I’m tired of doing this every night. Tired of his threats and his bullying. Without a second thought, I close the distance between us. “You want to hit me?” I ask. Though my voice is cold and daring, I’m trembling inside with anger or fear, maybe a little bit of both. “Do it,” I say. “Hit me.” He’s done it twice before, but threatened it dozens more than that.
The old man’s muddy green eyes bore into me. “You’re—”
“What? Hit me already. Do it! Or are you afraid I’ll hit you back this time?” I take a step closer, getting right into his face. “Do it,” I taunt him, more quietly. I’ve never been sure whether he regretted both times or if he even remembers them.
The old man’s eyes shift over my face wildly, and he bares his teeth. “Don’t tempt me, boy.” I know he’s warring with himself. If he hit me, he’d at least leave me alone, and I’m stronger this time; I can hit him back.
Finally he turns on his heels and smashes his hand against the wall. “Get the hell out of here,” he says, his voice strained and gruff. He bangs on the wall again, then starts thrashing my room—pushing everything off my desk and bookshelves. “Get the fuck out of here, you ungrateful son of a bitch! Get out of my house!” The pain in his voice is audible, but I don’t care what demons taunt him tonight. My heart is hammering in my chest and my throat burns and constricts. I don’t want to be here any more than he wants me to be.
I swallow and brush past him, stalk down the hall, through the living room, and head out the front door, slamming it shut behind me. Three strides later, I reach my truck but stop at the driver’s side door. As much as I want to leave and never come back to this dump, I can’t leave like this, not without clothes, my backpack, my gear . . . I have school tomorrow, I have homework. I have an image to maintain, grades to keep up. I know it’s my only hope of anything changing. Besides, tomorrow he’ll probably have forgotten everything anyway and things will go back to being how they usually are.
Glancing back at the house, I decide to give him an hour or so until he’s passed out for the rest of the night, dead to the world until dawn, when he heads for the mill.
With only one place left to go, I walk up the hill and head toward the lake. The evening breeze is chilly, but it feels good against my clammy skin, covered in dried sweat from practice but still heated from the fading adrenaline.
My stride is wide and determined, consuming the distance between me and the lake—the one dependable thing in my life. The ground is soft from recent rain beneath my shoes and the tall green grass of spring dampens my baseball pants, but I don’t really notice.
I’ve never known why the old man’s so angry all the time, why he hates me even though he barely knows me. I barely know him. I heard a rumor he was a Marine in another life, but when I asked him about it a long time ago he simply walked away from me. All I know for sure is he likes to drink cheap beer and whiskey, has worked at the lumber mill for as long as I’ve been alive, and doesn’t have any friends, at least not that I know of. Not even the bartenders at Lick’s like him all that much. Oh, and according to him, I’m a burden—and I get it, but I’m also his son, and I would’ve thought that counted for something. Then again, family—at least between us—has never really meant anything.
Moments pass until finally I’m stepping onto the dock at the lake. It’s the Millers’ side of the property, but I know they don’t mind. Mr. Miller has been more like a father to me than my own has ever been, and working for him is how I could afford to buy my new truck in the first place. Without his help, I’d be stranded and even more destitute.
I grab a faded cushion off a deck chair, deciding I have a while and should make myself comfortable. After lowering myself down to the edge of the dock, I ball the cushion up behind my head and lie back with an exaggerated exhale.
The cool air and the splintered wood, barely warm from the diminishing rays of the afternoon sun, stick to my shirt, but it’s better than sitting in my truck or driving all the way back to town.
Like usual, I can appreciate the quietness here, the distance this place puts between me and my life. Here everything just is; the sounds are comforting. All of that is better than stale silence and building tension in a house that’s never felt like home. Out here I can think about my options, about what to do next and how I’m going to get there. Nick was joking around when he brought up the Army, but it doesn’t sound half bad. I don’t want baseball to be my life—I only joined initially because Nick wanted me to and it keeps me out of the house. So what if I’m any good at it? I don’t want it to be my life. Do I? All that matters is getting away from this place, and I’m not sure I have the patience to wait much longer.
I hear a rustle in the grass behind me and peer over my shoulder. I’m not sure why, but I’m surprised to see Sam standing there, her brown eyes wide behind her glasses and her hands tapping anxiously at her sides. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I sit up and shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. It’s your dock, I was just sort of squatting here for a bit.”
She smiles meekly, both of us quiet for a few seconds. “Right, well,” she breathes and turns on her heel. “I’ll leave you alone.”
“Wait, you don’t have to go. I’m the one that should leave you to . . . whatever you were gonna do.”
I move to climb to my feet but Sam takes a step forward, her palm out. “No, really. It’s fine.” She shrugs. Her smile is small and awkward. “I just needed to get out of the house. You should stay.” She gazes around the lake until finally she gestures to the space beside me. “Do you mind if I sit?” There’s something in her eyes I haven’t noticed before, something soft and innocent, something intriguing.
