The Summer That Melted Everything(69)

We still had our cannas, but only because Mom insisted we still water them, which we did so by driving to the river and bucketing it up, though the river too was getting low.

There by the rose garden was a sweeping inground pool with a diving board. Sal was looking down into its clear, clean water as he asked if he could go into the house. He had to use the bathroom, he said.

Dresden looked at the back door and frowned. “Mother doesn’t like … strangers in the house.”

“Is she home now?” I asked.

“No, she’ll be gone for the day, but still—”

“Please.” Sal stepped closer to her.

“All right. It’s, um, just through the back door there and … Well, here, I’ll just show you.”

With them in the house, I went over to the edge of the pool, where I dipped my toe in. The pool had been filled in late spring, before the water regulations would’ve made such a thing impossible.

“You can get in if you want.”

Dresden was back and looking at my bare chest. I couldn’t tell if she approved or not. It’s hard to be shirtless in front of a girl who may wish you weren’t.

The summer had tanned her usually pale skin and given her freckles their own sort of triumph.

“You can swim, can’t you?” She laid her pen and book down on top of the patio table. “Mother will be upset if you drown in her pool.”

“I can swim.” I headed toward the diving board but stopped when she asked if Sal was a nice boy.

“Whatcha mean?”

“I mean is he nice?”

“I’m nice.”

Her sweat wet the edges of the construction paper. Even the heat was trying to undress the clown. She certainly didn’t look like Dresden, the girl who in her simple beauty could make two boys give her the wind.

I brushed by her, feeling her on the back of my hand. Sometimes the briefest touch is the one that lasts the longest.

“Wanna swim with me, Dresden?”

“I think I might drown with you.” She said it softly, the way someone may speak of floating instead of sinking.

“I wouldn’t let you drown.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to help it, Fielding.”

I told myself she was wrong. That there was no reason for that sadness in her voice, because no one would ever drown with me. I would be enough to save them all, I said to myself, feeling confident in that great, big lie.

“And what if you swim with Sal?” I asked. “Would ya drown with him too?”

“Girls don’t drown with boys like Sal. They live eternity with them.”

I walked by her, didn’t brush her again, though. I returned to the diving board, not realizing I had said her name until she said mine.

“Yes, Fielding?”

The splashes of my cannonball reached her, but she didn’t shriek like other girls would’ve. She just stood there, a wetter girl than the one before.

I followed the cannonball with a few laps. By that time, Sal had come back, apologizing for taking so long. I climbed out of the pool, my jeans shorts hanging low from the water, the denim’s heavy fray splotched and matted against my legs.

“Why don’t you take your sweater off, Dresden?” Sal looked at the sweater as if he hated it.

“I’m not that hot.”

I could’ve laughed at her, at her sweaty forehead and hair plastered to the nape of her neck like an attack.

“You’re burning up.” Sal spoke like the soft spot of a hard truth. “And all because you’re trying to cover the bruises she gave you.”

“How do you know about the bruises?” She asked in a whisper.

Sal bit his lip with the fear all boys have of the girl they love. “I read your diary. One of them anyways. I didn’t have to use the bathroom. I found your room. I went to the shelf and picked a book at random. Ham on Rye by Charles Bukowski. A lot of beatings for you to circle in that.”

“God, don’t you know anything about girls? You should never read what is still their secret. You … you…” She attacked him with slaps. I tried to break it up but got slapped myself, the happening like getting blood drawn by a thorn.

“I want you to leave this instant. Both of you.” She stomped her good foot the way all girls are prone to do at least once in their lives.

He reached for her, but she backed away from him.

“Get away from me.” She took a deep breath as if building the courage to say, “I hate you.”

Hate, that all-too-willing pallbearer of love, that all-too-eager shovel piling the dirt over the lover’s head until the funeral is over only a second after it’s started. The boy can go nowhere near happiness when the girl he loves is not willing to go there with him. He may grow up, borrow a tuxedo, a sunrise, a tropical honeymoon, but they’ll never be his without her. She was his truth, his wisdom, and he was stupid without her. Just an idiot with a dumb life.

He stood there teetering, knowing full well that without her, it would be the cliff all the time. He tried once more to reach for her.

“I’m sorry, Dresden Delmar.”

“I don’t care if you are sorry. I want you to leave, and I never want to see you again.”

“All right,” he whispered.

I don’t even think he realized he was walking until we were almost around the corner of the house. It was her shouting for us to stop that made him jump as if being sparked back to life.