CASEY STOOD NEXT TO THE TOYOTA AS SEA WIND BLEW her hair across her face. The hood of the car was hot under her palm. She stuffed the keys in her windbreaker pocket and got a little chill thinking about being the only car in the whole parking field. The sky was split into bands of turquoise and black and looked like it went on forever.
Casey scanned the empty beach. Wire wastebaskets etched their grids against the dying light. A lifeguard stand tilted. The sand glowed pastel pink, and far down at the shoreline, luminous foam broke with a distant hiss. The wind blew stiffly and spray wet her lips.
I'm an idiot, she thought miserably.
She leaned against an iron post where the concrete walk ended and slipped off her sneakers. Her bare soles felt cold on the hard sand. She tied the laces together and slung the sneakers over her shoulder. She rolled up the cuffs of her jeans, then took a deep breath and started walking.
She'd seen the beach at night before. She smiled a little as she remembered some wild parties they'd had out here. She could visualize bonfires and kids dancing. She could hear blasting radios and see Glenn and his buddies strip down to their underwear and dive into the water. She remembered salt kisses and sea-cold skin.
Her heart ached at the memories. Why did things have to change so much, anyway? Why did you have to become different?
Her throat tightened, and her head throbbed. No, she raged. No headache now. Even if Paul didn't show up, she had to drive home.
She had a sudden thought: What if he beat up on her again and left her lying on the beach? What if she couldn't get home until morning? What if she lay too close to the ocean and she drowned at high tide?
She stopped and made a disgusted face. "Quit it!" she said out loud. She blew out an exasperated breath, shook her head, and went on.
Far down the beach, a bright yellow fire twinkled like a star that had fallen but still burned. And she thought she heard music, but maybe it was somebody else's radio, or just the way the ocean sounded.
As she walked along the shoreline, spent waves unrolled over her bare feet and she enjoyed the startling chill. Seagulls hovered over the water.
Casey reached the fire. It spat and cracked, throwing a mask of light over her face. But the spot was deserted. She stood before the fire, soaking up its warmth, and felt her heart sink. Had he been here and left? Or was this someone else's fire? She blinked as smoke stung her eyes. She felt cold disappointment. She had really thought that he would be here.
She turned to go, but paused. She strained to hear a faint sound, counterpointed against the steady boom of the surf. It sounded like drums, but so low she could hardly tell.
The smell of the fire tickled her nose and its heat warmed her back. The packed sand was damp beneath her feet. The drums grew louder. Their persistent rhythm echoed in her chest. She looked around, frightened. She couldn't see anything. The blue band of sky was darkening. The first stars faintly gleamed like candles lit a million miles away.
Louder ... ! How were those drums getting so close when she couldn't see ...
"K-R-E-E-E-E-E-G-A-A-A-A-A-A!!!!!"
She screamed and her heart played paddleball in her throat. A male figure leaped out of the darkness into the firelight. He had war paint on his face—yellow and green streaks. He was naked except for a flowered cloth around his middle. He held a torch. The fire made flickering lights on his glistening skin.
"Jesus, Paul!" she croaked.
He looked so totally ridiculous that she couldn't sort out her reactions. He stared at her wildly, as the drums kept hammering.
Then he started to dance! It was the stupidest thing she'd ever seen. He kept flinging himself into the air, and twirling, and waving the torch. As he danced, he did a chant in time to the drums: "YUKKA doobie doobie hunga bunga BOOGA BOO!" or something that sounded like that. She could hear his breath rasping as he knocked himself out.
Laughter came rushing from Casey's terrified insides, in gasps and flurries. She clapped her hands over her mouth and trembled with relief.
When she could produce a coherent sound, she said, "Stop, Paul. You'll kill yourself." He finally quit and stood there, with his chest heaving.
"Turn off the drums," she said, and started laughing again. He nodded and marched off down the beach a few yards. She could barely see him, since he was out of the firelight and it was just about dark. The drums stopped, but her ears still vibrated. She heard the muted crash of the ocean once more.
He came back and tossed the stick into the fire. "Ugh," he grunted. "White woman foolish to seek Mgoomi village at night." He gestured grandiloquently at the wavering black sky. "Full moon mean sacrifice of virgin."
"Too late," she said dryly. "Take me to your leader."
He made an elaborate shrug. "No leader. Me whole village."
"You whole fruitcake," she said, and felt new mirth bubbling up. She fumbled in her windbreaker pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes.
He scurried past the rim of firelight again and returned with a towel. Roughly, he began to wipe off his makeup. "Glad you came," he said in his normal voice.
"I can't believe you did all this."
"Well, I had to make it good." He toweled himself vigorously for a minute, then rubbed his hair so it got all tousled. He stood looking at her, with streaks of yellow and green still on his face. "It's good to see you."
