CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SUMMER, TWO YEARS AGO
If I felt like a third wheel all summer, my junior year was even worse. Peter and Cozy were attached at the lips, giving me no choice but to try things out with Tetherball Baker. I wasn’t sure I was even attracted to him. Especially when his middle school cologne–wearing levels paled in comparison to high school. I found myself in a coughing fit every time I was in his presence. And I mean, we didn’t exactly date, it was more of a forced proximity thing. Not just on my part, but his too. But we had a lot in common when it came to delighting in teasing Cozy and Peter about their PDA. He was good for me in the sense that I needed a distraction and a friend.
My parents passed down the family station wagon as a school commuting vehicle. That thing can pack peoplein, and we had fun taking big groups of kids out to various fast-food chains in town on our lunch breaks.
I lost a lot of my desire to sketch after last summer. Maybe it was that I lost my inspiration—spending my days sketching someone else’s boyfriend seemed a little desperate. Either way, not sketching during the school year was a choice I don’t regret.I tried a watercolor class instead and found a love of bringing charcoal drawings to life with the rainbow. My mom was thrilled to see me taking up her medium.
Cozy wasn’t all that sad to say goodbye to me this summer. She had Peter. I’m happy for her, but had she not been with him, this might have been the first summer I asked my parents to stay behind. Instead, I found myself working eight days straight on my first week back at the fly shop with Shep while Miles was in Montpelier working with Lexi on her family farm.
The first day I asked for a day off was today. It’s boating Tuesday, and I’m rummaging through my closet for a swimsuit.
“No, no, no,” I moan out loud, kicking over the laundry basket filled with wet swimsuits. They don’t make it any farther than a sopping heap on the floor. A tiny black bikini mocks me from the lone hanger.
I scan the room wondering if it would be possible to fashion a last-minute one-piece out of the quilt at the end of my bed. That’s how bad things are. When I have no other option, I rip the bikini from where it hangs and shimmy the black bottoms up my legs. The top gathers in a knot in the middle of my chest, my hair falling in waves to cover it. My dad would kill me if he knew I ever even bought something like this. So, to avoid dying today, I cover it up with a pair of denim shorts and a T-shirt, then leave my room without another thought.
“Yeah, I’ll have those plans drawn up for you by Thursday. Structurally, I don’t see why we can’t add that couple of feet to the entryway your wife was requesting.”
I listen to my dad conversing with someone over the phone from the stairs, the soles of his shoes clunking against the wood floor in a pacing pattern. I descend the bottom flight in a tiptoe, manifesting the belief that he’ll be absorbed enough in his client call that I can slip out the front door without a word.
“Hang on,” I hear him say into the speaker, and all hope slithers out that exit without me.
“Woah, woah, woah. Where are you going so fast?” he asks, tucking his hand over the phone receiver.
“It’s a Tuesday,” I say, as if that’s supposed to answer his question. His blank stare makes me realize that while I’ve had a routine here every summer, between keeping his business afloat and looking out for my mom, he lives his life day by day. He has ever since her cancer diagnosis. While she’s still in remission, he hasn’t left the life where she isn’t. Guilt consumes me, and I consider canceling.
“I should stay… help with something around the cabin.”
“Nah, you go. Have fun,” he says.
I nod, but as I turn from his bedroom door to continue down the stairs, he stops me.
“But those shorts stay on, you hear?”
My face heats. “Dad, are you… trying to have the sex talk with me right now?”
He coughs, growing flustered. “All I’m saying is boys have a one-track mind. I know. I’ve been one.” He smirks.
“Okay, I did not need to know that, but thank you. Shorts on. Got it,” I holler over my shoulder as I barrel down the rest of the steps.
There’s a towel draped over the barstool by the door and a bottle of sunscreen on the counter that have my mom written all over them. I grab them both, sliding on a pair of sandals and slipping out the front door.
When I cross the lawn, I see Reed sprawled out in his lawn chair on his second-story deck, scrolling his phone.
“Hey, stranger, what are you doing today?” I holler up to him.
He moves the device so it’s no longer blocking his view of my face.
“Waiting for you!” he calls. “Stay there!”
He descends the steps from the upper deck down to the grass. “My dad got tied up with a work call this morning, so we can’t leave on the boat for a while. Want to swim?”
I swallow, my promise to my dad disintegrating with my answer. “Sure.”
Reed grabs an American flag towel hanging from a drying line across a set of trees and leads me knee-deep through the water to get to his floating dock. We climb on top and lay our towels across the deck. He grips the back of his tank top and hauls it over his head, the muscles in his arms bunching with the tug.
The knot in my stomach grows, and I can’t stop staring. If Reed is the quarterback of the made-up Bear Lake football team, I’m the nobody who he’d never even recognize in the bleachers. Yet I’m very aware that we’re here. Alone together. There’s no one else around to diffuse the situation when I act awkward or make a complete fool of myself.
