“I have to go,” Reina says as Cooper, maybe prematurely disengaged from his meal, begins to wail. “I think we’re entering a Code Red. Remember what I said, though, okay? Don’t overthink things.”
“Okay,” Nicola says. “I’ll try not to.”
She thinks too much about everything. She always has.
An errant Frisbee lands near her, and one of the cute high school boys runs over—actually, even though the sand is hot and hard to run in, hefloats,the way only a teenage boy can do—and says, “Sorry, ma’am.” She tries not to mind this. She’s 93 percent sure she gotma’amed because of the polo. If she were in her bikini that wouldn’t have happened. Reina’s absolutely right. Shedoeshave killer abs. And she has to get back to work.
Riding back by Beach Ave., she returns to the question that has been nibbling at the edge of her conscience. Who is she to say love doesn’t matter? What does she know of love? Has she everbeenin love? Does she want to be?
She knows two things about love. One. It’s not as common as people think it is. Two. She saw it between David and Juliana, when she and Jack returned to the happy hour on Nicola’s patio. She felt it; it was almost palpable.
What’s that worth, to be in love with an unavailable person? Is it worth everything, or is it worth nothing?
What exactly constitutesunavailable?
Liam helps her set up the chairs for the Tuesday Talk. They make sure that the screen is working, and Liam, whose work-study job atcollege is in the media services department, checks the connections. When they’re finished they step outside, onto the deck attached to the Institute.
If they were young urban office workers in, say, the eighties, this is the point where they would shoot the shit over a cigarette. But since they’re wholesome marine interns in the 2020s who would rather die than pollute the ocean or their own lungs, they carry their refillable, environmentally responsible water bottles and do what Americans between the ages of two and thirty-five do better than anyone: they hydrate.
Liam, sipping exuberantly, says, “I had a dream I was drowning last night. I fell right off the harbor tour boat and sank straight to the bottom! It was insane.”
“Jesus, Liam.” Nicola shudders. “You know how to swim, right?”
“Of course I do. Doesn’t everyone know how to swim?”
She thinks about Juliana. “Well, no.”
“Everyone in America, though.”
Is this what they’re teaching this kid at his progressive college? “Still no,” she says. “Not everyone has the privilege of swimming lessons.”
Liam reflects on this, then says, “True. I did. In my youth. But you’re right, that was a privilege. Hey, is this your guy again?” Jack is walking (sauntering) up the sidewalk, not a care on him, no compunction about appearing at her work so soon after the last time.
In the time it would have taken to saystarfishNicola finds herself in the passenger seat of the Tesla, driving too fast down Ocean Ave. He glances over at her. “Where do you want to go? Your place?”
“What?No!I have a Tuesday Talk. I can’t go back all... disheveled.”
Jack grins. “You sure? I’d love to dishevel you.” Nicola crosses her legs primly and tries to scowl.
“Well, you can’t. You can dishevel me another time. How about we just take a drive? I really can’t be late getting back.”
“Sure.” Jack lowers the windows, turns up the music—Jack Johnson singing “Better Together,” so many Jacks, all in one place—and they cruise, following an oval in the center of the island. Nicola closes her eyes, letting the summer air fly over her face. Jack reaches for her hand, and for just a moment she thinks, Why worry about anything? Just enjoy.
Then, turning left to head back to the Institute, he whips the car so hard into the turn that Nicola’s eyes fly open. A car coming toward them with the right of way screeches to a halt, and the driver honks.
“Jesus, Jack,” says Nicola.
“What?” He glances over at her; he seems legitimately confused.
“You almost got us in an accident. Be a little careful, would you?”
He shrugs and doesn’t look a bit concerned. “I’m careful enough. I had plenty of time.”
She snorts. “Not really.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway, if other people are careful. It takes two to make an accident.”
She won’t really think about this until later, but that about sums up a lot of the summer right there: these careless people with their money and their drama and their disregard for the basic rules. “Uh,” she says. “I’m pretty sure it just takes one.” No wonder David doesn’t let him near his Porsche.
