Thirty Sunsets

by Christine Hurley Deriso

  Dad shrugs apologetically.

  “I just want you to get comfortable,” Brian says.

  “It’s okay, Bri,” I say.

  He claps his hands together. “Okay then. Wanna take a walk on the beach?”

  “I’m okay,” I repeat softly. “Really.”

  “I know,” Brian says, rubbing a hand through his hair. “I just feel like walking on the beach.” He eyes me warily. “Okay with you?”

  I sigh. “Sure.”

  He and I walk out the back door, across the deck, and down the stairs. I take a deep breath. It’s okay … I’m safe now.

  As we head toward the ocean, I say, “So … anything interesting happen in your life lately?”

  Brian laughs lightly and kicks the surf with his bare foot.

  “I dunno … things have been pretty slow. I might have to take up bungee jumping.”

  We keep walking.

  “I’m so pissed that jerk put his hands on you,” Brian finally says in a brittle voice. Like Dad, he tries his hardest to sound casual when he’s least inclined to be casual.

  “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  Brian smacks a fist into his open palm. “If the police don’t find him, I will. I swear to god, if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll—”

  “Chill, okay?”

  We walk in silence for a couple of moments, occasionally making way for a hurtling toddler or a doddering old couple all done up in floral prints and floppy hats.

  “So,” Brian says when our path is clear again for the foreseeable future. “I hear the big family secret is out of the bag.”

  Again with the casual.

  My first instinct is to make a wisecrack, but the remark gets stuck in my throat. Brian reaches over and takes my hand, squeezing it gently. He’s still looking straight ahead, still loping along, still committed to casual. But I’m so touched by the gesture that I impulsively stop in my tracks and hug him.

  And he lets me. He even hugs me back. We listen to each other swallow hard.

  “You should have told me,” I finally whisper when I trust my voice not to crack.

  “Nah,” he says as we pull apart. “That would have messed up my master plan: getting Olivia pregnant and having her crazy mother show up on our doorstep to let the cat out of the bag. That was definitely the way to go. Just took a little planning and patience on my part.”

  I laugh and he laughs back. It feels so good to laugh.

  We resume our walk, our forearms brushing lightly together. Twinkly beads of sunlight glisten on the breaking waves.

  “What was it like?” I ask Brian. “Hearing the news … what was that like?”

  In my peripheral vision, I see him shrug. “Kinda sucked,” he says. “Can’t say I saw it coming. It was near my birthday—right before or right after—and I thought Dad was about to launch into some kind of ‘Son, you’re a man now’ speech. Either that or a ‘By the way, have I mentioned lately that drugs are bad?’ speech.”

  I laugh lightly at his totally-bogus-baritone Dad impression.

  “So … what did Dad say?”

  Brian shrugs again. “Just … ‘Son, you know how much I love you, but I think there’s something you should know … ’”

  Slosh, slosh, slosh go our footsteps through the waves.

  “But he never stopped looking me in the eye,” Brian adds, a warm breeze blowing against our faces. “That meant a lot to me. I thought, He’s not afraid of this; he’s not afraid of us. It made me feel … not afraid.”

  I nod, blinking away tears.

  Slosh, slosh, slosh.

  “What about Mom?” I say. “What did she say after you found out?”

  Brian shrugs. “We, like, hugged. She cried. I told her everything was cool. And it was. Life went back to normal after that.”

  “No it didn’t,” I say, looking down. “That’s when you started breaking out in rashes.”

  “Oh yeah. Thanks for reminding me, by the way.” Brian pauses, then adds, “You know, I never even made that connection.”

  “It’s when you started dating Olivia, too,” I say cautiously. “And when you decided to blow off college.”

  “Forrest, honest to god, I never associated any of those things with ‘the news.’ I was just living my life.”

  “But making really weird choices.”

  “Yeah, dating the prettiest girl in school was way out there.”

