The Last Time I Lied(58)

The radio, like the rest of the truck, had seen better days. The little music that did fizz from the speakers sounded tinny and pockmarked with static. Not that it mattered. The only radio station Vivian and I could find played nothing but country music, the steel guitar and fiddle twang accompanying our journey out of Camp Nightingale.

“So why are we doing this again?” Theo asked as the truck passed under the camp’s entrance arch.

“Because I’m in need of some hygiene products,” Vivian said. “Personal, lady ones.”

“That’s more than I need to know.” Theo shook his head, amused in spite of himself. “What about you, Em?”

“I’m just along for the ride.”

And I was. Quite unexpectedly. I had been waiting for the others outside the mess hall, the pollen from Vivian’s forget-me-nots still dusting my fingertips, when Natalie and Allison arrived.

“Vivian needs you,” Allison said.

“Why?”

“She didn’t say.”

“Where is she?”

Natalie jerked her head toward the arts and crafts building on her way inside. “Over there.”

That’s where I found Vivian, Theo, and the mint-green pickup. Vivian was already inside, drumming her fingers against the sill of the open window. Theo leaned against the driver’s-side door, his arms crossed.

“Hey there, latecomer,” he said. “Hop in.”

I squeezed between the two of them, their bodies warm against me as the truck bucked along the pothole-riddled road. Theo’s legs continually bumped mine, as did his arm whenever he turned the steering wheel. Downy hairs from his forearm tickled my skin. The sensation made my stomach flutter and heart ache, as if they were being filled beyond capacity, becoming too large for my scrawny frame.

It stayed that way the entire drive into town, which had no discernible name but could have been any small town anywhere in the country. There was a main drag; quaint storefronts; red, white, and blue bunting on porches. We passed a town green with its generic war memorial and a sign promising a parade the next morning and fireworks at night.

Theo parked the truck, and Vivian and I quickly hopped out, stretching our legs, pretending the journey was uncomfortable, a burden. Better that than to have let Theo think I enjoyed his accidental touches.

Properly stretched, Vivian started to cross the street, heading toward an old-timey drugstore on the corner. “I’ll see you losers in an hour,” she said.

“An hour?” Theo said.

Vivian kept walking. “I plan to enjoy my freedom by going shopping. Maybe I’ll buy myself something pretty. You and Emma go get lunch or something.”

She strode into the pharmacy without another word. Through the window, I watched her pause at a rack of cheap sunglasses by the door and try on a pair shaped like hearts.

“Well, I guess it’s just us,” Theo said, turning my way. “You hungry?”

We walked to a diner that was as sleek and shiny as a bullet and settled into a booth by the window. Theo ordered a cheeseburger, fries, and a vanilla milk shake. I did the same, minus the milk shake, which Vivian never would have approved of in a million years. While we waited for the food, I stared out the window and watched cars lazily cruise up and down the street, their lowered windows revealing kids, dogs, harried mothers behind the wheel.

Even though he was across the table from me, I didn’t want to look at Theo too much. Each time I did glance his way, I pictured him in the latrine shower, glistening and beautiful and oblivious to my prying gaze. The image brought a shameful warmth to my face, my stomach, between my legs. I wondered if Vivian knew that was going to happen when she urged me to peek between those ill-spaced cedar planks. I hoped not. Otherwise, it just seemed cruel.

And Vivian wasn’t cruel, despite sometimes appearing that way. She was my friend. My summer-camp big sister. As I sat there with Theo, listening to oldies drift from a corner jukebox, I understood that the whole trip was Vivian’s ruse to let me spend time alone with him. Another apology. One better than flowers.

“How are you liking Camp Nightingale?” Theo asked once the food had arrived.

“I love it,” I said, taking a rabbitlike nibble on a french fry.

“My mother will be pleased to hear that.”

“Do you like it there?”

Theo took a bite of burger, leaving a smudge of ketchup on the corner of his mouth. I resisted the urge to swipe it off with a flick of my finger. “I love it, too. Unfortunately, this looks like it’ll be my last summer before internships take over my life. College certainly keeps you busy. Especially when you’re premed.”

“You’re going to be a doctor?”

“That’s the plan. A pediatrician.”

“That’s so noble,” I said. “I think it’s great you want to help people.”

“And what do you want to be?”

“I think I want to be a painter.”

I don’t know why I said it. I certainly had no artistic ambitions I didn’t quite know what to do with. It just sounded like the kind of profession Theo would want a woman to have. It was adult and sophisticated. Like something from a movie.

“Emma Davis, famous painter. That has a nice ring to it.” Theo gave me a smile that made my legs quiver. “Maybe I’ll come to one of your gallery openings.”