The Lies About Truth(14)

Date: August 8

Subject: Nightmares

Max,

I can’t believe they told you just to go on and drink the water and get sick. Ugh. That sounds awful.

I’m glad you brought up the nightmares. No, I doubt they have to do with you being sick. I have them too. I’ve been having them so frequently that my parents forced me to see a therapist—Dr. Fletcher Glasson—last week. Believe it or not, it wasn’t terrible. We mostly did paperwork and, as a first assignment, he suggested I “free-journal” about the wreck.

Do you think it is safe to tell him how I feel? I don’t want to write everything down if he’s going to tell my parents. These are my feelings and if my parents knew all of them, they’d just worry more than they already do. Fletcher (which is what he asked me to call him) said he wouldn’t unless he had to. I want to believe him.

Sadie

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: August 15

Subject: what I remember about June 29th

Max,

Good idea. But, if I’m going to free-journal with you, then you have to stop apologizing for letting me take shotgun. You didn’t know we’d crash. Deal? (The problem with writing Deal is that you’re in a whole other country.) Here goes. I remember a lot about that day, but I’ll start with when we got to the cars.

Gina and I hosed off the coolers and stowed them in her Jeep. You and Trent and Gray strapped the YOLO boards to the top of the Yaris. Trent mentioned kiteboarding and Gina said we didn’t have to go ninety-to-nothing every day. Trent and Gina walked back up to the shelter to “discuss” something.

When Trent came back down the walk, he told you and me to hop in the Yaris, that we were going home. Gina had tears in her eyes, and Trent didn’t crack a single smile. I hugged her bye and told her to call me after she’d taken Gray home.

Gray leaned into the car for a kiss and whispered, “If they break up—”

“They won’t,” I told him.

That was a lie. As much as I wanted us all to be fine, and be in each other’s weddings and other epic crap like that, the water was draining out of the sink for them. Trent had been . . . restless. He’d told me he’d planned a breakup. Did he ever talk to you about this?

I tried to stay out of it. They were both my friends, and I didn’t know what the group would look like if they broke up. I didn’t want to take sides, and I was worried they would want me to.

That was the wrong thing to worry about.

The three of us sat in the car for a moment, but I don’t remember why. Maybe Trent was on his phone or picking a radio station or just waiting for the car to cool down. My eyes closed in a sleepy way that only a day in the sun can do to you. I tried not to think about whatever Gina and Trent had discussed for twenty minutes at the pavilion. You wanted to roll down the windows, and Trent said it was “too damn hot.” Whether it was all the waiting or the sleepiness, I never fastened my seat belt.

Once we were on the road, we sang along to the radio. Not the Eagles, but some old band he loved. They sang “You Shook Me All Night Long,” and he went on about how vinyls were back and he wished the Yaris had a turntable. I knew the words to the chorus, but you two knew every verse. I think I gave you shit about it. Do you remember that? Or did I make it up?

After the song ended, Trent brought up St. Augustine and the Fountain of Youth Park. He said he was in an explorer mood.

I said, “Let’s go tomorrow,” and he said, “Bright and early, Sadie May. I’ll knock on the window.”

“Really?”

He nodded, and I remember thinking, He’s serious. We’re actually going to road-trip.

“I’ll text Gina and Gray and tell them to take off work.”

“Yep,” he said, and that made me feel better. Whatever happened between him and Gina at the pavilion wasn’t too serious. Yet. The next day we’d all hop in the Yaris and head east to St. Augustine. I closed my eyes and made up a story about us finding the real fountain of youth when we were old and in our thirties. It was probably in some swamp in the Everglades, but we’d have a helluva time looking.

“I think I’m gonna go see if Callahan will let me ride the motorcycle later,” he said.

That felt like code-talk to me. “You want me to go with you?” I asked.

“Maybe. I could use some Sadie May perspective.”

“As you wish.”

I know I said that because Trent loved The Princess Bride, and he always gave me a goofy grin when I quoted the movie. Then, I fell asleep. The next thing I remember was our car swerving to the right.

My eyes snapped open. Gina and Gray were stalled out in front of us. My heart rocketed from sixty to a thousand beats, and I grabbed the door handle.

“Hold on,” Trent told us.

I screamed.

I never saw the tree.

The Yaris screamed. Metal on bark.

Time either stopped or slowed down, because I remember far too many details from that moment than are possible.

Hold on. Hold on. Hold on. I hear those words in my sleep.

Fletcher asked me to describe that moment. I told him I was a peach in a blender.

Only the pictures afterward and Gina’s explanation—the compacted hood, the U-shaped roof—let me understand what happened after the impact ejected me. Gina had stalled the Jeep at the bottom of Willit Hill. Trent swerved to avoid them, and we barreled into a stand of trees.