The Lucky Ones (14 page)

C
ecile leaned against the sill of the bathroom window brushing her teeth. The early morning air was hot and still. A bee flitting in front of the window hung suspended in midair for a long second, buzzing loudly, before it abruptly bounced off the screen and veered crazily off in the opposite direction.

Sheba had gone home for her day off yesterday. Cecile had been coming back from the dock when she saw her on the front steps with Mr. Peabody. He was joking and talking as he put Sheba’s suitcase into the trunk of his car. Whatever he said made Sheba slap him on the arm and laugh. It was the sound of that laugh, so full and easy, as if Mr. Peabody had said something he wouldn’t have liked
someone like Cecile to hear, that had made Cecile step back into the shadow of the oak, suddenly shy.

Who was this stranger, she wondered uneasily, who looked so vibrant and glamorous in her sleeveless red dress with a wide white belt, her normally straight hair so alive with waves and curls? Surely her Sheba had never worn high heels as pointy and tall; the calves of her legs had never been so muscular. It wasn’t the Sheba who Cecile knew.

She’d shivered, suddenly, as she stood there, to think what this Sheba might do or say if she were to pass Cecile on the street. Would she love Cecile still, or would she walk right past?

Cecile had hung back as Sheba and Mr. Peabody got into the car, slammed the doors, started up the engine, and drove away. She wished now that she’d said good-bye. That she’d been sure enough, somehow, to tell Sheba to have a good time.

Slowly Cecile rinsed her mouth and put her toothbrush back in its holder and walked into her bedroom. What harm could there be in putting on that silly bra again? She had to get used to it sometime. Better
wear it to the club and see how it felt.

“Cecile! Natalie!” Her mother’s voice sounded exactingly from the driveway outside. “We’re meeting Granddad and Dad at noon!”

“The only reason I’m late is because you took so long in there,” Natalie said, pushing past Cecile when they met on the stairs. “Tell Mom I’ll be a minute.”

Their mother was standing beside the car. Lucy and Jack were already in the back. “Would you please run to the dock and see if Lucy left her sandals there?” her mother said when Cecile appeared. “Check in the box in the boathouse in case someone found them and dumped them there.”

“Okay.” Cecile dropped her towel in through the front window and set off.

“And hurry!” her mother called as she ran onto the drive.

Trust Lucy, Cecile thought as she ran. Mom ought to tie her shoes to her feet, the way she leaves them everywhere. She ran down the steps to the dock, into the boathouse, and almost into Stefan’s open arms.

“Whoa,” he cried, backing up. “Are you looking
for these?” He held out Lucy’s sandals. “I figured someone would be back for them.”

“Thanks.” Cecile took the sandals quickly, as if fearing he was using them as bait to grab her, and ducked her head. He was standing so close. She couldn’t look him in the face.

“You’re Cecile, right?”

She took a step back and looked up. “How do you know?”

“Jack told me.”

“He did? Why?”

Stefan picked up a large metal scoop from the table beside the freezer and opened the door. “I asked him,” he said as he started scooping up ice and dumping it into a bucket at his feet. “I wanted to know which one of his sisters would have come down here a few nights ago and done what looked like a cross between a war dance and a cheerleading exercise.” Stefan shot her an amused look as he dumped the last scoop into the bucket and let the freezer door slam shut. “Jack said, ‘It had to be Cecile.’” He laughed.

“It
was
a war dance, now that you mention it,” Cecile said, lifting her chin.

“I figured as much.” Stefan picked up the bucket. “But that little ‘blue team’ bit at the end kind of threw me off.”

He had a friendly laugh. Cecile could feel herself grinning.

“You might want to look around inside there some more,” he said with a jerk of his head at the boathouse. “There are quite a few buckets and shovels.”

“We leave those here every summer,” Cecile said. “For the next year.”

“Right. You would.”

“Are you coming back next year?”

“As a matter of fact, I’m leaving today, for good,” Stefan said. “Captain Stone and I are taking a group down to Florida this afternoon. I’ll fly home from there. I’ve got to get ready to go to college in a few weeks.”

“College? Wow. You’re really old.”

She blushed to hear how young she sounded, but
Stefan only laughed. “Ancient,” he said. He put a hand in the middle of his back and hunched over, limping like an old man with a cane.

“Need help with that, old man?” Cecile said.

“No sirree,” Stefan said, shooting back up. “Not from you. You make me nervous.”

Cecile laughed.

“It was nice meeting you, Cecile,” Stefan said. “Say good-bye to Jack for me.”

“Bye, Stefan.” Cecile floated up the stairs, supremely happy. He was so terribly normal and nice. Best of all, now he’d be gone, and the dock would be hers again. “Oh, and Stefan,” she cried, whirling around when she got to the parking area. Stefan, halfway down the dock, turned. “I’ll never be too much work!” Cecile cried.

