Summer 1971


      Michael moved his towel a bit further from the circle defining his mother's established territory. A nebulous claim on an aggressively defended piece of beach, instead of peeing on the boundaries, she placed sandals, buckets, bags, coolers and a huge umbrella at any disputed corner.
      He sighed. A month at the shore, it could have been fun. If only his parents had chosen Wildwood instead of Bethany, a condo instead of a cottage, and if mom had kept the car to haul her four tons of survival equipment the half mile to the beach each morning. A summer at the beach could have been improved if Bryan's family had come or if Aunt Mary hadn't.
      He rolled to his stomach, watching his mother and aunt play one of their endless card games. His sister had run off with other ten year olds, he could see them in the surf, squealing in delight as each wave broke on the sand. Baby waves, but he'd heard the Inlet had some big breakers. No car, no way to get there since mom wouldn't let him go anywhere without Laura trailing him on her pink, banana seat, Barbie bike.
      A family beach, no hippies, no beach campers, no motorized sand vehicles allowed. No pets, no beer, no fun. The sidewalks rolled up after nine and the quiet could smother anyone wanting more.
      He closed his eyes, the afternoon sun strong in the cloudless blue sky. Four weeks until Labor Day. Endless days of paralyzing boredom, endless dinners with Aunt Mary and her special diet, endless spats with Laura, endless chafing at his mother's restrictions, endless nights full of unexplored possibilities.
      With any luck, he'd drown today.
      A soft crunching of footsteps in the sand opened his eyes. Darkly tanned ankles and curvy calves flashed by him. Those were definitely not the legs of a baby-laded young mother. Trim thighs and, oh Lord, a perfect butt in a fairly modest bright yellow bikini bottom. Still good. A tiny bit too much cloth covered the smooth skin but an improvement on the usual fare. He raised his chin and rested it on his forearm, looking toward the ocean but watching the girl over his sunglasses. Wavy hair so blond it glinted silver, hung almost to her nice behind. A glowing tan and, as she dropped her beach bag onto the sand, he could see no flash of white, no visible tan line, as the bathing suit crept higher over her rump.
      The halter-top also covered more than he wished, but on a family beach she stood out like a centerfold. The few present weekday men registered her with more than casual regard but Michael, lucky in her choice of sand, had a front-row seat for his viewing pleasure. She stood, having raised a hand to shadow her eyes, and looked up at the nearest hotel. Tentatively, she waved and by craning his neck Michael caught a glimpse of a female figure on an upper floor waving back. The girl dumped the contents of her bag onto the sand and, with a moment's preparation, settled her lovely form onto a bright yellow towel and gazed at the breaking surf. Suddenly she turned her head and looked straight at him. The eye contact went on and on, finally interrupted as a random gust of wind scattered the cards and loose objects.
      "Mike, help us." His mother and aunt scurried, gathering and clutching the wind tossed towels and napkins. Magazines and paperbacks fluttered like crows, actually flipping a time or two until the pages dug into the sand.
      Grabbing the umbrella as it threatened to become airborne, he noticed the blonde nimbly catching cards as they pin wheeled toward her. The gust diminished leaving all the sunbathers to re-establish their little domains. The girl rose to her feet, squaring the cards. She presented them to the women with a shy smile, and then helped brush sand from the blanket and chairs.
      "Thanks dear," Mary said as the helpful girl fetched the wide brimmed hat from a castle moat a few yards away.
      "You're very welcome, mam."
      "What's your name?" Michael's mother asked. He listened carefully as he re-anchored the umbrella's wooden pole into the sand.
      "Kathy Mills." The girl flashed a smile at her.
      "Martha Beiler and my sister, Mary Schaefer. That's my son, Mike. Laura is around here somewhere." She stood and scanned the surf.
      "Are you here alone, dear?" Mary asked.
      Kathy shook her head. "My mother is in our room. Too much sun gives her a headache."
      "Mike. I can't see your sister."
      Michael sighed and accepted the implied assignment. "I'll find her, Mom."
      Kathy smiled, catching his eye. "I'll help."
      Martha pulled two dollars from her wallet. "Buy some ice cream for yourselves after you find Laura."