“Please,” I say, and watch as she slowly lowers herself beside me, a couple feet away, at least. Of all the times I’ve seen Sam over the past eight or so years, I wonder if there’s ever been a time we’ve been alone like this. She’s sort of majestic in her own way, I realize as she tucks her blonde and brown-streaked hair behind her ears. The brown color’s new, and I wonder if it’s some sort of statement and if it has anything to do with what she’s escaping from at home.
There’s uncomfortable silence for a minute before I force myself to say something. “So, how’s sophomore year treating you so far?” It’s a stupid question, but I’m finding it strangely difficult to think of something to say, despite the hundreds of conversations we’ve had over the years. This time there are no distractions, no interruptions. It’s just me and Sam, a situation I find a little unnerving.
“It’s going,” she says. “Not really what I expected it to be, but it’s okay.”
“Yeah? And what did you expect? To feel older or something?”
She shakes her head and smiles a big, genuine smile when she looks at me. “No—well, sort of—but I mostly pictured high school to be this glamourous thing, you know? That there would be more boys and dances and”—she lifts her shoulders and glances at me like she’s said too much—“I don’t know, that I’d just feel different.” Her eyes brighten with something wistful that makes me smile back at her. “I guess I just wasn’t expecting the smell of stale body odor lingering in every classroom to be a staple of everyday life or my grade to be based on whether or not I’m the teacher’s favorite student. And the food . . .” Her face scrunches and she shakes her head. “High school is gross, and everything is so boring. It’s sort of overrated, you know?”
I nod, unable to suppress a grin as I watch her speak. “Yeah, I get it.” Her pink lips twitch every now and again, and I can tell she wants to smile. There’s a glint in her eyes that intrigues me. When she finally looks at me again, her cheeks redden before she glances away, leaving us both in another stretch of strange silence.
“I haven’t seen you around the ranch much lately,” she eventually says. She stares out at the water, tapping her index finger on the edge of the dock.
“Yeah, well, baseball season started, so I’ve been pretty busy.”
&nb
sp; Sam nods. “It’s all Nick talks about.” She rolls her eyes, like she can’t fathom why.
“You don’t like sports?” I realize despite all the years I’ve known Sam, I don’t know much about her, even if we have some of the same friends.
“Ah, no, not really. I’m more of a homebody.”
I couldn’t imagine being home any more than I already have to be. “Yeah, well, I try to get out of the house as much as I can.”
It’s my turn to stare out at the lake this time, but I see Sam look at me from the corner of my eye. “I heard you guys fighting,” she says quietly.
My stomach lurches a little. “Yeah?” I sometimes wondered if they ever hear us. I’ve heard Mr. Miller’s new wife shouting a few times and wondered if everything was okay. I glance at Sam sidelong, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone at school or anything,” she says somewhat protectively, and there’s something about her promise that makes me grateful, even though everyone already thinks they know my situation.
I meet her gaze. “It’s not a secret that my dad’s a dick,” I say with a frown. “But thank you.”
Her lips purse and her eyebrows arch over her compassionate brown eyes. “He still shouldn’t treat you like that. You don’t deserve it,” she says.
“It’s fine, I’ll be out of here soon.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up and she blinks. “That’s good. Are you moving out?” She picks at a muddy spot on her jeans, and I can picture her out with her horses, like I’d seen her doing during my time at the ranch. She’s peaceful around them, seems happy even.
“Army, baseball, getting my own place if I can get a job . . . I don’t know. I’ll figure something out.”
“Then it’s something to look forward to,” she chirps, and I know she’s trying to make me feel better.
“Yeah, well . . .” I hate the way her eyes hold so many emotions. I hate that I can see her sympathy and pain, her pity and sadness. I see that protectiveness in there too, though, something I’ve never seen in anyone’s expression before, and my defenses fall away a little bit. “I’d rather not talk about it,” I say quietly. “Just ignore whatever you hear over there. That’s what I try to do.”
Sam bites the side of her lip and nods, just barely, before she leans back on her elbows and stares out at the water. Her long-sleeve shirt is pulled tight against her chest and the contours of her body are cast in evening shadows. When little Sam next door had become this petite, angelic-looking girl—a girl I’ve caught guys on the team staring at a time or two—I have no idea, but I find it difficult to look away from her, especially when she smiles.
I let out a deep breath, uncertain if her showing up down here is a bad or good thing.
“What about you?” I ask. “Is your house too crowded tonight, too?”
Without looking away from the rippling water, Sam sighs and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Just needed some air,” she says.
“You don’t like your new stepmom?” I’ve heard Mac and Nick talking, and I know Sam doesn’t get along with her all that well.
A false smile quirks Sam’s mouth up in the corner again, and she shrugs, seemingly indifferent. “She’s fine. I guess I’m just still getting used to the way things are now.” She’s lying though, I can tell, but it’s sweet that she’s private, protective of her family even, no matter how she really feels.
“You don’t have to lie,” I say with a smirk. “I won’t tell anyone.”
She blinks over at me, her gaze drifting from my mouth back up to my eyes, and for a split second, I feel my body heat and wonder what she sees when she looks at me.
“I just wish I knew why she hates me so much,” she says thoughtfully. Her brow furrows, and she glares past me a moment. “I’ve never said that out loud,” she says, but it’s almost a whisper.