"It's good to see you, too," she said.
"Wait here." He disappeared for a third time, and she heard him dragging something along the sand. His flowered tush came into view, and then the rest of him, hauling a cooler. He straightened up and breathed hard. "Damn thing has only one handle."
"What is it?" she asked. "More wine and cupcakes?"
"Nope."
She pushed back her hair as it blew across her eyes and mouth. He opened the cooler and she heard ice rattling. He held up a big bottle with foil at its neck. "What is it?" she asked.
"Champagne."
"Get out of here."
"No." He stripped off the foil and used the towel to twist the cork as he held the bottle under his arm. She winced in expectation of the pop, but the cork came out with just a little rush of air. Paul dug into the cooler and came up with a real wineglass. He gravely poured the champagne. He stepped to her and handed her the glass.
She took it by its stem and stared into the dark, diamond-flecked liquid. The fire heated her cheeks. He poured a glass of champagne for himself, put back the bottle, and held up his glass as he stood in front of her.
"So what do we drink to?" he asked.
Emotions spun inside her like a whirlpool. "I don't know."
"To new beginnings?"
She took a steadying breath. "I've heard that before."
"I know," he said.
The fire popped. The smell of sea salt grew strong. "I'm glad you went for help. If you know you've got a problem, that's a start."
"Yeah."
"How was the session?"
"Great. It's like I've been walking around with this pain inside me, making me crazy. And now I'm taking medicine for it."
She felt herself soaring with his words. "That's great, Paul."
He looked deeply at her. "You did it for me."
"Come on ... "
"You showed me I was worth something. You had the right to get a gun and shoot me."
She nodded, smiling ruefully. "Yeah."
"Jesus, it's good to see you."
She lifted her head and sniffed and concentrated on holding on to the glass. "Same here."
"So let's toast you. For saving a guy who wasn't worth it."
She met his eyes with full force, and she gulped champagne. It fizzed in her mouth and hurt her raw throat. Almost instantly, it went to her head. "I didn't save you," she said.
"Yeah, you did. And I'm going to make it."
"I hope so," she said. She finished the champagne in another gulp and gave him back the glass. She knelt down in the sand and watched the blinding dance of the fire.
He put down both glasses and sat near her. The firelight picked out the curve of his muscles and the flatness of his stomach. She could smell his perspiration and the pungent grease of his makeup. "I don't blame you for not believing me," he said.
She dug up cold sand and sprinkled it through her fingers. "It gets harder every time."
"I need a chance."
"Yeah, and I need a doctor for my headaches."
He looked away from her. She could see how hurt he was. "I'm not going to lie about it," she said. "You messed me up. You could have killed me."
He still said nothing. Fireflies danced in her blood. "Why do you get that way, Paul? It's okay to get pissed off, and to yell, but why do you hit me?"
His silence became unbearable. She hugged herself, aware of the vastness of the beach around her. "Nothing to say?" she asked.
He looked back at her and said, "Come on, let's take a walk."
She drew back, stiff with fear. He stood up and extended his hand. She looked down at the flickering sand, paralyzed.
"Come on," he said.
She stood up slowly and brushed the sand from her jeans. The wind got under her jacket and made it billow. Mutely, he began to walk. She followed him at a few paces.
They walked into the planetarium of night. The moon was really full, like he'd said. Its whiteness glimmered coldly on the black ocean. On the opposite rim of the sky she saw the reddish glow of civilization.
She could barely see him next to her, except when they walked through a slat of moonlight. At those times, he looked like a savage warrior, the way he walked so lightly and the way his smooth skin seemed to glide over his bones. Her throat dosed and she couldn't stop shaking inside. She'd never felt this much need for anybody, ever in her life. It was drowning her, like an undertow that turned her over and over.
"Stop here," he said.
"What?"
He raised his arms and chanted, "HOY-a, HOY-a, here lies treasure .... "
She laughed. "Not again."
He gestured. "Take a look."
Puzzled, but expectant, she followed the line of his arm and saw something big and bulky, propped against a wire wastebasket. "What is that?"
"It's the treasure of my whole village."
"You don't have a whole village."
"Well, it's a small treasure."
She laughed again and knelt to examine the bulk. Her fingers timidly reached out and touched what felt like wrapping paper. She looked up at him. "Give me a hint."
"It's a friend."
"What?"
"Go ahead. Look."
Eagerly, she tore away the paper. The moon sailed between douds and flooded her with icy brilliance. She was looking at an immense Paddington Bear, about as big as JoAnne. "Oh, my God, Paul!" she squealed. She threw her arms around the bear and hugged its new-smelling plushness against her, as hard as she could. She buried her face in its side, and its fibers tickled her nose.
