Diana Peterfreund - Rites of Spring (Break)

Oh, Jesus, Amy, who are you kidding? He’s perfectly attractive. Not in league with George Prescott, of course, but then, who was? It was just tough to tell sometimes, what with that permanent scowl, and his ratty clothes, and his misanthropy…

Why was I even thinking about this? It shouldn’t matter to me if a guy liked me, unless I was into him. Look at Brandon. I’d gotten involved with him because he liked me, and it all ended in tears. Never again.

I’d never been so relieved to head for dinner as I was that night, and I took great pains to fill my table with knights from my club so there would be no danger of sitting near the focus of all my recent thoughts.

The crusty caretaker made some sort of welcome speech (which I listened to as carefully as I had Malcolm’s backgammon instructions) and then we poured the wine. Thank heaven. I filled my glass.

“Here’s to an awesome Spring Break!” my brother Kevin said, raising his glass. “May it make up for all the Spring Breaks I’ve spent singing big band standards for Rotary Clubs from here to Kalamazoo.”

“Here, here,” said Clarissa. “And where is Kalamazoo?”

“Michigan.” Kevin shuddered. “The Midwest.”

“Hey!” I said, coming out of my haze enough to defend the flyovers.

“May this week be filled with new opportunities and experiences,” said Harun, clinking his soda against the one belonging to Jenny, who sat beside him.

“May we all survive being unplugged,” she added begrudgingly.

“May I not be sober again until classes restart,” George said, already refilling.

“Agreed,” Demetria said. “And may Ben finally agree to take me on in tennis.”

“You got it, Billie Jean,” Ben said. “Prepare to be annihilated.”

“Billie Jean won, moron.”

“Oh.”

Clarissa raised an eyebrow in my direction. “And may we all convince Amy to get back up on that horse. Or boat, as the case may be.”

I almost spat my wine at her. “Hell no. I’m heading up the landside sunbathing team.”

“Awww, come on, Amy,” George said. “Don’t be a loser. What are you going to do back here on the island by yourself all day?”

“Vacation?” I replied coldly. “Eat junk food, catch up on my reading, just chill?”

“Leave her alone,” Jenny said, and I took the opportunity to excuse myself and head for the salad bar.

But George, as I well knew, was not one to be sidetracked. He caught up with me between the croutons and the chickpeas. “I need to talk to you,” he said softly, loading up on romaine.

“So talk.” Did anyone really like canned beet slices?

“Are you angry at me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? Because you’ve been acting like a bitch.”

“ Now I’m angry at you.” I stabbed the tongs into the cucumbers much more violently than they deserved. “Me not wanting to get on a boat again has nothing to do with us.”

“I mean in general. Can’t you let bygones be bygones?”

“Not when you’re holding it over me. Last time we spoke, you as good as threatened to tell everyone in the club about our little…thing.”

A young patriarch’s wife was picking through the tomato wedges on the other side of the sneeze guard. I smiled at her, but she only had eyes for George’s megawatt grin.

“Hi there,” he said, and as she moved on to the dressings, he turned his attention back to me. “Come on, Amy. I was joking . Besides, you already know why I left it off the C.B.”

“Enlighten me.” I rolled my eyes. “Wait. Don’t tell me: I was special .”

“No, because everyone knows. It’s not a story.”

“Everyone knows you slept with half the girls in our class, too. You told those stories.”

“So the only other option is that I’m trying to blackmail you?”

I’d reached the end of the salad bar. There was no way to continue this conversation without moving on to the dessert table, which brought with it the base instinct to smack George in the face with a cream pie. Tempting.

“What exactly is it that you fantasize I’d be blackmailing you to do, Amy?”

I wasn’t about to dignify that with an answer, so I just picked up my plate and left. Barely two steps toward my table, I froze. Malcolm and Poe had drawn up chairs and were squeezing into a heated argument about the current Democratic National Platform.

Oh, well. At least it wasn’t snorkeling. But between trying to keep up with the debate from folks who were way more politically savvy than I (Malcolm’s background gave him an unfair advantage, I think), and avoiding eye contact with Poe, I had a tough time following everything. Eventually, I gave up and resorted to familiarizing myself with the china pattern.

Some Spring Break. First, I’d almost drowned, now I was in the middle of a big steaming pile of awkward with approximately one-fourth of my companions. What else could possibly go wrong?

“Do you think the Gehrys will come to dinner?” Kevin asked.

“I doubt it,” Clarissa said. “He’d have to show his face in front of us, and he’s in as much disgrace with this club as he is with the rest of the country. I was surprised the Gehrys even let their son on the boat today, considering the risk.”

“What risk?” Jenny asked.

“Of one of us telling him exactly why they’re hiding out here,” Clarissa said, casting a quick glance in Demetria’s direction.

“You don’t think he knows?” Kevin asked.

“I doubt it,” Clarissa said. “At least, I didn’t get that impression this afternoon. And I heard the wife and kids left town before the whole immigration thing blew up. If your kid’s nanny was about to be deported in a huge public blowup, don’t you think you’d want to shield your child from all that?”

“If so, then it’s really shocking that Kurt Gehry would leave his son alone with your club,” Poe said. I didn’t dare look up. “Everyone knows how much D177 hates him. Why would he risk giving you that kind of ammo?”

Demetria didn’t miss a beat. “Why would it be our club in particular?”

“Only your club disavowed him,” Malcolm argued. “He’s still our patriarch, and thus, we’re still obligated to keep his secrets.”

“Come on, Malcolm,” I said, trusting myself enough to speak to my big sib, if not his friend. “Don’t tell me you like Kurt Gehry.”

“Who cares whether or not he likes that slimeball?” Demetria asked. “It’s not a society secret if it’s being looped on CNN.”

Malcolm only laughed and leaned back in his seat. “If it’s a secret from someone in particular, though, I’d say we have an obligation to a fellow knight.”

I noted the way his hand rested on the back of Poe’s chair. Was that a hint? Like I said, Malcolm was very well politicized. He knew how to make comments without making them.

And Demetria was no fool, either, though she misunderstood the message completely. Recalibrating her missiles, she turned to Poe. “Well, brother ? Gehry screwed you over, too. Broke his oaths to you. Can you think of any reason to keep his secrets for him?”

Poe acknowledged her question with the ghost of a smile, but returned to his rice pilaf and said nothing.

“Well,” Jenny said. “There’s the obvious: It might hurt the kids. That’s one bit of advice that even the barbarians here would follow. You don’t say nasty stuff about a kid’s dad in front of the kid. Come on, Demetria. You didn’t go up to Darren this afternoon and say, ‘Hey, too bad about that nanny of yours, huh?’”

“True,” Poe said.

But Demetria wasn’t finished with him. “Okay, fine. No one here is into humiliating a child. But forgive me if I want to know exactly what’s going on in that family, and how they’re all dealing with the fallout.” She aimed her fork at Poe. “And I think you know more about it than you’re saying.”