.
“Hey, stop that. Look, all I’m saying is that it would have been a pretty good excuse. Who’s going to say you shouldn’t just go for it under those circumstances?”
“The circumstances were that we we
re both scared and I hadn’t brushed my teeth since that morning.”
Marquez sighed. “Wait a minute. You’re on death’s doorstep, you’re trapped with a very cute guy—even if he is a little too wholesome for me—and you don’t do it because you think you might have bad breath?” She sighed again. “On second thought, maybe you should work the night of the Bacch.”
“You’re saying you would have done it?” Summer asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Have you ever done it? Or are you just talking big, as usual?” Summer asked. She felt a little forward asking the question, but Marquez had goaded her.
“I’ve never been trapped in a cave,” Marquez said defensively.
“Hah,” Summer said.
“Oh, shut up. So if you didn’t do it, why all this stuff about having to ask Seth’s permission to go to the Bacchanal?”
“Did I say I had to ask his permission? No.”
“But it’s the big L, huh?” Marquez asked. “I mean, the L word was spoken out loud by both parties?”
Summer laughed. “The L word may have been spoken.” She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the memory. Yes, the L word had definitely been mentioned.
Marquez gave an exaggerated shudder. “That’s too bad. Once the L word is out there, it’s hard to ever take it back. Believe me, I know.”
“Speaking of which…” Summer began.
“Let’s not change the subject. We’re discussing your messed-up love life, not mine,” Marquez said. “All I’m saying is this whole love thing is like…what’s that disease? The one you get from mosquitoes, and it keeps coming back?”
“Encephalitis?”
“No. The other one.”
“Malaria.”
“Like malaria, right. Once you have the fever it can just come back all of a sudden, making you hot and feverish and delirious.” Marquez panted theatrically. “Anyway, I’m just telling you, once you start saying the L word, it isn’t easy to take it back.”
“Maybe I don’t want to take it back,” Summer said. Everything was bright red beneath her closed eyes. She scrunched her eyelids tighter and got nice dark blue explosions. “I do love him.”
“Yeah? That’s what you think now,” Marquez said. “But I have one word for you. One very important word.”
Summer waited, but naturally Marquez outwaited her. “All right, what word?” Summer demanded, opening her eyes. “Jeez, make me beg already.”
“The word is…August.”
“August. Okay. That clears everything up,” Summer said dryly.
“Laugh all you want. People always forget August when they come down here for the summer. And you may have noticed that as of today, it’s August. And after August?”
“Call me crazy, but I have to say…September?”
“Exactly. June is fine. July is fine. But August is upon us, and you’re on the downside of summer, Summer. At the end of the month all you tourists fly off in different directions. You go back to Billybobtown, and Seth goes off to whatever pathetic, repressed Midwestern cemetery he’s from.”
“Eau Claire, Wisconsin,” Summer said automatically.
“Exactly. Ear Clean, Wisconosa. I knew that.” Marquez grinned, hugely amused by herself.
But Summer wasn’t. Billybobtown and Ear Clean were not a million miles apart. But they were not the same place, either. Not the same schools. Not the same lives.
And another thought had just appeared in Summer’s mind—Marquez was still in love with J.T. That wasn’t news. Summer had realized that long ago. But if J.T. really was Jonathan…
“Marquez?” she said. “Are you going to try to get back together with J.T.?”
“No. Absolutely not. But I think maybe I am going to let him get back together with me,” Marquez said. “And I hope it’s before the Bacch, unless I can get Diver to go with me, which seems unlikely.”
When Summer didn’t laugh, Marquez turned to peer at her from beneath shaded brows. “What?” she demanded. “What’s the serious look all about?”
Summer shrugged. “It’s just—What if J.T. really is my brother?”
“I give up. What if?”
“Nothing, I guess,” Summer said. “Only, I was wondering whether he would stay here, or maybe go to Minnesota.”
Marquez’s smile disappeared. “I guess he would want to meet your—his—parents,” she said slowly. “But that doesn’t mean he’d live there.”
“I guess you’re right,” Summer said.”
“Of course I am,” Marquez said confidently. “What kind of an idiot would deliberately choose Bloomington, Minnesota, over Crab Claw Key, Florida?”
Summer laughed along in agreement, and would almost have believed Marquez felt as sure as she sounded. Only, Marquez had never before actually said “Bloomington, Minnesota,” without making a joke.
When Summer got home from the beach, the phone was ringing. To her surprise, it was Marquez. Summer had left her only twenty minutes earlier.