“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you,” I say, and it’s true. No one who knows Sam, little meek, awkward Sam, could hate her.
“I overheard her telling Papa that it’s”—she clears her throat—“hard for her to look at me.”
I clench my jaw so my mouth doesn’t fall open. “She said that?”
Sam sits up, and I think I see tears in her eyes as she brushes her palms off on her pants. Finally, she nods. “But I’m sure she’ll come around.” She plasters on another false smile. “We just have to get through high school, right? Everything will be better after that.”
I nod, and I want to say something to comfort her, but I don’t know what. “At least we have this place,” I finally manage. “Unless this was a one-time deal and you don’t want to share it with me anymore.”
Sam wipes at her cheek, and she grins a little. “I guess I can share,” she says and looks at me. “That would be nice.”
Ten
Sam
Mac and I sit on the roof of her house, staring up at the stars as they shoot across the sky above us. We’ve done this all our lives, so it should feel comfortable to me, and it does, but it’s also different. It reminds me how much everything has changed and how infrequently we see each other now. Although it’s only been a week since our lunch date, the days have been so full it feels like months have already passed.
“Great night for a meteor shower,” Mac says, but like me, she’s distracted. She has been all night.
Repositioning myself on the blanket, I eye her carefully. “So,” I say sternly, “are you going to tell me?” I raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
Her head lolls toward me, and she frowns. “Tell you what?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you? You’ve been pretty quiet since I got here. Even the wine doesn’t seem to be helping.”
She shrugs and lets out an anxious sigh. “I just worry too much about everything.”
I know this about her, she’s a worrywart who sees too much and takes too much on herself. She always seems to think she can handle everyone’s problems—even mine, even when I don’t want her to. “What are you worrying about now?”
“My dad. He’s been under a lot of pressure, trying to find a replacement for Stan.”
“Really? I figured there’d be a line of applicants around the block.”
Mac groans and folds her arm behind her head. “Yeah, well, there aren’t, at least not that are qualified enough for what we need. It can’t just be some lube guy. We need someone who can do it all.”
There have been many moments in my friendship with Mac that I’ve wondered how we could’ve possibility become such good friends, especially given the constant reminders of how different we are: she likes to go out, I like to stay in; she’s girly, I’m not; she’s beautiful and confident—a spitfire, really—and dressing up for me is putting my contacts in instead of wearing my glasses. I live in a world where I have one stick of my go-to black eyeliner and flip-flops instead of sweltering, muck-around boots is borderline euphoric. Mac knows who she is and I’m just trying not to lose myself completely.
“. . . I mean, it’s harder than we thought, and we’re slammed with work,” she continues, and her gestures become more animated. “People want their car repairs done fast so they can leave for summer trips. And don’t get me started on everyone’s ‘sudden’ air conditioning problems. It’s like the universe knows we’re shorthanded and it’s testing us.”
“You’ll find someone, Mac. Your dad has the best reputation in like five counties. Why do you think you’re so busy? You just have to be patient and hold on a little longer. The next guy will be even better than Stan.”
Mac snorts. “Yeah, right.”
I flick her arm. “I’m serious. You’re a hard-ass and won’t let anyone less than worthy through those doors, and your dad can smell talent a mile away.” I smile, amused. “I mean, if he won’t even let his own son work for him because he’s not passionate enough, that’s saying something.”
Mac sighs again. “Oh, David.”
“How’s he doing, anyway?” I ask, knowing she
’s been worried about her older brother for the seven months he’s been living in L.A., writing songs and hanging out with a bunch of partiers.
“He says he’s staying out of trouble, but you know him. I won’t know what he’s been up to until I see him in the news. It’s like he’s punishing us for something.”
I lie back down on the blanket and stare up at the sky in time to see two meteors zip by above me.
“Oh! That was a good one.” She points up at the Milky Way. “I don’t see the dipper tonight,” she says, prompting me to show her.
“There,” I say, pointing northwest. “See? Boom. Boom. Boom.” I point to each star.
“Oh, yeah, I guess. They don’t seem very bright tonight.”
“The moon’s pretty full. I don’t think it’s really dark enough.”
Mac props herself up on her elbow and stares down at me. “Do you think David running off and getting into trouble has anything to do with my mom?” she asks, completely changing the subject.
Although I wish I could help her, I don’t know what to tell my friend. “Maybe that’s part of it,” I say honestly. “I mean, he was the oldest when she left, and it’s gotta be hard to deal with something like that . . . the sense of rejection and all the responsibility that comes with being the oldest.” It makes my chest burn just thinking about Mac and her family on the night they came home from a movie and found the note. Their mom was gone and never planning to come back. There’d been no word from her since.
“I still think about that night all the time,” Mac says, her voice distant. She rolls onto her back. “How do you hug your children, wrap them in scarves and jackets, peck them on the cheek and send them to a movie, all the while knowing you’re about to walk away from them forever for your own ambitions?”
“She’s sick, Mac, even your dad says so.”
Mac’s quiet a minute, then she folds her arm behind her head. “Yeah, I guess.” We watch a few more meteors shoot across the sky, then Mac asks, “How are you doing? I mean really doing?”
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 10