Cape Air’s one o’clock from Boston was the only flight due in when I arrived. As usual, not many people were leaving the island on a Friday in summer, and several locals waited with me for the nine-seater to come into range. The tiny plane first appeared as a small dot in the cloudless blue sky, and circled out over the south shore before coming in for a landing. I could see the crown of Jake’s thick brown hair emerge from the door first as he bent down to get out onto the steps that the pilot had lowered. He picked up his head to look for me behind the arrival gate and broke into a wide smile when he saw me standing on a bench against the chain-link fence, waving at him with both arms. His suit jacket was slung over his shoulder and hooked by the finger of his left hand, and he blew a kiss to me with his right hand when he touched ground.
When he reached where I stood in the waiting area, next to the luggage rack, he dropped his briefcase, took me by my shoulders as he said, “Hello, angel,” and kissed me for what seemed like three minutes. My head nestled in the crook of his elbow, and I closed my eyes and stood still to savor the feeling of his embrace.
“Got room in that little car for a duffel full of dirty clothes? It’s hard to travel light for ten days in China.” Jake had covered the presidential summit in Beijing for NBC and had been traveling for almost two weeks on his way there and back. We had spent a weekend on the Vineyard before he took off, and our communications had been frustratingly erratic since then, between time differences and our unpredictable schedules.
“I’m thinking of giving up prosecution and taking in laundry. I’d be delighted to start with yours, Mr. Tyler.”
“Bad week? I couldn’t seem to catch you anywhere, no matter-when I called.”
The suitcases were off-loaded to the luggage rack, and Jake lifted his bag out so we could walk to the car. I carried his jacket and briefcase under one arm, taking hold of his left hand with my right. “You’ll get a full report this evening. I’ve been ordered to take today off, so if you don’t talk to me about the gross national product or global warming or the Japanese commodities market, I won’t bore you with the twists and turns in my murder case.”
“There’s nothing boring about it. What’s been happening?” he asked, as I opened the trunk to put the bag inside.
I put my index finger up to my lips, whispered “ Ssssssssssssshhh, ” and slipped behind the wheel of the Miata. “I’m taking you for a ride. Just relax and enjoy the scenery.”
We left the airport and started up-island. After about a tenminute ride on the South Road, I turned the car off onto a wide-mouthed dirt drive, unmarked and unpaved and full of rutted holes that threatened to devour the small car.
“Am I being kidnapped?” Jake asked, tousling my hair. “Nobody at the network will ransom me, you know. Take me away now and you’ll be stuck with me forever.”
The brush was thick on both sides of the way, and we bounced along the winding path for more than a mile until we came to a fence attached to two wooden posts, which seemed to be standing on guard in the middle of nowhere. I took a key from the glove compartment, got out of the car to unlock the gate, drove through, and locked it again behind us.
“Where the hell are you taking me?” he asked with a laugh. “I’m exhausted. Quite frankly, I was hoping for a long, hot shower in your fancy new digs, and then-well, something in the way of a warm welcome stateside.”
“I promise you’ll feel like a new man after this. You’ve got to trust me.”
After a few more seconds I went around a bend, and ahead of us we saw the flat stretch of the dusty long green grass of the wetlands, and a pond populated only by a handful of swans. Beyond that were the rolling dunes of South Beach, merging into the wide-open expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
There were a couple of other cars parked at the entrance to Black Point Beach, on one of the most exquisite summer days. “What’s with the gate and key? Where is everybody?”
There are only two states in the country, Maine and Massachusetts, in which you can own beachfront property to the mean low-water mark. As a result, the Vineyard was dotted by vast lengths of ocean beaches that were privately held and not accessible to the general public. This was one of them-more than a mile in length-and I had bought a piece of it when I purchased the house, more than a decade ago.
“Better than a shower. Let’s go for a swim.”
I parked the car, grabbed two towels from my tote, and ran to the footpath that led over the dunes, kicking off my moccasins and telling Jake to do the same with his loafers. We reached the peak together and stood looking out at the wide belt of white sand and the white-capped blue water that seemed to go on forever.
“Great, Alex. You think I didn’t see enough of the Pacific, that I needed this today?”
“Don’t be such a grouch. Get those rags off you-c’mon, hurry up.”
“There are people-”
I lifted my sunglasses and peered down the beach. “It looks like there are maybe four stick figures between here and Edgartown,” I said, turning to Jake and unbuttoning the business shirt that he had worn on the plane, while he stood with his hands on his hips. I reached for his waistband, drew off his belt, and unzipped his pants.
“Well, I guess if they won’t recognize that you’re the sex crimes prosecutor from the big city, they won’t have a clue that the tired, naked guy you’re molesting is a newscaster.” Jake finished taking off his clothes while I lifted my T-shirt over my head and dropped my shorts on the sand. I ran down to the water’s edge, hesitated for a moment as the cold surf dashed against my feet, then dove into the sixty-eight-degree water and started swimming straight out, away from shore.
By the time I picked my head up and turned back to look for Jake, he had overtaken me with a strong crawl stroke.
“Isn’t this glorious?” I asked. I swam to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and we played our mouths against each other as we bobbed in the endless roll of waves.
“I feel like I’m about fifteen years old-and I like it.”
There was nothing quite like the sensation of the brisk salty water against bare skin. Swimming naked in the ocean ranks among the world’s best pastimes. I set myself a course parallel to the beach and swam back and forth until I had done almost fifty laps. The undertow was getting more fierce as the tide started going out, so I reluctantly dove under a big breaker and went up on the sand to join Jake, who thought the water was too cold for a long swim.
“I’m exhausted just watching you.”
“Harrison High School swim team. Hundred-meter crawl and anchor of the relay. Don’t ever try to get away from me by taking a water route.” I stood behind him, steadying myself on his shoulder as I put my shorts back on.
“I’m not going anywhere anytime soon,” he said, grabbing my knee and kissing the still-damp back of my calf. He pulled on his trousers and we walked slowly over to the car, arms entangled, drying in the breeze as the early afternoon wind shifted and kicked up a bit.
Once on the main road again, I was conscious of driving too fast and tried to slow myself down. The outdoor shower was behind the house, its oversized head curtained only by a couple of old lilac bushes. I soaped up and washed off all the sand before going into my bedroom through the sliding door off the rear deck.
Jake did the same, following me in and pulling me toward him, onto the pale blue cotton sheets that covered the bed. “If dreaming counts, then I’ve made love to you over and over again all these last two weeks-in hotel rooms, on airplanes, every time I closed my eyes.”
“It doesn’t count at all,” I said teasingly. “I didn’t feel a thing.” I reached an arm across his chest and he raised my face to his, his tongue reaching in to taste mine. He ran his hands up and down the length of my thighs as I wrapped my leg inside his. We kissed and rolled and laughed and touched for as long as we could both stand to, and then Jake entered me and told me that he loved me.