The Rest of the Story(31)

Eight


“Moment of truth,” Bailey said, tying the boat up tight. “Who are you tonight: Emma or Saylor?”

Emma was the logical choice, of course. It was the name I knew, the one I’d always answered to as long as my mom wasn’t the one calling. And she’d been gone five years now, almost six. Maybe I could just say she took Saylor with her. At the same time, though, she had picked that name based on the summer here when she’d met my dad. So if I was going to go by it, this was the time and place. Emma was the rich cousin from Lakeview who organized things and worried. Saylor, well, she could be anyone.

Even and especially this girl I was tonight, arriving at a pavilion adjacent to a yacht club in a new-to-me outfit and more makeup than I’d worn, well, ever. That was Trinity’s doing.

“I’m huge and can’t wear anything,” she’d said as she dragged me onto the back porch that was her and Bailey’s bedroom. “Just indulge me.”

What this meant, I discovered, was standing there in my normal, chosen outfit of cutoff shorts and a JACKSON TIGERS T-shirt while she assembled other options on the unmade bed. Apparently, she had quite the wardrobe, pre-pregnancy, as well as a signature look: just about everything she owned was short, had cutouts, or both.

“This is really not my style,” I told her, after she’d badgered me into a silky blouse, run through with gold thread, over a tight black skirt. “I don’t think I can even sit in this.”

“Who has to sit?” she asked, stepping back to look at me. “You’re going out, not to church.”

Bailey, across the room brushing her hair, snorted. Sure, it was funny to her. She was wearing jeans and a tank top, of her own choosing.

“I’m not wearing this,” I said, tugging off the skirt. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”

“Fine.” She pushed a minidress at me in its place. “Try this one.”

It had a deep scoop neck, plus sleeves that billowed open to reveal my wrists and upper arms. “No,” I said flatly.

“Why? It’s perfect!”

“If I was giving blood,” I said.

This time, Bailey laughed out loud. “You’re funny,” she said. “Do people tell you that?”

“More often I’m told my humor isn’t for everyone,” I told her. “Or, you know, anyone.”

“Let’s try shoes,” Trinity said, heading over to a box by the end of the bed. There were no closets, the only storage a few suitcases and a couple of cardboard boxes. The bulk of their possessions were piled on the beds and other surfaces. I’d had to move a laptop, two bottles of shampoo, and a big hardback book called Pregnancy and You just to make enough room to sit down. “How do you feel about stilettos?”

“Strongly opposed,” I told her.

“Trinity, we’re taking the boat,” Bailey told her. “Not going to prom.”

“Well, never mind, they’re not here anyway.” She stood up, putting her hands on her lower back. “None of my good shoes are, now that I think of it. I left them all at the storage unit at the house when we were cleaning out for the renters. It wasn’t like I was going to be wearing them.”

“That’s got to be weird,” I said as, undeterred, she went back to picking through the piles of clothes on the bed. “Having to move house every summer.”

She picked up a red blouse, squinting at it. “With the two divorces, we’re used to moving around a lot. It’s not so bad.”

“I hate it,” Bailey told me. “People we don’t know living in our room, sleeping in my bed. It gives me the creeps.”

“Also makes Mom money,” Trinity pointed out.

“You can’t put a price on peace of mind.”

“I can. Eleven hundred a week.”

To this, her sister rolled her eyes, turning back to the small mirror that was propped up on a nearby bookshelf. “Well, you don’t even have to worry, since this is your last time doing it.”

“Really?” I asked Trinity, who was now holding the red shirt up against me.

“Yep,” she replied. “Once the Sergeant is back, he and the baby and I will have our own place over in Delaney, closer to the base. And start planning the wedding. I can’t wait.”

She sounded so happy, her voice a contrast to Bailey’s expression in the mirror, which was hesitant, worried. Change is hard, I thought, thinking of Nana saying this to me. When Bailey saw me watching her, though, she looked away.

Now, back on the boat, I watched my feet carefully as I stepped up from the seating area to the deck. Even so, I felt unstable, miles away from the easy grace that Bailey and all those other lake girls possessed doing the same thing. Clearly, it wasn’t a genetic trait.

“You can take off those shoes, if you want,” Bailey said as I joined her on the dock. “I won’t tell Trinity.”

I looked down at the red wedge sandals her sister had picked out. They were espadrilles, with cork soles, a twist of leather fastened by a tiny gold hoop between the big toe and the rest. I had to admit, they were unlike anything I’d ever worn. But once on, with my own cutoffs and the peasant blouse with the gold threads, they worked.

“I’m good,” I told her.