The Education of Sebastian (2 page)

“Yes?”

Two men of about 20 were standing awkwardly a few feet away, and a third was leaning over me, dripping onto my beach towel.

“It’s Sebastian.”

“Who?”

His radiant smile faltered.

“Sebastian Hunter.”

My mind unraveled.
Little Sebastian Hunter – all grown up.

“Oh, my gosh, Sebastian! I… I didn’t recognize you. Wow!”

I rolled over and sat up, resisting the urge to yank up my bikini more firmly.

“I heard you’d come back. I was hoping I’d see you,” he said, smiling again.

The sweet, sad-eyed boy of eight had become a truly handsome young man. His light brown hair was long for the son of a naval officer, curling nearly to his chin, and bleached to a dark gold by the Californian sun. He was slim, muscled like an athlete, with broad shoulders and narrow hips.

A bright blue surfboard was tucked under one arm and he wore deep red swim shorts that were heavy with seawater, pulled down to show a sliver of paler skin at his waist, highlighting the tan on the rest of his body. The thought passed through my mind,
he must have his pick of girls at school
.

“Look at you, Sebastian. So grown up. It’s good to see you. How are you? How are your parents?”

His smile faltered.

“Oh, they’re fine.”

I didn’t know what to say; it was so strange to see him again after all these years. With a stretch of the imagination, I could just see the child I had known in the young man before me.

“Well… that’s great. I’m sure I’ll see you around the Base. Er… do you guys need a ride back?”

I looked uncertainly towards his friends, unsure how I’d manage to load three full sized surfboards on top of my old Ford.

“No, we’re good thanks. Ches has got a van.” He nodded towards one of the boys. “And we’re going to catch some more waves. When I saw you, I just wanted to… come say hi.”

“Okay, well, good seeing you, Sebastian.”

He smiled again, hovering tentatively. “I’ll see you again, Mrs. Wilson?”

His voice held a question.

“Yes, I expect so. Ciao, Sebastian.”

He beamed. “Ciao, Mrs. Wilson.”

I watched him walk away, drops of seawater dewing on his muscled back. Good Heavens! Little Sebastian Hunter – and not so little. How old was he? Seventeen? Eighteen? Certainly not twenty. I frowned, trying to do the math. He’d really grown into a fine young man. Amazing, considering his wretched parents.

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 towards 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 towards 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 anatomization 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 make-up 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 barbeque 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 towards 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 turnedaroundto 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 Associates 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 embarrassed 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 all 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 towards 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 himaroundto 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.