The Education of Sebastian & the Education of Caroline, Page 2

  Oh, God, I’d probably have to see the rancid Estelle and the monstrous father, Donald. The gloomy thought killed my good mood, and I scowled at the writhing, hissing ocean.

  Sebastian and his friends strolled toward another group of surfers hovering on the shoreline. I could see they were laughing at him about something; I guessed it was to do with me. I shook my head—teenage boys … they don’t change.

  I watched as they paddled out, a small flock of brightly plumed beach rats, disappearing abruptly behind the rising surf. I could just pick out a bright blue board weaving along the leading edge of a breaking wave. I gasped as the rushing water suddenly swallowed the boy, then relaxed when I saw his head break the surface, and he swam back to his board, paddling again toward the line-up.

  For perhaps half an hour I continued to watch as they took turns racing across the hills of green water before being engulfed by the roiling froth, then paddling back to chase the next wave, over and over. It was pointless and beautiful and utterly mesmerizing.

  Reluctantly I checked my watch; time to head back to the Base. I was expecting a delivery of some more of our belongings. I couldn’t be late; it wasn’t worth the ensuing argument if all was not ship-shape before David returned from the hospital.

  I slipped a yellow sundress over my bikini and headed back to the car. It was super-heated of course, the air inside parched. I rolled down all the windows and drove back, singing along to Figaro’s aria on my temperamental CD player.

  When I pulled up, the delivery guy was pounding on my door, frustrated by the lack of response.

  “Sorry! Sorry! I’m here now.”

  He glowered at me. I smiled pleasantly and offered him a cold beer.

  “Well, ma’am, I wouldn’t say no to a cold soda if you’ve got one.”

  He stood and poured it down his throat in one swallow, wiping sweat from his glowing face. Then he happily deposited two large crates in the garage and drove away.

  I stared sourly at the boxes, wondering if my withering gaze would force them to unpack themselves. But no.

  Three hours later, dirty and sweaty, and with aching muscles, I admitted defeat with one-and-a half crates still left to unpack. Tomorrow would have to do, although I knew it would mean a fight. But I just didn’t have the energy.

  At 6 pm David drove up in his pride and joy—a newly purchased silver Camaro, vivid symbol of his promotion. He frowned at the unpacked crates, and I waited for the dissection of my day—where had I been, what had I done, who had I seen. But instead he tapped his watch, a habitual gesture of irritation.

  “We’re due at the Vorstadts’ in an hour, and you’re not dressed.”

  “Who?”

  “Captain Vorstadt has invited us for drinks.”

  “You didn’t say.”

  “I put it on the calendar, Caroline. Didn’t you check the schedule?”

  No, sir. Sorry, sir.

  “I thought you might have mentioned it, that’s all, David.”

  “I want to leave at 1850. Wear the green cocktail dress.”

  I hated it when he ordered me around—which was most of the time, admittedly. But it was really grating on me.

  “I’m tired, David. I’ve been unpacking crates for the last three hours—it’s exhausting.”

  “Making life and death decisions all day is exhausting, Caroline. For once, could you just do something to support me? I don’t ask for much, considering the lifestyle I give you.”

  I bit back the retort that sprang forward. What was the point? We’d been here before. I’d never won an argument with him yet. It was so damn tiring to even try.

  “Fine. I’ll go shower.”

  I dressed quickly, applied a little eyeliner, mascara and some clear lipstick: the minimum makeup I could get away with. David liked women ‘to look like women’—that meant heels and make-up. Not really my look, inasmuch as I had one. He wore his favorite sports jacket and an open-necked shirt. He still looked handsome, I suppose.

  “What did you do today?” he said, breaking the silence as we drove the short distance to the party.

  “Before I spent three hours unpacking crates?”

  “Just half a crate, I noticed.”

  Pedantic ass.

  “I read a book at the beach. Before the crates were delivered. Oh, I bumped into Sebastian.”

  “Who?”

