The Lies About Truth(17)

The teasing fell short when he looked at the space between us—where Trent used to sit—rather than at me, and I knew he was thinking he shouldn’t have said we. Everyone at the table knew.

And thought about Trent.

Who always rocked his chair on two legs.

Sonia rescued us, turning the conversation away from Trent to town news and old friends.

I tuned them out after that and didn’t tune back in until I heard my mother agreeing with Sonia that we—me, Max, Mom, and Sonia—would all go shopping the next day.

Not wanting to be impolite, I made direct eye contact that screamed NO at my mother and waited for her to retract the invitation. She didn’t. The Social Experiment struck again.

“Mom, I thought you said we had something else to do tomorrow.”

She knew exactly what I was driving at, and ignored me completely. “Oh, everything else can wait. You and Max both need stuff. It’ll be fun to go together.” She overemphasized the word fun, so I overemphasized my scowl.

“May I be excused, please?” I asked.

Mom and Sonia looked at each other—secret mom Morse code—but she said, “Of course.”

I told everyone good night, thanked the McCalls several times for a lovely dinner, and pushed in my chair.

“You’re leaving before pie?” Sonia asked.

“I need to go for a run.”

Max gave me the You okay? question in a blink. He hadn’t said much in the past ten minutes, and I assumed his voice needed the rest.

“See you tomorrow.” I touched his shoulder as I walked by.

When I got to the beach fifteen minutes later, Gray was there.

I smiled when I saw him, and then I stopped myself.

“I don’t have a time machine,” I whispered before I walked over to the dune.

He hugged me, quick and uncomfortable—a cordial handshake between countries at war. “Hey, I hoped you’d be out here,” he said. “I didn’t know what time you usually came so I just stayed here after work.”

He’d been there since four thirty.

“I’m never here before dark,” I said, immediately regretting that I told him. What if he made a habit of showing up like this?

“I wanted to see you,” he said. “The other night, plus the anniversary . . . it’s just, I don’t know . . . on my mind. You’re always on—” The wind grabbed the rest of his sentence.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Sure . . . I’m always okay, I guess.”

Sad eyes and still stoic. Which annoyed me. Why couldn’t he just say how he felt rather than cloaking it in some terrible bravado?

“What about you?” he asked.

I gave him honesty. “I lost okay a long time ago.”

“I didn’t help with that.”

“Not so much,” I said.

We walked closer to the ocean and sat in that magical place that was dry on our butts and wet on our toes. Gray loved that place best, and it was my habit to do what he liked without thinking about it. Without asking, he untied my tennis shoes, slid them and my socks off, and set them behind us.

I didn’t comment, but I didn’t stop him. I tugged the edge of my shorts lower and waited on whatever it was he had to say.

He derailed a crab from crawling our way and then asked, “You talked to Gina?”

“Not since the other night.” I let my eyes slice him a few times before I asked, “Have you talked to Gina?”

“We’re still friends, Sadie. You should try it.”

“I did. Didn’t work out so well.” Which wasn’t completely true, but it felt good to say.

“Jeez, lay off us, will you? I’ve told you a million times it wasn’t like that.”

It was like something.

“Gray, why are you here?”

He slid his hand closer to mine in the sand until we were nearly touching. “Gina said you and Max were . . . I dunno . . . together. I wanted to check in, I guess.”

“Max and I are . . .” I didn’t know the term for what we were. “Close.”

Gray exhaled. “I wish I could go back and do so many things over.”

His voice dripped with earnestness. All of my firsts were with Gray Garrison, and I remembered them now as if they were a Pinterest board of images. The first time I thought he was cute. The first time I realized he liked me. The first time I realized I liked him back. The first time he’d held my hand. The first time we’d found the perfect make-out place. The first time.

From a distance, he resembled most guys. The kind you might walk by on the sidewalk, but if he was playing volleyball, sandy and shirtless, you’d turn around and watch. Up close, Gray was somewhere between pretty and handsome. A solid cute. He didn’t have cool hair or expensive clothes, but he had a sexy voice, long eyelashes, and a curious smile. Thank God for those uneven ears. Those slight imperfections kept him humble. Kept him from thinking every girl wanted him, even though plenty did.

If I leaned in, would he kiss me? I didn’t want him to; I wanted him to want to.

He turned toward me. His lips were so close.

“You still think about us?” he asked, eyes on the sand.

“Not anymore.”

Such a lie. I’d written Forgive Gina and Gray in the sand for months.