3
His eyes turned to slits against the western sun； it was the last ferry of the day； and he couldn't find her or her parents among those on the deck。
Perhaps she wouldn't be ing until after the holiday … it had happened before； but several years back。 He didn't want to believe it because he never liked to consider the options that people had。 His own life felt without option。
He had created within himself the person who could most handle his life。 He had worked his body； developed the grace of an athlete； he had tried to keep his face pleasant … and when the anxieties of his family or of studies became unbearable； he would go to the mirror and practice relaxing his facial features until he was sure he looked pleasant again。 He did not want to seem anxious； even if he was。 He wanted to give nothing away to those around him。
He ran down to the docks to see if she might be somewhere else on the ferry … perhaps she was sick and wanted to stay below。 Perhaps she was taking a nap in the back seat of her family's Range Rover。 Perhaps perhaps； he repeated to himself as he sloughed off inertia； and jogged down to the paved road near the marina。
The summer people were like ticks … they attached themselves to every aspect of the Haven； they drank all the beer； they ate the best the local cooks had to offer； they had all the accidents … more people would die from boating or swimming mishaps in three months than would die in six years in the other seasons of the island。
They were careless； they were bloodsucking； they were here to forget the venal world from which they came。
They； he thought。
They。
They poured from the ferry； bicyclists； clownish men and women in golfing outfits； or overly gilded women with poodles and wolfhounds and Shih Tzus； followed by weary overworked doctor…husbands； the college crowd； too； had begun filling up the local bars and the beach； and all these he hated with a passion。 He had spent his life watching them e and be carefree in the summer。 He had watched them spend more money some nights than his father could make in a month。
Dagon； he prayed； Dagon； hear me。 Cast them down。 Raise me up。
He ached for what they had。 The lives they had。 The freedom from this island。 From the world he had mastered。
He read books on Manhattan； he learned about Jenna's family； how her great…great…grandfather had worked on railroads and then had gone on to own them； and how her great…grandfather had lost that fortune； how her grandfather had gotten into radio and television and magazines； owning several； selling them； building up a small but substantial media empire； how her mother had continued that work； married a great media magnate； divorced； married again； had Jenna and remained with Mr。 M although the marriage ran hot and cold。
The story of Jenna's family was the story of all the summer people； and though they lived simply on the island for the three months； though they rode cheap bikes around the Great Salt Pond； though they dressed casually even for the one restaurant in Old Town Harbor （the Salty Dog）； they were all overmoneyed as his father often said。
His father spoke of money as evil； his mother spoke of it like a lost child。
Owen felt it was something like fire … to be feared and mastered。 It was what other people were given。
It's what he would be granted。
And these people tromping off the ferry had it。 They lived it。 They did not dream of getting off this island。 They dreamed of things beyond what Owen could imagine。
4
She never arrived； and he walked the long narrow wooden staircase from the beach up to the bluffs； and then he ran along the fringe of pines to the dirt path that went further up the rolling cliffs； and he didn't look back down to the water until he was at their property。
At the house； he went and sat in one of the wrought…iron lawn chairs and leaned back to gaze up at the sky。
〃Owen？〃
He sat up； looking around。 He rose from the chair； practically knocking it over； and there she was … at the third story attic window。
No； it was Mrs。 M。 Her auburn hair was swept back from her face； damp from the swimming pool； her robe fastened none too tight。 She possessed the air of having enjoyed life too much that day。 〃Owen？ It's good to see you。〃
〃Yeah； Mrs。 M； me too。 I didn't think you had got here just yet。〃
〃Oh； my husband still hasn't left his desk yet。 I've been here since Wednesday。
Good to be back。 I despise the city。〃
〃Survive winter okay？〃
〃Superbly；〃 she said； but in a way that meant its opposite。 Mrs。 M was a woman full of irony； he had known it for years。 Mrs。 M embodied the house：
beautiful； classic； and rich。 〃Do you want coffee？〃 she asked。
5
〃I saw you waiting for her；〃 Mrs。 M said。 They were in the sunroom off the kitchen； and Owen had just finished his first cup of cinnamon coffee。 He got up to pour himself another； but Mrs。 M interceded； she had a fresh cup； with cream； all ready for him。 He sat down at the table again。 She took the chair across from him。 He saw her knee emerge from her robe。 The hint of her champagne glass breasts； small but perfect。 Mrs。 M was in many ways more beautiful than her daughter； but still； his heart belonged to Jenna。
He did what he could to look at her face； but something in her eyes bothered him。 He looked； instead； at her silken arms。
〃You're in love with my daughter。 No； that's fine。 I've known it since you were both young。 Do you think it will lead anywhere？〃
〃Lead？〃 He said the word innocently； but she must've seen through this。
〃I don't know。〃
〃Yes； you do。 You're smart。 I've watched you grow up。 You're smart and handsome and wise。 But； do you think that she will have you？〃
〃I haven't。。。I haven't considered。。。〃 he stammered。
〃You're a remarkable young man；〃 Mrs。 M said。 〃She doesn't deserve you。〃 Then； she put down her own untouched coffee； and stood up from the table。 〃She gets in tonight。 After midnight。〃
〃How？ The ferry …〃
〃She has her ways；〃 Mrs。 M said。 She brushed something from the edge of her eye； and bed her hands through her hair like a mermaid would。
〃Fancy a swim？〃
〃Not today；〃 he said。
〃e on； just a nice long swim。 Have you been practicing all winter？〃
He nodded。
〃I thought so。 You ripple now。 You don't move； you ripple。 You're in better shape than he is；〃 Mrs。 M said； and then went to get her bathing suit。
6
e midnight； he saw the shroud of some sailboat press beneath the lights of the harbor。 He sat up on the bluffs and watched as she docked； as the sail came down。 No one stepped off the boat at the jetty。 Was it her？ Was this what Mrs。 M had meant？
He fell asleep in the cool wet grass and awoke at dawn。
And he knew。
Jenna Montgomery had found another。
7
〃Jimmy；〃 the guy said； his face gleaming； tanned； teeth so much thoroughbred he could've been in Pimlico； his eyes squinty； his nose small； his hair honey…blond from too much sun； and his handshake strong and sure and arrogant。 He looked rich without ever having to say it。 He smelled rich。 He probably tasted rich。 〃Good to meet you； Crites。〃
〃Owen。〃
〃You're not an Owen or a Crites；〃 Jimmy said。 〃You're a Mooncalf。〃
〃Mooncalf？〃 Jenna laughed； looking at Owen and then back at Jimmy。
〃That sounds ghastly。〃 She wore a bikini； but had a long towel draped about her waist that ran all the way to her ankles。 Her hair was wet and shining from a morning swim。 For a moment； Owen imagined how it would feel to untie the bikini top and press his face against her breasts。 For a moment； the image was in his mind； then； gone。
All Owen could think was： they'd slept together on the boat。 Jenna and this Jimmy character。 Jimmy had done it with Jenna。
Done it。
A sacred act if it was love。
A debased ritual； if it was lust and emptiness。
Which it had to be。
He tried not to imagine Jimmy drawing her legs apart； or the scent of passion that clung to them； the sweat and fever； as they joined together。
Tried not to imagine the thrusts。
〃Mooncalf reminds me of upstate New York； or Pennsylvania；〃 Jenna said with no little disgust。 〃Cows and chickens。 Amish in carriages。 Birthings and midwives。 Owen can't be a Mooncalf。〃
Jim snorted。 〃No；