  “The Hunters’ boy. You know, from last time we were here.”

  He grunted, which could mean anything, but I suspect it meant he didn’t remember. David wasn’t good at remembering people; something of a handicap for a doctor. It gave the impression he was cold.

  “Who’s going to be there tonight?”

  “I wasn’t given the guest list, Caroline.”

  Jeez, I was only asking.

  Mrs. Vorstadt met us at the door of her townhouse.

  “David, how lovely. And you must be Caroline. I’m Donna.”

  Donna was a strong-looking, attractive woman in her fifties. She kissed me on the cheek. Her breath smelled of gin and tonic.

  “Do come in.”

  The room was crowded and noisy, people spilling out into the large yard at the rear of the house. A barbecue was spitting away under an awning—men gathered in little groups drinking beer from bottles and laughing loudly; women huddled together sipping Manhattans, their high heels sinking into the recently watered turf. I was glad I’d worn my flats, despite David’s frown of disapproval.

  I mentally prepared myself for an evening of tedium. But it was worse than that.

  Donna furnished us with the mandatory beer for David and cocktail for me, then ushered us toward a couple who seemed vaguely familiar. When the blonde turned, I recognized her icy smile.

  “I believe you know the Hunters from last time you were in San Diego.”

  “Caroline, dear,” said Estelle in a cool voice. “And David, you haven’t aged a day.”

  We air-kissed insincerely; the men shook hands and Donald wandered off to speak to some of the other officers.

  “Hello, Estelle.” I spoke mildly without inflection. “I saw your son today.”

  She stared at me in disbelief. “Sebastian?”

  “Yes. At the beach. It was a nice surprise.”

  “He was at the beach?”

  For God’s sake, I’m not talking Serbo-Croat.

  “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrowed, and I had the distinct impression that I’d somehow given away his secret.

  “Sebastian!” Her clipped vowels carried across the yard, and several people turned around to stare.

  I followed her eyes and saw him again, leaning against the deck, by himself. He was taller than I’d realized now that I was standing, too: as tall as his father; taller than David. This time Sebastian was more formally dressed in khaki chinos, a white shirt, sleeves rolled up his strong forearms, and a loose, black tie around his neck. He still looked more casual than the majority of the men.

  “Mother?” he said, his eyes wary.

  “Caroline said you were at the beach today.”

  He smiled suddenly and walked over to join us, his expression lighting as he saw me. “Hello, Mrs. Wilson. I said we’d meet again.”

  “You were right. How was the surf?”

  “Great, thanks! We…”

  “Sebastian!” interrupted Estelle in a low, furious voice. “You were supposed to be studying for your advanced placement tests. You need to pass these if you’re going to be a semester ahead, for God’s sake. You’ve got your college credits to think about. Do you want your Associate degree early or not?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly in that infuriating way that most teenagers learn simply to annoy their parents the most, but I could see that he was anxious, too.

  “I studied this afternoon,” he replied softly. “There was a good swell this morning, Ches…”

  “We’ll talk later,” she hissed. “Your father will want to hear about this.”

  She marched away, leaving an embarra
ssed silence behind her. Donna steered David away and I was left with Sebastian.

  “I’m so sorry about that—I wouldn’t have said anything if I’d realized I was going to make trouble for you.”

  He shrugged again and smiled. “I’m always in trouble, so it doesn’t make any difference.”

  “Oh, well then … here’s to trouble!” I raised my glass in an ironic toast.

  Sebastian grinned at me, his eyes crinkling happily. I realized they were blue-green, the color of the ocean. I’d forgotten. How apt.

  “Have you been surfing long? You looked pretty good.”

  “Did you see me?” he seemed delighted. “There were some really gnarly tubes.”

  “I have no idea what that means! But I did watch for quite a while; you looked very graceful.”

  He blushed suddenly and looked down.

  “How’s school?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh, okay. I graduate a week from Thursday…”

  That would make him 18, I guessed.