      As the teenagers walked away, Michael heard his aunt say to his mother, hoping Kathy hadn't.
      "Mike's summer just improved, I think."
      Laura and her friends had migrated with the tidal push toward the boardwalk.
      Luring her with ice cream proved an easy task and, cones in hand, they churned through the sand to sit on a white wooden bench. Laura stood at the water's edge, sinking with each wave into the soft sand, the surf undermining her feet. The tutti-frutti ice cream dripped over her fist unheeded.
      Kathy licked her serving, savoring the flavor with her eyes half closed.
      "Good?" he asked.
      She smiled and nodded. "Yours?"
      "You bet."
      "Can I try some?" she asked.
      "Sure," he said, holding the cone toward her. She disregarded the cone and licked a drop from the corner of his mouth.
      "Delicious," she proclaimed.
      He sat in stunned silence, until his ice cream began to resemble Laura's.
      "Finish your treat, Michael," she said with a laugh. He had heard double entendres and wondered if her comment had been one. Later, he chided himself for not pursuing the obvious invitation.
      Returning to the Beiler kingdom by the sea, the trio discovered the adults packing the paraphernalia into the various bags and crates. The wind had continued to gust unexpectedly and a hint of darkness had appeared in the sky to the south. The ladies had decided to leave the beach before the presumed storm could cause chaos. The umbrella and chair vendor had begun to collect the equipment abandoned by other cautious vacationers.
      "Perhaps, Mrs. Beiler, Michael and I could load these things in my mom's car. She won't mind if I borrow it."
      "I don't know, Kathy," Martha replied, clearly tempted by the idea.
      Kathy shrugged. "I've had my license for over a year. I got it when we lived in Chicago. Driving here is much safer than there. It's only a two-seater, though."
      Seventeen, she was seventeen. The phrase ran through Michael's thoughts as he rolled towels and strapped them to the cooler lid. Say yes, mom, he mentally begged.
      "Maybe you could teach Mike how to drive," Laura piped up; unaware how close to death she strayed. "He's flunked twice, now." She danced nimbly out of reach of his pinch. Maybe she did know.
      "Hush, Laura." Martha eyed the gathering thunderheads. "Okay. We'll start back. You know the way, Mike?"
      "Mom! Yes." She could be as embarrassing as Laura and with less effort, shots to his gut hardly broke her stride.
      "Don't leave anything. And make sure you get all the trash," Mar­tha called back as she, Mary and the skipping Laura headed toward the access path over the dunes. He and Kathy took several trips to the hotel's garage with the safari equipment.
      Kathy invited Michael to accompany her to the room to drop off her small bag. The door had been left unlocked; Kathy's mother nowhere to be seen. The room had a great view of the ocean. The deepening color in the water confirmed the nearness of the impending storm. Michael watched the sea birds reel and swoop, scavenging the beach's treasures of old French fries, crumbled cookies, and sandwich remnants.
      "Ready?" Kathy asked. She slipped up behind him and looked out over the ocean. She had pulled on a pair of worn denim shorts and a soft yellow camp shirt, tied under her breasts.
      "Did you ask about the car?"
      "I don't need to ask, Michael. The car is mine. I just thought your mom would feel more comfortable if she thought it belonged to an adult."
      He shrugged. "You're right. But is a lie the best way to begin a relationship with her?"
      Kathy grinned, which set her dark brown eyes to sparkling. "I don't intend to have a relationship with your mother, Michael." Her words left him reeling with its innuendo of a possible relationship with him.
      The safari supplies took every bit of storage space in the sexy little convertible, including the space behind the seats.
      "Does she really need all this?" Kathy asked in amazement.
      "Be prepared! I think she was a scout master in a previous life." He laughed and she joined him after a moment's puzzlement.
      Kathy pulled a baseball cap from the glove compartment and pulled her hair through the opening in the back. A pair of big sunglasses sat on the dash; she settled them on her nose with a flip of her head.
      "Look stylish?"
      "Not really, but you do look great." Feeling bold, he smoothed her mane to lie smoothly over her shoulder. Something electrifying happened as the back of his hand brushed her bare skin.
      She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped and looked away. Finally she looked at him again. "A sweet thing to say, thank you."
