Every Summer After(4)
Mom and Dad were already downstairs when I woke the next morning, momentarily confused by the bright sun coming through the windows and ripples of light moving across the ceiling. They sat, coffees at the ready, reading materials in hand—Dad in the armchair with an issue of The Economist, scratching his beard absentmindedly, and Mom on a stool at the kitchen counter, flipping through a thick design magazine, her oversized red-framed glasses balancing on the tip of her nose.
“Hear that thunder last night, kiddo?” Dad asked.
“Kinda hard to miss,” I said, grabbing a box of cereal from the still mostly empty cupboards. “I don’t think I got a lot of sleep.”
After breakfast, I filled a canvas tote with supplies—a novel, a couple of magazines, lip balm, and a tube of SPF 45—and headed down to the lake. Though it had poured the night before, the dock was already dry from the morning sun.
I placed my towel down and slathered sunscreen all over my face, then lay on my stomach, face propped on my hands. There wasn’t another dock for maybe another 150 meters on one side, but the one in the other direction was relatively close. There was a rowboat tied to it and a raft floating further out from shore. I pulled out my paperback and picked up from where I left off the night before.
I must have fallen asleep because I was suddenly jerked awake by a loud splash and the sound of boys yelling and laughing.
“I’ll get you!” one shouted.
“Like you could!” a deeper voice taunted.
Splash!
Two heads bobbed in the lake next to the neighbor’s raft. Still lying on my belly, I watched them climb onto the raft, taking turns launching themselves off in flips and dives and flops. It was early July, but they were both bronzed already. I guessed they were brothers and that the smaller, skinny one was probably close to my age. The older boy stood a head above him, shadows hinting at lean muscles running along his torso and arms. When he tossed the younger one over his shoulder into the water, I sat up laughing. They hadn’t noticed me until then, but now the older boy stood looking in my direction with a big smile across his face. The smaller one climbed up on the raft beside him.
“Hey!” the older boy shouted with a wave.
“Hi!” I yelled back.
“New neighbor?” he called over.
“Yeah,” I hollered.
The younger boy stood staring until the older one shoved his shoulder.
“Jesus, Sam. Say hi.”
Sam raised his hand and stared at me before the older boy pushed him back into the lake.
* * *
IT TOOK EIGHT hours for the Florek boys to find me. I was sitting on the deck with my book after washing the dinner dishes when I heard a knock at the back door. I strained my neck but couldn’t see who Mom was talking to, so I tucked my bookmark into the pages and pushed myself out of the folding chair.
“We saw a girl on your dock earlier today and wanted to come say hi.” The voice belonged to a teenage boy, deepish but young sounding. “My brother doesn’t have anyone his age nearby to play with.”
“Play? I’m not a baby,” a second boy replied, his words cracking in irritation.
Mom looked at me over her shoulder, eyes narrowed in question. “You’ve got visitors, Persephone,” she said, making it clear she wasn’t exactly pleased about that fact.
I stepped outside and closed the screen door behind me, looking up at the tawny-haired boys I’d seen swimming earlier in the day. They were clearly related—both lanky and tanned—but their differences were just as plain. Whereas the older boy was smiling wide, scrubbed clean and clearly knew his way around a bottle of styling gel, the younger one was staring at his feet, a wavy tangle of hair falling haphazardly over his eyes. He wore baggy cargo shorts and a faded Weezer T-shirt that was at least one size too big; the older boy was dressed in jeans, a fitted white crew neck and black Converse, the rubber toes perfectly white.
“Hi, Persephone, I’m Charlie,” the bigger one said, with deep dimples and celery-green eyes dancing across my face. Cute. Boy-band cute. “And this is my brother, Sam.” He put his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder. Sam gave me a reluctant half grin from under a swoosh of hair, then looked down again. I figured he was tall for his age, but all that length made him gangly, his arms and legs twiggy sticks, and his elbows and knees sharp as jagged rocks. His feet looked like tripping hazards.
“Uh . . . hey,” I started, looking between them. “I think I saw you guys down at the lake today.”
“Yup, that was us,” said Charlie while Sam kicked at pine needles. “We live next door.”
“Like, all the time?” I asked, giving oxygen to the first thought that came into my head.
“Year-round,” he confirmed.
“We’re from Toronto, so this,” I said, waving around at the surrounding bush, “is pretty new for me. You’re lucky to live here.”
Sam snorted at that, but Charlie went on, ignoring him.
“Well, Sam and I would be happy to show you around. Wouldn’t we, Sam?” he asked his brother, not pausing for the answer. “And you’re welcome to use our raft anytime. We don’t mind,” he said, still smiling. He spoke with the confidence of an adult.
“Cool. I definitely will, thanks.” I gave him a shy smile back.