by R. S. Lively
“That doesn’t sound like a good start to the story,” Grant says.
“No,” I agree. “We got here early to avoid the crowds, and I was so glad we did. We were at the front of the line, and in just a few minutes, people were lined up behind us almost to the front of the park. It looked like no one was doing anything but standing in line for that one slide.”
“I was at the back of that line,” Grant says with a laugh.
“You were?” I ask.
Grant nods.
“Asher and Seth were still too small to go on something like that, and Preston, even then, was all about things being logical and planned out. He tried to convince our parents we shouldn’t go at all during the first month the slide was open because the lines would be too long, and it would waste our entire day just waiting for a few seconds of fun.”
“That’s intense for an eight-year-old,” I say. “But there’s something to be said about riding it on one of the first days it’s open. It makes you feel special to know you’re one of the very first people to experience the ride.”
“I tried to point that out to him,” Grant says. “I told Preston it would be like being a part of history. We would be able to say we were in the first group of people to ride the scariest ride in the whole area.”
“Why do I suspect that didn’t have much effect on him?” I ask.
“Because it didn’t,” Grant says. “He just took that opportunity to point out that even if we got here hours before the park opened, got to the slide before anyone else, and were the first people that day to even touch the steps, we still wouldn’t be the first people to ride it, or even really among the first group of people to ride it. We would just be some of the first members of the paying public to ride it.”
“He said ‘paying public’?”
“Like you said. Intense.”
“Seriously.”
“He pointed out that the slide had been tested several times already,” Grant says, “and there was a media event the day before to allow reporters and bloggers to come and try it out. So, they were the first ones. Which would mean standing out in the heat and waiting for hours to be just some people who rode the ride.”
“He sure knows how to take the joy right out of things, doesn’t he?”
“You should hear him talk about Christmas,” Grant says.
“I can only imagine it’s full of magic and cheer?”
Grant shakes his head.
“Don’t get him started on eggnog at the grocery store.”
“Eggnog at the grocery store?”
“Does not contain eggs and is not technically a nog.”
“I wasn’t aware. Wait… if he was so adamant about not coming here on opening day to ride Black Out, how did you end up at the back of the line?”
“Turns out as persuasive as Preston’s logic and flow charts can be, Dean and my art of pestering can be even more influential.”
“The aggravate-the-parents maneuver,” I say, nodding. “Classic move.”
“It worked, but only so well as to get us here about half an hour too late to get a decent spot in line. But we were here, and we were going to get to ride the slide, so we were excited.”
“Ah,” I say, feeling the heat of embarrassment burning on my cheeks again. “So that probably means you know where my story is headed. If you recall, you weren’t able to ride the slide.”
Grant nods.
“Not until later that afternoon. They had to shut it down almost as soon as they opened it because someone… holy shit, you bled into the pool.”
“And you’re starting to understand my reluctance,” I say.
“What happened?” Grant asks.
At least he has the decency not to laugh at me. Maybe remembering I was only six when it happened helps.
“Well, at the time that was the highest slide, and I’d never seen so many steps. I was really excited at first, but the further I climbed, the more nervous I got. It started to feel so high, and it really sank in that I was actually going to have to get on the pitch-black slide and end up in water without having any idea where I was going or what was happening. I was terrified, but Dad was so excited, I didn’t want to say anything. I figured I could just get on the slide with him, close my eyes, and it would be over.”
“How would it be any better to have your eyes closed?” Grant asks.
“Because I could be in control of it. I could tell myself there were things happening on the other side of my eyelids, and I could open my eyes and see it whenever I wanted.”
“Ah. The ‘I can stop whenever I want’ logic.”
“Exactly. That was the plan. My dad was going to be right behind me, and everything would be fine.”
“But it’s a one-person slide,” Grant points out.
“I found that out.”
“How?”
“I sat down at the top of the slide and Dad climbed in behind me. He reached out to wrap his arms around me, but the person running the slide told him he couldn’t ride with me right as he released the hatch to send me down. I completely panicked, sat up, and hit my head on the top of the slide. There happened to be a rivet there connecting two of the pieces of the slide together, and I caught my forehead on it. I spent the rest of the ride flailing in terror, crying, and choking on the water that kept rushing up over my face. When I finally got to the bottom, my head was bleeding, and the lifeguards freaked out. My father got to the bottom just a few seconds after me, and he was already shouting. They scooped me out of the water to bring me to the first aid station, and since I’d bled into the water, they had to close it down and shock the water.”
“I don’t even remember hearing someone got hurt,” Grant says. “I just knew the slide was closed, and I was mad at Preston for making us late.”
“I think they tried to keep it as quiet as they could,” I say. “They brought us right to first aid, and then an ambulance picked me up from the back of the park. Besides, you were just a little boy. You wouldn’t think about why it was happening.”
“I can’t believe it was you,” he says. “We were right here at the same time, and didn’t meet each other until nine years after.” He looks at me more closely. “Where did you hit your head?” he asks.
