“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Isobel? At this hour?”
“Hour, schmour. I’ve brought champagne!” She stood in the bow and held up two bottles, one in each hand.
“You don’t need any more champagne.”
“Maybe not, but I’ll bet you do. Look, I’ve brought my new sister. You remember Peaches, don’t you? From this morning?”
There was a little pause. “Of course I remember Peaches.”
“Well, it turns out she can row. Lucky for me, because I do believe I’d have just gone round in circles, in my ineb—ineeber—in my condition.”
During the course of this speech, I managed to maneuver the boat up to the quay, despite the swift, angry current that wanted to yank us in the opposite direction. Joseph reached in and grabbed the rope next to Isobel’s feet, and with his other hand he lifted her safely to the dock.
“Well, you’re a fool, that’s all. Why’d you do such a crazy thing? Might’ve drowned you both.”
“I’m bored,” Isobel said simply, removing her shoes. She turned and started to scale the steps cut into the rock. The shoes dangled from her left hand. Joseph made a noise of frustration, torn between helping me out of the boat and helping Isobel mount the stairs. He must have figured I stood in greater danger, because he swiftly wound the rope around the bollard and held out his arms to me. I rose to my feet and did my best to appear steady and sober. I don’t think he was fooled. He put his hands on either side of my waist and hauled me through the air to solid ground. I felt a brief sensation of weightlessness, of the world disappearing around me, and then his hands were gone and I stared at the ghostliness of his shirt as he went after Isobel. When he caught her, she laughed, as quicksilver as the moonshine around us.
“What a naughty pair we are,” she said. “Don’t send us back, though. Can’t we just stay a little while?”
Joseph groaned in such a way that I knew this wasn’t the first time they’d enacted this scene. I stood there on the dock and looked up at the pair of them. Took note of the stocky line of his shoulders, covered by the white T-shirt, while the darker color of his arms sort of melted into the rocks. Both hands sat on his hips. Isobel stood a step or two above him, her blond hair made white by the moon. On her face sat an expression of triumph, even though Joseph hadn’t yet capitulated.
He lifted his right hand and dragged it through his hair. “Just a minute or two, all right? Then I’m rowing you back myself.”
“Yes, do. I love watching you row.”
Isobel turned and picked her way through the rocks around the other side of the lighthouse. Joseph turned to me and held out his hand. “Hold on. It’s kind of tricky, if you don’t know where you’re going.”
I slipped off my shoes and gathered them in my hand. “Where are we going?”
“The beach, it looks like.”
“Beach?”
“It’s not much, but it’s ours.”
I reached him on the steps and put my hand in his palm. His fingers closed around mine and he started through the rocks, the same way Isobel had gone. They were damp and slippery—the tide was on its way out—and I couldn’t see the holes and gaps between them. Couldn’t judge my steps so well. I didn’t want to rely on Joseph’s hand, but I had no choice. His palm was rough and strong, a fisherman’s palm, and he kept a solid grip as we clambered through the silvery darkness to the other side of the lighthouse. Once my foot slipped, and he caught me by the elbow. “All right?” he asked, and I was surprised by the closeness of his face, the scent of his breath that suggested toothpaste.
“Yes,” I gasped back.
He turned and led me forward, and over the corner of his shoulder the beach appeared. Beach. Just a scrap of pebble and sand, really, at the bottom of a sac formed by two outcroppings of rock, maybe fifteen feet apart. Isobel lay there, surrounded by the pale tulle waves of her bridesmaid gown, and her shoes in a small pile near her hip. As we drew near, I saw that her stocking feet pointed out to sea, and her head rested on her folded hands.
“She’s not asleep, is she?” I whispered.
“No, she’s not,” Isobel called out. “Just resting my eyes. Did you know your beach moves, Joseph?”
He released my hand and dropped into the sand beside her, propping himself up on his elbows. “I had no idea,” he said.
“Well, it does. Sort of sways back and forth. Up and down. Baby in a cradle.”
“Izzy—”
“No! That’s not it. Not a cradle.” Her voice had begun to slow and slur. “A magic carpet. That’s it. I’m flying, Joseph, flying. Don’t you feel it?”
“’Fraid not. Just good old solid ground for me.”
“Oh, that—that’s—such a shame …”
“Izzy.”
No answer.
Joseph peered briefly over her face and laughed. “Out cold. How much booze’ve you two sucked inside today?”
“Just wedding champagne. A bottle or two.”
“Between you? Then I guess Izzy must’ve taken more than her fair share.” He patted the ground beside him. “Sit down. Let her sleep it off a bit. Come on, I don’t bite.”
I sank into the coarse sand and wrapped my arms around my legs. My stockings were wet, and the grit now stuck to them like a crust. I wished I had the nerve to take them off. Along the sea before us, the moon cast a wide, phosphorescent path that disappeared mysteriously over the edge of the horizon. I said, “You’ve known each other forever, haven’t you? You and Isobel.”
“Ever since I can remember. Born a few months apart.”
“Who’s older?”
Another soft chuckle. “Me. So how did everything go today?”
“Oh, the wedding? Fine. Just fine.”
“Lobster all right?”
“Sure.”
“Caught fresh just this morning. Your stepfather bought the whole catch from me and Pops.”
“Oh, did he?” I cried. “That was your lobster?”
“Caught fresh,” he said again.
“Oh. I wish I’d known.” I paused. “It was wonderful. Best lobster I ever had.”
“Aw, you’re a good sport. Don’t tell me it’s the only lobster you’ve ever had?”
“Of course not! I’ve had lobster before.” Honesty compelled me to add, in a grudging voice, “Not often, though.”
“I guess we’ll have to do a clambake for you, this summer. Like a baptism. Make a genuine New Englander out of you.”
“I’d like that very much.”
Joseph lifted himself upright from his elbows, so we sat side by side. His arm brushed against mine, warmer than I expected. “What’s with Peaches?” he said.
“Oh gosh. Nothing, really. Isobel started calling me that today, just for fun.”
“But why Peaches?”
“Ask Isobel, why don’t you. She’s the one who made it up.”
He pointed his thumb. “Her? She’s not going to remember a thing tomorrow.”
“Then I guess you’re