The Rest of the Story(88)

“I’m hot,” I moaned.

In response, she dumped the cup she was holding, scooping up some water, and flung it on me. I went from sweaty to soaked in seconds.

“Hey!”

“Sober up,” she commanded. “I don’t like you this way.”

“Bailey, come on,” Roo said, and from the sound and direction of his voice, I realized what I was leaning against was actually his legs. I turned, looking at them in the light thrown from the house, as he said, “She can’t help it. She won’t even remember this.”

“She will, because I won’t let her forget.”

“How many times have I pulled you out of parties?” he asked her. “Have a little compassion.”

“I’m compassionate,” she said, sounding just about anything but. “I just don’t understand how she got like this.”

“I’m guessing it was the beer,” he told her, deadpan. “How many have you had?”

“Yes, but,” she replied, “I’m not lying on the dock on my back, staring at your calves.”

I laughed. Oh, wait, she meant me. I said, “What are these, anyway?”

A pause. Then Bailey said, sounding exhausted, “What’s what, Saylor?”

“These,” I said, pointing at the numbers on the back of Roo’s leg. “I saw them the first day, on the boat. And I’ve been wondering ever since.”

“Nautical coordinates,” he told me.

“For what?”

“For the lake’s center,” he said.

I looked at the numbers again, which were blurring slightly. “So you can find it, always.”

Roo gazed down at me. “That’s right.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Bailey said. “I’m going to get her some water.”

I heard her walking away, the deck bouncing with each step. And then it was just Roo and me and the lake, gurgling under the dock between us.

“She’s mad,” I observed.

“More like worried,” he said as he took a seat. “Funny thing about always being the one out of control. You tend not to like it when other people are.”

“I am not out of control,” I stated. “I just had a few beers.”

“Right,” he said. “Of course.”

Sitting there, though, I suddenly felt very fuzzy-headed, not to mention tired. And, apparently, honest, as I heard myself say, “Do you know that, at home, I always have to organize everything? My closet, the mail on the counter, even my toothbrush and toothpaste on the shelf. It doesn’t matter what it is. It’s, like, I can’t control it. I’ve done it for as long as I remember. I was doing it when I first got here.”

When he answered, he didn’t sound like he found this weird or notable, just saying, “Really.”

I nodded. “But then I started cleaning rooms, and hanging out with you guys, and I don’t have to do it so much anymore. It’s like this place is changing me.”

He looked over. “That’s good, right?’

“I guess. But now I’m gone and everything’s different. It’s just going to come back.”

“You’re not gone,” he said. In the dark, behind my closed eyes, his voice was all I could hear, like a lifeline I was still gripping, keeping me conscious. “It’s just the other side of the lake.”

“It’s so different,” I murmured, curling into him. “I miss you.”

I mean, I miss it here, I thought, realizing too late what I’d said instead. But then it was fading, too, and I couldn’t reach it to take it back.

“It’s okay, Saylor,” he said, smoothing a hand over my head. “Just rest.”

But with this touch, this contact, I suddenly wanted to say something else, even as I knew I was fading. “I didn’t know you were into Hannah. I wish—”

A pause, but maybe just my sense of time. Then he said, “You and Blake were holding hands.”

“That was all him,” I said. “I had no idea. I came here to see you.”

It felt good, I realized, being this honest. At least now, whatever else happened, he would know. That day at his house, he’d said I’d always been part of his story. Now he would know that whatever happened from here, he, too, was in mine.

The dock was bouncing again as someone approached. So tired, I thought, closing my eyes. I was just about to drift off, leaning into his shoulder, when I heard Bailey speak.

“Okay. So we have a problem.”





Nineteen


“Just do me a favor. Don’t puke again.”

I blinked. I was in an enclosed space, and moving, by the feel of it. Also sitting on something very cold. But how did I get here?

“I threw up?” I managed to say. The thought of doing it was bad enough, but not realizing? I was horrified.

“Yep,” Bailey said. She was beside me, one hand thrown across my midsection like a makeshift seat belt. “Luckily, Roo gave me that bucket, so you didn’t make a mess.”

I looked down at my lap: there was a plastic sand pail between my legs, the word TIPS APPRECIATED written on it in black marker. Inside was a bit of liquid I chose not to examine closely, instead turning again to my surroundings. White. Metal. Rattling and in motion. And my ass was freezing.