FAYE POLLACK SQUINTED UP AT CASEY AND SAID, "PAUL VanHorn? You're going out with Paul VanHorn?"
Heather Newcombe said, "You're nuts," as she did a pirouette in the sand. Lillian Purcell sat on the crumpled blanket with one leg stretched out and an expression of martyred pain on her face.
"Well, I haven't gone out with him yet," Casey said.
"I heard he killed a girl once," Lillian said.
"Oh, for God's sake.'! Casey shook her head and looked out at the gray ocean as it heaved and rolled. Millions of sparkles bounced off the water, and a seething mist filtered pale light through the air.
"I heard that, too," Heather said, a little breathlessly. She kicked off into a few jetes and then raised her arms and went en pointe, as much as she could on the beach.
"It should make for an interesting date," Casey said dryly. She liked how the sea wind blew back her hair.
"Where's he taking you?" Faye asked.
"He's not taking me anywhere," Casey said. "He asked me if I'd go out with him and I said he could call me."
"And he hasn't called you?"
"No."
"Aha," Faye said. She lay back against a blow-up pillow, her permed hair cushioning her head. Her long, bony form looked undernourished in a violet bathing suit with a flounce at the chest. Faye never got suntanned, no matter how much she stayed outside.
"Why are we here?" Casey asked suddenly.
"Jeez," Faye said, "we're getting deep."
Casey laughed. "No, I mean why are we on the beach? It's disgusting out."
"I don't know," Faye said. "We talked about where to go and we came to the beach."
Lillian whimpered in pain and bent over to rub her leg. Her mass of chestnut hair blew wildly in the damp wind. She wore a white bathing suit which showed off her revoltingly terrific bosom to good advantage. How was it, Casey wondered, that a virginal little creep like Lillian was so well endowed?
"Does it hurt bad?" Casey asked. She figured one of them would have to ask, or Lillian would keep whimpering.
"Yeah," Lillian said tightly.
"What did the therapist say?"
"He laughed." Lillian stretched as far as she could, trying to touch her toe. "He's a maniac. He can't wait to strap me into that machine. Torture is his specialty."
"Is it getting any better?" Casey asked.
Lillian shrugged. "It still hurts."
Faye said, "You should see another doctor."
Lillian made a face. "The next nearest sports medicine center is in Nassau County. Since my mom uses my car, I can't depend on getting there."
Heather did toe touches now, and Casey marveled at how smoothly she doubled over. Casey secretly thought that Heather had thick legs for a dancer, but she was really serious about it and had performed in recitals. "I'm going to need therapy soon," Heather said between bends. "The pain is getting bad."
"You work at it too hard," Faye said. She had taken a shiny apple from the Styrofoam cooler and she bit into it with a sharp crack.
"I know," Heather said morosely. She straightened up and shook back her white-blonde hair. Her big turquoise eyes blurred with tears. Heather almost always had tears in her eyes.
Faye asked, "Heard from Jon lately?"
Jon was Heather's eternal love of the moment. He was a six-foot Viking type who was taking Air Force training out West. "Yes," Heather said. "I got a beautiful long letter from him two days ago. He is so sad, Faye. He really needs me. He's like a little lost boy."
"Aren't they all?" Faye said caustically.
Heather spun away, her lower lip jutting. Casey gave Faye a recriminating look. Around them, the beach was nearly deserted. Some decent-looking boys were playing catch with a Nerf football at the water's edge. They had terrific builds, but they seemed too dumb to bother with. A couple of family groups had braved the grim weather. About thirty yards down the beach, a fat woman watched two toddlers as they kept falling into the foam.
But otherwise, it looked like The Day After. Casey knew it was dead because she didn't hear the usual cacophony of boxes blasting eighteen different kinds of music. Their own box sat mutely next to the cooler. They'd played snippets of two tapes, gotten bored with each one, tried the radio, and then shut the thing off. It was that kind of day.
"Let's get out of here," Casey said. "We're all going to get arthritis."