  “And then off to college in the Fall?”

  “Maybe. Dad wants me to enlist, but Mom wants me to get my degree first.”

  “What do you want?”

  He looked surprised, as if no one had asked him that question. Then he smiled wickedly.

  “I want to surf.”

  “Of course. The perfect career path—a beach bum. Perhaps we should drink to the endless summer.”

  He laughed, a carefree sound that had me grinning back at him.

  “I could drink to one of your special limoncellos.”

  I must have looked puzzled because he clarified his comment immediately.

  “You used to make them for me—alcohol-free!”

  “Oh, yes. When you were a kid.”

  He frowned, as if something about what I said didn’t please him, but he quickly threw off the thought.

  “Do you go to the beach a lot?” he asked, his eyes surprisingly intense.

  “I did a little in North Carolina, although I had a job, too. But we’ve only been back here a week; today was my first chance. I’ve still got a lot of unpacking to do.”

  I shuddered at the thought of those one-and-a-half crates in the garage.

  “I could help you. Unpack, I mean. Carrying stuff and that.”

  “Oh, well, thank you. But I expect I’ll manage; it’s not that much really.”

  “I’d like to help; it’s great having you back.”

  I was nonplussed by his offer and his comment, although part of me acknowledged it would be useful to have someone to do all the carrying. No, he had studying to do, it wouldn’t be fair.

  Over his shoulder I saw Donald Hunter stalking toward us and a shiver ran through me: he looked furious.

  My expression must have alerted Sebastian because he turned to see what had caught my attention.

  “Your mother says you were at the beach again this morning,” barked Sebastian’s father, without preamble. He gripped Sebastian’s arm, spinning him around to face his wrath.

  Sebastian blanched. “Yes, but…”

  “I fucking warned you what I’d do if you did that again when you should be studying.”

  I was utterly shocked that even this foul man would speak to his son like that in front of me, a virtual stranger.

  “Dad, I…”

  “Quiet!” he snarled.

  People were staring. And I was caught in a horrifying paralysis, unable to tear my eyes from this nasty little family drama.

  “You can kiss your surfboard goodbye—and no more beach. No son of mine is going to waste his life being a beach bum.”

  Sebastian tugged his arm free and faced down his father.

  “I studied in the afternoon, Dad. And I paid for that surfboard; I worked for it. It’s mine. You can’t touch it.”

  Donald’s face turned an ugly puce, and I thought he was going to hit his son. At the last second he recollected himself.

  “This isn’t over,” he hissed, then marched away.

  Sebastian stared at the ground, humiliation and anger vying for dominance on his face.

  I felt terribly guilty; this was all my fault.

  “I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” I whispered. “I had no idea…” My words trailed off lamely.

  He shook his head. “He’s just an asshole. I really hate him. I can’t wait to leave home,” he said, fiercely. “The sooner the better.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. I just nodded sympathetically. After all, hadn’t I left as soon as I could to get away from my mother? I fished around desperately for a change of topic, but my brain was unwilling to cooperate. Donna returned quickly, looking suitably irritated at Donald’s outburst. Such bad manners, I could see the thought flickering across her face.

  “Can I refresh your glass, Caroline?”

  Without realizing it, I’d downed the cocktail already.

  “Oh, yes, thank you.”

  “Sebastian, more soda?”

  “No, thank you, Mrs. Vorstadt,” he muttered, then left abruptly, his expression mortified.

  Donna shook her head. “That poor boy. What he has to put up with.”

  “Is his father always like that?” I was still shocked.

  Clearly the answer was ‘yes’ but Donna didn’t want to commit herself to anything too definite—or damning.

  “Oh, well, Donald is Donald. I’m sure you must remember.”

  I stared after Sebastian, recalling other instances of Donald’s bullying from when his son was a boy. I was amazed Sebastian hadn’t turned into a monster himself. He seemed just as gentle and sweet as when I’d known him all those years ago.