"Happy birthday, Casey."
She cried idiotically into the bear's synthetic fur, and she heard him chuckle at her display. She stood up, finally, and looked at him. "jerk."
"Thanks."
She laughed and sniffled at the same time. "I love it, Paul. It's gorgeous. I can't believe you did this. It's better than anything."
"Even gold?" he asked.
Her cheeks hurt from all her laughing and crying. "I never asked for gold."
He gestured. "Paddington's got something else for you."
She stared at him, then turned back to the bear. She dropped to her knees again and felt in its fur, stopping at its left paw. Her fingertips touched thin, light metal. "What is this, Paul?"
"You can take it. He doesn't wear jewelry."
Her fingers shook as she undid the delicate clasp. She stood again, holding the glittering chain up to the moonlight. She could see a charm dangling from it. She could tell, just from holding it, that it was expensive. She lowered the chain and looked at him. "Why did you do this? You can't afford it."
"I can't afford to lose you."
"Oh, man." She bit her lip hard. Then she took a breath and clasped the chain behind her neck. He looked so happy, and so like a boy, as he stood there.
"I owe you more than a birthday present," he said. "I'm going to lick my problem."
She wiped her eyes and cheeks with her fingers, smearing what was left of her eye makeup. "I believed you before. I've got to think of it like probation. One day at a time."
He nodded. "That's fair."
"Well," she said. "How about some more of your bubbly?" He laughed. "You're getting to be a real alky."
"Very humorous," she said. "What do I do with the bear?"
"He'll wait for you."
She turned to the bear and said, "Don't get too cold, Paddy. I've got a nice warm bed for you tonight." And a nice lie to come up with for Mom and Dad.
She stretched out her hand and Paul took it. They walked slowly through the wet sand. Casey enjoyed the wind in her hair and the smell of fish. Paul had lit millions of little stars inside her.
They reached the fire again. It had burned low and begun to redden. Paul took wood from a stack he'd obviously gathered earlier. He threw more chunks on the blaze, and it flared, awhirl with cinders and sparks.
He came to Casey and stood right in front of her, close enough for her to see streaks of sweat on his ribs, and his belly button. He was about a head taller than she was and she had to look up a little to see his eyes. He placed his hands tenderly on her hips, just under the hem of her windbreaker. She reached up and touched his face. It was chilled.
"Let's stay by the fire," he said.
She rested her hands on his arms, and he worked his hands under her jacket. She closed her eyes and began to breathe more rapidly. Without saying anything, she unzipped the windbreaker. He pulled her against him and she kissed him. She wrapped her arms around his fire-hot back.
She became acutely aware of sounds: the steady spit of the fire, the rush of waves, the ragged wind. She'd never felt more free and more beautiful in her life. She was conscious of every cell of her skin. It was like being unchained after a hundred years, and she didn't care what happened when she got home or what Heather thought or even if he killed her tonight and the cold ocean rushed into her lungs. She almost longed for it, because only that beautiful, romantic death would fit this moment.
Casey guided the Toyota onto the double driveway. Paddington Bear rolled around in the backseat. She'd taken off the chain and zipped it into a windbreaker pocket.
She doused the headlights and stopped the car. She sat back against the vinyl seat. Her head pounded and her body ached. All the joy of the night had faded, and now she coiled into a spring at the thought of facing her parents.
Viciously, she pulled the key from the ignition and got out of the car. She shut the door softly, on the wild chance that everyone was asleep. In anybody else's house, everyone would be asleep. Her friends snuck in and out all the time. Only Casey's mom and dad had radar.
The night air was warmer and thicker here. She looked up. The moon had long since gone down, but she could still see stars, dim against the streetlights.
Tired, and scared to death, she opened the storm door, let it rest against her back, and tested the front door. It was open. She cursed.
She went inside. The lamp on the family-room table was on. She stood with her hand on the doorknob for a minute, wondering if it was worth trying to sneak upstairs and into bed.
"Casey?"
It was Mom's voice. Casey felt like a plug had been pulled in her feet and everything was draining out of her. "Yeah."
She heard Mom whisper, "Thank God." Dad said, "Get in here, please."
Already, the rage was building. But she knew it was her own fault. She hadn't had to stay with Paul all night. She had just wanted to. Nothing had mattered, then.
She stopped by the entryway to the family room. Mom sat in one of the club chairs. She wore a nightjacket over her nightgown. Her hair was a mess. She wore her glasses, and she had a book on the table. Dad sat on the couch.
"Are you all right?" Mom asked.
"Yes."
"Where were you?"
"I had to go out."
"Casey, you'd better tell the truth," Dad warned.
Casey's intended lie shredded in her mouth. She couldn't think fast enough to come up with a friend. "I had to meet somebody."
