“Yeah. Don’t know if I can pick up much tan in two weeks, though. Got to go to Chicago October first.”
“Oh,” said Walter, nodding. “I saw you here, I did, every day now. I wondered about that.”
The boy sighed, lazing his head on crossed arms. “Nothing like the beach. What’s your name? Mine’s Bill.”
“I’m Walter. Hello, Bill.”
“Hi, Walt.”
A wave came in on the shore, softly, shining.
“You like the beach?” asked Walter.
“Sure, you shoulda seen me summer before last!”
“I bet you got all burnt up,” said Walter.
“Heck, I never burn. I just get blacker and blacker. I get black as a nig—” The white boy faltered, stopped. Color rose in his face, flushed. “I get plenty dark,” he ended lamely, not looking at Walter, embarrassed.
To show he didn’t mind, Walter laughed softly, almost sadly, shaking his head.
Bill looked at him, queerly. “What’s funny?”
“Nothing,” said Walter, looking at the white boy’s long pale arms and half-pale legs and stomach. “Nothing whatsoever.”
Bill stretched out like a white cat to take in the sun, to let it strike through to every relaxed bone. “Take off your shirt, Walt. Get yourself some sun.”
“No, I can’t do that,” said Walter.
“Why not?”
“I’d get sunburned,” said Walter.
“Ho!” cried the white boy. Then he rolled swiftly over to hush himself with one hand cupping his mouth. He lowered his eyes, raised them again. “Sorry. I thought you were joking.”
Walter bent his head, blinking his long beautiful lashes.
“That’s all right,” he said. “I know you thought that.”
Bill seemed to see Walt for the first time. Acutely self-conscious, Walter tucked his bare feet under his hams, because it had suddenly struck him how much like tan rain-rubbers they looked. Tan rain-rubbers worn against some storm that never seemed to quite come.
Bill was confused. “I never thought of that. I didn’t know.”
“Why, we sure do. All I got to do,” said Walter, “is peel off my shirt and boom I’m all blisters! Sure, we sunburn.”
“I’ll be darned.” Bill said, “I’ll be gosh-darned. I should know these things. I guess we never think much about things like that.”
Walter sifted sand in the palm of one hand. “No,” he said, slowly, “I don’t guess you do.” He rose. “Well, I better get on up to the hotel. Got to help my mom in the kitchen.”
“See you again, Walt.”
“Sure thing. Tomorrow and the next day.”
“Okay. So long.”
Walter waved and walked swiftly up the hill. At the top he squinted back. Bill still lay on the sand, waiting for something.
Walter bit his lips, shook his fingers at the ground.