NOTCH

     The next day she drove to the neighboring town of Figueras with Jean-Michel as planned, but in the evening she went over to Alana’s. There was supposed to be a big dinner, and she knew Terry would be there. She took the lane past the twins’ house—her favorite in town—walking with her head back, studying the narrow strip of sky above her, fringed with the red scallops of roof tiles. When she climbed the damp, musty-smelling stairs, she heard raucous laughter. The guests were already seated around the table—there were new faces—and she was introduced to two young Dutchmen from the little country club. In the corner sat Eben, his head bowed, his hair falling over most of his face. And, she noticed with a start, it was shiny as though newly washed and smooth as though combed. She felt a curious pang—had he done this for her?

     “Eben,” she called out over the hubbub, “When did you get back?”

     “A few days ago.”

     It came out in the conversation that he’d be leaving again in the morning. Impulsively, she said, “I want to sketch tomorrow—maybe I could go with you?”

     He gave a slight, acquiescent nod, his lips pursed tensely together. They didn’t speak again.

     Terry arrived next with his guitar. He met her eyes, almost shyly at first, then dragged a chair up to the table, displacing the Dutchman who sat alongside of her. After dinner, they sang, and he unabashedly directed all the love lyrics to her.

     The following morning, she went over to the twins’. When she called out, no one answered. She climbed to the second story, which was the kitchen, and on the table found a note, addressed to no one: “Decided to set out early—Eben.”

     So instead she searched for Terry along the main street, stopping at each of the outdoor cafe-bars along the oceanfront and surveying the clientele. She finally found him on the beach, singing to a handful of children. They spent the day together except for his windsurfing lesson. At his apartment that evening, while he showered, she ground the spices he had bought in a wooden bowl with the back of a spoon—his idea, and a little premature since he wasn’t going to cook until the following night, but she wanted to oblige him. He came out of the bathroom in a striped caftan that stuck out at his groin, and when he embraced her, she felt his erect penis stab her belly.

     Not then, but later that evening they made love. She felt ardent until the moment of penetration; then she fell back bewildered and emotionally disengaged, simply surrendering. He’d left his bedroom door ajar, and as she lay on her side, propped up on one elbow afterwards, the blanket pulled off her, his roommate pushed the door open. She turned her face abruptly away, and he closed the door with an embarrassed exclamation. With evident glee, Terry admitted then that he’d left the door ajar on purpose, wanting his roommate to know he’d scored—and unabashedly recounted how he’d abstained from sex for two whole weeks, having decided that, instead of sleeping around on his vacation, he would find one woman to woo.

     All in a moment Seely felt stung and angry—was she just another notch in his belt then? She felt humiliated too, imagining it would be all over the town the next day; she didn’t want to be seen as promiscuous, but even more than that she didn’t want Eben to know. Hoping to avoid seeing the roommate again, she left before dawn.