The Lies About Truth(3)

I slowed to a stop, put my hands on my knees, and took a deep breath. In front of me, five concrete pylons rose out of the water like a broken-down gate. “The Wall,” as we all called it, was once a military building on the shore. Now, thanks to a hurricane, it was a gull stoop at the one-mile mark. This was where I wrote my list in the sand.

Because it was damaged.

Because what it once was didn’t matter to the birds.

Because I understood the Wall and the Wall understood me.

It was nice to have friendship with a place.

In the company of moonlight and Coldplay, I wrote the things I wanted from life this year.

1. Wear a tank top in public

2. Walk the line at graduation

3. Forgive Gina and Gray

4. Stop following. Start leading.

5. Drive a car again

6. Kiss someone without flinching

7. Visit the Fountain of Youth

Beneath the list, I scrawled the only Latin phrase I knew. A posse ad esse. It means . . . “from possibility to actuality.”

Apart from the Fountain of Youth, these were simple, achievable things, in concept. Hell, some of them I could do in a day. But I’d had many days, many opportunities, many lists in the sand, and no progress. Nearly every night I wrote these things.

And every night the ocean washed them away.

Tonight—probably because I’d seen Gina and Gray, or maybe because I felt like that old broken-down wall—I added one thing beside number three.

And tell them the truth.





CHAPTER TWO


When I got home an hour later, I collapsed in the Adirondack chair on our back porch to catch my breath. Mom must have been listening for me. She opened the screen door before my butt hit the wood.

Leaning around the door, facing halfway inside and halfway out, she passed me a bottle of water and a business envelope. “Good run?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

Her voice teetered between worried and pretending she wasn’t worried. “You were gone for a while. Shorts okay?”

Shorts hadn’t turned out to be the hard part of tonight.

“Yeah.”

“Can I sit for minute?” she asked.

I patted the chair next to me, welcoming her company.

Mom tugged the door closed and sat down. In unison, we stared at the McCalls’ house, as if we expected Trent or Max to emerge and head to the bay for some night fishing. At first, she stayed quiet, thinking. Then she said, “Dad and I talked about the home-school thing while you were out.”

“And?” I asked, draining the bottle of water.

Mom had a habit of pinching her lips with her hand when she had to deliver bad news. She pinched five times. I braced myself.

“We don’t think it’s a good idea,” she began. “We did it last year because of the surgeries and rehab, but this year . . .”

She’d hesitated lately when we’d talked about school, but she’d never come out and said she wouldn’t do it.

I sat up, suddenly feeling nauseous.

“Mom,” I said with as much protest as I could.

“Kiddo, you can’t hide from people the rest of your life.”

My shoulders sagged, but I found some energy to fight back. “Sure I can. There’s a lovely disorder called agoraphobia—”

“Not funny.”

“With a face like this, I need humor.”

“Honey, you’re never going to be ready. You just need to go for it.”

While I agreed with her in theory, gumption wasn’t my strongest trait these days. I gripped the arms of the chair and exhaled for her benefit. “It would be helpful if you’d try to understand, for like two seconds, that I’m happy where I am.”

“Except you’re not.”

God, she had me there. I’d just written Walk the graduation line an hour ago. Part of me clearly wanted to return to Coast Memorial. Just like I’d wanted to walk into that party tonight as if nothing had happened. Wanted to take selfies with Gina and post them to Instagram. Wanted Gray to look me in the eyes again. Wanted . . . my old life.

“Look, I’m not in your shoes. I get that,” Mom said. “None of this has been easy. But we’re worried. You didn’t attend Gray and Trent’s graduation with us. You’re practically a hermit. Running at night. Hanging out at the salvage yard. You don’t talk to anyone.” She paused. “Sadie, this house used to be a revolving door.”

Trent didn’t graduate. I spared her that comment and defended myself. “I email with Max. And . . . I saw Gina and Gray tonight.”

It was her turn to sigh at my excuses. We were like rhyming lines of a poem, perfectly following each other’s lead.

“I’m glad you have Max and that you talked to Gina and Gray tonight, but that’s not what Dad and I are talking about. It’s a bigger shift than emails and one conversation. Dr. Glasson says you’re ready.”

I didn’t answer her, and I’m sure she realized I wouldn’t. My silence wasn’t a lack of trust.

Mom pressed a kiss against Idaho. “Think about it. It’s easier when it’s your decision.”

“Nothing’s easy, Mom.”

“We’ll get through,” she said, her voice piping with possibility. “I believe in you, kiddo. Just like I always have.”