That got her attention. “What did you do?”
I hid my face with my hands, giggling. I still couldn’t believe it myself. But Melanie was my only friend; my only confidant. So I told her everything, every reckless detail of my night with Scott. Even the part about almost losing my virginity.
Technically, it wasn’t my first close call. I’d had a brief Juilliard boyfriend: Corey, a sensitive flutist with delicate hands. We dated for months without ever really kissing. Not on the lips, anyway. The signs were all there. I just didn’t see them, despite the fact we’d met in interpretive dance class. One tipsy night we ended up in bed, and Corey declared he was gay mid-attempt, crying and thanking me for the clarity.
Anyway. Back to Scott.
By the time I finished my Shaggin’ Wagon story, Melanie was staring down at me open-mouthed.
“Michelle Carver, you little tramp!”
“I know!” I laughed. “Can’t believe it myself. He was so fun. I needed to blow off some steam, and Scott had no problem helping me out with that.”
“Of course he didn’t. It’s like the classic Beauty and the Stray.”
“Like you and Gavin?”
“No, Michelle. Mine’s an actor. Yours is just passing through.”
My smile faded. I wasn’t sure if I should take offense. Scott might not be on Mother’s approved list of suitors, but he wasn’t a stray. Hearing Melanie reduce him to nothing stung more than I expected.
“He’s a talented singer.”
“In a metal band.”
“You don’t know him.”
Melanie blinked, processing the information passing back and forth between us. “Wait—you’re not into him, are you?”
“No,” I replied, less than convincing.
“Oh, no. No, Michelle. Don’t you dare! These guys, like Gavin and Scott? They’re fun, hot distractions. Good for a fling, not for a future. You cannot—I repeat, cannot—fall for him. You think the Juilliard thing was a disaster? Imagine Mother finding out you humped a surf bum metalhead in the cab of his two-tone Chevy. She’d resurrect the guillotine and sell tickets.”
As much asI didn’t want to hear it, Melanie was right. If I didn’t immediately cease and desist with Scott, this whole thing was going to blow up in my face. He was a fling, not my future. But I couldn’t get him out of my head. I’d gone to bed last night thinking about him and woken up this morning to more of the same. Maybe once I returned his vest, and the last connection to him was gone, I could put this unproductive chapter behind me. It wasn’t like he’d be hard to find. He worked at the beach a few miles away. One more face-to-face, and then I’d get myself back on course.
As it turned out, Scott didn’t teach surf lessons on Sundays. However, the front desk gave me the schedule of days he was on, and even offered me a discount if I bought a week’s worth of lessons. No lie, I contemplated it. Scott and me in the surf for a week? Oh, the fun to be had! But then I remembered: this was a ‘goodbye’ mission. Drop off the vest and be done.
Dejected, I walked back to my car, only to be hit by a cold ocean breeze. I shoved my hands into the front pockets of Scott’s vest for warmth. I felt something inside one of them and pulled out a folded piece of paper. It wasn’t mine to see, but I unfolded it anyway.
Chapel service, Sunday 11AM. Tranquil Tides Cemetery
10
SCOTT: THE OUTSIDERS
I almost didn’t come. Every bone in my body told me to stay away, to keep MGM far from the people who’d pushed me out of their lives because he’d come into it. But that was exactly why I showed up. Not to pay my respects—I’d barely interacted with my aunt—but to make damn sure they saw him. To show them what they’d lost: me, and the grandson they’d never know.
Heads turned when I walked in, confirming what I already knew: I wasn’t on the guest list for the mourning committee. Whispers followed. Only a couple of dozen people had shown up to pay their respects to Aunt Dawn, proof that she hadn’t exactly left a legacy. When I died, the pews would be packed, and my parents had better not be sitting in the front row.
I hitched Mitchell higher on my hip, and his tiny hand tugged at my collar. He didn’t know it, but he was the weapon I was carrying into this battlefield, the evidence I wasn’t some lost cause. I’d made something good. Something special.
My father saw me coming and immediately looked away, his posture locked tight, jaw clenched, eyes fixed forward like I wasn’t even there. My sister Erica, ten years older, sat beside her husband and two straight-backed daughters. She met my gazelong enough to offer a polite, brittle smile, similar to what you’d give a neighbor you barely knew. Yeah, right back at ya, sis.
I glanced around for Paul and wasn’t surprised to find he hadn’t made it. Despite being in his late twenties, my brother was one of those guys who’d never grown up. He lived his life without the slightest concern for those around him. And yet, in some twisted way, I admired him for that. He didn’t care what anyone thought. Didn’t waste time trying to measure up. Out of all of them, he was the only one I’d ever choose to keep around.
I hadn’t noticed my mother when I first walked in. She was standing by the casket, saying goodbye to her sister. When she turned, I saw how grief had softened the lines of her face. For a brief moment, I almost felt for her. But that flicker of sympathy vanished the second I remembered our last conversation.
Her eyes swept the room, and I saw the exact moment she spotted me. The surprise was brief, followed by that familiar tension, like she was calculating the damage my presence might cause. Then her gaze fell to Mitchell, and her composure slipped. Just for a second. Long enough for me to see it, and know better than to believe it.
