Summer By The Sea

She could hear Alex saying, “Go, Rosa,” and that only made her run faster. Don’t let him down, she thought. Don’t let him down.

She managed to hoist the kite upward until it took off as though it had a will of its own, and would stay up no matter what she did on the ground. Breathless from running, she brought the string spool to Alex.

“It’s up,” she said.

“It’s up,” he echoed, taking hold and watching with shining eyes.

The moment they got back, there was a big fuss, just as Alex had warned her. They tried to act as though nothing had happened, but Alex’s mother had an uncanny eye, and the minute she saw him, she said, “You were running on the beach, weren’t you?”

“No, we just—”

“You were running, and you started wheezing.”

He stared at the floor as he held out the autoinjection tube for her to inspect. Her face turned hard as alabaster marble. “I need to get my purse,” she said. She brushed past Rosa as though she didn’t see her at all.

Rosa and Pop stood on the porch and watched them go. Mrs. Montgomery hardly ever drove the car that was parked in the old carriage house, and when she gunned the engine, it coughed and wheezed worse than Alex. She didn’t seem to be a very good driver, either, Rosa observed. The blue Ford Galaxy lurched and shuddered backward out of the driveway, and the engine banged and backfired all the way down Ocean Road.

“It’s so sad that he’s sick,” Rosa said to her father. “When he couldn’t breathe, I got really scared, like—” She stopped, not wanting to upset her father by mentioning Mamma. “Do you think Mrs. Montgomery is really mad at me?”

“She is afraid for her boy.” Pop grabbed his pruning shears, ready to get back to work. “I think next week, you will stay with one of the neighbors.”

“Pop, no.” Rosa panicked. The neighbor ladies—those who stayed home instead of going to work—were old and smelled funny and some even had chin whiskers. Worse, the widowed ones all wanted to marry her father. “Please, Pop, I’ll be good, I swear I will. Just give me a chance, okay, Pop. Okay?”

Returning from the doctor’s a couple of hours later, Alex seemed to be having a similar argument with his mother. “It’s no big deal, you know it’s not,” he said, banging the car door shut.

Rosa came running from the yard, where she had been watching the koi fish feed on hapless bugs. “Are you all right, Alex?” she asked. “Hello, Mrs. Montgomery.”

Mrs. Montgomery was inspecting Alex fiercely; she didn’t even seem to hear Rosa. “You’re not to do anything but rest,” she scolded. “You heard the doctor.”

“Fine,” Alex said. “I’ll teach Rosa to play chess.”

“I don’t think Rosa—”

“I already know how to play chess,” Rosa declared. “We could have a tournament.”

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” Alex said. “We’ll have a chess tournament.”

Rosa was aware of Mrs. Montgomery’s stern disapproval, but she chose to ignore it.

So did Alex. He had the key to his mother. She would rather put up with Rosa than say no to Alex. He showed her that he had kept the mermaid’s purse she’d given him. “I think it did bring me luck,” he said.

He was good at chess, way better than she was. She was impulsive, he was deliberate. She moved by intuition while he applied his knowledge and intelligence. She didn’t bother looking ahead at things; he studied the board as though it held the meaning of life.

Despite her poor skills, she managed to win a few victories. She improved quickly, and before long, she was asking about all the other interesting games stashed in a tall cabinet in the library.

“Canasta and backgammon,” he said, then took down a long, narrow pegboard. “Cribbage.”

She chuckled. “Sounds like something to eat.”

“It’s a good game. I’ll show you.”

Nine

Summer 1986

By their fourth summer together, Rosa and Alex had fallen into a routine. From mid-June until Labor Day, they were best friends. Mrs. Montgomery objected, but as usual, Alex knew how to handle her. He had all these long arguments about how being with someone his own age helped him manage his illness, because being alone was stressful and made his lungs twitchy.

Rosa couldn’t believe his mother bought that. Maybe a mother’s love made her putty in his hands. She was a severe woman but she adored Alex. She used to try to get him to invite other boys over, “other” meaning boys like him, summer people. Alex pitched such a fit that eventually his mother stopped trying. Rosa was just as glad about that. With the exception of Alex, summer people were snooty, and they seemed to have nothing better to do than work on their tans or shop. Pop said they were his bread and butter so she’d better be polite to them.

Each year at summer’s end, Alex went away, and Rosa felt bereft after he was gone. They always said they’d write to stay in touch, but somehow, neither of them got around to it. Rosa got busy with school and sports, and the year would speed past. When the next summer rolled around, they fell effortlessly back into their friendship. Getting together with Alex was like putting on a comfortable old sweater you’d forgotten you had.

That fourth summer, they were both going into the seventh grade, and they didn’t ease back into the friendship as effortlessly as before. For some strange reason, she felt a little bashful around him that year. He was just plain old Alex, skinny and fair-skinned and funny. And she was just Rosa, loud and bossy. Yet there was a subtle difference between them that hadn’t been there before. It was that stupid boy-girl thing, Rosa knew, because even the nuns were required to show kids those dumb videos, Girl into Woman and Boy into Man.

According to the videos, Rosa was still at least ninety percent girl, and Alex was definitely a boy. He had the same scrawny chest and piping boyish voice. She was pretty scrawny herself, and even though she sometimes yearned for boobs like Linda Lipschitz’s, she also dreaded the transformation. Maybe if her mother was still alive, she’d feel differently, but on her own, she was more than happy for nature to take its time.

Mrs. Montgomery hadn’t changed one bit, either. The whole first week of summer, Alex was confined to the house because his mother said he had a head cold. Fine, thought Rosa, trying not to feel frustrated about missing out on perfect weather. They’d find indoor things to do.

One day in June she showed up with an idea. She found Alex in the library, reading one of his zillions of books. Before she could lose her nerve, she took out a folded flyer and handed it to him.

“What’s this?” he asked, adjusting his glasses.

With great solemnity, she indicated the flyer. “Just read it.”

“‘Locks for Love,’” he read. “‘A non-profit organization that provides hairpieces at no charge to patients across the U.S. suffering from long-term medical hair loss.’ And there’s a donation form.” He touched his pale hair. “Who would want this?”

She sniffed. “Very funny. Get the scissors.”

He eyed her thick, curly hair, which swung clear down to her waist. “Are you sure?”

She nodded, thinking of her mother, the baby-bird baldness that had afflicted her after the chemo kicked in. She’d worn scarves and hats, and someone at the hospital gave her a wig, but she said it didn’t look like real hair and never wore it. If only Rosa had known about Locks for Love then, she could have given Mamma her hair.

“Do it, Alex.” She blew upward at the springy curls that fell down over her forehead. Her hair was always a mess. There was never a hair tie or barrette to be found in the house. Pop never thought to buy them, and she never remembered to tell him.

She looked up to see Alex watching her. “What?”

“You really want me to cut off your hair?”

“I need a haircut, anyway.”

He grew solemn. “There are salons. My mother takes me to Ritchie’s in the city.”

“I don’t think I would like a salon. Mamma used to cut my hair when I was little.” Suddenly it was there again in her throat, that hurtful feeling of wanting. She blinked fast and tried to swallow, but it wouldn’t go away. That was another thing about this girl-into-woman business. Sometimes she cried like a baby. Her emotions were as unpredictable as the weather.

Alex watched her for a moment longer. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose—a nervous habit. She looked him straight in the eye and conquered her tears. “Go get the scissors. And a hair tie.”

“A what?”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, like a rubber band with cloth on it for making a ponytail. Or just a rubber band will do. The instructions say I have to send my hair in a ponytail. Do it, Alex.”