  The rest of the evening passed with uninteresting small talk, as usual. I stayed away from Estelle and Donald; Sebastian seemed to have disappeared, and David and I ignored each other, as usual.

  I was relieved when he decided it was the right time to return home.

  CHAPTER 2

  The next morning the damn crates hadn’t miraculously unpacked themselves. I was staring at them with antipathy when I heard a car pull up.

  Donna Vorstadt stepped out of her new Chevy and waved when she saw me.

  “Hello, Caroline, dear, I thought I’d just come and see how you’re settling in. Goodness, I think you’ve got your work cut out there.”

  She smiled, commiserating, and I warmed to her a little more.

  “Have you got time for a cup of coffee, Donna?”

  I didn’t usually feel the need to socialize with the wives of my husband’s fellow officers, but she seemed genuine, and I still knew how to follow some of the niceties of Base behavior.

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  I realized too late that the breakfast dishes were still scattered across the counter. Oh well, I’d blown my chance of pretending I was perfect.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Just the cream. Do you have skim milk?”

  I cleared a space, and we sat down to drink our coffees.

  “So, how are you settling in? It’s a pain moving, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t mind the physical aspects of moving … it’s just … I had a job I really liked back in North Carolina.” Oh, too personal. “Mind you, those crates won’t unpack themselves.”

  I sighed and she looked sympathetic.

  “I have to run to the shops now, but I could come by this afternoon and help if you like.”

  Before I could reply, there was a knock at the front door. I hoped to hell it wasn’t another wife come to help by drinking my coffee.

  “Hi, Mrs. Wilson.”

  Smiling hugely, Sebastian stood there, dressed in torn jeans and a plain, white t-shirt.

  “Oh, hello! It’s nice to see you again, Sebastian. What can I do for you?”

  “You said you had to unpack crates; I thought I could help.”

  I was taken aback by his offer.

  “That’s very sweet of you, Sebastian, but I don’t think your parents would be happy if they knew y
ou were here instead of studying.”

  “I’m taking a break,” he said, his lovely smile slipping at the mention of his parents.

  “I’m sure they won’t object to Sebastian helping a neighbor,” said Donna, appearing behind me. “That’s very thoughtful of you, Sebastian,” she continued, kindly.

  Sebastian reddened when he saw her, and he looked down.

  “Well, I could certainly use some help,” I said, feeling flustered.

  “Great!” said Sebastian, his smile returning. “I’ll go get started.”

  “Thank you,” I muttered to his back.

  Donna winked at me. “I think you’ve got an admirer there,” she whispered. “Thanks for the coffee. Call me if you need anything.”

  I watched her drive away, and then headed for the garage. Sebastian had already made inroads into the second half of crate number one.

  “You really don’t have to do this, you know,” I said, shaking my head in bewilderment.

  “I want to,” he said simply.

  I decided I’d let him help for half an hour, then kick him out and send him back to his parents before I caused any more trouble for him.

  It was darned useful having him there—he heaved tables and chests and boxes full of who knows what, and before I knew it, two hours had flown by.

  “Oh crap! It’s nearly lunchtime.” I said, looking at my watch, horrified.

  “Did you have to be somewhere?” Sebastian asked, looking concerned.

  “No, no, I’m worried about you. Your parents … your studying.”

  He shrugged. “No sweat.”

  “Look, I’m not going to be responsible for you flunking out. I’ll fix you some lunch and then you must go study. Deal?”

  “Okay, deal!” he said happily.

  He followed me into the house and I showed him where he could wash his hands. I was stretching up to get some of the tall glasses when I heard him come into the kitchen.

  “I’ll get those for you,” he said.

  His sudden proximity behind me made me jump as if an electric shock had jolted through me. It was the strangest feeling; I suddenly felt almost nervous as he reached past my shoulder, lightly brushing against my back. I took a step away and turned to find him staring at me, a glass in each hand.