Is this the kind of story you are supposed to tell to strangers on your way to a wedding? Better, Thanh supposes, than the one about the albatross. The best part of Harper’s story is that Harper wasn’t even at The Silhouette that night. It was just Thanh and Fleur, on some night. Thanh was the one who made up the story about Bono. But there is no story that Harper does not further embellish, does not re-embroider. Thanh wonders if that story still circulates. Did anyone ever tell it back to Bono himself? Maybe Thanh should Google it. You can see the lumpy profile of what must be Bad Claw Island, maybe half a mile away. Tide’s out, the pilot says over the intercom. You can wade over from here. Water’s maybe three feet deep. You can swim! If you want. Harper jumps up. His back good as new. Absolutely, he says. Who’s in? Harper takes off his shoes, jeans, shirt. There’s that fat, hairy belly. Leaves his briefs on. He goes over the side and down the ladder. Two men and a woman named Natasha join him. All in their underwear.
Thanh stays put beneath the white canopy of the boat. Little waves slap pleasantly at the hull. There’s the most pleasant little breeze. He likes the way the water looks through the glass bottom. Like a magic trick. Why spoil it? Besides, he forgot to collect the laundry out of the dryer before they caught the plane. He isn’t wearing any underwear. The boat gets to shore first, but before Thanh steps off onto the dock, Harper swims up under the glass. Presses his lips up. Then, suggestively, his wriggling hips. Here I am, Thanh, having sex with a boat. See, Thanh? I told you we would have a good time.
Fleur is on the dock, kissing her friends. The boat pilot, too. Why not? He’s very good-looking. Fleur’s wearing a white bikini and a top hat. Her hair is longer than Thanh has ever seen it. She’s let it go back to its natural color. I’m the wedding party, she says, still giving those loving kisses. Exuberant kisses! She smells like frangipani and bourbon. Representing both the bride, me, and my groom, David. Because he’s not here yet. He’s delayed. Look at you, Thanh! Both of you! Has it really been two years? My God. Come up to the lodge. Everyone else has to sleep in a yurt on the beach. Well, everyone except the old people, who are staying over on the mainland. But you and Harper get a bed. A bed in an actual room and there’s even a door. Remember the apartment in Somerville? The girl who came over from Ireland to visit her girlfriend and got dumped before she even landed? We put a mattress behind the sofa and she stayed all summer? Have you seen Barb? Is she still in Prague? Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl yet? What’s this woman like, the surrogate?
She never stops talking. Kissing, talking, Fleur likes to do both. The other wedding guests are sent off to claim their yurts. Fleur’s sister Lenny takes them away. Thanh has never liked Lenny. He hasn’t seen her in over a decade, but he doesn’t like her any better now. Harper puts his pants back on and they follow Fleur up the beach. Did you ever sleep with her? Harper said once to Thanh. Of course not, Thanh said.
Bad Claw Lodge is an ugly wooden box done up in white gingerbread trim. Two stories. A listing porch, a banging screen door. Little dormer windows tucked under the flaking, papery eaves. The island is probably worth three million, Fleur says. The lodge? Some day it will blow out to sea, and I will get down on my knees and thank God. How big is the island? Harper asks. Two miles. Something like that. You can walk around it in half an hour. It gets bigger after every storm. But then the mainland is getting smaller.
There are buckets and pans set out on the painted floor of the lodge. On counters. On the mildew-stained couch and in the fireplace. It rained all night, Fleur says. All morning, too. I thought it would rain all day. The roof is a sieve. She takes them upstairs and down a hall so low that Harper must duck to get under a beam. Here, she says. Bathroom’s next door. The water is all runoff, so if you want a hot shower, take it in the afternoon. The catchtank is on the roof. There’s space enough in the room they’re sleeping in for one twin bed, shoved up against the window. There’s a three-legged table. On the bed is a Pyrex mixing bowl with an inch of rainwater at the bottom. Fleur says, I’ll take that. On the little table is a piece of taxidermy. Something catlike, but with a peculiarly flattened, leathery tail. It has an angry face. A wrinkled, whiskery snout of a nose. What’s that? Harper says. A beaver? Fleur says, That thing? It’s something native down here. They had poisonous claws, or laid eggs, or something like that. They’re extinct. That’s worth a fortune, too. They were such a nuisance everyone just eradicated them. Shot them, trapped them, cut them up for bait. That was a long time ago, before anyone cared about stuff like that. Anyway! They never bothered to come up with a name for whatever they were, but then after they were gone they named the island after them. I think. Bad Claw. That thing is definitely worth more than this house. Thanh checks his phone again. There’s no signal here, Fleur says. You have to go back to the mainland for that. Harper and Thanh look at each other. Is there a phone in the house?
There isn’t.
Thanh and Harper fight about whether or not Thanh should go back to check messages, to call Han and Naomi. Whether they should stay on the mainland. We could have a real bed, Thanh says. Fleur will understand. I want to stay here, Harper says. And we are not going to say one word about this to Fleur. It’s her wedding! Do you think she wants to have to pretend to feel worried about something that probably isn’t even going to be an issue? Fine. Then I’ll go in the boat the next time it’s bringing people over, Thanh says. Call and make sure everything is okay, and then come right back. No, Harper says. I’ll go. We’ll tell Fleur it’s a work thing.
It turns out that Harper can swim/wade back to the mainland. The tide will be in later on, though, so he’ll get a ride back on the boat. He puts his cell phone, with a couple of twenties, inside two plastic baggies. Fleur takes Thanh aside as soon as Harper is in the water. What’s up? she says. Everything okay? We’re fine, Thanh says. Really. Fine. Okay, Fleur says. Come help me mix drinks and tell me stuff. I need a quick crash course in marriage. What’s sex like? Well, to start with, Thanh says, you need good lube and a lot of preparation. I also recommend two or three trapeze artists. And a marching band. The marching band is essential. They make drinks. People gather on the porch. Someone plays Leonard Cohen songs on a guitar. There are oysters and hot dogs and cold tomato halves filled with spinach and cheese. More drinks. Thanh says to Fleur, Tell me about David. He’s a good guy? How am I supposed to answer that, Fleur says. She’s gotten some sun. There are lines on her face that Thanh doesn’t remember. She’s doing what she used to do, back in the old days. Picking up abandoned drinks, finishing them. David has a terrible job. Did you know they had me vetted when we moved in together? To see if I was a security risk. We’re at different ends of the political spectrum. But he’s good to me. And he’s rich. That doesn’t hurt. And I love him. Well, Thanh says. He takes the empty glass from her hand.
It’s nine at night by the time Harper gets back. People are playing Truth or Dare. Or, as Fleur calls it, Security Risk or Do Something Stupid Because It’s Fun. There are other people on the boat with Harper. Thank God, Fleur says. He’s here. But it isn’t David. It’s three men and a woman, all in knife-pleated pants, white shirts. Are those the caterers? someone asks. Fleur shshes them. Friends of David, she says, and goes down to the dock to meet them. No kisses this time. Thanh, Harper says. Let’s go somewhere and talk.