Danny Ryan watches the woman come out of the water like a vision emerging from his dreams of the sea.
Except sheâs real and sheâs going to be trouble.
Women that beautiful usually are.
Danny knows that; what he doesnât know is just how much trouble sheâs really going to be. If he knew that, knew everything that was going to happen, he might have walked into the water and held her head under until she stopped moving.
But he doesnât know that.
So, the bright sun striking his face, Danny sits on the sand out in front of Pascoâs beach house and checks her out from behind the cover of his sunglasses. Blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a body that the black bikini does more to accentuate than conceal. Her stomach is taut and flat, her legs muscled and sleek. You donât see her fifteen years from now with wide hips and a big ass from the potatoes and the Sunday gravy.
The woman comes out of the water, her skin glistening with sunshine and salt.
Terri Ryan digs an elbow into her husbandâs ribs.
âWhat?â Danny asks, all mock-innocent.
âI see you checking her out,â Terri says.
Theyâre all checking her outâhim, Pat and Jimmy, and the wives, tooâSheila, Angie, and Terri.
âCanât say I blame you,â Terri says. âThat rack.â
âNice talk,â Danny says.
âYeah, with what youâre thinking?â Terri asks.
âI ainât thinking nothing.â
âI got your nothing for you right here,â Terri says, moving her right hand up and down. She sits up on her towel to get a better view of the woman. âIf I had boobs like that, Iâd wear a bikini, too.â
Terriâs wearing a one-piece black number. Danny thinks she looks good in it.
âI like your boobs,â Danny says.
âGood answer.â
Danny watches the beautiful woman as she picks up a towel and dries herself off. She must put in a lot of time at the gym, he thinks. Takes care of herself. He bets she works in sales. Something priceyâluxury cars, or maybe real estate, or investments. What guy is going to say no to her, try to bargain her down, look cheap in front of her? Isnât going to happen.
Danny watches her walk away.
Like a dream you wake up from and you donât want to wake up, itâs such a good dream.
Not that he got much sleep last night, and now heâs tired. They hit a truckload of Armani suits, him and Pat and Jimmy MacNeese, way the hell up in western Mass. Piece of cake, an inside job Peter Moretti set them up with. The driver was clued in, everyone did the dance so no one got hurt, but still it was a long drive and they got back to the shore just as the sun was coming up.
âThatâs okay,â Terri says, lying back on her towel. âYou let her get you all hot and bothered for me.â
Terri knows her husband loves her, and anyway, Danny Ryan is faithful like a dog. He donât have it in him to cheat. She donât mind he looks at other women as long as he brings it home to her. A lot of married guys, they need some strange every once in a while, but Danny donât.
Even if he did, heâd feel too guilty.
Theyâve even joked about it. âYouâd confess to the priest,â Terri said, âyouâd confess to me, youâd probably take an ad out in the paper to confess.â
Sheâs right, Danny thinks as he reaches over and strokes Terriâs thigh with the back of his index finger, signaling that sheâs right about something else, that he is hot and bothered, that itâs time to go back to the cottage. Terri brushes his hand away, but not too hard. Sheâs horny, too, feeling the sun, the warm sand on her skin, and the sexual energy brought by the new woman.
Itâs in the air, they both feel it.
Something else, too.
Restlessness? Danny wonders. Discontent?
Like this sexy woman comes out of the sea and suddenly theyâre not quite satisfied with their lives.
Iâm not, Danny thinks.
Every August they come down from Dogtown to Goshen Beach because thatâs what their fathers did and they donât know to do anything else. Danny and Terri, Jimmy and Angie Mac, Pat and Sheila Murphy, Liam Murphy with his girl of the moment. They rent the little cottages across the road from the beach, so close to each other you can hear your neighbor sneeze, or lean out the window to borrow something for the kitchen. But thatâs what makes it fun, the closeness.
None of them would know what to do with solitude. They grew up in the same Providence neighborhood their parents did, went to school there, are still there, see each other almost every day and go down to Goshen on vacation together.
âDogtown by the Sea,â they call it.
Danny always thinks the ocean should be to the east, but knows that the beach actually faces south and runs in a gentle arc west about a mile to Mashanuck Point, where some larger houses perch precariously on a low bluff above the rocks. To the south, fourteen miles out in the open ocean, sits Block Island, visible on most clear days. During the summer season, ferries run all day and into the night from the docks at Gilead, the fishing village just across the channel.
Danny, he used to go out to Block Island all the time, not on the ferry, but back before he was married when he was working the fishing boats. Sometimes, if Dick Sousa was in a good mood, theyâd pull into New Harbor and grab a beer before making the run home.
Those were good days, going after the swordfish with Dick, and Danny misses them. Misses the little cottage he rented behind Aunt Bettyâs Clam Shack, even though it was drafty and colder than shit in the winter. Misses walking down to the bar at the Harbor Inn to have a drink with the fishermen and listen to their stories, learn their wisdom. Misses the physical work that made him feel strong and clean. He was nineteen and strong and clean and now he ainât none of those things; a layer of fat has grown around his middle and he ainât sure he could throw a harpoon or haul in a net.
You look at Danny now, in his late twenties, his broad shoulders make him appear a little shorter than his six feet, and his thick brown hair, tinged with red, gives him a low forehead that makes him look a little less smart than he really is.
Danny sits on the sand and looks at the water with a yearning. The most he does now is go in and have a swim or bodysurf if there are any waves, which is unusual in August unless thereâs a hurricane brewing.
Danny misses the ocean when heâs not here.
It gets in your blood, like you got salt...