  I jostle him. “You know I’m cool with Olivia now,” I say, then giggle as Brian makes an exaggerated gesture of relief. “But college … blowing off college was weird. Was it, like, a way to get back at Mom? Even though it wasn’t her fault?”

  Brian runs his fingers through his hair. “Nah. Although, frankly, there’s never a bad occasion to get back at Mom.” Pause. “Of course I never blamed her. I hated that bastard for hurting her … like I hate that bastard Scott.”

  I wince hearing Brian say his name.

  “But I guess it did make me rethink my priorities,” Brian says. “I felt this new sense of liberty in living for myself, making my own choices instead of trying to please Mom.”

  I crinkle my eyebrows together. “But what if you’d liked college? What if what Mom wanted is really what would have made you the happiest?”

  “Uh, in the first place, I’m going to college,” Brian snaps playfully. “God, you act like Starrett Community College is Alcatraz or something.”

  “No, no,” I protest. “Harvard, Yale, Vanderbilt, Starrett Community College … they all share that Ivy League vibe.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, well, a degree is a degree. I’m happy. And I don’t break out in rashes anymore. It’s all good, right?”

  I smile.

  Slosh, slosh, slosh.

  “Do you ever think about him?” I ask. “Are you ever curious about—”

  “No.”

  That’s it. Just no.

  I stop abruptly.

  Brian turns and looks at me, then follows my gaze. Some guys are playing Frisbee a few yards up the beach.

  My heart pounds through my shirt.

  “That’s them.”

  thirty

  Brian thrusts out his chest.

  “Scott?” he asks me, his voice eerily calm.

  “No,” I say, panting softly, “he’s not there. But those are the guys I’ve seen him playing Frisbee with.”

  Brian starts running toward them. I freeze for a nanosecond, then trot to catch up with him.

  “Brian, wait … ”

  Brian lunges toward one of the Frisbee players, stopping only when their noses are practically touching. “Excuse me,” he barks. “Looking for a guy named Scott.”

  The Frisbee player backs away warily and eyes his friends.

  “Uh … he’s not here,” the guy says.

  “So tell me where I can find him.”

  “Brian … ” I plead.

  “I dunno, man,” the Frisbee player says. “He’s thrown a Frisbee around with us a few times, but it’s not like we hang out … ”

  “Just point out where he’s staying,” Brian says, moving closer again and pumping his fists by his side.

  The guy scratches his head. “Where he’s staying?”

  “Yeah. He’s staying at his aunt’s place, right?”

  The guy looks genuinely puzzled, again exchanging glances with his friends.

  “I don’t think so … ” he says.

  “Sure he is,” Brian says, muscling another step closer. “Just finished painting her bathroom. Show me the house, bro. Just want to know which house is his.”

  The guy backs away a bit. “Yeah, he painted somebody’s bathroom recently, but it wasn’t his aunt’s. Just some lady on the beach who hired him to do some painting. That’s what he told us, anyhow. Think he said he finished the job. B
ut he doesn’t live here … he lives somewhere in town, I think. He just hangs out on the beach a lot. I don’t even know his last name.”

  Brian studies his face, then looks at his friends. “All I want to do is talk to the guy,” he says, trying not to sound as menacing as he looks.

  “We’d help you if we could,” one of the guys says. “But we really don’t know him that well. The guy’s kind of a jerk, actually.”

  Brian considers his words.

  “I really need to talk to him.”

  “Yeah,” the first guy says. “If we see him again, we’ll definitely tell him you’re looking for him. You live on the beach … ?”

  “I’ll find him,” Brian says. “Like I said … just need to talk. So … I’ll head this way every so often, see if I get lucky and catch him hanging out with you guys … ”

  “Yeah, yeah,” they murmur, assuring Brian they’ll be on the lookout.

  Brian stands there for a long moment, studying their faces, one at a time. “Great,” he says. “Appreciate it.”

  “What are you doing?”

