Kirby loves the vibe. She thinks, I’m fine! I’m happy!

Luke gets them a table for four and Tommy sits next to Kirby and pulls his chair close to hers. Tommy is a male version of Patty. He’s a little overweight with a mop of dark hair and freckles. He’s not bad-looking or good-looking; he’s just a regular guy whose night has clearly been made by meeting Kirby.

“You’re a knockout,” he says. His mouth is right at Kirby’s ear, which Kirby thinks is a bit forward, although it’s difficult to hear with the music. There’s a four-person band playing songs by the Beatles, the Turtles, and the Cyrkle.

“Oh, thanks,” Kirby says. For no good reason, the compliment sends her into a downward spiral of Darren-thought. After Scottie Turbo, Kirby was sure she would never like anyone again, but she likes Darren and she thought Darren liked her. Until his disappearing act. Kirby has gone over every word of their last conversation hundreds of times, wondering what she misconstrued, and she can’t figure it out. Maybe she isn’t meant for someone as quality as Darren. Maybe her life will be populated by ho-hum fellows like Tommy O’Callahan.

Across the table, Patty and Luke are enclosed in their usual love bubble. Luke summons the waitress in her high white patent leather boots and orders something; Kirby can’t hear what it is, but she hopes it’s potent. Her only hope is to get drunk.

The band plays “Red Rubber Ball.”

“Wanna dance?” Tommy asks.

“Sure,” Kirby says, though she doesn’t at all. The song is neither fast nor slow, though Tommy, of course, chooses to dance slowly. He encircles Kirby with his beefy arms and pulls her close. She makes space between them the way her mother taught her to when she was eleven years old. She regrets agreeing to dance; she should have had a drink first.

“So,” Kirby says. She isn’t sure what to ask Tommy O’Callahan. She knows he’s Patty’s brother, two years older, seventh in line behind Joseph, Claire, Matthew, John, Kevin, and Sara and ahead of Rose and Patty. She knows he grew up in South Boston and attended UMass Boston before coming to the Vineyard to manage the Strand movie theater. She considers asking about his political views—what does he think about the war? How does he feel about Nixon?—because his answers will either rule him out as a boyfriend entirely or make her more kindly disposed toward him. But the setting is too convivial for such dreary questions and Kirby is in such a fragile state of mind that talking about the war might break her. “How did you meet Luke?”

“Dumb luck,” Tommy says. “I was on my way over on the ferry and Luke approached me and said he was looking for roommates. So me and my buddy Eugene took a look at the place, and I mean, there was no question. Fifteen bucks a week for that house? With a maid? It’s too good to be true. I pinch myself every day.”

Luke makes only thirty dollars a week in rent, Kirby thinks. She wonders if he gives the money to his parents or pockets it. It’s odd that Luke picked two strangers off the boat to be his roommates, isn’t it? Doesn’t he have friends? He’s wealthy, good-looking, a man of leisure. Something doesn’t add up.

“Is he a nice guy?” Kirby asks.

Tommy shrugs. “Sure.”

The song ends and Kirby couldn’t be happier. They head back to the table, where four enormous electric-blue cocktails are waiting. Kirby sits down and takes a healthy slug of hers. A platter of shrimp arrives and another of Swedish meatballs. Patty locks eyes with Kirby and cocks her head toward Tommy, unmistakably asking, Do you like him?

Kirby casts her eyes down at her cocktail. She would like to swim in it.

Three cocktails, four shrimp, and six meatballs later, Kirby is in a better frame of mind. The band plays “I Am the Walrus,” and Kirby gets up to dance without checking to see if Tommy is following her, though of course he is, and he gamely tries to imitate her moves, which include floating her arms over her head one at a time as if they were tentacles. She also spins and dips, covering large swaths of the dance floor, leaving the other dancers bemused and Tommy visibly frustrated. He eventually gives up and skulks off, and Kirby finishes the dance by herself up front. When she returns to the table, Tommy is gone and Patty looks miffed.

“He went for a walk on the beach,” Patty says. “He told me you were ignoring him.”

A fresh round of drinks arrives and all Kirby wants to do is sit down and enjoy hers. She watches Luke feed Patty a meatball off a toothpick and decides she can’t stay and watch that kind of grotesque display, so she goes outside to hunt down Tommy and apologize.

She finds him at the entrance to Katama Beach, lighting a cigarette.

“I’d love one, thanks,” Kirby says, as flirtatiously as possible.

Tommy adds a second cigarette to his mouth and lights both without comment. Kirby instantly likes him better.

“Want to walk?” she asks as he gives her the cigarette.

He nods and kicks off his loafers. Kirby puts a hand on his shoulder as she pries the straps of her sandals off her heels. Then they trudge through the cool sand to the beach. Kirby loves the beach at night, always has. On Nantucket, she would go to bonfires out in Madequecham, pulling on jeans and an Irish fisherman’s sweater over her bikini. She and her friends would drink beer, roast hot dogs on sticks, sing along as their friend Lincoln played corny old songs on his guitar (Michael, row the boat ashore…). They passed joints around, then bags of chips or paper sacks of snickerdoodles from Aime’s Bakery. Always, someone would strip down and dash for the water, and Kirby was never far behind. You’d think the water would be colder at night, but in fact, it felt warmer. It was also scary. She couldn’t see the size of the waves coming up, or her own legs, or what lurked beneath. There was a very real fear of sharks, who were rumored to feed at night. But this only heightened Kirby’s sense of exhilaration. There was nothing quite like floating on her back, gazing up at the stars and moon.

She misses those nights, so much so that she considers asking Tommy to swim. They’d have to go in their underwear, she supposes, or go nude. She dismisses the idea.

Instead, they walk—to the right, which is west. Tommy doesn’t speak or reach for Kirby’s hand and Kirby figures he’s probably sore, but she isn’t going to apologize for dancing. This isn’t a date, not really. They are only adjuncts to Patty and Luke’s growing passion. Kirby thinks briefly about sharing her concerns about Luke with Tommy but he’s Patty’s brother and the last thing he likely wants to discuss is his sister’s sex life.