      Kathy did drive well but faster than his mother would have liked, taking the longer route but arriving safely at the slightly shabby and homey bungalow in a tree lined cul-de-sac.
      "Cute," she proclaimed, killing the engine.
      "Mom and Laura share one bedroom, unless dad's here. Aunt Mary gets the other," he told her as they began to unload the trunk. "The kitchen and living room are the area between. The bathhouse is over there." He lifted the cooler through the screen door onto the porch while she held it open with her foot.
      "And where do you sleep?"
      As innocent as her question sounded, he blushed and swore at himself for it.
      "On the sofa or, usually, there." He indicated a hammock at the end of the screened porch.
      "Wow, I love these things." She dropped the bags she carried and wriggled into it. "Swing me."
      He gave the netting a push. She closed her eyes, giggling. After a few pushes, she swung her legs around and gestured for him to sit with her.
      "Swing with me."
      He sat next to her and she pulled him back. Her head hung upside down over the other side of the rope web. He joined her, pumping his legs to get the hammock swinging. He could feel the heat of her skin through his light tee shirt and the muscles of her thighs pressing against his as she swung her legs.
      Her laughter rang through the deepening gloom, the air thickening with the coming storm. There were lots of things he should be doing, but he hadn't swung like this since he turned eight. A splat of rain hit his face and the thought of her car jumped into his mind.
      "Your top is down!" he exclaimed.
      "What?" she asked, looking at her shirt.
      Laughing he pointed to the car.
      "Oh!" She laughed uproariously as she clambered out of the hammock and dashed off the porch. He helped her yank the frame into its proper alignment and snap it in place. They carried the remainder of Martha's safari gear onto the dubious shelter of the porch.
      "Mike!" his mother's voice reached them. Burdened with bags of groceries, the women and Laura entered the lane. He and Kathy ran out into the now downpour to rescue and retrieve. Soaking wet, the group entered the cabin's main room and began storing the supplies. Michael admired Kathy's amused tolerance of Laura's incessant questions and the only slightly more polite ones of Martha and Mary.
      No make-up, dressed in almost scrungy clothes, hair pony-tailed through a baseball cap, she was still the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.
      "How long are you staying in Bethany, dear?" Mary asked, with a quick glance at her uncharacteristically quiet nephew, intent on the block of cheese he'd been assigned to cube.
      Busily washing grapes in a colander, Kathy replied, "On and off again until September, I suppose. Classes start the week after Labor Day."
      "Where do you go to school?" Laura asked, popping a grape into her mouth.
      "I'm going to live with my aunt on Long Island and attended a prep school in Manhattan." Her answer fell like a load of bricks into a glass pond.
      "Oh," Martha and Mary said together.
      "What's prep school?" Laura asked.
      Kathy looked around at the suddenly quiet ladies. "Prep school is where rich brats like me go to learn enough to pass college entrance exams, or meet rich boys to marry." Her answer, though clearly tongue-in-cheek, had been exactly what Michael had been thinking. The silence of the women indicated they had shared the sentiment. Kathy dried her hands and squatted before Laura. "Prep school is really just a place where rich parents park children when it becomes inconvenient to drag them around."
      She looked at Michael and the ladies in passing with a rueful grin. "Actually, I'm looking forward to staying an entire year at the same school."
      "Won't you miss your mommy?"
      "Not as much as I'll miss my brother."
      Laura's grimace of repugnance at Michael precipitated a chuckle — or four — then she exclaimed, "You like your brother?"
      "Yep, a whole lot." The awkward moment passed in the enjoyment of Laura's look of astonished disbelief.
      Dinner, soup from a can and toasted cheese sandwiches with tomatoes, didn't take long and the few dishes cleaned up in a snap. Laura dragged out a Yahtzee game, talking Michael and Kathy into 'just one game'. Martha put a stack of albums on the record player starting with Mary's favorite, a Patsy Kline golden oldie. To his surprise, Kathy sang along with many of the singles, knowing all the tunes and lyrics. After the second game of dice, in which Laura got away with blatant cheating to achieve her resounding win, the final album finished.
      Mary yawned over her cross-stitch and noticed the time. "Gracious, it's past ten!"
      "Your mother will be worried, you'd better get a move on, Kathy," Martha added.
