fair that he could look so good so
early. She knew she herself must look wretched. At her best she was
barely passable; right now, when she was exhausted and in the
throes of a sublime headache—to say nothing of totally embarrassed,
not only by what she’d felt in Kip’s arms but by what she’d felt
long afterward, in her own bed—she was hardly at her
best.
She braced herself for his inevitable ribbing
about her ghastly appearance. All he said, however, was, “Can I
help myself to some of that coffee? It smells great.”
“Go right ahead,” Shelley’s mother answered for
her. “I’m on my way out. If you don’t have a preference, Shelley,
I’m going to buy shredded wheat.”
“I do have a preference,” Shelley said quickly.
“I hate shredded wheat.”
“It’s good for you,” her mother pointed out.
“It doesn’t have any sugar.”
“It doesn’t have any taste,” Shelley
countered.
“All right, I’ll get Cheerios,” said her
mother, lifting her purse from the counter and starting toward the
door. “If you go out, leave me a note.”
Shelley nodded. She and Kip said good-bye, then
listened to her mother’s retreating footsteps. The screen door
closed with a whoosh and a thump.
Kip turned a chair around and straddled it
backwards, setting his mug on the table. He leaned his folded arms
on the back of the chair and stared across the table at Shelley.
She focused on the swirls of steam rising from her mug.
“It isn’t much of a beach day,” he
remarked.
She sighed. Sooner or later he was likely to
say something about last night. She certainly wasn’t going to raise
the subject, but if he intended to, she’d rather he did it now, so
they could get the conversation over with as quickly as
possible.
“I was thinking,” he went on, “we could go to
the library and you could find me some girl coming-of-age books to
read.”
Shelley glanced up. Her eyes met his, and she
saw in their beautiful brown depths only friendship. Nothing more
complicated than that. “Okay,” she said with a relieved
smile.
Ten minutes later, the coffee mugs rinsed and
her rain jacket donned, she left the house with Kip. Biking in the
rain was sloppy, but they had no alternative. They rode slowly,
trying to avoid the puddles and, when that was impossible, lifting
their feet off the pedals so the muddy water wouldn’t splash up
against their legs.
The library was located in Old Harbor. Shelley
wasn’t surprised to see the shop-lined sidewalks packed with
browsers and strollers. On rainy days, there wasn’t much for the
tourists to do besides shop.
She and Kip parked their bikes in the rack
outside the library and entered. Shelley adored libraries, and
although the Island Free Library was much smaller than the library
at home in Westport, Shelley liked it for the simple reason that
she was allowed to use it. Tourists didn’t have borrowing
privileges on the island, but because they paid property taxes the
owners of summer homes did. Whenever she used the Island Free
Library she felt like a native, a genuine citizen of Block
Island.
Not bothering with the card catalogue, she
headed straight for the fiction shelves, Kip at her heels. “Don’t
forget, it’s vacation,” he whispered. “I don’t want to read
anything boring.”
“These are good
books,” Shelley assured him, scanning the racks in search of the
L’s. “Here—Harper Lee, To Kill a
Mockingbird . I can’t believe you’ve never
read this before. You’re going to love it.” She handed him the
novel, then continued to scour the shelves, moving into the M’s.
“Oh, this is a great book— The Member of
the Wedding . Carson
McCullough.”
“What’s it about?” Kip asked as he took the
book from her.
“A girl coming of age,” Shelley told
him.
“Great,” he grunted, though he was
smiling.
“And here—” she
handed him a third book “— The Bell
Jar , by Sylvia Plath. It’s
about—”
“A girl coming of age,”
early. She knew she herself must look wretched. At her best she was
barely passable; right now, when she was exhausted and in the
throes of a sublime headache—to say nothing of totally embarrassed,
not only by what she’d felt in Kip’s arms but by what she’d felt
long afterward, in her own bed—she was hardly at her
best.
She braced herself for his inevitable ribbing
about her ghastly appearance. All he said, however, was, “Can I
help myself to some of that coffee? It smells great.”
“Go right ahead,” Shelley’s mother answered for
her. “I’m on my way out. If you don’t have a preference, Shelley,
I’m going to buy shredded wheat.”
“I do have a preference,” Shelley said quickly.
“I hate shredded wheat.”
“It’s good for you,” her mother pointed out.
“It doesn’t have any sugar.”
“It doesn’t have any taste,” Shelley
countered.
“All right, I’ll get Cheerios,” said her
mother, lifting her purse from the counter and starting toward the
door. “If you go out, leave me a note.”
Shelley nodded. She and Kip said good-bye, then
listened to her mother’s retreating footsteps. The screen door
closed with a whoosh and a thump.
Kip turned a chair around and straddled it
backwards, setting his mug on the table. He leaned his folded arms
on the back of the chair and stared across the table at Shelley.
She focused on the swirls of steam rising from her mug.
“It isn’t much of a beach day,” he
remarked.
She sighed. Sooner or later he was likely to
say something about last night. She certainly wasn’t going to raise
the subject, but if he intended to, she’d rather he did it now, so
they could get the conversation over with as quickly as
possible.
“I was thinking,” he went on, “we could go to
the library and you could find me some girl coming-of-age books to
read.”
Shelley glanced up. Her eyes met his, and she
saw in their beautiful brown depths only friendship. Nothing more
complicated than that. “Okay,” she said with a relieved
smile.
Ten minutes later, the coffee mugs rinsed and
her rain jacket donned, she left the house with Kip. Biking in the
rain was sloppy, but they had no alternative. They rode slowly,
trying to avoid the puddles and, when that was impossible, lifting
their feet off the pedals so the muddy water wouldn’t splash up
against their legs.
The library was located in Old Harbor. Shelley
wasn’t surprised to see the shop-lined sidewalks packed with
browsers and strollers. On rainy days, there wasn’t much for the
tourists to do besides shop.
She and Kip parked their bikes in the rack
outside the library and entered. Shelley adored libraries, and
although the Island Free Library was much smaller than the library
at home in Westport, Shelley liked it for the simple reason that
she was allowed to use it. Tourists didn’t have borrowing
privileges on the island, but because they paid property taxes the
owners of summer homes did. Whenever she used the Island Free
Library she felt like a native, a genuine citizen of Block
Island.
Not bothering with the card catalogue, she
headed straight for the fiction shelves, Kip at her heels. “Don’t
forget, it’s vacation,” he whispered. “I don’t want to read
anything boring.”
“These are good
books,” Shelley assured him, scanning the racks in search of the
L’s. “Here—Harper Lee, To Kill a
Mockingbird . I can’t believe you’ve never
read this before. You’re going to love it.” She handed him the
novel, then continued to scour the shelves, moving into the M’s.
“Oh, this is a great book— The Member of
the Wedding . Carson
McCullough.”
“What’s it about?” Kip asked as he took the
book from her.
“A girl coming of age,” Shelley told
him.
“Great,” he grunted, though he was
smiling.
“And here—” she
handed him a third book “— The Bell
Jar , by Sylvia Plath. It’s
about—”
“A girl coming of age,”
Similar Books