Mom took deep breaths, trying not to lose it. "What should we do, Casey? Right now, at three in the morning, what should we do? Do we beat the living daylights out of you? Because that's what I feel like doing."
Casey shrugged.
"Or should we act civilized? I'm trying to go that route. I'm so ... outraged, and disgusted, and plain spitting mad ..." She was overcome.
Dad looked more bewildered than angry. "I'm really disappointed. I really, truly thought we'd raised you better than this."
Casey's own anger came up in her throat. "Oh, for God's sake, I didn't sell my body on the corner."
"Shut up!" Dad screamed. Casey shuddered and felt her face redden. "Don't you dare open a mouth like that. We nearly had the police out for you. I'm infuriated."
Mom folded her hands in her lap. "You were told to watch JoAnne. You totally ignored what we said. You had the ... nerve to walk out of this house, on a school night, and leave your little sister."
Casey wanted to run upstairs and curl up in bed. She couldn't take this. Not after tonight, not after being so free. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.
"No," Mom snapped. "Sorry won't cut it. Thank God you had at least enough intelligence to get Lisa to watch JoAnne. We paid Lisa ten dollars. That comes out of your pay."
"All right."
"We have a lot of thinking to do," Mom went on. "Apparently, we had the wrong idea. We thought that, even if you were a little lazy, you were at least grown up. Well, you're not. You can't be trusted, you can't be depended upon, and you can't be treated as anything but a willful and selfish child."
Too much. Too much. She was going to break.
"You are going to be punished so that you never forget." Mom's voice was like a needle, poking and poking. "You are going to remember—"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Casey screamed. "Who do you think you are? God?"
Mom went dead white. "You dare—!"
"Get off my back," Casey said. Her whole body shook. "I told you I had to go out tonight. I asked you to get a sitter. But you didn't even care what I had to say."
Dad stood up and jabbed a finger at her. "You may not talk back to your mother that way."
Mom gave him a sarcastic look. "Don't start now to teach her, Ron. Where were you all these years?"
Dad's eyes flared. "How did this become my fault?"
"Stop it," Casey pleaded. "I can't stand this."
"Oh, can't you?" Mom said. "You're going to have to stand a great deal more. This is not going to be forgotten."
Casey felt so low she could have crawled. Guilt stifled her. It wasn't any use to blame them. She'd lied, and she'd left JoAnne, and she'd illegally driven their car. Standing here now, with her head swimming, she couldn't believe she'd done it. Not even for Paul.
"Look, I'm sorry," she said. "I know I was wrong. I just needed to get out."
Dad exhaled angrily and rested a hand on the lamp table. "God, if you'd been in an accident ... " He looked at her sharply. "Were you drinking?"
"No!" Oh, man, another lie. She couldn't stop.
Dad pushed a hand through his wiry hair. "Well, this is a big, big problem. You have to be severely punished, and we have to find out what's lacking in your ethics."
Casey slumped against the doorway. "There's nothing wrong with my ethics."
Mom sat up straight. "This is useless. It's much too late to discuss it. Casey, get to bed. I want signed notes from your teachers tomorrow attesting to the fact that your homework was done properly. Please come straight home from school."
"I have a Literary Magazine meeting."
"No, you don't," Mom said. "You're grounded. That's the beginning. Come straight home and remain inside. We'll get this straightened out."
Casey bit back her anger. It wasn't any use to argue. She had no arguments, anyway. At least they hadn't grilled her about who she was with and what she'd done. She guessed that would come tomorrow. But she could sleep first.
"I'm sorry," she said again.
"Yes, I'm sure you are," Mom said tiredly. "Go to bed."
Casey looked pleadingly at her father, who couldn't meet her eyes. She'd never seen him so ashamed or hurt. It tore her up. Her whole, beautiful night was a wreck. The fantasy was over.
But for those few hours, in the dancing light of that fire, she'd mattered. They couldn't ruin that. And Paul was still hers. The Paul she was saving. Paul with his strong, beautiful body and his troubled heart.
Yeah, he was still there. And soon she'd be with him, always important, always loved. She could take her punishment until then. She could take any damn punishment they wanted to give.
"Good night, Casey," Dad said.
"Night, Dad," she said. "Night, Mom."
"Good night," Mom said, without a shred of feeling.
Casey trudged up the stairs. She ached with tiredness and her head sang with memories. She remembered that she had to wake up in three hours to go to school.
She flicked on the lamp in her room and dug the gold chain out of her jacket pocket. She draped it over her palm and let it catch glints of light. The square charm had a tiny diamond in it, and her initials and Paul's. She dropped wearily onto her bed and held the chain against her cheek. The quiet ticking of her clock relaxed her.
"Happy birthday, Casey," she whispered to herself. "And many more."