“Don’t knock over that beer, honey,” David said.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I...”
“Here, let me have that,” Sandy said. She lifted Rhoda’s bottle, and then, holding a bottle in either hand, drank a little from each one and said, “Major truth: it is very hot in this goddamn forest. Remember that day, Peter? Remember the truth serum?”
“Yes,” I said, and glanced at Rhoda.
“Hey, you said we would share it,” David said, and got up and walked to where Sandy was standing. She handed him the bottle. He drained it and threw it into the bushes.
“There’s ham,” Rhoda said, “and there’s also roast beef. What would you like, Peter?”
“Peter would like to finish his beer,” Sandy said.
“I thought...”
“Wouldn’t you, Peter?”
“Well, I can eat at the same time,” I said, and shrugged. “I’ll have a ham sandwich, Rhoda.”
“Rhoda made those sandwiches with her own little hands,” Sandy said. “Didn’t you, Rhoda?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
“Going to make someone a great little wife,” David said, and sat down again.
“Can you sew, Rhoda?”
“Well, not really too well.”
“She can’t sew, David.”
“Pity. I guess she won’t make someone a great little wife.”
I took the sandwich, bit into it, and washed it down with beer. “Doesn’t anybody else want to eat?” I asked.
“I’ll have something,” Rhoda said, and reached into the bag again.
“I thought you said it was too hot to eat,” Sandy said.
“That was on the beach,” Rhoda answered, and again I thought Good, and couldn’t understand why I’d thought it, or even what I meant by it.
“And this is in the forest,” Sandy said, “and it’s hot as hell in the forest, too.” She lifted the half-full bottle she was holding in her hand, and suddenly poured beer onto her breasts and into the front of her bikini top. “Ahhhhh,” she said, “that’s better,” and tossed the empty bottle away. “But now my top is wet,” she said, giggling. “Peter, my top is wet.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Don’t you like girls who say things like My top is wet?”
“Yes, sure,” I said.
“Don’t you appreciate my honesty?”
“Sure I do.”
“Why don’t you take it off?” David suggested.
“Ho-ho,” Sandy said, and rolled her eyes.
“Are we out of beer?” David asked.
“When you’re out of beer,” Sandy said, “you’re out of beer.”
“You can have what’s left of this,” I said. “I don’t think I can finish it.”
“What’s the matter, Poo?” David said. “On the wagon?”
“No, I’m just not... thirsty,” I said, and shrugged.
“Never mind,” David said, “it won’t go to waste.”
“God, it’s hot!” Sandy said.
David took the bottle, drank a little from it, and then handed it to Sandy. “Share and share alike,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said, and made a pretty little curtsy. She finished the beer, carefully put the empty bottle down on the ground, and took off the top of her suit.
Rhoda did not immediately see her. Her head was bent, she was chewing on her sandwich. She took the sandwich from her mouth and then tried to dislodge a piece of roast beef that had got caught in her bands, still not seeing Sandy, and then finally freeing the stubborn sliver of meat. She looked up. She caught her breath, and immediately turned away.
“What’s the matter, Rhoda?” Sandy asked.
“Noth... nothing,” she answered.
“Rhoda, you’re going to choke on your sandwich,” Sandy said, and giggled.
You mean she’s going to swallow her braces,” David said, laughing.
“I... I... Peter,” she said, “I think I’d like to go now, please.”
I sat stunned and uneasy and aware. I thought This is outrageous and then immediately realized I was only relating to Rhoda’s shock and not to any belief of my own. This is marvelous, I thought, this is stimulating and daring, and was immediately overcome by fresh guilt when Rhoda plaintively touched my arm, but I could not take my eyes from Sandy. This is shameless, I thought, and the thought excited me, and I was thrilled and then embarrassed by my masculine response, and I thought I’d better get Rhoda out of here before something terrible happens, and then I began to anticipate what might happen, the way I’d anticipated getting Aníbal drunk, and stupidly I said, “Rhoda... fi... finish your sandwich.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said, and got up off the poncho.
Sandy stepped into her path.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Back... home. To the house. The house. Out of here. Out,” she said.
“What’s your hurry?” Sandy said. “Finish your sandwich. Peter wants you to finish your sandwich.”
“No,” she said. “Put your... cover yourself. Sandy, cover yourself.”
“Why?”
“They can see.”
“Who?”
“The boys.”
“So what?”
“They can see.”
“Yes,” Sandy said.
David, who had been sitting quietly on the poncho, suddenly said, “Why don’t you take yours off, Rhoda?”
“No!” she said sharply, and whirled toward him, and saw the smile on his face, and instantly stepped back and away from him. She almost collided with Sandy. Turning, she saw the identical smile on Sandy’s face, and knew at once that she was trapped. Her hands fluttered up toward her breasts. She looked at me where I sat still and silent against the black rock.
“Peter,” she said, “please.”
“Do it,” Sandy said.
“I couldn’t. I can’t. Peter, I can’t. Peter...”
“Do it,” David said.
“Please don’t make me. Peter, please.”
I took a deep breath. “Do it,” I said.
Her eyes searched my face. She seemed about to say “Peter” again, her lips seemed pursed around my name, but nothing came from her mouth. She broke away suddenly instead, trying to step wide around Sandy, who grabbed her wrist and swung her back toward the poncho. “No, please,” she said, and Sandy came swiftly toward her, hands outstretched, reaching for the bra top.
“Don’t!” she shouted.
David came off the poncho, his fists clenched, a contorted look on his face, rose in one swift smooth sudden motion to seize Rhoda from behind while Sandy pulled the bra top down. Her breasts burst free, she tried to raise her hands to cover them, but David grabbed both her wrists and Sandy slapped her hard across the face, twice, the way she had slapped her that night we’d found her crying on the dune. She was not crying now. She fought wildly as they dragged her to the poncho, kicking. This isn’t real, I thought, this isn’t happening, trying to free her hands, I wanted to kiss her, I wanted to kiss her breasts, I wanted to hit her, David and Sandy grunting, the sounds muffled like the sounds on the mainland when Annabelle faced the hoods, I wanted to stop them, I wanted to laugh hysterically, “Oh, Peter,” she said, “oh, Peter,” I wanted to shout Leave her alone, can’t you see? can’t you see? lips pulled back over metal bands, eyes wild and frightened, I wanted to save her and destroy her, trying to cover her breasts with her forearms, David forcing them away, I wanted to love her and protect her, I did not want involvement, I wanted to kiss her gently in the forest sunshine and listen to the sounds of life around us, I thought of Spotswood, New Jersey, and a clearing washed with yellow light, “Don’t let them!” she screamed, “Peter, don’t let them!” and I remembered her column and what she had said about a last summer, hers and maybe everybody’s, and I thought Are you trying to scare me, Rhoda? and was scared, and hated her, I’m so afraid of winter coming, and saw a confused tangle of bodies on the slippery poncho, unreal, moving too fast, Sandy’s slender brown legs flashing, Rhoda’s white and heavy breasts, David’s arm muscles straining to keep her pinned, “I don’t want to!” she screamed, and I thought You have to, “Stop them!” she screamed, and I thought Them? You mean us, don’t you? You silly cautious girl, this is the party, we’re the party, don’t you know that? and felt an overwhelming sense of oneness with David, and found myself rolling over suddenly on the wet poncho, rolling toward Rhoda and her big white tits, moving together with David as if his body were my body, his muscles and hands were mine, Sandy falling suddenly against my back, taut and smooth and wet with sweat, kiss her, I thought, kiss Rhoda, and remembered for the last time that day on Violet’s island and heard Sandy whisper, “Get her!”