      "Walk our guest to her car, Mike." The admonishment was unnecessary, as he had already opened the door for her. Laura waved goodnight.
      The rain had stopped and the night echoed with sounds of trees shaking off the moisture. The voices of toads and crickets dueled to rule the airwaves.
      "Thanks for staying. We're a boring bunch," he said as she slipped into the car.
      "Anything but, Michael. I had fun. Beach tomorrow?" she asked the question before he could.
      "Probably. Usually around eleven."
      "Tell your mom I'll be here at ten forty-five to cart her stuff to the beach." She put her hand on his. "It'll be a great summer, I think."
      "Me too," he agreed, adding to himself, as she backed around and drove away, "Now."
      The pattern of days settled into a comfortable ease, Kathy effortlessly joining the little group. Each day he'd store up her movements and smiles to replay them in the less restrained moments before falling to sleep each evening. Once in a while, her eyes would settle on him as if she knew of these imaginary interludes in which she portrayed a starring role.
      One afternoon, she proposed taking Laura to the drive-in to see Benji. To Michael's surprise, his mother agreed — cautioning only that Laura not be allowed too much chocolate or soda.
      Later Laura, bathed and pajama'ed, sat tucked up on the hump between the seats of the little car. The trip was accomplished at a sedate speed; his sister's report would impact only positively on Martha's impression of Kathy's driving.
      She parked in the first row and spread a large blanket on the ground in front of the car. Pillows emerged from the trunk and, by the time Michael returned with popcorn and soda, Laura huddled cozily into her nest.
      She jabbered away, flinging kernels into the air, trying to mimic Kathy's impressive record of seventeen consecutive catches. The previews started at dusk and the advertisements for the snack bar followed, then the opening moments of the movie. Laura watched, enthralled at first, gradually falling into a slumber from which no amount of shaking could budge her.
      "I guess we should pack it in, then."
      Kathy carefully crawled over the sleeping Laura, with a grin on her face. "Now why would we do that, just as the movie is starting to get good?"
      The movie about a dog had been cute but sappy, he thought, glancing up at the screen in wonderment at what he'd missed. He looked at her in bewilderment and received a kiss, which could have graced the silver screen in another kind of movie. Definitely a sexy one, he thought, trying to find a reasonable place to put his hands.
      The other patrons had parked closer to the playground or the snack bar, no one but maybe the ticket seller could possibly see them. Had she planned it this way or just taken advantage of an interesting coincidence?
      Funny how much easier such things went when he was the only participant. Imagination had a wonderful way of smoothing out the unknowns into a seamless dream. His awkwardness didn't appear to deter her intentions and she guided his hands. As he kissed her, his nervousness left him, replaced by an uncanny calm.
      His fingers found the top button of her short blouse.
      One button, then two — her skin felt hot.
      "Do you have a sunburn?" he asked, suddenly realizing how dumb it might be to talk of normal stuff in this moment.
      She kissed his forehead. "No, I'm always like this."
      "You have a fever?"
      "All the time, it's normal for me. Cuddly aren't I?"
      The last button slipped through the fabric. No bra and the nipples tightened as he watched. Damn. Faced with an entirely new situation, he required a brief retreat into the more familiar.
      Kissing Kathy was an education in itself. City girls knew interesting variations on a never dull theme. Kiss her neck first, then downwards, he told himself. Worry then about what may come next. She accepted his agenda, sighing slightly as he explored and experimented.
      "That's nice," she murmured. She liked it. Fine, he'd continue until she stopped him, which happened far too soon.
      "The movie's almost over. Compose yourself, then help me with Laura."
      He thought of the cold showers in the bathhouse and, when that attempt failed, he remembered his one glimpse of his father and mother being intimate. Instant shrivel.
      He held Laura on his knees as Kathy hot-rodded her car back toward Bethany and the cabin. His imagination had fresh fuel for its midnight bonfire.
      One Friday evening, Kathy suggested the boardwalk. Mary declined, but Martha thought a long walk would settle the rammy Laura down. Music drifted out from the rec-center, at the far end of the miniature series of stores and restaurants that made up Bethany's boardwalk.
