The following is the opening scene of my new novel, Boundaries: A Love Story, to be released in Fall 2013:
PART ONE
PINE TREE ISLAND
CAPE COD
SUMMER 1980
1
Afraid she’d been forgotten, Kaia Matheson stepped onto the dock and searched for the boat that was supposed to take her across the channel to Pine Tree Island. Though it was early July on the Cape, the air was cold and damp, and she shivered, hugging her arms in the buffeting wind. Bulging, steel-gray clouds hung in the sky, casting shadows over the choppy waves. She could barely make out the island, obscured in the distance by a white haze.
During the long taxi ride from the Boston airport to the Cape Cod dock, she’d pictured her mother waiting for her at the dock, but when the driver had finally pulled into the gravel lot, no one was there, and it caused an ache in the pit of her stomach; the only car in the lot was a rusted old Saab. Kaia had asked the taxi driver to wait for her until someone came to take her across the channel—he’d snorted in exasperation before turning off the engine.
Now, shifting from one foot to the other to warm herself, she wished she’d worn jeans instead of shorts for the plane trip. Luckily she was wearing her denim jacket. At last she spotted a small boat bucking against the waves, its male occupant rowing in the direction of the dock, and as the boat came closer, she saw that the man appeared to be using his entire strength against the water’s pull. There was a quality of fierceness, an emphatic determination in his rowing, that made her recognize her cousin, Mark Karadonis.
When he glanced in her direction, she waved, and he continued to lever his upper body resolutely against the waves. She hadn’t seen him in eight years; he would be twenty-two now, a grown man, she realized nervously, and more or less a stranger to her.
She jogged back to the taxi and paid the driver. He drove off, the tires flinging gravel behind the car, as if in reproach. Returning to the dock, Kaia watched as Mark rowed toward her, and her disappointment at not seeing her mother fell away. When the boat pulled alongside the dock, he stood up, appearing flushed and exhilarated, and grabbed onto a post. Despite the gloom of the afternoon, he was wearing dark shades. A slight growth of beard shadowed the lower half of his face. It amazed her, how tall he was—six feet at least—and massive in the shoulders. When she’d last seen him, he was fourteen and she was eight; she remembered him as rather wild and disobedient—often getting into trouble with his dad—and she’d admired the way Mark seemed to get away with so much.
“There’s a stiff southwesterly,” he said, without any preliminaries, staring at her through his dark glasses.
He was a man, she would learn, who didn’t put much stock in preliminaries. She hesitated a moment, thinking he might offer a hand, but he merely motioned for her to come down, as if he expected a teenage girl to know everything about boats and how to board them. But she sensed a certain restraint in the way he simply watched her, his arms tensed at his sides, as if ready to assist if needed, and this pleased her.
Kaia tossed her duffel bag to him, peering into the algae-green seawater. She stepped gingerly into the boat, causing it to rock unnervingly. Mark reached out and clasped his fingers firmly around her upper arm until she was steady on her feet. He stepped back and did a quick scan of her from her bare legs upward, stopping for a second at her midriff, which was partially exposed beneath her halter top. She buttoned her jacket, her fingers trembling, then looked up to study his face, his expression hard to read behind the sunglasses. His arms and legs were padded with muscle, his legs sunburnt; he didn’t appear to be the slightest bit cold in his tank top and cut-offs—he was probably used to the cool summer weather here.
She sat down, and he took a seat on the opposite bench. As he pushed off from the dock, she wondered why he wasn’t using the outboard motor; but she didn’t ask, afraid to expose her ignorance.
“California tan,” he commented, flashing a grin at her. “New denims, too,” he added, indicating with a nod her shorts and jacket.
Embarrassed by his scrutiny, she turned her head to the side as the boat moved out onto the waves. “I’m naturally dark,” was all she could think to say.
It would have been easier if her father had flown here with her; she wouldn’t have been so anxious, waiting alone at the dock. Of course he hadn’t been invited, because of the divorce. She’d promised to call him when she arrived at Logan Airport but had forgotten in her frantic search for a taxi. And there would be no phone at the cottage on Pine Tree. She would have to send him a postcard later—otherwise he would be upset about not hearing from her.