“What?” Stefan’s face went from blank to surprised. Then he smiled a huge smile and shot her a neat salute. Cecile saluted back and ran up the drive on winged feet. Flinging Lucy’s sandals into the backseat, she cried, “Here you go, Lucy!” and ran around the front of the car. “I’ve decided,” she said
as she slid into the front seat next to her mother, “I’m willing to take tennis lessons, but I draw the line at golf.”

“That’s my seat, Cecile,” Natalie called as she came out the front door. “Move it.”

“First come, first served,” Cecile said.

“Natalie, get in the car, please,” their mother said.

“Stefan said good-bye,” Cecile told Jack over her shoulder as Natalie sulkily slammed the back door. “He’s leaving today, for good.”

“I know,” said Jack.

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?” Cecile said.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Who’s Stefan?” said Natalie.

“No one you know,” Cecile said.

“No one I want to know, you mean.”

“Same thing.”

“Brat.” Natalie leaned forward to jab Cecile in the back.

“Same to you.”

“When’d you get a bra, by the way?” Natalie
asked, rubbing her hand on Cecile’s shoulder.

“Ages ago.” Cecile sat forward, out of her reach.

“Liar. You’re such a liar, Cecile. Mom, did you buy it for her?”

“Natalie, enough. How would you like it if Cecile were to discuss your personal business in front of everyone?” Mrs. Thompson said. “I don’t want another word out of either one of you.”

Natalie poked Cecile in the back again, but it felt good.

“Wait for me. I have to go to the bathroom,” Natalie said, resting her tennis racket against the wall of the ladies’ changing rooms before she went inside. Cecile stood idly bouncing a ball on the sidewalk with her racket.

“Hi, Cecile.”

Cecile turned. Whit was coming from the direction of the golf course with three boys. When he stopped in front of her, they clustered around behind, shifting from foot to foot and grinning.

“Hi.” Cecile quickly caught the ball and held it
awkwardly against her stomach with one hand to stop it from bouncing.

“Are you up for another game?” said Whit.

“Yeah, maybe you’ll get caught this time,” one of the boys muttered. The other boys laughed.

“Go on, you guys,” Whit said sharply. “I’ll catch up with you.” He and Cecile stood looking at each other as they walked off. “They didn’t mean it,” Whit said when they were gone.

“It’s all right,” Cecile said. “When are you playing?”

“Thursday night. Want to come?”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“Oh. Okay.” Whit looked in the direction his friends had gone, then back at Cecile. “Those guys didn’t mean it, you know. I wouldn’t let them do anything, anyway.”

“They’d be sorry if they tried.”

“Yeah.” Whit nodded. “I believe that.”

Their grins came and went.

“Well,” Whit said after neither one said anything for a minute. “Maybe I’ll see you on Thursday and maybe I won’t.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Well, bye.”

“Bye.”

Cecile dumbly watched him walk to catch up with his friends. Say something, say something, say something, you idiot! Something so he knows you don’t hate him, but not something that’ll let him know you think he’s cute.

“Whit, wait!” Cecile ran after him, she didn’t care. Whit had stopped to wait for her. “I’d love to play again,” she said in a rush when she caught up, “but I can’t. Not on Thursday, I mean. My brother’s coming home from Canada on Thursday. We’re having a family party at my grandfather’s. I have to be there.”

“Oh. Great!” Whit’s smile was as wonderful as his eyes. “I mean, it’s not great that you can’t come, but it’s great. Great that your brother’s coming home, I mean. But I wish you could play.”

“I will the next time,” Cecile said.

“You will?”

“Sure.”

“Great! I’ll let you know.”

“Great.” Would they ever stop repeating themselves!

“Well, bye, I guess,” said Whit. “Have fun at your party.”

“Have fun at your game.” Cecile worked hard to keep her grin from splitting her face in two as she walked, backward, away from him. “Don’t do any more damage to the you-know-what!” she called.

Whit turned around and grinned. “We won’t!”

“Who was that?” Natalie asked as she came up behind.

“A boy.”

“I know he was a boy,” said Natalie. “What did he want?”

“Nothing.”

“He didn’t ask you on a date?”

“Are you nuts?”

“I guess that is nuts.”

“Anyway, I’m not you,” Cecile said. “I can have boys as friends.”

“That’s probably all you’ll ever have them as.”

“Suits me.”

“Good thing.”

A seagull flying overhead a short time later would have seen two young girls playing tennis on the last court in a long row of clay courts behind the imposing brick clubhouse that overlooked the bay.

The air was punctuated with the satisfying
thonk
of tennis balls against tightly strung rackets, and the
thwack
of golf balls as they hurtled their way on an improbable journey through the air in search of one tiny, specific hole.

The voices of the two girls carry through the air, too.

“Fifteen-love!” called the girl with the blond hair after a particularly neat serve.

“Love-hate!” the dark-haired girl called back.

“Cecile, that’s the way you keep score.”

“Natalie, I told you I wouldn’t play if we keep score.”

The blond girl’s shots are proficient, but cold. The dark-haired girl’s shots are random, but strong.

From the gull’s clear vantage, it looks like an even match.