I gesture to the spot on my forehead where I got four stitches that day. There’s a faint scar I think stands out much more than others say it does.
“Right here.”
Grant gently moves my hair away from my forehead and peers at it. Leaning down, he touches his lips to the area of the scar.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” he says.
My skin tingles where his lips touched, and when he straightens, our eyes meet.
“Are you ready?”
The unfamiliar voice breaks me out of the trance, and that’s when I realize the entire time we’ve been talking, we’ve still been climbing the stairs. Grant had guided me up to the top of the platform, and we are standing at the mouth of the slide. My eyes lock on the water gushing from streams at the head, disappearing into the red tube that appears to be glowing in the sunlight. My hand tightens around his.
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he says. “There’s an emergency staircase we can go down.”
“Do the two of you want to go, or not?” a bored-looking girl beside the slide asks.
“Two of us?” I ask.
Grant nods as he gestures toward the translucent yellow inner tube the girl holds in place in the water with her foot. It has spots for two people.
“I’ll be right there with you,” he says. “I won’t let you go.”
I think of how long I’ve been afraid of the slides, and all the time I could have spent with my father. Over the years he’d ask if I wanted to go back, but never pushed me. Now that he’s gone, I know he wouldn’t want me to be afraid anymore. I look at Grant.
“I’m ready,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
With a single nod, I take a
step toward the water. Grant, still holding my hand, follows me and helps me down into the slippery tube. Cold water washes around me, sparking fear in my heart, but I swallow it down and settle into place, letting go of Grant only to grip the handles on either side of me. He takes his place behind me, and his legs drape to my sides. He’s close enough behind me that I can lean back and feel his chest. His hands take handles behind mine, and before I can even take another breath, the girl releases us, and the water shoots us forward.
The red lets in more light than the black slide had, and the glow that had seemed so ominous from the mouth doesn’t seem as terrifying now. I can see ahead as the slide twists, dips, and spirals. Grant lets out a shout of excitement behind me, and it takes a few seconds before I realize I’m laughing. Ahead of me I see a bright light, and we shoot out of the slide into the pool. The inner tube promptly tips, dumping us out into the water, and I feel Grant’s arms wrap around my waist.
We’re both laughing as he sweeps me up through the surface and against him. I wrap my arms around his neck, savoring the feeling of his skin through the cool of the water.
“You did it,” he says happily.
I nod, grinning at him.
“I know.”
“You need to get out of the pool now.”
We look over at the lifeguard leaning toward us from the edge of the pool, and see him gesturing for us to move so the next person can come down the slide. I reluctantly pull away from Grant and swim a few feet until I can stand and walk up the steps out of the pool.
“What’s next?” Grant asks. “Do you want to do the lazy river now?”
I shake my head.
“No,” I tell him. “Let’s do another slide.” He smiles and starts toward another set of steps, but I grab his arm to stop him. “Anything but Black Out,” I say. “We’re still not there yet.”
“You… and the slide?” Grant asks.
I nod.
“Alright,” he says. “We’ll do something else now. But I’m going to get you on that slide eventually.”
I don’t agree, but don’t protest, either. He reaches for my hand, and we start off toward another raft slide.
He doesn’t get me on Black Out that day, but we spend the rest of the afternoon tackling the other slides, splashing in the wave pool, and gliding around the lazy river. As the hours pass, we linger longer at the end of the slides, and spend more time with him cradling me in his arms as we let the waves bounce us in the pool. On our third float around the river, Grant holds the handle of my tube so we can stay linked, and I rest my head on his arm as I stare up at the sky, hoping it will never get dark.
Far too soon, we’re walking up the path to my front door again. I stop on the porch and turn around to face him. Without a word, Grant cups one hand around my face and draws me close, touching a soft kiss to my lips. Everything stops. The world. All sound. My heart.
When the kiss ends, he looks into my eyes for a moment, then lets his hand slide away from my face and walks away. I’m breathless as I watch him leave, and only go inside when he disappears from view.
The next afternoon my heart leaps in my chest when I see Grant walk up to the front window of the shop. That sight makes it worth it that I’m cleaning up the fourth puddle created by a cone that didn’t survive the wait between being made and it’s intended eater choosing toppings. I want to lean across the counter and kiss him, but I have to maintain the degree of professionalism warranted by working at an ice cream shop. Which is to say, none. But I’m not tall enough to make it all the way out the window without dipping my chest in hot fudge.
“What can I get for you today?”
“A scoop of French vanilla, a scoop of chocolate, a scoop of strawberry, half a scoop of pistachio, a quarter of a scoop of black walnut, and a quarter of a scoop of coffee. Whipped cream on all of it. Chocolate sprinkles on half, rainbow on the other. Walnuts on the chocolate half, peanuts on the rainbow half.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Are you testing my sundae making skills?”
“Yes,” he replies.
I sigh. “Is that what you actually want?” I ask.
“Two scoops of chocolate, please,” he says.
I smile and pick up a waffle cone.
“Whipped cream and sprinkles?” I ask.
“And a cherry,” he says.