"I've already got arthritis," Heather said tragically.
"I'm ready to go," Lillian said. "I want to get some clothes on and get warm."
"What's doing for tonight?" Faye asked. She dropped her apple core into the sand and dug a hole for it with her fingers.
"I have choir practice," Lillian said.
Faye said, "I'm free. For about the next twelve months."
Casey smiled. "We could go to the movies."
"We've seen everything," Faye said. "Unless you want to go all the way to Commack. I think they've got a couple of new ones."
"Nah," Casey said. She dropped onto one knee and massaged her thigh, which had begun to cramp.
Heather hugged herself tightly. "I think I've got a ballet class tonight. I'm not sure. It was supposed to be Thursday night but my teacher canceled."
"So it's you and me, Casey," Faye said.
"I guess so."
"Unless Paul VanHorn calls you."
"Will you lay off?"
"Will you go if he calls?" Heather asked.
"Oh, man!" Casey stood erect. "What is the big deal? I'm old enough to date."
"Not old enough to die," Heather said.
This made even Lillian laugh. Faye chuckled her private chuckle, which never quite became a sound. Casey put her hands behind her neck and lifted her sticky hair. "Who told you he killed a girl?"
"Oh, it's just a story that went around," Faye said. "Remember a few years ago when they found that girl's body under a pile of leaves? And that sick kid was leading tours up there before the cops found out?"
Casey thought for a minute. The waves broke with a rush and hiss. "Wasn't that out West or something?"
"I think so," Faye said.
"So?"
"Well, everyone really got into that, how creepy it was and what would we do."
"I remember," Lillian said. "My teacher did a lesson on it."
Heather said, "We had to write a story on it. I wrote one about a girl who was preserved in ice. She had long blonde hair flowing behind her back, and she was in ice because her lover couldn't bear to see her get sick. She had this cancer that was going to rot her skin—"
"Thank you, Heather," Faye said. "We get the idea."
Casey grinned. "So that's when the story went around?"
"Yeah," Faye said. "Somebody knew one of Paul's girlfriends and heard that the girl's family moved away because of what Paul had done to her. Pretty soon, people were saying that Paul had strangled the girl and buried her body by the motocross pits at Exit 52."
"That's where the movies are now," Heather said.
Faye searched the cooler for something else to eat. "Right. So of course the body is buried under the parking lot where nobody will ever find it."
Lillian said, "Didn't Paul used to ride motorbikes?"
Faye came up with a Chips Ahoy cookie. "Uh-huh." She bit into the cookie. "That's how he knew about the place, see?"
A huge roller boomed against the jetty and the spray showered them. Already tense from the conversation, they all yelped, which made them giggle nervously. Faye said, "Yuki" and scrambled to her feet like a heron. Part of the blanket lay sodden. A lacy necklace of broken shells and strewn seaweed marked the new border between mud and sand.
"Well, we either go home or move back," Casey said.
"Home," Lillian said firmly.
They packed up. Lillian asked Faye to help her up and she stood grimacing for a minute, then nodded bravely and limped in tentative circles. This let her get away with not folding the blanket or gathering up the junk. The girls gave Lillian dirty looks but nobody told her off.
Heather walked on ahead, lost in thought, as they trudged back to the parking lot. Lillian limped behind. Casey said to Faye, "She had that knee surgery eight months ago. Doesn't it ever get better?"
"Not if it's more fun this way."
"Why don't we just let her limp along by herself?"
"You want to?"
Casey sighed. "How do you get to control things like Lillian does?"
"With a big vulnerability act," Faye said. "And you believe in yourself."
Casey threw her arm around Faye's jutting shoulder and felt the gritty rub of Faye's bathing suit against hers as they slogged through the sand. "How do you get to do that?"
"Stay dumb so you don't see the truth?"
Casey laughed. Her calves hurt from pushing against the sand. Her old cartilage injury flared. If this was a damp autumn, she'd suffer in the meets.
