Every Summer After(50)

I fought the stinging in my eyes. I was ready. I wanted everything now. At sixteen, Sam was it for me. I knew it then, and I think I knew it that night three years ago when Sam and I sat on my bedroom floor eating Oreos and he asked me to make him a bracelet. I moved my eyes to his wrist.

He pulled my hair back from the side of my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “Can you look at me, please?”

I shook my head.

“Percy,” he pleaded while I wiped a tear with my sleeve. “I don’t want to put pressure on you and me that we can’t handle. We’ve both got big plans—eleventh and twelfth grade will decide what schools we can get into and whether I can get a scholarship.” I knew how important grades were to Sam, how expensive his schooling would be, and how he was counting on an academic prize to help with tuition.

“So we just go back to being friends like nothing happened, and then what? We find other boyfriends and girlfriends?” I glanced at him. I could see the agony and worry on his face, but I was angry and embarrassed, even though, somewhere deep, I knew what he was saying made sense. I didn’t want to screw things up, either. I just figured we could handle it. Sam was the most mature boy I knew. He was perfect.

“I’m not looking for another girlfriend,” he said, which made me feel a teeny-tiny bit better. “But I realize I’d be a huge jerk if I told you I don’t think we should be together right now and then asked you not to see anyone.”

“You’re a huge jerk either way,” I said. I meant it as a joke, but it tasted like burned coffee on my tongue.

“Do you really mean that?”

I shook my head, attempting a smile. “I think you’re pretty great,” I said, my voice breaking. Sam’s arm encircled my shoulders, and he squeezed tight. He smelled like fabric softener and damp soil and rain.

“Swear on it?” he said, his words muffled by hair. I felt for his bracelet blindly and tugged.

“I think you’re pretty great, too,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much.”





11



Now

Sam and I are lying on the raft, eyes shut to the sun. I’m drifting in a haze—of his hands on my hips and his fingers on my calf and You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known—when a shout comes from the shore.

“This is a sight for sore eyes.” I sit up, shielding my face. Charlie is standing on the hill. I can see his dimples from the water, and I can’t help but grin back. I wave. “You kids hungry?” he calls down. “I was thinking of turning on the barbecue.” I look at Sam, who’s now sitting up beside me.

“I don’t need to stay,” I offer. Sam scans my face briefly.

“Don’t be weird,” he says. “Food sounds great,” he yells back to Charlie. “We’ll be up in a sec.”

Charlie is on the front deck lighting the barbecue when we join him. I’m wearing a towel wrapped around my shoulders and Sam is rubbing his hair dry. I sneak a peek at the muscles that run up the side of his torso before Charlie turns to face us. When he does, his eyes light up like fireflies. His hair is cropped so close to his head it’s only a little longer than a buzz cut. His square jaw looks like it’s made from steel. It’s in direct contrast to the sweetness of his dimples and his pretty plush lips. He’s barefoot and wearing a pair of olive-colored shorts and a white linen shirt, the sleeves rolled up and the top three buttons undone. He’s not as tall as Sam, and he’s built like a firefighter, not a banker. He’s still movie-star good-looking.

Those Summer Boys did an exceptional job of growing up. Delilah Mason’s squeal rings in my ears, and her absence gnaws at my gut.

Charlie glances at Sam before embracing me tightly, apparently not worried about my wet bathing suit. “Persephone Fraser,” he says when he pulls away, shaking his head. “It’s about fucking time.”

Charlie makes sausages he grabbed from the Tavern with grilled peppers, sauerkraut, and mustard, and a Greek-style salad that looks like it could be photographed for a food magazine. There’s something different about Charlie. He’s paying closer attention to Sam than he ever did when we were kids. Every so often, he sneaks a long look at Sam as if he’s checking on him, and he’s been ping-ponging between us like we’re some kind of riddle he’s trying to unravel. His eyes still dance like spring leaves in the sunlight, and he wears his smile easily, but he’s lost the lightness he had when we were younger. He seems sad and maybe a bit on edge, which I guess makes sense given the circumstances.

“So, Charlie,” I say with a grin as we eat, “I’ve met Taylor already. Tell me about the woman you’re seeing this month.” It sounded funny enough in my head, but Charlie is giving Sam a tense glare. I see Sam shake his head ever so slightly, and Charlie’s jaw flexes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Charlie mumbles.

They eye each other silently, then Charlie turns to me. “No girlfriend right now, Pers. You interested?” He winks, but his voice is flat. My face flushes hot.

“Sure. Just let me drink about fifty more of these,” I say, picking up my empty beer bottle. Charlie’s face splits into a smile, a real one.

“You haven’t changed a bit, you know that? It’s kind of freaking me out.”