by Trish Doller
We eat lunch on the sandy embankment and, before we continue on our way down the river, pose for pictures with Naked Ed. He gives me a hug as he encourages Lindsey and me not to be strangers.
“And if things don’t work out with those fellas,” he calls out as we paddle away, “you know where to find me.”
Chapter 8
Long before Mom found out she had cancer, Dad and I would come to O’Leno a couple of times a summer for campouts. Dad would drive us up after dinner when it was still light out and pitch the old musty-smelling tent that spent the rest of the year buried in the garage. The metal-on-metal sound of his hammer hitting the stakes would ring through the trees. The sound of anticipation.
When he finished the tent, he’d build a fire and tell me stories. Ghost stories that made me burrow my face into the safety of his side. Fairy tales of evil mermaids with sharp teeth who lived in the Santa Fe River sinkholes and kept alligators as pets. And, as I got older, real-life stories about his sister, Suzanne, who ran away from High Springs and didn’t come back until Mom’s funeral. Suzanne, who makes me wonder if there is a wanderlust gene in the Wells DNA that passed over Dad completely. In the morning he would cook eggs and bacon in an old cast-iron skillet right on the orange-hot firewood, and I was convinced he knew how to do everything in the world.
These days it’s an event if we’re both at the dinner table at the same time. And I kind of wish we could rewind time. I mean, in a perfect world we’d get Mom back, too, but even if Dad and I could just be close again it would be okay. I’m thinking about this as Matt flips the alligator kebabs on a grate over the top of the fire pit, and the dripping, sizzling marinade brings me back to the campsite.
“This smells amazing,” he says. “Just for making my alligator dreams come true, Linds, you get to pick the first thing we do at Disney.”
“I want to ride Space Mountain. Or, no … wait. Maybe we could go to the Harry Potter park first, but I’ve always wanted to go to Epcot Center because I doubt I’ll ever actually get to go to Paris. Would it be weird if I wanted to get my picture taken with Ariel?” Until now, the total sum of words I’ve heard her speak since we met Matt and Noah could fit on a sticky note, but the words come out of her like she’s been saving them up. “I mean, I know I’m too old for Disney princesses, but—”
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Matt teases. “There’s time to figure it out.”
“She’s got a point, though,” I say. “There are three or four parks, so if we’re only there for a day, we kind of need a plan.”
“I found an app.” Lindsey taps her phone screen, and as we lose her to technology, Noah frowns at the fire. I feel bad talking about Disney World when he clearly doesn’t want to go.
“Lindsey and I shouldn’t come.” I keep my voice low so only he can hear me, my cheek against his upper arm. This is a hard admission because I want to go. Disney World isn’t a big adventure, but it’s at least a step away from here. “We’ve taken over your trip and it’s not fair.”
“No. I definitely want you to come.” He moves his arm around me, and I want to burrow my face into his side for a whole different reason than way back when I was with my dad. “It’s just that this is getting complicated when all I wanted to do was go camping.”
“Maybe we can convince them to do something else.”
Except Lindsey’s face shines in the glow of her cell phone as she GPS-tracks “princesses” or whatever it is she’s doing, and I don’t have the heart to talk her out of this.
“Yeah.” Noah laughs softly, as if he’s read my mind. “Good luck with that.”
Matt finishes cooking the gator kebabs, and we devour them almost before they’re cool enough to eat. Paddling left us all hungry, tired, and a little bit sunburned, so it’s not long after we’re done eating that we start yawning.
“So now what?” Matt asks. “Movies? Ice cream? Bingo? Weed?”
“We don’t have an ice cream shop, and the movie tonight is lame,” Lindsey says, as she stacks all the dirty paper plates in a pile.
“Your theater only shows one movie?”
“Sadly.” I nod. “We roll up the sidewalks pretty early around here, and the guy with the weed went to the hospital this morning, so unless you want to drive to Gainesville for something to do, we’re going to have to get creative.”