      "Oh, a dance. Let's go in!" Kathy exclaimed, with a sidelong look at Michael's knowing face. Martha glanced at the well-chaperoned throng and shook her head.
      "Laura and I'll buy some taffy, then head back. You kids come straight home at eleven. I'll be waiting up." She turned her back and strode purposefully up the street, Laura in tow.
      "She fell for it," Michael observed.
      "Nah, she just trusts me to keep you out of trouble."
      "So where are we really going?" he asked, hopefully.
      She glared at him in mock severity. "To the dance, Michael. It'll be fun."
      "I can't dance," he stated bluntly.
      "Sure you can, and it doesn't matter if you can't."
      Dancing turned out to be better than Yahtzee and the opportunity to hold her tightly during the slow songs improved his temper immeasurably. The long walk home had ample moments for leisurely kissing and increasingly bold caresses.
      She liked most his touches and when she didn't she told him so. After one particular amorous moment, which ended in giggles as the fence they leaned against broke with a gunshot loud crack, she asked, "How do you picture this ending?"
      "Tonight?" he replied, puzzled.
      "No, you big galute, us. This summer romance thing?" Exasperation crept into her voice.
      "I don't picture it. In fact, I avoid thinking of anything beyond tonight's dream of you," he admitted.
      She laughed, and then smothered it quickly. "Now that was a wonderful thing to say, and you meant it, too?"
      He nodded, thankful for the darkness that hid his reddened cheeks.
      "Best compliment I ever got. Thank you."
      He grasped her hand and swung it as they walked.
      "I feel like Beaver Cleaver on his first date."
      "Who's Beaver Cleaver?" she asked.
      "An old TV show. You know. Stereotypical family, like none in real life."
      "If they are stereotypical, shouldn't they be like real people?"
      "Yeah, but they never are. Anyway, holding your hand would be an accomplishment in a show like that."
      "Instead of groping my tits?" She laughed at his shocked silence. Talking about where his hands roamed seemed somehow more risqué than the actual wandering.
      "Do you really dream of me?"
      He nodded. "Almost every night."
      "What do we do in these dreams of yours?" she prompted. His blush deepened, he should have known she'd ask.
      "You know." Not worth lying about, because she did know.
      "Sex?" she said. "Is it nice?"
      He sighed. "Stop it!"
      They entered the gravel lane leading to the group of bungalows. She stopped beside her car and wrapped her arms around his neck.
      "Are you a virgin, Michael?" she murmured in his ear, more a statement than a true question. "Well, I am not…"
      "Mike. Time to come in now. Good night, Kathy." His mother's order ended any hope for additional necking and she slipped into the little car.
      Kathy rolled down the window and whispered, "By Labor Day, you won't be either." It took him until the porch door creaked shut behind him to work out her implication.

      His dream felt especially real that night. Swimming at night, in a lake, not the ocean. The water streamed around his naked body, he could feel the warm liquid eddy around him, a velvety caress. The water's nuzzling changed into a more material yet somehow gentler stroke of her hands. A float lay ahead, like the one at Boy Scout camp. The one he'd had to reach to pass his competency exam for his swimming badge. Constructed of scoured planks tied to empty barrels, the camp raft had been held in place by thick ropes covered in a puke-green slime. But this platform stayed stationary anchored only by imagination.
      The dream raft floated only inches above the surface making the effort required to board minimal in comparison with the real thing. Her sleek head, hair braided in a single tight plait down her smooth back, broke the surface between his knees. Immediately the dream took an interesting twist from his normal nebulous meanderings. Her hands and mouth performed an amazing act heretofore undreamed. He reached down and pulled her out of the lake and rolled to pin her beneath him.
      Water evaporated from her body in steam-like trails of ghostly vapor, the colors not muted as in his regular dreams, but vivid like a surreal picture taken by a talented photographer. The silver of her hair, the brown of her skin and eyes, the rosy-pink of her nipples and lips, filled his dream eyes. He could taste the not-quite-pure flavor of lake water on her skin and smell the vanilla cream scent of her body.
      The moon shone brightly, the void of night's shadows enhancing the beautiful white of her teeth. Sharp teeth, he realized as she bit his neck. Hard were her teeth and, suddenly, also his cock. He could hear his own moan, part pain, all pleasure, as if from a great distance. Her lips looked so dazzling red after feeding and the slick coppery taste of her so-soft kisses filled with his blood made his mind spin like a ball in a funnel.
      Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, he realized the dream had become a weird nightmare, but the aftermath of the bloodletting was a powerful orgasm so vivid that he hoped the nightmare would start again.
      Warm arms around his neck roused him, her brown eyes half-closed in sleepy regard not an inch from his own. "Best dream I ever had," he whispered groggily. Her teeth in his neck convinced him the dream continued, so he stopped pretending to be awake.

      The hot days sped by, the routine interrupted by his father's infrequent visits, the occasional thunderstorm and the news of a rip-tide drowning a child up the coast at Fenwick.
      Miniature golf, long walks, bi-weekly dances, and a rare and wonderful drive-in movie extended the evenings well past eleven.
      Michael felt the weight of his mother's worry lessen with each passing day. His tolerance of Laura's tantrums and peskiness increased until, other than amusement and a little impatience, her behaviors affected him not at all. Even Aunt Mary's preoccupation with the state of her health took on the texture of wallpaper, distant enough to be ignored and finally forgotten.
      The sometimes-suffocating humid nights were filled with erotic dreams and fantasy.
      The beach filled each sunny day with sand and seawater. Kathy learned to body surf in the waves and cheered for herself whenever she accomplished the trip without being crushed in the skree.
      Watching her saunter out of the churning silted water, slipping in the drier sand on her way to the Beiler domain, Michael wished time would stop. As much as he'd tried to ignore it, the precious hours had fled and left him with only a few days until Labor Day. The end of summer holiday had always heralded unwelcome changes and this year would be no different. Kathy in New York, him in Lancaster, though somehow he knew even if only miles separated them, the relationship's finale would come - and the beginning of the end was marked by Labor Day.
      "Come on," she commanded as she reached the blanket. "We gotta talk."
      "Where are you kids off to?" Martha called, glancing up from the millionth game of rummy.
      "I'm full of sand and I want to rinse off. We'll bring back sodas. Okay?" Kathy explained. Her voice changed when she spoke to his mother, he noticed with awe. It would change in a different way when Laura was the sole audience. She reserved a special voice for him alone.
      "Say hello to your mother for me, dear," Mary added, as Martha nodded her consent to the excursion.
      "Sure."
      The room felt cool and quiet after the sun and noise of the beach. Kathy went into the bathroom and he heard the water running in the shower. A hot shower he supposed, with a twinge of jealousy. What the hell, she'd left the door open. The outline of her body looked distorted by the textured steamy surface of the shower door. Her suit hung over the top, dripping in a steady stream down both sides of the glass panel.
      "Where is your mother?" he asked.
      "Israel, I think," she answered, sliding the door open. "Do you want to come in?"
      Her nudity stopped whatever words his mouth had attempted to form. She resembled his dream Kathy down to the last freckle and dimple. His eyes followed a lucky droplet as it slid down her neck, over the ridge of her collarbone and slid freely around the curve of her breast. Joining with other happy rivulets at her inny bellybutton to form a trickling brook, which flowed merrily over one gently curved hip, and down one of the stunning thighs.
      "We can't take long. You mom will worry," she interrupted his reverie as his water guide slipped behind her slightly bent knee.
      He stepped into the shower, the spray almost hot enough to cook a lobster. The steady spray of water seemed a waterfall compared to the pitiful dribble in the bathhouse plumbing. The deluge drenched him and he felt her hands slippery with soap on his chest and arms.
      "Turn around," she ordered, her hands scoured his back and neck. The shampoo lathered easily and her fingers massaged his scalp. "Rinse."
      "Wow."
      "Me or the shower?" she challenged.
      He didn't open his eyes. "The shower. I have no words to describe you."
      He felt her licking drops from his chin. "You are getting very good at this compliment thing." Her hands loosened the elastic of his trunks.
      Michael grabbed her hands. "You said we don't have much time."
      She acquiesced and stepped out of the shower. "Get the sand from your suit," she said, sliding the panel closed.
