The night of the annual Pipers Neck Clambake, the Great Bay was more restless than usual. Wanda Ryan stopped and listened to the sound emanating from the shore where the uneasy bay set the boulders that filled the coast into roiling motion. As the water rushed over them and then retreated, their loud clacking warned the locals of the treacherous footing that lay beneath the warm summer waters. Tonight, the clamoring boulders refused to settle into the background, insisting on being noticed. Like the erosion of the water on the boulders, change, if it came at all, came slowly to Pipers Neck.
 
 Wanda stoked the smoldering stones of the clambake as she listened to the boulders. The clambake was not yet in full swing with a few early revelers gathered in small knots at the shore. The shrill sounds of the women's laughter pierced the cool night air and momentarily drowned out the clattering boulders. Wanda glanced up and absentmindedly stared out at the bay. A figure broke away from a small group of people and approached, someone she was glad to see.
 
 Her old schoolmate John moved into the warm glow of the fire. "A penny for your thoughts, Wanda."
 
 "I was thinking I've lived my whole life in Pipers Neck and I've never gone swimming here. When you, Joe and I were kids we always went up the coast to swim. Remember?" asked Wanda.
 
 "That was a real beach. Not like this mess of rocks. Listen to the racket they're making tonight. They're so smooth and slick you take your life in your hands climbing over them. Especially at our age." John smiled and the skin around his eyes crinkled pleasantly.
 
 "Lord, we're not that old yet, Johnny." Wanda smoothed her hair. "At least I'm not."
 
 "I'm forty-three in December. Same as Joe," said John.
 
 "That's not so old. Besides, just think how good forty-three will look when you're fifty." Wanda reached down and lifted the tarp covering the smoldering rocks, the base of the clambake. "Once in my life I should have tried to climb these damn boulders and swim in this neck of coast," she said. "Joe never wanted to when he was alive. I wish we'd done it then."
 
 "My mama always said you don't have to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge to know it's going to kill you," said John.
 
 "How'd your mama know anything about the Brooklyn Bridge?"
 
 "Beats me. She never set foot outside Pipers Neck. But she always used that expression. I'm rather fond of it myself." He looked out to the water. "I still miss, Joe."
 
 Wanda wiped her hands on her apron, tears stinging her eyes. "I think I'll take a walk. It's a beautiful night. Would you mind tending the fire for a while? The corn's about ready to go on. You know the drill better than I do." Wanda turned her apron over to John.
 
 "Don't get any fool ideas about going into that water. Even if you did get in, you'd never be able to clamber back out. Last summer they had to rescue a tourist who tried to swim here. His ankle got crushed between two boulders," John shouted as he warmed his hands over the heated tarp.
 
 Wanda walked slowly down the shoreline, away from the laughter and lights of the clambake. The farther away from the fire she walked, the brighter the stars overhead became and the more insistent the clacking boulders grew.
 
 When she couldn't see the glow of the fire or hear any more voices she stopped and climbed atop a large black boulder near the water. She sat there for a long while, listening to the rush of the water and the crashing rocks, remembering happier times with her Joe. Now she was the Widow Wanda. Could he really be dead five years?
 
 Suddenly, she felt the hair at the back of her neck bristle. Someone was behind her, watching.
 
 "John, if that's you, I'm ok. Didn't jump off any bridges," she said to the dark, holding her breath, hoping it was her friend behind her.
 
 There was no answer, only the rush of water over the boulders. Must be her imagination. Someone coughed.
 
 "Excuse me, but I don't think there are any bridges in this area." The voice had a nice timbre.
 
 "There aren't." Wanda strained to see into the darkness. "Who are you?" A shadow shifted slightly off to her right.
 
 "Michael. Mike Arnold. This seemed like a good place to be on such a beautiful night."
 
 "We're having a clambake over that way." She raised a firmly muscled arm and pointed down the beach. "I'm Wanda Ryan. I run the marina at the tip of the island. You passed it when you came in on the ferry."
 
 The boulders cracked in the surf. The cool glow of a firefly blinked now and again. Wanda tried to figure out where it would appear next.
 
 Mike cleared his throat. "You have this clambake every year don't you."
 
 "Same time, same place."
 
 "My Dad told me all about Pipers Neck. I've heard stories since I was a kid."
 
 "I don't recall any Arnolds living in Pipers Neck."
 
 "We didn't live here. My Dad had a thing for this place. He met a girl here when he was very young, but he couldn't persuade her to leave. He pined for her for ages."
 
 "That's a waste of time. Pining for her, I mean. He couldn't live around here. The people here don't approve of wasting time." Wanda tried to make out a face. "They aren't exactly the welcoming type." He was backlit by the pale moon and she couldn't see him clearly.
 
 "Dad was a romantic. He didn't understand why she wouldn't move to the city with him."
 
 "No one leaves Pipers Neck."
 
 "That's ridiculous."
 
 "It's true. Leaving would be strange for anyone from here. Leaving. That's too abrupt a change to tolerate. It wouldn't happen."
 
 "Are you telling me no one ever leaves Piper's Neck?"
 
