Cynthia D'Aprix Sweeney - The Nest

“Are you ready?” Paul offered his hand to Bea and in that moment he did a quick calculation: Who was Bea with Leo and who might she be without him? Who might he be without Leo in the picture? Who might they be together? Bea placed her palm in Paul’s hand and stood to face him and his answer was as clear as the easy, radiant expression on her face, which was — even given the beating sun and the smell of street food and the stink of the ocean nearby — positively transporting. Beatific. Exhilarating and emollient.

WHEN BEA PLACEDher hand in Paul’s, she felt an unexpected rush. It was nice. He’d been so patient, so good, so helpful and loyal and true. His ordinarily pale skin had an almost pretty glow from the sun, in spite of his incessant application of sunscreen with an SPF factor at or above 70. She’d badgered him into wearing a T-shirt and, true, it was solid navy and topped with a seersucker jacket but he still looked different to her somehow. Taller. More confident. As she stood and faced him, she saw something determined move across his face, something — she could tell — having to do with her and that made her feel safe, calm. He was, she realized, nearly handsome.

He had been deeply disappointed when she decided to put the last Archie story into a desk drawer. For good. “It’s not mine,” she’d told him. “It belongs to Leo and Matilda and someone who hasn’t even been born yet. It’s not the story I need to tell.” And still, he’d been so stalwart about helping her look for Leo, she knew he’d even gone off on his own a few times.

“I liked this place,” she said to him. “In spite of everything.”

“I liked it, too,” he said. They stood there, her hand in his, both of them looking a little giddy and a little tentative and a little sun-kissed and a little sweaty, and though she didn’t understand the heady optimism moving through her (she hoped it was her new work, but maybe it was just the sway of the dock? the swell of the water? Paul?), she decided to embrace it. To bear her own joy.

“Do you know what else I like?” she said, putting a hand on each of Paul Underwood’s shoulders.

FROM HIS USUAL CHAIRat the regular Friday morning bodega card game, the one facing the door, Leo had seen Paul the minute he crossed over to the drink cooler. He’d moved off to the side of the room and tried to stay calm while wondering what to do. The guys he was playing with would cover for him. He wouldn’t have to explain, just tell them that Underwood was trouble and they’d clam right up. He made his way to the restroom out back and locked the door behind him, wanting to think for a minute where Paul couldn’t ambush him. There were advantages to running, of course, but he was also curious, wondered who was with Paul. Bea, that seemed obvious. Paul and Bea had to be waiting for the 5:15 P.M. ferry, which was always at least fifteen minutes late. He wondered if anyone else had come looking for him. He had time to sneak over to the terminal and see who else was there. Melody maybe? Stephanie?

Or he could just walk up to Paul and ask. Man to man. Man to half man. Man to Underdog. Whatever. His siblings could find him but they couldn’t force him to do anything. He’d kind of been expecting this moment. Truthfully, he was surprised it took so long. Technically, he should have been in South Vietnam right now but — he’d gotten a little lazy.

He splashed his face with some questionable water from the sink marked NONPOTABLE and stepped back into the bodega. Paul Underwood was nowhere in sight. Had he not seen Leo? Leo was sure he had. Paul never did have a poker face. Leo decided to investigate.

Across the street, from a spot inside the tiny terminal building, he saw Bea sitting on the outside pier right away. Even in a crowd of American tourists, her clothes were ridiculously colorful. She was sitting on a bench, her legs out in front of her. Her gold sandals caught the sun. A tall woman stood next to Bea; her back was to Leo but he would know that long red hair anywhere. Stephanie.

He quickly moved toward the open doorway and right before he crossed the threshold, the redhead turned toward Leo and he stopped. It wasn’t Stephanie, not even close. This woman was too heavy and her face was sunburned and pudgy, almost piglike. He felt a surge of fury for this stranger who dared to look from behind like someone he now realized he’d been expecting to see. She hadn’t come.

As the ferry docked and started unloading its passengers, a few local teens began to play the steel drums, hoping to be the first recipients of the newly arrived tourists’ dollars. Leo watched Bea stand and say something to Paul that made him smile as she lazily dropped her arms over his shoulders. Even from a distance, Leo swore he could see Paul blush.

“Come on, Underdog,” Leo found himself silently coaxing. “Grow a pair.”

Paul slid one hand along Bea’s waist and pulled her closer, ran a finger along the line of her jaw and then cupped her face with his hand; right there, right in that moment, Leo watched Bea surrender. Exhale. He watched her knees collapse a bit and her elbows bend as she leaned into Paul and then they were kissing — as if they were alone, as if they were in love, as if for all time.

AFTER THE LONG AND HEADY KISS(Bea hadn’t ever expected to be kissed like that again in her entire life, not after Tucker died), she and Paul stood quietly for a minute in a close embrace. Everyone was boarding the ferry now. Her eyes were still closed and she could feel how neatly her body aligned with Paul’s — how her tidy breasts matched up with his narrow chest, how his slight potbelly fit perfectly into her slender middle, and how her chin fit just so into the crook of his shoulder. She drew back, wanting to see his face, but as she lifted her gaze, a familiar profile caught her eye. A stream of people temporarily blocked her line of sight, but when they passed, she could see the figure walking toward her. The lowering, late-afternoon sun shone straight into her eyes and the glare made everything hazy, including the man, who was nearly a shadow. She froze. It couldn’t be.

WHEN LEO STARTED TOWARD BEA,he had no plan, no idea what he was going to say, he’d just impulsively moved in her direction. When she raised her head and saw him, he stopped. As he hesitated, he watched everything about her change. She stiffened. Her face went dark with worry and confusion. She closed her eyes and lowered her chin.

BREATHE, BEA TOLD HERSELF, JUST BREATHE. She remained perfectly still, afraid to move or look up, waiting to hear his voice calling her name. Afraid to hear his voice calling her name. Paul held her a little tighter. He smelled like shampoo and sunscreen and faintly of jerk chicken. A nearby seagull squawked, sounding as if it were laughing. The ferry horn blared three times. Final boarding.

“Ready?” Paul said. She lifted her head and blinked a little. The figure was gone. She looked again, shielding her eyes. No one.

She thought she’d seen Leo a thousand times on this trip, a million times, every day, sometimes every hour. She thought she’d seen him dancing to a calypso band at their hotel, serving fish to a nearby table at a restaurant, and buying mangoes at the side of the road. She thought she’d seen him walking down the beach flip-flops in hand, in the backseat of a taxi weaving through traffic, playing pool through an open door, on countless barstools and down countless sun-drenched alleys under the swaying palms. But it had never been him. It had never been Leo.

“I’m ready,” she said, retrieving her hat from the bench, placing her straw bag on her shoulder. “Let’s go home.”