That mischievous smile is back on his lips, and I give him one in return before picking a cherry and setting it atop the plume of whipped cream.
It goes on like this for the next two weeks. Nearly every day, Grant shows up during the last hour or two of my shift, orders whatever combination of flavors and toppings he desires, and waits for me. He always asks for a cherry. When I’m done with work, he has an adventure planned for us. Each day is sweeter than the next, filled with ice-cream flavored kisses and the warmth of his hand holding mine. At the end of the night, he pulls me in close and coaxes my tongue toward his as his hands run slowly over my body. I can feel the touch through my clothes, and it makes me crave more. On the days he spends with his brothers, I wake up to a text from him, and a preview of his order for the next day. It rarely stays the same, but the thought is nice.
Today, I woke up to a text that he wouldn’t make it to the shop that day, but that he’d see me in the evening. I spend all day thinking about him, wondering what he has planned for tonight. As we climb up onto the ridge to look out over one of the great treasures of Magnolia Falls – an old outdoor theater that once housed a long-running stage production depicting the origin story of the town – I have my answer. Decades ago, it was bought out and converted into an outdoor theater, with a huge screen to play movies. Though moviegoers sit on the same cement benches designed as the bowl of the original theater, people started calling it the drive-in, and that's what it's been called ever since. It rolls off the tongue better than Howard P. Notthehotel Johnson's Magnificent Cinema of the Stars, which is still what the flashing neon billboard reads. According to my grandmother, Mr. Johnson, Notthehotel to his friends, designed and bought the sign on a whim, and then went about finding a location to put it.
Grant had a blanket with him when he picked me up, and he spreads it across the grass now, letting me settle onto it first before sitting down beside me. We're positioned right near the edge, far enough away so no one else can see us, but close enough to let us watch the movie. Lying on our stomachs, propped up on our elbows, it feels like we're the only people there.
"This is an amazing view," I tell him. "I never knew people could watch from up here."
"Well, technically, they can't," he says.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"This is my family's property," he says.
"No wonder the access road was so hard to get to," I say. "How very sneaky of you."
I look back at the screen but feel Grant slide closer to me. His body is warm beside me, and I feel the muscle of his shoulder press against mine. I am suddenly extremely aware of how close he is to me. I turn to him, and his face is only inches from mine.
"You're not the only one who likes a sneak peek," he murmurs.
My heart jumps in my chest, and my little slip comes racing back to haunt me. He did see me that afternoon three years ago.
"Hmm?" I say, trying to play it off like I don't know what he's talking about.
His hand comes to my back, and I feel his fingertips through the clingy fabric of my tank top. They trace my spine, and another chill rolls through me. My intense focus on my future, not to mention my consistent lack of free time throughout high school, meant I’d never let myself be in the position for someone to touch me like this. The closest I’d ever gotten was a few makeout sessions at the drive-in, down in the seats of the commoners below. I’d stopped anything else before it even happened. But, I can’t seem to bring myself to stop this.
"You watched me when you came over to see Dean," he says. "I was rehearsing in my bedroom, and you stood out in the hall, and watched me."
"I heard you singing
," I confess. "I was curious."
"Curious?" Grant asks. He slides up even closer, and now we're pressed together, touching from our shoulders down our bodies. "Why did you run away? You could have come in, you know. It would have saved me from having Dean give you some dry clothes."
His voice is lower and rumbles in his throat. My eyes linger on his lips, then to his bright, earnest eyes. My heart is pounding so hard I feel it shaking on the ground beneath me, and I lean toward him.
"You told him to do that?”
“Of course, I did. I wanted to make sure you were comfortable. I still say you should have come in, though, instead of running away.”
“What would you have done if I had?" I ask, softening my voice to match the volume of his.
What am I saying? This isn’t like me.
His stare holds me in place. The tension between us is so palpable, I can barely breathe.
"Probably nothing," he admits.
My heart clenches painfully.
"Nothing?" I ask.
He gives a barely perceptible shake of his head. Lifting his hand away from my back, he runs his fingers along the side of my face and down the curve of my jaw.
"No," he says. "You were much too young then. It wasn’t the right time." His fingertips brush over my lips, then down along the front of my throat. "That isn’t a problem now."
My resistance is completely gone by the time his head dips and Grant's mouth meets mine. I instantly feel revived. His kiss is unrelenting, and I surrender to it wholly, letting my lips part and his tongue tangle with mine. His body guides me back until I'm lying on the worn blanket, the weight of him pressing down on me. It’s a warm, delicious sensation and I sink beneath it, wrapping my arms around him to close the space around us.
His hands take hold of my tank top, taking my bra straps along with it as he pulls them down over my shoulders, spilling my breasts out into the summer night air. Grant takes his mouth away from mine, and I gasp as one hand cups the bottom of my breast and lifts it before he swirls his tongue around my taut nipple. It sends an unexpected shock of pleasure through me, and I feel my body begin to tremble. Moving his mouth to the other breast, he repeats the dizzying attention for a few seconds before sliding my bra and shirt back into place.