 "No one ever wanted to. The only way people leave here is when they die. If you look in the cemetery you'll see only ten or twelve family names. Families have been here for generations. It's as pretty a place as exists anywhere, so why leave?"
 
 "Pretty isn't everything. Not being willing to leave, well, that's not normal."
 
 "What's normal?" He shifted and Wanda made out his looming outline in the half-dark. He was tall, broad-shouldered. He was a little thick around the middle, but not unpleasantly so, and his after-shave wafted to her on the sea breeze.
 
 Mike laughed. "How about going for a swim with me? It's a perfect night for it. The tide's out pretty far so we shouldn't have any trouble getting in over the rocks. What do you say?"
 
 Wanda eyed him cautiously. "No one swims here."
 
 "That's not true. I've done it many times. Granted, it's not easy, but good things are never easy. Once you get away from the shore it's fine. There's a sandbar out there where you can rest." He pointed into the distance.
 
 "I'm supposed to help out at the clambake."
 
 "Come on. I won't bite. Here, you can borrow this to swim in if you want." He peeled off his T-shirt exposing a muscled chest. "You can change over by that big rock. I'll be down at the shore." He walked away before Wanda could reply.
 
 Why not? Why shouldn't the Widow Wanda do something unpredictable once in her life? Wanda changed into the T-shirt and left her clothes in a heap by the boulder. She raced to the shore where Mike balanced precariously on one of the medium-sized boulders.
 
 "I thought you said you'd done this before." He teetered on the rock.
 
 "Ssshhh. You're disturbing my concentration. It's all in the balance. You have to get the feel of each rock before you commit to it. If it doesn't feel right you have two choices. Either stay where you're standing or leap forward hoping that the next one will be a little better." He lunged forward and perched atop a boulder that quickly settled under his feet.

"Great. This is really great." Wanda followed him.

They moved from boulder to boulder, he first, she next, at first timidly, then more boldly. In time, she took a path of her own. Sometimes he followed her lead. At last they were at the edge of the great line of rocks where the water dropped off to a deep undersea shelf. They paused. Then they dove together into the dark bay and began to swim.

Moonrise over Seacost at Pacific Grove,1886 Artist: Raymond D. Yelland  Courtesy: http://sunsite.dk/cgfa/

He was a strong swimmer, though not as strong as she. Wanda grew up on the water. Still, she sensed his potential and strength, his comfort in the water, as he pulled neatly through the bay alongside her. The moonlight glinted off his taut back and she marveled at how gracefully he moved. The clattering boulders faded in the distance.

Exhausted, they climbed out onto the sandbar. The clattering boulders were drowned out by waves crashing at the rear of the sand bar. Wanda sat down on the damp sand. "Tell me about your Mom. The one your Dad did marry." She hadn't looked into his eyes. She drew lines in the sand instead with a razor clam shell jettisoned by a sea gull.

Mike sat next to her. "There's really not too much to tell. Dad met Mom after he gave up on his gal from Pipers Neck. They got married and had me quick. Too quick. They split up shortly after I was born. Dad raised me and he brought me here every chance he could."

"He never got together with the girl he met here?"

"Never," said Mike. "She married and refused to see him."

"That doesn't surprise me. People don't like anything out of the ordinary in Pipers Neck. Not food or language or people. If someone is crazy enough to move into this town no one will even say hello to them until they've been here three years." She stretched out a long, tanned leg and hollowed out the wet sand.

"Three years? You're kidding?" asked Mike watching her.

"Yup. Three years. It's an unwritten rule. I should just ignore you till you go away."

"So how come you're talking to me?"

Wanda looked up at him. His eyes pierced hers leaving her feeling lost and found at the same time. Her heart raced; she looked away. Then his hand covered hers.

His skin was as salty as the lovemaking was sweet. When they were spent they lay entwined on the strip of sandbar and watched the approaching tide wash away their footprints. She clung to him for a moment longer. Off in the distance the boulders chattered.

"I'd better get back before they send out a search party." Wanda rose to go. She stood naked in the moonlight and looked down at him. He rose and stood next to her.

"I've been coming here every weekend since my Dad died last winter. I'm not sure why. I guess it's because no one else remembers what this place meant to him…and to me." His words trailed off into the roaring surf.

She reached up and hugged him close. "Every weekend? You'll be a native in no time."

"I don't think so." He wrapped his arms around her. "But I'm glad some of the natives are friendly." He grinned and held her gaze. "I hear the marina operator really knows her stuff and doesn't mind giving sailing lessons to city rubes like me."

"Could be." Wanda smiled broadly. "Come on, I'll race you back to the shore." She pressed her body into Mike's and slipped a smooth rock into his hand.

~

The clambake was in full swing when Wanda strolled into its warmth. She joined the singing and passed out cooked lobsters to the revelers.

"Boy, that was some long walk." John elbowed a place alongside her on the serving line.

"I needed a little time to myself."

The boulders clacked, but not as loudly as before.

"Good Lord, your hair is all wet!"

Wanda smiled up at John and placed a red-hot lobster on the next plate.