They let go of each other to make better progress. "Casey?"
"Yeah?"
"Be careful, okay?"
"With what?"
"With Paul VanHorn."
"Faye—"
"No crap. I'm going to be lonely with all three of you guys wrapped up in your obsessions."
"I'm not obsessed, Faye."
"But you get obsessed. I've gone through it with you."
Casey laughed off the jibes. "If Paul VanHorn calls, I may go out with him, just to see what he's like. But I can't get involved. I've got too much to do. I want to get into college and out of Westfield High School. I want to move far away and get plastic surgery and start again."
Faye looked at her. "Casey, I worry about you. I don't think even you know what goes on in your brain."
"Yeah, I do," Casey said softly. "That's the trouble." Lillian groaned and Casey and Faye turned toward her. With a mutual sigh, they trekked back through the sand to help their friend.
* * *
As it turned out, Faye had to drive into Brooklyn with her mother, because her aunt had been rushed to the hospital with chest pains. So Casey wound up on the family-room sofa, curled in the lotus position, watching TV. She'd popped the tape of Death of a Salesman into the VCR and sat in the dark, her eyes shining. She held the remote control in her hand, and wore a hooded sweat shirt and a pair of shorts.
She could hear Mom and Dad in the brightly lit kitchen; they were talking finances at the table. Between Dad's real-estate deals and Mom's flea market sales, they spent a lot of time with the calculator and all the papers spread out. Casey knew if she went into the kitchen to stare into the fridge, she'd get dirty looks.
On the screen, Dustin Hoffman was doing that incredible scene with his boss, and Casey got goose bumps all over again. Most of Casey's friends would think she was nuts for watching Death of a Salesman for fun. It was schoolwork. But Casey liked it. She liked Macbeth, too, but she didn't talk about it because you were supposed to hate Shakespeare.
Through the family-room window, she could see the pool illuminated against the blackness. In the playroom, which used to be Grandpa's room, JoAnne was playing. When Grandpa died, nobody had asked Casey what should be done with the room. It just became JoAnne's playroom, filled with the toys everybody bought her. This was in addition to JoAnne's bedroom, which was Doll City. Well, JoAnne was the Miracle Baby, the baby Mom and Dad weren't supposed to have.
Casey bit her lip. She didn't care. It was easier to hate everybody. It didn't do much good to talk.
Daddy suddenly walked in. He glanced at the screen. "I can't believe you're actually watching a decent program."
"It's good," she said, sniffling.
"Yes, I know it's good. But look what it does to you. Your mother is the same way. She watches old Bette Davis movies with a box of tissues at her side."
Casey smiled, as the wetness touched the corner of her mouth. "'What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba that he should weep for her?' "
"Oh, right—Julius Caesar."
"Hamlet."
"I don't think so, Casey. I think it's julius Caesar."
She resisted the urge to fight. "Whatever you say."
He sat, unexpectedly, in one of the big stuffed chairs. Casey wasn't sure how to react. She didn't want to watch the play with him. She didn't want his comments on it, or his attempts to show off his learning.
"So what's up?" she asked.
He shrugged. He still wore his business shirt, but he'd taken off his tie and opened his collar. Dad was in good enough condition, though he had love handles. He went to the health club twice a week. Still, he looked pale and tired. His hair clung damply to his forehead.
"You want to watch this?" she asked.
"No. I just wanted to chat. I don't get to see you much."
"No problem."
"I don't like that tone of voice."
She turned the remote control over and over in her hands. Her chest tightened. "I'm sorry. I'm in a bad mood."
"Well, I can understand. You're under a lot of pressure. You've been working hard this summer, and we're proud of you."
He didn't sound proud. He sounded like he was going to pick a bone with her. Dad never sat down to talk to her unless he was going to lecture. And he always lectured after Mom had bullied him into it. Most of the time, he acted frightened of her and kept to himself. She wished she could love him, but he'd hidden behind Mom all these years and she really didn't know him very well. "Thanks," she said.