“Not driving,” Noah says, as he gives Molly a bite of leftover alligator. “I’m perfectly content doing nothing right here.”
“This is where one of you two is supposed to pull out your travel guitar so we can sing around the campfire,” I say. “Dazzle us with original lyrics and covers of too-cool-for-High-Springs songs.”
Noah’s laugh is low and rumbly. “I don’t have a guitar, and I left my trombone back in California.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Trombone?”
“When I was in fifth grade we had to choose between music class or orchestra,” he says. “Since I was a dirty little ska kid who wanted to be in a band, I opted out of music class and learned the trombone. I quit after a year, though, because you can only play ‘Red River Valley’ so many times before you want to hang yourself.”
“Did you end up joining a band?” Lindsey asks.
“In ninth grade.” Noah makes Molly give a high five before he rewards her with another piece of gator. “We called ourselves the Trojan All-Stars—”
“That explains the T-shirt,” I say.
“Yep,” he says. “We recorded a three-song ska EP in one guy’s basement that completely sucked, and we took it around to all the local record shops and clubs. Everyone rejected us except my friend’s cousin who booked shows for this one club. Our only paying gig was as first opening band for The Slackers, but we went on so early that no one came to see us and, seven years later, we still have nearly all the T-shirts left.”
“I keep telling you,” Matt says. “You offer those things online as rare and vintage, there are idiots who will pay good money for those shirts.”
“I want to hear the songs,” I say.
Noah shakes his head, but the corner of his mouth turns up. “You really don’t.”
“I really do.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Lies.” I whisper the word in his ear, and the ticklish little shrug of his shoulder makes me feel as if I’ve discovered fire. “I bet a million dollars they’re on your phone.”
He kisses me with soy-and-ginger lips as he digs into his pocket for his cell. “You win.”
He was right. All three tracks sound as if they were recorded in someone’s closet. The words are mostly unintelligible, and the best part is the way Noah’s trombone drowns out the singer. They’re awful songs.
“God, that was … painful,” Lindsey says.
“We were better live,” Noah says, and then a beat later, “but not much.”
Our laughter trickles to silence, and I’m pretty sure all four of us are racking our brains to come up with something else to do when all we really want is sleep. Or maybe that’s just me.
“I hate to throw a wet blanket over this wild time we’re having,” I say. “But I’m really tired. I think I’m going to go use the bathroom and then crash.”
Lindsey stands. “I’ll come with you.”
The campground is pretty quiet as we head down the loop road. A bit of music here. People sitting around fires there. I haven’t been alone with Lindsey in years, and I don’t know what to say to her. I fall back on something the announcer said at graduation when she walked across the stage to get her diploma. “So I didn’t know you wanted to be a nurse.”
Of course, the last time Lindsey and I talked about what we wanted to be when we grow up, she was going to be a famous ballerina and I wanted to be the girl on MythBusters. Mostly because I liked her hair. Even then I clearly had no plan for my life.
“I started thinking about it after your mom died,” Lindsey says.
“Really?”
“It’s not like I could have saved
her or anything just by being a nurse,” she says. “But I liked the idea of being there for people, you know? Doing what you can, even if it’s not fixing them.”
Lindsey has always been a tender heart. She is a shoulder offerer. A giver of hugs. I’ve seen her bring cookies to school for her friends’ birthdays. Being a nurse makes sense.
“My mom would love that,” I say.
“I miss her,” she says. “I remember the first time I came over to your house I thought she was a fairy because of her hair and because she wore dresses on days other than Sunday.”
“See, I always liked going to your house because your mom smells like bread and gives the best hugs.”
Lindsey laughs. “She does give the best hugs, doesn’t she?”
“Why did we stop hanging out?”
“I don’t know.”
“Seems like we just drifted, and neither of us did anything to stop it,” I say. “But the thing is, if someone asked me if I was friends with Lindsey Buck, I would say yes.”
“Me, too.”
The conversation ends when we reach the bathroom, and I don’t want to talk while we’re in the stalls because that’s just plain weird, but I don’t think there’s anything left that needs saying. Maybe knowing we’re still some kind of friends is enough.
