“That must have been nice for you.”
“What? No. We were worried.” He pulls the sleeves of his sweater back down to his wrists and folds his arms like he’s cold. “The guys are searching for you.”
“Oh.” I’m embarrassed. “I went to wash off my scrapes.”
“We had bottled water,” Tatum reminds me. “From the mini fridge. You could have used that.”
“Well. Salt water is better for wounds.”
“Can I see? Your hands.”
He comes over and takes my fingertips in his, flipping my hands so he can see my palms. His touch is gentle. “Those are deep scrapes,” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine.”
He says nothing but pulls his cabled sweater over his head and hands it to me. The muscles of his forearms flex under his freckled skin as he holds the sweater out. “Take it,” he says when I hesitate.
The T-shirt he’s wearing is tissue-thin from years of wear. It readsLa Biennale di Venezia 2008and has a splotch of blue paint on the shoulder. “Is that my dad’s old shirt?” I ask.
He looks down at his chest. “Yeah.”
“I didn’t imagine he was a guy who took home souvenirs.”
“He has a ton of clothes because he gets paint on them.” Tatum shrugs. “Let’s go down to the boat.”
I hate being in this weakened position, walking wounded. I hate that my face is puffy from tears. Tatum’s probably gloating about how my first night at Hidden Beach was nicely miserable without him really having to do anything. Now he’ll just need a few more rotten things to happen and I’ll run away. He’ll be rid of me and have his boys’ club to himself.
I even hate that he’s giving me his sweater, because it makes me feel small when I’d rather be a warrior. But I’m cold and exhausted, so I put it on. It smells of tangerine sunblock and laundry soap. It’s warm from the heat of his tall, irritating body and his bad personality.
I follow him to thedock.
Part Five
FairyTale
25
I come downstairsthe next morning a little after noon, wearing the UC Irvine sweatshirt Saar bought me and a pair of shorts. Groggy.
June is alone in the living room, ironing under the gentle spin of the massive mobile. She has piled indigo clothes and linens in an enormous heap on the couch. Folded garments sit on the coffee table. “In high school I worked at the Gap,” she says. “They taught me how to fold.”
“Do you need help?”
“That’s all right. You’re a guest here.”
“Is there coffee?”
“No.” June smiles. “Kingsley and I stay away from stimulants because they deregulate the nervous system. Caffeine, nicotine, preservatives, nasal decongestants.”
“You have a lot of rules.”
“What do you mean?”
“No electronics. No stimulants.”