  Brian is walking so fast up the beach, I have to trot to catch up with him.

  “Can’t let the summer go by without introducing myself to ol’ Scott, can I?”

  I breathlessly pull on his arm, forcing him to stop. “Don’t! ” I beg. “I can’t stand thinking of you breathing the same oxygen as him. And if he has any sense at all, he’ll lie low. I’ll probably never see him again. And that’s all that matters. I just want him to disappear. Please don’t make me have to deal with him again, Brian.”

  Brian’s eyes soften. “You won’t have to deal with him at all.”

  “I don’t want him polluting our lives! In any way, in any form, on any body’s terms. Please let this all go away.”

  Brian’s chest seems to literally be deflating before my eyes. He sighs. “Okay,” he says grudgingly. “If I run into him, I don’t make any promises, but I’ll just … chill. Okay?”

  I exhale through puffed-out cheeks. “Thank you.”

  We start walking again at a normal pace, and after a couple of minutes, my heart stops racing.

  I’m safe, I remind myself. My big brother’s here. I’m safe.

  “God, Forrest, I am so sorry.”

  “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  Olivia smiles, but her eyes are sad. “I’m sorry about everything. But mostly about … about your parents … about the secret.”

  I guess Olivia has been waiting for me in our bedroom. She was out with her mom all afternoon, so we haven’t had a chance to talk about … about … well, about any of the Jerry Springer issues that have come crashing into my life in the past twenty-four hours.

  I’m toweling my hair dry from the shower as I walk to the dresser in my robe.

  “I shoulda hooked up with your mom eons ago,” I muse. “Gotta hand it to her, she can cough up family secrets like nobody’s business.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Olivia repeats. “It was so stupid of me to tell her.”

  I turn to look at her. “It’s okay. Really. It’s okay.”

  Tears fill Olivia’s eyes. “And Scott … oh, Forrest, it’s just so awful.”

  I walk over to her. “Thanks for the things you said to me … for watching out for me, for trying to—”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Olivia moans. “I should have done so much more. I should have stayed with you on the beach and made sure he couldn’t come near you … I mean, I just thought he was a player, which is bad enough. I didn’t know he was—”

  “It’s okay,” I say in barely a whisper. “I’m okay. I handled it. And now … well, I’m a lot wiser now.”

  Olivia shakes her head, her eyes still teary. “Not all guys are like that,” she insists. “I had some bad experiences with guys before I met Brian. I mean, they’re out there … the guys who just want to use you … but they’re not all that way, Forrest.”

  She hugs me spontaneously, and I hug her back for a long moment.

  As our arms untangle, I say, “So your mom headed back home?”

  Olivia nods.

  “I miss her already,” I say.

  Olivia giggles through her tears. “I hate her,” she says. “Hate her, hate her, hate her.”

  She plops on the floor and leans against the bottom bunk. I sit next to her.

  “You know what’s pathetic?” she says wistfully. “No matter how many times she lets me down, I always come back for more. I always crave her approval, always hope the next time will be different, always carve out whatever little slice of my soul I think I can toss at her to keep her coming back.”

  “You’re better than her,” I say, and I mean it.

  Olivia nods. “She set the bar pretty low.”

  We giggle again.

  “But I’m gonna be a great mom,” Olivia says with a look of steely determination. “Whatever my mom would do, I’ll do the opposite.”

  “Excellent plan.”

  She looks into space. “Do you think Brian started dating me just because he was so vulnerable? That if he hadn’t found out about his dad, we’d never have gotten together?”

  I shake my head. “Nope. I think he loves you.”

  I mean it.

  Olivia considers my words. “I couldn’t believe that at first. I thought, He’s such a great guy; what could he possibly see in me ?”

  I look at her and raise an eyebrow. “Uh, hello,” I say.

  She blushes. “I mean it. I think when your own mom bails on you … well … it really does a number on your self-esteem.”

