Every Summer After(76)

“Listen, I’ll email you later. I finally got my internet working this week.”

“You got your email working this week? Like, earlier this week?”

“A couple days ago, yeah.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t write because there really wasn’t much to say. But I will, okay?”

True to his word, Sam did email, dashing off quick, unsatisfying notes, promising fuller updates in the future. He even sent a couple of texts. I relayed everything to Delilah—who promised to keep an eye on him when she got there and report back on any “skanky-ass losers” she saw him with—and to Charlie, who listened but didn’t offer much feedback.

“You need to start swimming again,” Charlie said as we pulled up to the restaurant one drizzly evening after I told him about Sam’s latest message. He would be switching to a two-person dorm room so Jordie and he could bunk together in September. “Like you did with Sam,” Charlie continued without a look in my direction. “Get out of that head of yours. We’ll start tomorrow. If you’re not at the dock by eight, I’ll come drag you there.” He hopped out of the truck, not waiting for a response, and swung open the back door to the kitchen, while I watched him with my mouth open.

The next morning, he was waiting for me on the dock, in sweats and a T-shirt, a mug of coffee in hand. I’d rarely seen Charlie awake so early in the morning.

“I didn’t know your species could function before noon,” I said as I walked up to him, noticing the pillow creases on his face as I got closer.

“Only for you, Pers,” he said, and it sort of sounded like he meant it. I was about to say thank you—because as much as swimming was a thing Sam and I did together, it was also my thing, and I had missed it—but Charlie nodded his head to the water, his message obvious. Get in.

We met every morning. Charlie rarely joined me in the water, and sat watching at the edge of the dock, sipping from his steaming mug. I quickly learned that he was basically nonfunctional until he’d gotten halfway through his first cup of coffee, but once it was drained, his eyes would spark up, fresh as spring grass. On the hottest mornings, he’d dive in and swim laps beside me.

After a week of mornings at the water, Charlie decided that I was going to swim across the lake again before the end of summer. “You need a goal. And I want to see you do it up close,” he’d said when we were heading up to the house from the lake. I thought back to the summer Charlie suggested that I take up swimming and offered to help me train, and agreed without argument.

Sometimes we’d have coffee and breakfast with Sue after the swim. At first she seemed uncomfortable with our friendship, looking between us with a slight frown. I’d mentioned it to Charlie once, but he’d brushed me off. “She’s just worried you’re going to figure out who the better brother is,” he said, and I’d rolled my eyes. But I wondered.

One thing Charlie was right about: I did get out of my head when I swam, but the vacation only lasted as long as I was in the water, focusing on my breath, moving forward. And by mid-August, I had picked up what some may describe as crazy-girlfriend behavior, calling Sam from the cottage landline when I got home from shifts, no matter how late and despite my parents’ limiting long-distance calls to twice a week. I would have used my own cell if the reception at the lake hadn’t been so shoddy. I knew Sam was waking up extra early to squeeze in a run before he had to be in the lab at eight, but I also knew he would be at home alone, in bed, and couldn’t avoid me.

But the calls didn’t make me feel any better. Sam was often distracted, asking me to repeat questions, and offered so little information about the workshop, seemed to not even be enjoying it, that I became bitter not just about his keeping it a secret from me in the first place but that he’d even gone at all.

“You gave up our summer together for this. You could at least pretend to be getting something out of it,” I’d snapped at him one night when he was particularly monosyllabic.

“Percy,” he’d sighed. He sounded exhausted, worn down by me or the program or both.

“I’m not asking for much,” I told him. “Just a modicum of enthusiasm.”

“A modicum? Are you sleeping with your thesaurus again?” It was his attempt at lightening the mood, but it didn’t improve mine. And so I’d asked the question that had been gnawing at me from the moment he told me he’d be leaving for school early.

“Did you apply to this thing so you could get away from me?”

The other end of the line was silent, but I could hear my heart pumping in my ears, my temples throbbing with its angry supply of blood.

“Of course not,” he replied eventually, quietly. “Is that what you really think?”

“You barely say anything when we talk, and you seem to hate it there. Plus, the whole Surprise, I’m leaving in three weeks! thing doesn’t exactly instill confidence in our relationship.”

“When are you going to get over that?” He said it with a harshness I’d never heard from him before.

“Probably as long as you spent keeping it a secret from me,” I shot back.

I could hear Sam take a deep breath. “I didn’t come here to leave you,” he said, calmer now. “I came to start building something for myself. A future. I’m just adjusting. It’s all new.”