By the time we get back to the campsite all evidence of dinner has been cleared away. Matt is emptying the melt-water from the cooler, and Noah has Molly by the leash.
“We’re going for a walk,” he tells me. “Come with?”
“Would you mind if I didn’t?”
“Nope,” he says. “I won’t be long.”
“I’ll come.” Lindsey hangs a washcloth on the clothesline, and the three of them head away from the campsite, Noah’s flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.
“Excited for tomorrow?” Matt lowers himself beside me on the big log. Not too close, but enough that I can feel his warmth fill the space that separates us.
“If it wasn’t for Lindsey, I wouldn’t care if we went to Disney World at all,” I say. “But I think we’re going to have a good time.”
“What would you rather do?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess—today was really fun.”
Matt nods. “Naked Ed seemed to like you.”
“It’s a local thing.”
“No it’s not,” he says. “You’re just really—”
“After you guys bring us back,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear that I am really anything, “if you want weird stuff, you should check out the Devil’s Chair down in Cassadaga. The rumor goes that the devil will appear to anyone bold enough to sit in the chair at midnight. And that if you leave an unopened can of beer on the chair, the beer will be gone by morning. Some people claim the can will still be unopened, but—”
Matt closes the gap and presses his lips against mine. I pull back, but not fast enough and not before my brain registers soft. Warm. Nice.
“We should, um—” I stand quickly. “We should probably leave here early tomorrow. So, I’m going to turn in now.”
“Cadie, wait.”
I don’t wait because who is this strange girl who lets two guys kiss her on the same day? I mean, I believe a girl can kiss as many guys as she damn well pleases and not have to feel bad about it. She can even do more than kiss someone if she wants. I’m just not sure I’m brave enough to be that girl. Because right now my stomach is a pit of eels, and I can’t even meet Matt’s eye. “Good night.”
“Cadie,” he calls after me, as I hurry toward Noah’s tent. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m sorry.”
Zipped safely inside, I change into the old white undershirt and school gym shorts combo I usually wear for sleeping. I mean to wait up for Noah, and for a while I’m successful as my brain plays Matt’s kiss on repeat. I fret over whether or not I invited it. Whether or not I wanted it. But my shoulders ache from paddling, and eventually I feel myself drifting off.
I have no idea what time it is when the air mattress shifts under Noah’s weight and he wraps himself around me the way he did last night. We fall asleep, and I don’t wake again until the morning sun makes the tent seem as if aglow from the inside—and my phone vibrates with an incoming text message.
I had to go home. Sorry. -L
At first my sleep-fogged brain can’t decipher the message because I can’t think of anyone I know whose name begins with L. Then I realize it’s Lindsey, but that doesn’t make any sense, either, because we’re going to Disney World so there’s no way she would leave. My phone flashes a reminder that I need to charge the battery as I text a message back to her.
Everything okay?
A minute passes. Then two. Noah shifts, and Molly shakes, her collar jingling before she gets to her feet and nudges her nose into my hand. But I get no answer from Lindsey.
“Noah.” I say his name softly so I won’t scare him awake, but his eyes pop open immediately and they have that slightly wild look. “Sorry. It’s just—Lindsey left.” “She left?”
I show him the text screen on my phone.
“Weird.” He sits up, rubs the back of his head, disrupting the sunbeams that hang in the air behind him, and yawns. “She was really stoked about Disney. It’s all she could talk about last night when we walked the dog.”
“I hope it wasn’t an emergency.”
“My guess is that it wasn’t,” Noah says. “I mean, she would have woken us up for an emergency, right? And I could have driven her anywhere she needed to go quicker than waiting for a ride to come. Maybe she changed her mind and was too embarrassed to admit it.”
I unzip the tent and step out with bare feet. The ground is warm, and Matt is cracking eggs into a cast-iron skillet just the way my dad used to do it. Matt’s even toasting the bread over the fire, which makes it feel like he’s been digging around inside my head. He smiles at me as if last night’s kiss never happened. “ ’Morning. Coffee is on the table, and breakfast should be ready in a minute or so.”