He smiled. "I love the way you do that."
"Do what?"
"Curl up on the couch. If I tried it, I'd be in traction."
She smiled. "Oh. It's no big deal."
"Not for you. Did you do any running today?"
At once, the pressure was there, as if a valve had been turned. "No."
"What did you do?"
"Went to the beach." She stared at the screen, which showed a commercial. "I know how much I need to run before the season starts. I'll be in shape."
"I'm sure you will," he said. "And believe me, if the team doesn't win, it won't take anything away from how good you are. But I worry that the whole senior letdown thing will make you cut back, and that would be a terrible waste."
"I don't have a senior letdown thing," she said. "I'm taking BC Physics, Honors English, Concert Choir, AP Calculus, College Sociology, College Journalism ... " She ticked off the subjects on her fingertips. "And Mr. Young doesn't let any girl on the team hold back. I'm going to be ass-deep in work."
"Watch your mouth, Casey."
She blew a breath upward, making the airstream lift her hair. "Sorry."
On the TV screen, Willy Loman and his sons were all talking at once, none of them listening. Mr. Gordon looked defeated. "Your sarcasm is ticking me off, Casey."
"Well, I don't know what you want. If I'm not studying or running or working, you get so nervous. You think you have to stay on top of me every minute."
"Well, you've shown us that it's necessary. You've always been bright, but we've always had to prod you."
"I know."
"Well, doesn't it bother you at all? Listen, I know how much you can want to let go. I let go myself a couple of years back and we almost lost this house. But I got it back. I beat the odds on my heart. And your mom beat the odds with JoAnne. Everything we have is ours because we kept fighting."
"Well, I'm not a fighter."
"Are you proud of that?" He leaned toward her. "Do you think it's okay that someone with your talent keeps falling off the wagon so easily? Look at that semester you were absent twenty times. They told us you had a phobia about school. Can you imagine what that did to us?"
"Give me a break," Casey said, flopping back against the couch. "If you don't like my attitude, why don't you just punish me some more? That's your response to everything else."
"That's a lousy answer," he said. "We punish you when you deserve punishment, and that's not the issue here. We prod you because we want you to be excellent, and we have a right to want that. You have too much going for you to give up on yourself. Taking all the right subjects isn't enough. You're nearly eighteen. It's about time you supplied the spark. We appreciate your achievements, but we're tired of leading you by the hand."
His words fell like punches, finding her soft, unprotected parts. It hurt more because she knew he was just Mom's emissary and maybe he didn't even believe what he said. "Okay, okay," she said. "Don't worry, I'm not going to fall off the wagon."
Mr. Gordon nodded. "That's good to hear."
Mom's voice came inquiringly from the kitchen. "Is everything all right in there? Should I call the police?"
Daddy smiled tightly. "No problem," he called back. "Just a little father-daughter combat."
"Understood," Mom said.
Mr. Gordon pressed his palms against the chair's arms and stood up. "Friends?"
Casey picked up the remote control again. "Sure."
"I know this hurts you," he said awkwardly. "It hurts me, too. But I know what you'll be facing."
"Okay."
The phone rang shrilly, making her jump. Since the phone sat on the table next to the couch, she pounced on it. "Hello?"
"Glub glub."
"Who is this?"
"The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Do you get off on kissing a guy with fish lips?"
Her heart thudded and she felt cold even in the sweat shirt. Daddy was looking strangely at her. "Who is it?" he asked.
Casey waved a hand at him. "Talk straight, Paul."
"Okay. I want to take you to a movie tomorrow night."
The room seemed to lean forward and listen. Why was this such a big decision? "Uh ... yeah, I guess so. Sure."
"Great. I'll be there at seven."
The phone clicked. Daddy was staring hard now. "Casey?"
She clutched the phone receiver, light-headed. She wished she'd said no. But she couldn't wait to see him. Faye appeared in her mind, and Casey banished her. It was just a date, not a big deal.