12. On the Beach

This is what I remember about that moment:

1) Poe tasted like salt and suntan oil.

2) His hands stiffened on my hips. Not tighter, not looser, just…frozen.

3) The water made little squelching sounds as it flowed between our bodies.

4) It took a second or so for him to start kissing me back.

5) The kiss went on a lot longer than a second or so.

Poe finally pulled away and we blinked at each other in the sunlight. Quickly, I disentangled my legs from around his waist, but before I could let go of him completely, he’d covered my hands with his own. “Wait.”

And then we were kissing again, only this time our bodies were pressed together, and I could feel the silky sensation of his wet bathing suit on my legs, could feel the skin of his stomach rubbing against mine, and I realized he had his hand splayed against my back, holding me tight as the water swirled around us, and when I came up for air I saw that we were floating, that Poe had taken the opportunity to push off from the sandy bottom into the deeper arc of the lagoon, and to take me with him.

And for once, I didn’t freak out that I couldn’t touch the bottom. He pulled through the water with one hand and both legs, and I must have been holding my breath or something because I was floating along with him, skimming between the surface of the water and the planes of his chest.

Finally, he straightened, and once again, my toes sank into wet sand. I dropped my hands to my sides. Poe was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling in the water, and I wasn’t exactly calm myself. And since neither of us seemed to have any inclination to speak, I just walked up past him onto the sandbar.

The contrast between the coolness of the lagoon and the sun-warmed sand was extreme. I wrung droplets out of my hair and walked to the far end of the sandbar, looking out over the waves to the other island. As promised, I could see colorful tents clustered on the shore, the smoke from a cooking fire, the movement of tiny figures. Were they really conspiracy theorists? Were they watching me now? And if so, what did they think of the utterly pedestrian sight of a girl in a sports bra and gym shorts and a boy in a bathing suit kissing in the Florida surf? How could they spin that into their fevered fantasies of a New World Order?

And could they provide me with any interpretation I could use?

Poe joined me, still silent, then pulled off his backpack and dug around inside. He handed me a bottle of water, slightly warmed by the sun. The label had turned gummy in the sea, but I drank happily, washing away the flavor of salt. Funny how sweet plain water can be.

I passed the water back, swapping with Poe for a plastic baggie filled with grapes. I nibbled on the fruit, still tasting brine and a slight grittiness from the sand on my fingers. Poe sat down, and I joined him, side by side. Our hips touched, our arms brushed.

It no longer felt awkward not to speak. Rather, it seemed like a competition. The first person to say something would be responsible for putting it all into context.

I kept my mouth filled with grapes instead.

Poe lay back on the sand and I followed suit, only to discover he’d extended an arm for me to use as a pillow. I turned my face toward him and found he was looking at me, too. The chorus of Oh-my-God-what-are-you-doings that had taken up the bulk of my consciousness for the last few minutes faded away. I wanted to kiss him again, so I did.

I don’t know how long we lay like that, sharing grapes and kisses. Water evaporated from my skin in the sunlight, and heat seeped into my flesh, driving off the chill of winter and the trauma of February. Against the elemental forces of earth and sea and Poe, Eli was a chimera. Who cared about fellowship applications, about society feuds, about the Ivory Tower or the even more fantastical “real world” that awaited when it crumbled? The very idea of debating Book 3, Canto 2 of Spenser, or doing yet another problem set on the reactions that cause ozone layer depletion, or writing Eli’s thirtieth paper on the role of Persephone in feminist literature seemed ludicrous. Pointless. The life of the mind held not the slightest fascination for me.

Poe’s skin was warm and smooth, and all I could hear was the sound of the waves. I wasn’t overthinking. For once, I wasn’t thinking at all.

Spring Break. I get it now. Only took four years.

More time passed, and my brain started up again, but slowly, with none of the frenetic, stressful ferocity of its usual pace, just softly batting around bizarre contemplations and idle curiosities. One flitted to the surface.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Poe was running his hand up and down the length of my arm. At the sound of my voice, he stilled. “Okay?” he said warily.

“Why do we have Nazi china?”

He burst out laughing, and I was so relaxed, it took me a moment to realize why. He thought I was going to ask about this.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “I find it really creepy myself. It’s supposed to be some sort of war trophy from some old patriarch, but it’s gross. Let’s go smash it.”

I looked at him, eyebrows raised, but he wasn’t kidding. His eyes sparkled.

“Seriously. Turn the whole collection into dust. Or better yet, we’ll sell it off to skinheads at high profit and donate it all to…the Anti-Defamation League or something.”

“Salt would not be happy.”

“We’ll blame the conspiracy theorists.” He grinned and cocked his head toward the other island.

I shook my head, incredulous. “What about tradition?”

“Screw tradition.”

This was the Poe, right? “You’ve gone crazy.”

He thought about that for a moment. “You’re right. I have. You’re contagious.” He leaned over me and kissed me quick and it may have been the sun, but I think my entire body blushed. We’d wound up talking about this after all. But lying beneath Poe was another new sensation, and I devoted most of my attention to that for the next few minutes.

I don’t know what tipped me off. Perhaps there was some material change to the sound of the waves against the shore, but I looked up and saw it a moment before he did.

The yacht was rounding the tip of the island! It was still pretty far from the sandbar, but if you squinted, you could make out the figures on deck, and as I watched in horror I saw a blond one in a bright pink bikini walk to the nearest rail and peer out over the water. She raised an arm and pointed at us. A moment later, a brown-haired man in a red bathing suit joined her. The sunlight hit them and bounced off the rim of his copper frames.

Crap!

I scrambled out from under my companion with the speed and agility of a fiddler crab and rolled to the side. My eyes still on the boat, I clutched my knees to my chest and willed them not to come any closer. They must have recognized us. Must have seen.

Without a word, Poe slung the bag back over his shoulders and waded into the lagoon.

“Hey!” I started to follow him. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t dignify that with an answer. I splashed in behind him, all the way up to my waist. Clearly, he was setting a new pace.

“What, am I on my own now?” I asked.

Now he turned and his cold expression said it all. “Don’t you want to be?”

I waded out farther, and he stopped. He didn’t return, but he stopped, just a few feet out of reach. And as I floundered toward him, he moved back at the same rate.

“Poe, don’t…” I said, dog-paddling.

“Two dollars. And I’m right here.”

We made it halfway across the lagoon like that. It wasn’t pleasant. I was breathing hard and I’m sure my terror showed on my face. Eventually, Poe took pity on me and pulled me the rest of the way to the shallows, but as soon as I’d found my footing, he took off again.