The Lies About Truth(38)

I took a sip of Mountain Dew, the syrup thick and sugary, and gave her another honest answer. “You don’t want to know.”

“Oh, go eat.” She popped me on the butt. “Play cards.”

I loved my mom so much in that moment that I almost dropped my plate and threw my arms around her. We were the kind of family who said I love you, so I said it then. Just so she’d know.

“You’re the best,” she told me. “And stop cussing at cards.”

“Mom, you cuss at cards.”

“Do as I say, not as I do, or whatever bullshit saying that is.”

As usual, Mom was a clown factory.

I laughed all the way up the steps and onto the deck.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


We docked the McCalls’s boat next to their moored Jet Skis at a beach campground a few miles away from the little island.

“Who thought camping in June was a good idea?” Gray asked for the third time as the teenage contingent carted stuff off the dock and set up camp in the dark.

The heat index was in the high nineties and it was almost ten o’clock. We couldn’t catch a breeze with a mitt. Unfolding the tent and lying on the nylon didn’t help matters either. Everything felt sticky and gross. As Gray threaded poles through loops, he gave us instructions we didn’t need. “No, stake it out tighter. Max, use the mallet. Gina, refold the tent-fly or it’ll get damp and mildew. Damn, it’s hot.” He went on and on, maintained that popping a tent was an art. We maintained that so was complaining, and he was king.

Beside me, Gina exhaled. “It really is hot, but I don’t want to encourage him. He’ll never shut up.”

Gray Garrison could suck a bone down to the marrow.

He was still going. “Goodness gracious, Sadie May, take off the sleeve before I burn to death.”

“Please don’t call me that,” I said. Trent was the only one of our group who had, and Gray knew it bugged me.

“You might want to change your email address if you hate it so much, but as you wish . . . Sadie.” He overemphasized my name and kept going. “This wretched heat’s making me ornery.”

He sounded like Trent. Wretched was a Trent word. Max dusted the sand off his hands and muttered to me, “Not sure it’s the heat,” as Gina said, “Gray, we live in Florida. Where it’s always hot. You might wanna move.”

“Now who’s being ornery?” He nudged me as if I might take his side. “Am I right, Sadie May? Or am I right?”

“Gray.” I held an angry face for a full second. He was annoying as hell, but somehow he made us all forget about Trent’s absence without letting us forget about Trent. I loved him for that. Laughter bubbled up from a place in my gut and infected everyone, which only added fuel to his fire.

When he’d gone on for another minute or two, Sonia, our temporary supervisor, added to the commentary. “Garrison, good Lord, put a sock in it.”

Gray reminded Sonia politely that the parents slept on the boat. In the air-conditioning. With running water. And all the food. He invited her to trade places.

She invited him to go jump in the bay.

Which he did, drawing another chorus of laughter from everyone.

Trent would have been right on his heels, sopping wet and splashing his mom. Max, in a rare moment of solidarity, ran after Gray. Gina and I followed. Where one goes . . . the others follow. We splashed and dunked one another until we were properly happy and cool. I imagined the bay was our fountain of youth.

“You know what we should do?” Gray said.

“What?” we all asked.

Gray’s answer was a terrible idea.

“Chicken-fight.”

“In the dark?” Gina asked.

Gray skimmed his hand over a wave lit by the night sky. “By starlight.”

I’d only chicken-fought with Gray against Gina and Trent, so I knew, once upon a time, I could take her every day of the week and twice on Sunday.

“You up for it, partner?” I asked Max.

“Hell yeah,” he answered.

“Language,” Sonia said.

Gray swatted Max’s chest. “She got ya that time.” He squatted down and gave Gina a boost onto his thick shoulders.

Max followed his example and I climbed on, hooking my knees beneath his armpits. If I had any doubts we were a couple before, they ended with chicken-fighting. Gina and Gray versus Max and Sadie. This was our version of Facebook official.

“Bases aren’t fighting,” I called.

“That’s no fun,” Gray said. “I could take Squeak down—”

“Squeak?” Max lunged forward and locked arms with Gray. We rocked backward as Gray broke the hold and shoved him squarely in the chest. Max recovered; his feet found secure footing, and his knees bent into an athletic stance. Props to him. I wasn’t heavy, but I wasn’t a feather duster, either.

Gina and I had no choice but to engage. Old pros with new partners. We scrambled at each other. Fingers intertwined, we twisted and pinched and rocked to dislodge each other. Despite the physical therapy, my arms weren’t as strong as they used to be. She was formidable, but also concerned she would hurt me.

“I’m fine,” I told her when she went easy on me.

“Okay,” she said, and tried a new move.