  I feel a pinch in my heart. How dare Olivia base her self-esteem on her mother’s selfishness. How dare her stupid mother create that destiny for her.

  Dad’s words echo in my head: Don’t judge people by their parents. I love my dad for saying that. I love him for living it.

  My fingers dangle over my knees. “Do you think if your mom had stuck around,” I ask, “that you’d be in a different place now?”

  She shrugs, both of us still gazing into space. “I wish she’d stuck around. But I wouldn’t want to be in a different place.”

  A moment passes. “It’s weird how my parents ended up together,” I say, “but it seems to have worked out okay.”

  Olivia’s eyes turn wistful. “I’m beginning to think that most people just kind of fall into adulthood. You know, when you’re little, you think of your future like a buffet—I can have this, or this, or that, or a little bit of everything—and when you grow up, you realize you’re more like a kid at a parade, waiting for a clown to toss some candy your way, then hoping you can beat out the other kids to grab a piece, then realizing you’re stuck with whatever ends up in your hand. But happy to have it.”

  I nod. “Deep. I guess the secret is being happy to have it.”

  “Well, it is candy.”

  I shrug in agreement, then say, “What if, instead of throwing you candy, the clown runs over your foot with his unicycle?”

  Olivia mmmmms in contemplation. “Then you’re screwed.”

  The fan whirs overhead.

  “So you’re gonna do surveillance on all the guys I hang around in the future?” I ask her playfully.

  “Well, I do have a lot of experience in these areas,” she says. “Maybe I can be your go-to girl when it comes to guys. And you can be my go-to girl when it comes to … ”

  “Vocabulary?” I suggest after an excruciatingly long pause.

  “Yeah. Vocabulary.”

  “Then I guess we’ve got each other’s backs.”

  thirty-one

  “It’ll only take a few minutes, honey.”

  My nails dig into my palms. “Olivia and I were just headed out for yogurt,” I tell Dad.

  Olivia touches my hand. “We’ll come with you.” She glances at B
rian. “We’ll all come.”

  A week has passed since Scott attacked me. The knot in my stomach hasn’t yet loosened, but my lip has healed, and the bruises on my arm have faded to light pink. I’ve trained my brain not to look at my arms; I’m nauseated by the outline of his fingers. Yes, I’ve gotten pretty good at closing that door in my mind. Sometimes, five whole minutes pass without me thinking about that night.

  But I’ve overheard hushed phone conversations between my parents and the police, so I know I can’t wish the experience away.

  In a way, I’d give anything to confront Scott, to scream at him and throw my pain at his feet. But I think of his soulless eyes and shiver. He doesn’t give a shit about my pain. And I truly don’t want to devote another nanosecond of my life to thinking about him.

  But other girls are out there …

  I take a deep breath. “Okay,” I tell Dad. “Let’s go.”

  The five of us file into the car and head for the police station. All these years I’ve spent my summers here, and who knew where the police station was? It seems as jolting to think about a police station at the beach as it does to think about the sewage system at an amusement park. But on this gorgeous summer day, the police station is where we are heading.

  In the car, Mom and Dad tell me in murmured voices what to expect: people have been questioned, statements have been filed, evidence has been gathered—and now a lineup of guys is awaiting me at the station behind a one-way mirror. Scott will never lay eyes on me; we won’t exchange a single word of conversation. I just have to look at the guys and point out which one is Scott. Then leave. That’s it.

  So why do I feel like I’m going to throw up? Olivia squeezes my hand in the back seat, and Brian tosses his arm around my neck.

  I keep my eyes on the sea of fuchsia crepe myrtle blooming in islands in the middle of the street. Spackle Beach … such a beautiful place.

  I correct myself. Sparkle Beach.

  Our family isn’t spackling over things anymore.

  I swallow hard.

  It’ll be okay.

  I clench my sweaty palms.

  “You’re sure he can’t see me?”

  The officer nods. “I guarantee it, ma’am.”