taking another drag on her unfiltered cigarette, it would have been nice if Michael had been sober enough to act as if he’d liked her a little,as if she really was special enough to be liked by someone normal, an all-American boy.
She flicked a shred of tobacco from her lip and reminded herself that all-American boys did not go with girls like her: they were reserved for the Lizzies of the world—the Lizzies with the cheerleader looks and tightly closed thighs. Which might not remain closed much longer, if Liz had a chance at Josh Miller.
BeBe knew the signs, and she knew it was up to her to stop her kid sister before Liz’s life took the same downhill course as her own. All she had to do was figure out how to divert Lizzie’s thoughts back to Michael, even if it meant BeBe had to switch sides and agree with Father.
“You’ve got to help me,” BeBe said to Roger. He looked up from the lilac bush cuttings he was transplanting behind the garage. Surprise showed on his face, for Daniel was the brother people always went to for help. Daniel, not Roger.
He set down his trowel and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Sure, Beebs. What’s up?”
It occurred to BeBe, not for the first time, what a shame it was that Roger, one year younger than Daniel, seemed doomed to stand forever in his brother’s huge shadow. Even physically he seemed inferior: where Daniel was sturdy, Roger was slight; where Daniel was handsome, Roger was … well, not unattractive, but plain. In the eyes of the family, he was number two next to Daniel, just as BeBe would always take a backseat to Liz. It was simply the way things were.
BeBe stuffed her hands into the pockets of her cutoffs. “It seems as if our Lizzie has a beau.”
Behind the rims of his glasses, Roger’s eyebrows went up. “Liz has a boyfriend? What’s wrong with that?”
“The problem is not what, it’s who.” And then she told him about Josh Miller.
Roger agreed that Father would explode if he learned Liz was in love with a stranger, let alone a Jew.
“We need to do whatever we can to get her together with Michael,” BeBe concluded.
“We could go to the movies tonight,” Roger suggested. “All of us, if you want. Then work it so she has to sit next to him.”
BeBe tweaked his cheek. “You’re brilliant, brother. But not a word to anyone. It will be our secret.”
He picked up his trowel and resumed his work. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to find her first. I saw her head down to the cove after breakfast.”
Michael Barton was not as good-looking as he had been yesterday. Liz maneuvered the rowboat around the small cove and let her thoughts drift from Michael to Josh Miller—the handsome, the untouchable, the forbidden. She set down the oars, closed her eyes, and let the warm remnants of sunset float over her, over every part of her.
She wondered what it would feel like to have his hands on her. She wondered what his fingers were like, if they were both strong and tender at the same time. She wondered what it would feel like to have his body above her, to have his dark eyes gaze into hers while he was touching her there and there and there, filling her with feelings and sensations and awakenings and …
Her eyes flew open. She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, if anyone could read what was on her mind by the flush that surely must be on her cheeks.
She touched a hand to her face.
Josh Miller , she thought. Oh, God .
She picked up the oars and began rowing again.
She had barely eaten dinner last night or breakfast this morning. Who could think of eating when all that mattered was when they would meet again, and where, and how …
She had decided how it would happen. She would be alone, at sunset, drifting on the water, as she was now. He would appear, slowly, calling for his dog. But then he would see her.
“Hey,” he’d say softly. “Great night.”
She would smile. “Yeah,” she’d answer.
“I lost my dog,” he’d say.