Free The View from Here by Deborah Mckinlay Page A

name.”
    The others recognized this and laughed.
    â€œStill…” Sally said wickedly, amusing herself now, “I guess it’s nice that they have each other to turn to when the pool boy throws them over at the end of the summer.”
    Later, as we lay there in the roaring afternoon heat, Howie begged people to swim with him.
    â€œNot now, hon,” Patsy said, lazily shrugging off his tug. Her turquoise bikini, held together by gold rings at the corners, exposed the sharp line of her pelvis.
    Richard stood. “Come on, son. I’ll swim with you.” He leaned over Patsy, casting a shadow. She half opened her eyes.
    â€œYou’re in my sun,” she said flatly, closing them again.
    Richard bent swiftly and scooped his wife up as if she were straw. As he carried her to the sea, we could see her legs flailing and her fists pounding ineffectually at his neck. The children exploded, squealing and splashing, when he dropped her into the water. Patsy emerged instantly, adjusted the strap of her bikini top, and waded shoreward. Richard, behind her, submerged his head for a moment before rising and settling his dense gaze on the retreating lower center of her back.
    â€œHe’s such an adolescent ,” she said, reaching us back on the sand. She flattened her towel with irritated, fluttery hands.
    â€œOh lighten up, Patsy,” Mason said. There was a tiny scowl in the sleepy, afternoon drawl of his voice.
    Patsy, stretching, paused at it and twisted her face to him. He did not meet her look.
    Jenny and Jessica, breathing hard, rushed up to the edge of the cluster of adults on the sand. “Come and swim,” Jenny said.
    Jessica was clutching Tallulah, who was shivering miserably. “Tallulah loves it. You put her in the water, and she swims, but then, when you lift her up, she keeps swimming.”
    Jenny, giggling, imitated a dog’s frantic paddle. “Come and see,” she urged.
    â€œAll right,” Mason agreed. “Frankie?”
    I looked at him.
    â€œComing?” He lifted his arm slightly, beckoning, and the silver of his heavy watch flashed.
    I looked around. Patsy was on her stomach, the strap of her bikini top undone. Lesley and Paige, their heads and towels together, were huddled at a safe distance from the adults down the beach. Everyone else was swimming or sleeping. Sally smiled over her dark glasses and signaled with a tiny, queenly movement of her hand that we ought to just go.
    â€œI’m happy here,” she said.
    â€œWhat’s around the bend?” Mason asked over the children’s heads. We were standing thigh-deep in the water. He looked back toward the rocks at the end of the crescent of the bay.
    â€œMore rocks. One big one that looks like a wineglass. Narrow at the bottom and wide at the top.”
    â€œShow me.”
    â€œAll right.”
    We left the girls swimming and walked up onto the sand toward the rocky curve.
    â€œSee. Like a wineglass.” I made my hands into a V.
    â€œYes,” he said, “it is.” And then: “How was yesterday?”
    â€œFine.”
    He looked at me. “Women never mean fine when they say fine. How was it?”
    â€œA lot of drinking.”
    â€œYes, and?”
    â€œI don’t know…”
    He smiled. “Don’t you?”
    We had wandered beyond the wineglass rock and stopped on the far side of it, in its shadow.
    â€œSally and Patsy got a bit edgy with each other.”
    â€œPatsy shouldn’t drink,” he said mildly.
    â€œNo.” I toed the sand, wishing for something cleverer to say.
    He put one hand at the back of my head and kissed me.
    â€œDon’t mind about them,” he said, “Patsy and Sally and Bee Bee.”
    My brain couldn’t catch up. “I don’t.”
    â€œYes you do.” He laughed and took my hand.
    He held it, walking ahead of me across the rocks, until I disengaged my fingers when I could