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But it’s not just the sex. It’s Sinclair herself. There’s just something about her, about the way she only smiles when she thinks nobody’s looking, about the longing in her eyes when she watched those boys fly their kites. And the sheer joy in hers, when I bought her one. As if nobody’s ever done that for her before. As if no one’s ever treated her like the precious person she is.
It makes me furious to think about anything hurting her. Almost as angry as I am at myself, for doing whatever it was I did wrong today.
I let out a low growl of frustration. I’m surprised when someone calls my name.
“Ankor. Is that you, pacing around like a caged animal?” Mrs. Jenkins stands in the entryway, clearly just fresh off the beach, with her cover-up and sun hat on, a beach towel slung over one arm and a book in hand. “What on earth is the matter?”
“It’s nothing.” I spin in the opposite direction, ready to beeline back out of the lobby and up to my room, where I can resume my restless pacing in private.
But she stops me with a deep humph. “Well, good. If it’s nothing, then you can stop your moping and come help me to my room.”
“Aren’t you in the closest one?” I point out, one eyebrow arched.
She just narrows her eyes at me, a self-satisfied smile curled on her face. “I’m just feeling so tired after all that sun today.” She feigns a stagger, and with an internal groan of defeat, I jog across the lobby to catch her elbow. “Why, thank you. What a gentleman.” she teases and points the way in the opposite direction of my room, down a small hall off the lobby where they put the older, less mobile guests.
“You were out on the beach at this hour?” I ask her, squinting through the main doors. It’s past sunset now, and almost full dark outside. Only the faintest glow still lingers at the horizon, lightening the midnight sky to a lighter turquoise.
“Dozed off. Didn’t wake up until those teenagers over at the Marina started lighting those bonfires they’re so fond of.”
I laugh. The “teenagers” she’s referring to are the 40-something owners of the next resort over. Unlike our resort, which caters more to the retiree and quiet-loving types, the Marina specializes in nightlife above all else. The place itself is a dump, but they do throw a pretty entertaining beach rager. Not that I’ve ever been the type to drink heavily on a beach with a lot of young people and an enormous fire. Still, I can see why it appeals to some people in that crowd.
It’s definitely not Mrs. Jenkins’s thing, though. “What was their theme this time?” I ask.
“Same thing it always is,” she grumbles. “Loud and terrible music.”
I laugh again. We’ve reached her doorway now, and I pause at it. But she fishes her key out and doesn’t unhook her arm from mine. “Think you’ll be okay from here?” I ask.
“Why don’t you help me inside first,” she replies. “I need some tea. Falling asleep mid-afternoon like that… I’m too young for that!” she grumbles, and I chuckle.
“All right, I’ll make you a cup.” Inside her room, I get out the equipment. Pretty much all the resort rooms are the same, so it’s easy to figure out where everything is. I set about putting the kettle on, and she eases herself down onto the in-room sofa to watch me. She wasn’t kidding about being tired. I make a mental note to check up on her over the next couple days and pay more attention in swim class. I’d hate for her to have some kind of a medical problem on my watch.
“So,” she says, after a minute, once she seems to have caught her breath again after our walk here. “Who is she?”
I startle so badly I almost spill the hot water straight into the mugs I’ve set out. “Who’s who?” I ask, hoping that my voice, at least, remains steady when my hands could not.
“The girl.”
I don’t say anything else until I’ve set the kettle to heat. Only then do I turn to face her, and find Mrs. Jenkins watching me with a shrewd, narrowed gaze. “Who says there’s a girl?”
“Please.” She snorts. “You don’t get to be my age without learning how to recognize the symptoms of love sickness when they present themselves. You’re all moony over someone, I can tell you—and unless you’re more into men?” She pauses, eyebrows lifted, and I shake my head no, still smirking. “Well, then. There must be a girl.”
“I see.” I take a seat on the edge of her bed, across from the sofa. The rooms here are pretty spacious, but they’re all studio-style, with just one big room for everything. No fancy suites at this resort. Another reason I like it. It feels like everyone here is more equal. Not like some resorts where the ultrarich have a 20-bedroom suite to themselves, and the less fortunate are left to slum it in a single room that barely accommodates a double bed. “So what can you, in your infinite wisdom of age—”