“Lindsey left.”
“What? Seriously?” His eyebrows register confusion as he turns over the toast to get the top as golden brown as the bottom. “I just assumed she was already up, taking a shower or something. Why did she leave?”
“I don’t know.” I tell Matt about her text and share Noah’s theory.
“Yeah, maybe.” Matt transfers the eggs and toast onto a plate and carries them over to the picnic table. “Or maybe she was worried about money.”
Truth be told, I’m a little worried about the money myself, so he definitely makes a good point.
Noah comes out of the tent with Molly following, her leash dragging on the ground behind her. The state park has regulations about dogs being on leashes, but Molly rarely ventures far away from Noah. I mean, who can blame her? I’ve only known him a little more than a day, and I want to follow him everywhere.
“Now that Lindsey’s bailed, what are you going to do?” he asks. “Do you still want to come with us?”
My dad will be annoyed if I tell him I’m not coming home today. And I worry about who will take care of Danny, because even if I’m not his mother, he’s still my little boy. I feel selfish, but I nod anyway. “Just let me make some calls.”
My phone complains at me again about my battery, so I text Dad that I’m taking another day off. It’s the coward’s way out—and one more reason I can see why Lindsey may have left without telling us in person—but I don’t want to fight with my dad. Being a coward suits me just fine.
Then I message Duane to ask if he and Jess would mind helping out with my brother today. It’s early so I don’t expect it when Duane calls me back right away. “Where ya going, Cadie?”
“The Devil’s Chair.” I am changing the plan because Noah doesn’t want to go to Disney. “It’s in—”
“Cassadaga, I know. Me and the Kendricks and some people went looking for it last year,” he says, and it hits me that I wasn’t invited on that road trip. I expected to be left out of
stuff by my ex-boyfriend, but not my best friend. That kind of stings. “Who are you going with?” Duane asks.
“Two guys from Maine I met at the campfire party. The ones with the ’69 Cougar.”
“Do you know how crazy that sounds?” he asks. “Cadie that I know doesn’t go road-tripping with strangers.”
“Cadie that you know doesn’t do much of anything,” I say. “Please, Duane? I don’t know how much more I can take before I actually will go crazy. Just—when was the last time I did anything like this?”
He’s quiet for a couple of beats. “Never, I guess.”
“Then have a little faith, okay?”
“How long you fixin’ to be gone?”
“Late tonight, maybe, or early tomorrow?” My words are a question as I look at Noah and he nods.
“Jess is off today, so she can go pick up the rug rat.” Duane sighs, and inside it I hear everything he’s not saying.
“I know this is asking a lot—” I say.
“Just be careful, Cadie. And if you get in a jam—I mean anything at all—you call me right away. Got it?”
“Yep.”
“Have fun, crazy girl.” “Thanks, Duane. Love you.”
He tells me to shut up, and then he’s gone. It’s just me and Noah and Matt, and they’re both looking at me.
“We’re not going to Disney World,” I say.
A matched set of grins is what I get in return as I shovel a fork filled with yolky toast into my mouth, but it’s Matt who speaks first. “So what’s next? Devil’s Chair?”
I nod. “Let’s go hear what the devil has to say.”
Chapter 9
Mom used to keep a little box of cards printed with questions and quotes. Conversation starters, she’d call them, and she’d take them out at the dinner table whenever I was having a one-word-answer day or if Dad carried on too long with work-related gripes. It wasn’t as much a family bonding exercise as it was a way for her to force us to talk to her about something after she’d spent most of her day alone. Usually I didn’t mind, even the times I rolled my eyes. But when she was pregnant and riddled with cancer, she was the one who didn’t want to talk sometimes. Dad and I never pulled out the box for her, and after she was gone … well, I don’t even know where the cards are. We don’t talk like that anymore, my dad and me. More often than not our conversations are night ships.