      The water encouraged sloth, the quick rinse taking longer than his regular morning shower. The towels were thick and soft, not stiff from sun drying. Kathy appeared at the doorway wearing a one-piece purple bathing suit. Too much cloth but, cut high on her legs and low on her back, it exposed enough to encourage his admiration. Her naked body had held far too much charge to do anything but flabbergast him.
      "I have the sodas. Hurry."
      Easier said than done, his wet suit developed a contrariness to match his haste.
      She stood on the balcony waving to Laura, who jumped around excitedly, pointing and flapping her arms, like a seagull in a popcorn rain.
      "Your mom is in Israel? The Jewish Israel?" he asked.
      "Is there another?" she asked with a smile.
      "When did she leave?"
      Kathy glanced up at him as she draped her bikini over the back of one of the cast iron lounges. A grimace twisted her lips and she shook her head. "My mother was never here, Michael. I came alone and I'll leave the same way."
      "But I saw you wave to someone and she waved back," he said, remembering the woman on the balcony quite well.
      She laughed. "Wave to a stranger, right now."
      Michael leaned over the railing and waited for someone to look. A man with three kids glanced up and smiled, returning the friendly wave with a greeting of his own.
      "Oh my God." A goofy grin materialized like a Cheshire Cat's as the full import of this discovery struck him. "Basically, you can go anywhere and someone will appear to know you?"
      She nodded. "Especially in casual situations like this one."
      "Wow." But, "You travel around alone? Do hotels let a kid check in by herself?"
      "Kid?" She snorted a laugh. "I send the reservation by mail and include full payment plus a security deposit," she explained. "Then I dress in a suit or more formal clothing to check in. People usually don't look too hard beyond the disguise."
      "You brought me up here to tell me this? Boy, have we wasted a lot of time." He waggled his eyebrows at her, but the naughtiness didn't amuse her as he had expected.
      "I don't think we wasted any of it. But that really wasn't what I wanted to discuss with you, but it leads into the other topic nicely," she said. "I asked you before how you thought we'd end. Have you decided?"
      "I thought I had, but your freedom to travel changes everything," he said; hope springing full-formed into his heart.
      "No, it changes nothing. It only illustrates how poorly I'd fit into your world. I can't be seventeen for more than a few weeks."
      "You're older, I knew it. Why would you pretend to be seventeen? It's a God-awful age. Not an adult, not a kid."
      "But it is the perfect age to be with you for the summer. And I wanted this summer very much," she admitted, tears forming quickly and receding in the next moment.
      To be with him? "Me? But you didn't know me."
      She gestured dismissively. "Not true, but not relevant. You've felt it yourself, the magic timelessness of this summer. A month in a globe, with sand instead of snow. Encapsulated and insulated like there is no such thing as a before and won't ever be an after. A year ago, you were too young and next year would be too late. I wanted to be your first, since I can't be your only."
      "First? Only?"
      "Love. Infatuation. Partner in your fantasies. Pick one, or a combination." She sighed. "We should go back."
      "I don't want an end. Let's find another way."
      "I can't stay in your world and you're overly young to make the decision to live in mine."
      Not caring if his mother could see, he pulled her close and gave her a kiss to rival the ones in his dreams. All his heart poured into his lips, his emotions caught in the circle his arms made. She had to feel the impassioned silent pleading.
      "I dream of you. Night after night, kind of strange and not always nice. But God, I never want them to end. But they will, when this summer ends. Won't they?"
      "Probably," she began, "Yeah, when I leave so will they."
      "Are they just dreams?"
      "Would you want them to be anything else?" she asked, a strange half-smile on her wide mouth.
      He shrugged.
      "Then let them stay dreams, Michael," she said. She gathered the sodas into a small-netted bag, and led him from the room. He wondered what her answer would have been if he had said yes.
      Four days later the season officially ended with a terrific display of fireworks over the ocean and the Beilers returned to Lancaster County in time for tight shoes and tighter schedules.
      After a few unanswered letters, Michael had stopped writing to the pretty blond to whom he'd officially lost his virginity the final night of that jocund summer. The wildly erotic dreams took on the dim vagueness of time past as new activities, challenging academic courses, and nubile and suddenly available cheerleaders caught his teenager's obsessive imagination.
      Michael had remembered Kathy quite completely — he'd just forgotten Kathy was Katie.

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