Glancing at her cousin, she was sorry she couldn’t see his eyes behind the shades. Her mother had once remarked that Mark’s eyes were as blue as glaciers, exactly like Kaia’s. People always noticed Kaia’s eye color, apparently her one remarkable feature.
“I guess you were the only one who was available to row over to get me.” She cocked her head, trying for a disdainful look, but a gust of wind blew her long hair into a tangle over her face, spoiling the intended effect. She wished she were more in control, the way Mark was, pulling the oars through the water with such sturdy competence.
“My father’s out boating with my buddy, Monty, so I was the only one around. I don’t mind, though. I like to be out on the water when it’s like this.”
She silently watched him row for a few minutes, then said, “I heard you graduated from Boston University.”
“Yep. Monty and I are both headed for law school in the fall.”
“Dad said you’ll be in Berkeley, going to Boalt.”
“Right. But for now I’m just trying to enjoy the summer while I can. I’m not looking forward to the grind of studying again.” He was quiet for a minute, then broke into a grin. “Last time I saw you, your dad was giving you a spanking.”
“Oh, my God.” It was the summer the Karadonises had come to Berkeley, when she was eight. Her uncle and her father had been lounging on the deck that day, drinking beer and smoking, and Kaia had grabbed her dad’s cigarette pack from his hand and run into the yard with it. Her father had yelled at Mark, who was up in the tree house, to go get her. Mark, a lanky teenager then, had jumped down and begun chasing Kaia through the high grass. When he caught her, he half-dragged, half-carried her over to the deck while she screamed and struggled. Her father reached for her, pried the cigarette pack from her fist, swung her over his knees and slapped her bottom hard a few times while Mark and his father watched.
“I thought I could make Dad quit smoking,” she said, trying for a sardonic tone. “They must have been drunk. It was awful.” Where had her mother and aunt been? They’d never once come outside, hadn’t been around when the men got boisterous. After the humiliation of the spanking, Kaia had been wary, though intrigued, whenever the men were out on the deck; she always sensed she was in for something when she got too close. She’d been drawn to them out of curiosity, she supposed . . . or was it just boredom? At least her father hadn’t spanked her in front of the relatives again.
“Don’t worry,” Mark said now, barely suppressing a grin. “We won’t try anything like that here. As long as you behave.”
“That’s not funny, Mark. I’m sixteen, you know.”
She leaned over the side and dragged her fingers through the slick saltwater. Where had he learned to tease like that? He didn’t have any brothers or sisters. It was the only thing the two of them had in common—their lack of siblings—except, of course, that their mothers were sisters.
“Where’s my mother, by the way?” she asked, making her hand resist the pull of the water.
“Back at the house with Elisa, drinking iced tea on the porch.”
Kaia lifted her hand from the water and shook it off. She wondered why he’d referred to his mother as Elisa. “Why didn’t my mom come with you?” she asked.
“Jean doesn’t like boating.”
“I suppose that’s true. She likes tennis and golf. Better for business.”
Mark kept his eyes on her, no doubt catching the bitterness in her tone. He looked away and maneuvered the boat over a large swell, then once they were in a calmer stretch of water, he glanced at her and said, “You haven’t seen your mom in a while, have you?”
Startled by his bluntness, Kaia glanced down, focusing on his hands as he rowed; they were an older person’s hands, thick and wide with prominent veins. Still avoiding his gaze, she raised her eyes to the brown tufts of hair sprouting from beneath his tank top. She wasn’t willing to admit it had been six months since she’d seen her mother—as if that were her own fault.
It was sickening, how swiftly her mother had managed to get a divorce, then relocate to Manhattan—a move she’d claimed would “present more opportunities,” whatever that meant. Kaia recalled her mother standing at the curb beside the taxicab, briefcase in hand, waving good-bye. Her mother had promised to keep in close contact, but of course it hadn’t turned out that way. There had been the sporadic phone calls, and then finally in June her mom had mentioned she was spending a couple of weeks at Cape Cod and didn’t suppose Kaia could fly out on her own.
Kaia remembered how quickly she’d jumped at the offhand invitation—how pitiful. Now she wondered what she could have done to be more exciting, engaging enough to keep her mother’s interest. Even with her father around, their house felt empty. What would have made her mother stay?
Kaia wondered, too, what could possibly make her return.