Free Maidenstone Lighthouse by Sally Smith O' Rourke Page B

all the younger girls whispered about and had secret crushes on. He drove a trashed red Mustang with illegal mufflers and dated flashy blonde Debbie Carver, who waited tables at Krabb’s and was rumored to have had her first abortion at fifteen.
    A small incident from my own woefully inexperienced fifteenth year flashed into my mind. I felt my neck growing hot as I recalled the way I had regarded Danny Freedman then: It was a warm night in July and I had been sitting out on the front porch when Danny’s Mustang had rolled slowly down our street. There were two figures in the car and sensual music from the stereo pulsed in time to the deep throbbing of the Mustang’s exhausts.
    Of course, I knew why Danny and Debbie Carver were taking the long, narrow causeway to the deserted island. Because Maidenstone was the one place teen lovers could be sure that Harvey Peabody couldn’t sneak up on them.
    So I had watched them go. And whether it was the sultry air, the sensual music or only a sudden, painful awareness of my own awakening sexuality, I was intrigued.
    Running upstairs to my room, I had watched the taillights on Danny Freedman’s Mustang dwindle to glittering ruby specks, then vanish in the velvety darkness.
    I sat by my window, staring at the spot where the lights had been. After a long while, I locked my door and stepped out of my denim shorts and cotton panties and pulled off my halter top. Then, lying naked on my bed with a soft breeze through the open windows caressing my feverish skin, I shut my eyes and fantasized that I was the one out there on Maidenstone Island with Danny Freedman.
    Though the details are lost in time, I remember how desperately I had wanted to share the velvet darkness with him that night. To hear his voice whispering in my ear and feel his hands touching me.
    Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, considering the dire consequences that might have ensued—by the time I was old enough to pursue my fantasy, Danny Freedman had left town. Someone said he had joined the marines, which had sounded about right at the time.
    â€œYou haven’t told me what you’re doing these days,” I said, pushing away the embarrassing memory and finally releasing my grip on Dan.
    â€œOh, I do some work…painting, exteriors mostly,” he replied, still looking down at my hand.
    â€œAh,” I replied brightly. “Well, I guess this is the season for painting around here. You must be very busy right now.”
    Dan raised his eyes and gave me an odd look as we began walking toward the old Toyota. “Well, I find that one time’s generally as good as another,” he answered, “unless it rains.”
    I nodded vigorously to show that I was really interested. “I can just imagine what a problem that could be,” I said. “What do you do if it starts raining when you only have a house partially finished?”
    He opened the creaky door of the truck and climbed in. “Oh, I usually just go have a few beers and then come back again when it stops.” He laughed as he started the engine. “Well, so long now, Sue. And welcome back to Freedman’s Cove.”
    â€œSo long, Dan. It was great seeing you.” I stepped away from the truck and waved as he drove off. He tooted the horn and waved back at me.
    I watched as his battered truck got farther and farther away, from the lighthouse and me. The guilt that had surfaced earlier returned with the realization that I hadn’t wanted him to leave at all.
    How was that possible? How could I be this attracted to someone else when I was madly in love with Bobby and was here only to come to grips with the grief and reality of his loss?
    An unsettling thought caused me to shiver as I got on my moped. Damon had once said that I was only in love with the idea of being in love and not with Bobby at all. Of course I’d screamed that he was insane, that Bobby was my life. And for the first