His hat is on the ground. His hands are on her shoulders and he feels so good, his mouth, his tongue. His breath is in her ears. They are both slippery with rain and sweat. They pull up their soaked shirts, and then they take them off, and he is salty when she licks him. He whispers, “Wait, wait, let me look at you.”
Probably someone will come embarrass them. Probably, but it doesn’t happen, and then they start forgetting. They lie down on his climbing mat, and gradually they pull themselves under the tilting bolder. His hands slip over her breasts, and her bare waist, and then underneath her shorts, until her heels dig into the ground, ripping up the moss.
And even then, she reminds herself, This isn’t serious. This isn’t dangerous. It’s like swimming because the water is warm. It’s not like you have to drown yourself in him.
It’s weird, how they understand each other. He says, Let’s take it slow, and she says, Yeah. But even as they say that, they both know that nothing slow is going to happen. They are filthy wet, but they don’t want to leave.
Only when they hear hikers and dogs do they sit up and collect their stuff. They head back to their cars, and then they drive to Justin’s place in Gloucester.
He leads the way and Sam drives after him. The road turns to gravel. Then to dirt.
By the time they arrive and park their cars, she is getting cold. Her hair is wet and tangled, her arms streaked with mud.
She says, “This is where you live?”
He lives all the way at the end of the dirt road near the marshes. The house belongs to his great-grandma Ann and it’s Victorian, painted the darkest green. The house has a steep roof, and bay windows, and a wraparound porch.
Justin says, “Come in.”
“Is it all right?”
The floor creaks, and the paint is peeling. “Ann?” he calls softly as he opens the door. “She’s sleeping,” he whispers.
“Where?” There are so many doors and hallways.
“Sh. Come upstairs.”
He has the whole third floor, which is a bunch of little rooms and a half bath. His bedroom has a window like a porthole. If you stand on the desk, you can see the ocean.
To take a shower you go downstairs to the bathroom on the second floor. Quietly, quietly, so you don’t wake Ann.
In the shower, they are half whispering, half laughing. The water pressure isn’t strong, so they take turns standing under and then shivering. Sam asks, “How long have you lived here?”
“Since high school.” Justin is lathering Sam’s whole body, front and back. “Ann let me live here when my mom kicked me out.”
“How old is she?” Sam asks, light-headed.
“Ann? She’s ninety.”
“Whoa.”
“But she’s like a young ninety.”
Somewhere in the distance, Sam’s phone is ringing, but they keep soaping each other slippery. They are washing away the mud, and when they lie down together, they are clean.
The phone rings again. Sam’s mom calls her three times, and then the fourth time Sam sits up in Justin’s bed and answers. “What?”
“Where were you?” her mom asks, and for a second Sam thinks, Shit, where was I supposed to be? Her mom says, “Remember you said you would drive Noah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Well, he missed practice.”
“I’m sorry. I forgot the time.”
“What are you doing?” her mom asks.
Sam looks at Justin lying back against his pillow. “Just climbing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m just sleeping over with a friend.”
“What’s his name?”
“I’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” Sam thinks, Really? Her mom says, “Sam, I need you at nine. Remember I open up on Saturdays?”
“Okay, okay. Stop.” Sam is too happy for this conversation.
“Just say you’ll be there,” Justin whispers. “We’ll get up early.”