Free What I Thought Was True by Huntley Fitzpatrick Page A

the Seashell beaches. The summer people stick
    to Abenaki, which is shielded from the open sea, has gentler
    waves and a less rocky beach. That’s where they moor their
    boats. But Sandy Claw is where the local kids go, the place for
    illegal fireworks and loud music from someone’s car speakers.
    In fact, the sound of the music as we drive close is so loud
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    Vivien has to shout to be heard. “This catering thing, tomor-
    row? It’s got a black-and-white theme. The uniforms work fine
    for us, Gwen, but Nico, you’ll need a dinner jacket.”
    Nic groans. “Tell me no tux. Please, Vee. I lose half the cash I
    make renting the damn thing.”
    “If I have to wear a monkey suit, I’m out,” Hoop says. “Turns
    off the ladies.”
    Vivien’s eyes widen at me in the rearview mirror, comi-
    cally large. Five-foot three-inch, clothing-challenged Hoop,
    the chick magnet. Maybe if he’d stop calling them “the ladies.”
    Sandy Claw’s already crowded when we get there, kids we’ve
    grown up with milling around the bonfire and the shore.
    Hoop springs out of the car and heads for the cooler, brush-
    ing aside the cans of Coke and orange soda with single-minded
    purpose, rummaging for the beer. Vivien hauls a plaid picnic
    blanket from the back of the truck. She hands it to Nic, giving
    him her glowing, mischievous smile. After laying out the blan-
    ket, they immediately begin doing their thing. It’s a testament
    to . . . something about Nic and Vivie that no one even bats an
    eye at them macking all over each other. Nic calls to me as they
    lie down, “Grab me a brew, cuz?”
    “To drink or should I pour it on you?” I call back. He ignores
    me, all wrapped up—literally—in Vivien.
    Pam D’Ofrio walks over next to me, says only, “Really keep-
    ing it PG tonight, aren’t they?” in her flat, deadpan voice.
    We’re joined by Manny Morales, Marco’s—the head main-
    tenance guy’s—son.
    We talk for a few minutes about summer jobs—Manny’s
    doing dishes at this place called Breakfast Ahoy, Pam’s work-
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    ing at Esquidaro’s Eats, one of Castle’s rival restaurants.
    “It beats babysitting,” Pam says. “Last year I sat for the Carter
    twins. They were four and so crazy their mom insisted I put
    them on those leash things when I took them out. My first day,
    we were walking to the playground and they wrapped their
    leashes around a telephone pole, tied me up like a spider with
    a fly and ran off. Took me ten minutes to undo the knots. Little
    SOBs.”
    “Didja quit?” Manny asked.
    Pam shakes her head. “No guarantee what I quit for wouldn’t
    have been even worse.”
    Manny asks, “You gonna rat me out to my dad if I snag a
    beer?” He’s sixteen and Marco’s strict.
    We shake our heads.
    He comes back, settling down heavily next to us against the
    waterlogged old tree trunk that’s been on the beach forever.
    Nic and Vivien carry on like our own private floor show.
    “Must be nice,” Pam says. “Being comfortable doing that. In
    public.” She shakes her head. “Can’t imagine.” Pam has been
    with Shaunee, her girlfriend, since eighth grade.
    Manny drains half the bottle, wipes his lips with the back of
    his hand. “At least they’re putting a ring on it,” he says, lifting his elbow at Nic and Vivien.
    “ What? ” I ask.
    “Getting hitched, right?”
    I scoot back in the sand, staring at him. “What?” I say again.
    Then laugh. “No way. Why would you think that?”
    “My brother Angelo works at Starelli’s Jewelers, in the mall.
    Nic and Vivien were in this weekend, checking out engagement
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    rings.” Manny scratches the back of his neck, looks uncomfort-
    able, like he just said more than he should have.
    I peek over at Vivien and Nic. He’s smoothing her hair