“Hey, Summer. Babe. What’s been going on in your life since we got together last?” Marquez asked.
“I walked home. Then I picked up the phone. There, now you’re up to date,” Summer said. She squeezed the phone against her ear with her shoulder and glanced around the room. The stilt house wasn’t always perfectly private—Diver occasionally appeared with very little announcement through the hatch in the floor.
“I got a call from work. They have a catering thing on board some big boat that just pulled in. They need a couple of waitresses who aren’t doing anything tonight.”
“But I am doing something tonight,” Summer said. “I’m going out with Seth.”
“You can go out with Seth any night,” Marquez argued. “We’d split fifteen percent of the total food bill, so right there we’ll probably make fifty each. Last summer when I did things like this, the boat guys always tipped extra. Last time the guy gave each waitress a hundred-dollar bill.”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah, whoa.”
“Okay, I’m there. I’ll just call and tell Seth.”
Summer hung up the phone. She dialed Seth’s number. He wasn’t home, so she left a message on his answering machine. “Hi, it’s me. Listen, I have to work tonight, but maybe we could get together afterward, if you still feel like it.” She almost hung up the phone, but then remembered that Seth lived with his grandfather. “I’ll miss you, little fuzzy wuzzy bunny,” Summer said, choking down her own laughter. “Wittle Summer wuvs you.” She hung up the phone, well satisfied by the image of Seth playing the message back with his grandfather listening.
“Jeez, I’m spending too much time with Marquez,” Summer muttered.
At seven o’clock Summer arrived at the Crab ’n’ Conch, wearing a pair of white shorts and a matching white halter top. Uniforms were not required on jobs outside the restaurant, and she knew that it would be hot work, at least until the sun set.
Marquez was already there, folding linen napkins in a corner of the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of shorts too, though hers were several degrees less modest than Summer’s, and a brightly patterned bikini top. The usual evening rush was going on around them, waitresses hurrying in and out shouting orders, dishwashers clattering plates, cooks cursing and sweating in the intense heat.
J.T. was down on one end of the line, assembling the food for the private party. He was preoccupied and busy, but when Summer arrived he glanced up and sent her a smile.
“Hi,” Summer said.
“Hi. You look great. In fact, normally I’d make some clever, flirtatious remark.” He shook his head in bemusement. “I guess that would be in pretty bad taste now.”
“I don’t know,” Summer admitted. “I guess so.” J.T. returned to arranging little finger foods on a long steel tray. “I don’t exactly know what to do now, about all that stuff.”
“Me neither,” Summer said. “I mean, we should try to figure out whether it’s true or not.”
“I thought the same thing.
First of all, what are the odds? We can’t just screw up everyone’s lives without being sure. But how do we be sure, exactly?” he asked. “I mean, what are we going to do? Compare blood tests?”
Summer shook her head. “I don’t know. I just know I don’t want to get my parents all excited and then find out it isn’t true.”
“I agree,” he said solemnly. “And there’s something else too. Whatever the truth is, I can’t get my folks in trouble.”
“Trouble? Why would they be in trouble?” Summer asked.
J.T. met her gaze with eyes so like her own. “Look, someone is going to want some explanation for how I came to be J.T. instead of Jonathan.”
“Wow, I hadn’t even really thought about that,” Summer lied, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
“I have,” J.T. said solemnly. “It’s about all I can think of.” Summer saw his gaze dart toward Marquez. She was flirting ostentatiously with Alec, the bartender, who was by the sink cutting lemons.
“Are you going with us to this thing?” Summer asked.
“Yep. I’m handling the food. So you’re stuck with me tonight.” J.T. grinned. “And we’re both stuck with her.” He jerked his head at Marquez.
“We’ll figure everything out, J.T.,” Summer said reassuringly. She took his hand, which was greasy with crabmeat stuffing. For some reason she felt like crying. What if? The question never seemed to be far away from her thoughts. What if?
“Yeah, of course we will,” J.T. said.
“Honestly, J.T., I can’t leave you alone for five minutes.” It was Lianne, bustling back into the kitchen with a full tray of dirty dishes. She set the tray down and took J.T.’s hand from Summer. “Summer, I’m disappointed in you. I expect Marquez to be trying to steal other people’s boyfriends.”
Lianne’s voice was only mock angry, but in the reference to Marquez there was genuine resentment. Lianne stretched up on her toes to kiss J.T. on the lips. Summer found the moment strangely embarrassing. Marquez obviously wasn’t pleased either.