The Lifeguards(75)

Charlie turned to me. I knew the walls of this bunker were made to withstand a nuclear explosion. Whitney would leave us down here, because she would always take care of herself. I had thought Whitney, Annette, and I had been as close as sisters, but every one of us had chosen fear over love.

Including me.

It was simple to paint Whitney as evil—and I understood Charlie’s view of her—but as a mother, I understood why Whitney had tried to fix things. It was what we did—it was how we bore the terror—we pretended we could keep our beloved ones safe. I was sorry that I hadn’t been a good enough friend to see how Whitney was struggling. I’d wanted to believe she was perfect. I’d wanted to think she was in control.

Because if Whitney couldn’t save me, no one could.

No one is coming to help you.

No one is coming.

It was up to me to save myself.

And so I did.





-11-


    Salvatore


SALVATORE PARKED IN FRONT of Liza Bailey’s home. He was feeling light, which was absolutely the wrong emotion for the situation. His weird good cheer made no sense.

It felt like hope.

Liza opened her door. There would be a time to tell her he had never forgotten her. That the memory of her filmy dress and the way she peeled her beer label off with her fingernails had stayed with him, the promise of possibility, of joy. But now was not the time.

Liza’s son, Charlie, sat on a worn-out couch, his face weary. Salvatore refused coffee, sat on a chair across from the boy. The living room was filled with sunlight. The other lifeguards, Robert and Xavier, flanked Charlie on the couch, their expressions alert.

“Charlie,” said Salvatore.

Charlie didn’t meet Salvatore’s gaze. He looked, instead, at Xavier, who nodded, giving him permission, it seemed.

“What happened on the night Lucy Masterson died?” said Salvatore.

Charlie turned to his mother. “Tell him the truth,” said Liza.

Charlie inhaled. His friends pressed their shoulders to his, shoring him up. These boys’ unity gave them a calm and powerful strength.

“I’m listening, son,” said Salvatore.

“I was at the 7-Eleven,” Charlie began.





-One Year Later-


    Liza


ON THE FIRST SATURDAY of summer, when my doorbell rings, I find both Xavier and Bobcat on the front step. “Boys!” I say, opening my arms. They both hug me perfunctorily and I inhale their wonderful, feral smell.

Bobcat is even taller than the last time I saw him, his muscles ridiculously defined. “Hi, sweetheart,” I say. “Are you back for the summer?”

“Just for the weekend,” he says. He adds, “My mom’s at her boyfriend’s trailer,” wincing theatrically.

“Don’t you like Hank?” I say, laughing. Bobcat shrugs but looks happy. Annette and I have had many conversations about should she, would she, and when, though she’s been sparing with the details now that she and her former boss have finally given in to the white-hot attraction they fought for so long.

All she’s said, texting late one night, is: WORTH. THE. WAIT.

“Um, is Charlie here?” says Xavier. He has cut his hair very short, exposing the ears Whitney always told me he was ashamed of. I guess she was wrong.

“We’re here for Charlie,” Xavier reminds me politely.

“Sorry,” I say. I call Charlie, and add, “Come on in, boys.”

They do not come inside. I can tell the boys are itching to go.

Salvatore’s house—now our house, too—is spacious and unfashionable. Our street is as lowbrow-sounding as it gets: Slaughter Lane. But we are happy in this big brick rancher, with a La-Z-Boy couch and an ugly kitchen big enough for recipe testing. Some of Salvatore’s friends made the basement into a teen paradise for Charlie and lugged our Big Green Egg smoker to Salvatore’s backyard. I bought a new king-sized mattress for our bedroom on layaway. Salvatore has nightmares and thrashes around, but when I hold him tight, he quiets.

As it turns out, our long-ago magic still casts a spell. We like to play old Damnations CDs and slow-dance in our backyard while my famous brisket cooks slowly on the BGE. When I press my ear to Salvatore’s chest and hear his heart, I feel forgiven.

Someday, I will tell him everything. Only my son knows me truly, and that is enough.

Charlie had said, “Choose me, Mom.”

I chose him. I chose myself.

And isn’t that the definition of self-defense?

“We’re headed to the greenbelt,” says Charlie, emerging from the basement in a bathing suit and soccer slides, a towel around his neck, pushing past me.

“Have fun,” I say.

He turns at the last minute. “Mom,” he says. “You want to come?”

“Yes!” cries Sal’s son, Joe. He wants more than anything to be accepted by Charlie and friends, to be a cool teenager.

“Please, Liza!” says Allie. “I’ll go put on my bathing suit! IT HAS A UNICORN!”

“Are you sure?” I ask my son.

Charlie doesn’t lie. When he nods, I run to grab my pool bag.



* * *



—

WE PARK AT XAVIER’S house and make our way to the secret entrance. The boys lead us carefully along the trail.