Everything We Didn't Say(15)
“Looks like we’ll catch some sun after all,” I say, bumping Ashley with my elbow as she pulls into the gravel parking lot on the north shore of Lake Munroe. There are other beaches, but this is where the boardwalk starts, where crowds of people stake rainbow-colored umbrellas into the sand and walk barefoot to buy hand-scooped ice cream cones and questionable corn dogs from Sweet Pete’s. The north shore is also where GL Gas has pumps on the water. I can’t help it—I love the way the boats coast toward the two long docks and guys come running out to catch the mooring lines. Sullivan is one of them, and he’s the reason Ashley and I are both here.
He likes me. I’ve known that for a long time now, but Ashley’s my best friend and I would never. Besides, it’s impossible to know if Sullivan’s thinly veiled attraction to me is sincere or if he’s playing some sort of game. His friendship with Jonathan is strange, to say the least, and I’ve never quite been able to determine if I’m a conquest because he’s genuinely interested or if it’s all a ruse to get under my brother’s skin. There are a dozen reasons why Sullivan isn’t right for me, not the least of which is that I suspect he’s a despicable human being.
Ashley, darling thing, is in lust. “He’s here,” she says, squinting toward the docks and shielding her eyes from the sudden blinding sparkle of sun on water. I follow her gaze and, sure enough, he’s standing with one hand on a rusted off-white gas pump that’s taller than he is. Sullivan is handsome, I’ll give him that, in a brooding, slightly reckless way. He’s older than us, two years free and clear of Jericho High, which makes him instantly more appealing than the toddlers we went to school with. Right now I’m trying to dismiss the broad sweep of his bare back, the way his skin is already summer dark and polished. The knowledge that up close, he smells like coconut and lime.
Ashley flashes me a Cheshire grin, all hope and longing, and everything that came before is forgotten. It’s a perfect June day and she’s gorgeous in her cutoffs and gingham top knotted at the waist, poised for a summer fling that may blossom into more. I wish I could say something, that I could warn her away or somehow gently let her know that it’s not going to happen. But Ashley is oblivious to the too-long stares, to the way Sullivan walks past me and brushes a fingertip along the underside of my bare arm. It rattles me every time, and he knows it.
But it’s too late to second-guess anything now. Ashley is already out of the car and unloading the backseat.
“Take this,” she says, thrusting a small cooler into my hands when I come around to help. I know it’ll be filled with sparkling water and some of Ashley’s favorite snacks: plain M&M’s and organic carrot sticks. As if they cancel each other out. “And this.” She piles a faded quilt and a battery-operated radio on top of my outstretched arms. I feel only momentary guilt at the fact that I have contributed exactly nothing to this outing. Ashley’s great at details. It’s why she’s so indispensable to her mom. To me.
It seems the entire county has come out to celebrate the first unofficial day of summer. The beach is dotted with blankets and towels, bucket sandcastles and questionably pink noses. I step around a mom who’s chasing a boy with a floppy hat he clearly doesn’t want to wear and drop to my knees in the sand. “The perfect spot,” I declare, and Ashley must agree because she starts to set up camp.
“Thank you,” Ashley says when we’re finally settled side by side on the quilt. I don’t know if she’s grateful for my help unloading the car or the fact that I rescued her from an afternoon of baby wrangling. It doesn’t matter. She exhales slowly, and out of the corner of my eye I can see her visibly relax, her chin going soft, her eyes drifting closed beneath her sunglasses. I’m hit with a wave of affection for her, a tenderness that chases memories all the way back to the swing set in fourth grade and the way we became inseparable over the course of a single morning recess. My best friend hasn’t changed much over the years. She’s still tall and skinny, though the lanky awkwardness of her middle school days has been replaced by a delicate grace. Ashley has rich auburn eyes and hair to match, cut so that it just grazes her shoulders and draws attention to the arching lines of her collarbones. I’m lucky to have her and I know it. I try not to think about how much I’m going to miss her.
“You’re staring,” Ashley says when I don’t respond to her quiet thanks. “Weirdo.”
“Your eyes are closed, how would you know?”
She smiles thinly, petal-pink lips pulled tight. “You didn’t deny it.”
“I’m going to miss you,” I say, surprising myself. “When—”
“Stop.” She bumps my hip with the back of her hand. “Seriously. This summer is going to last forever.”
I smile, not wanting to spoil her fantasy.
“Besides,” she adds. “You’ll be back.”
Again, I don’t know about that, but I don’t say anything.
Ashley finds our favorite station on the radio and we listen to Top 40 punctuated by the squeals of kids racing across the sand and the low rumble of boats on the water. The sun bakes our skin, flushing my freckles out of hiding, but I don’t mind. The morning feels far away. I can almost forget about Baxter, my suspicions. Jonathan.
When a shadow crosses over my face, I’m half asleep on my back, fingers buried up to the knuckles where I was running them through coarse sand.