“I think so,” I say. My head falls to the side, and my eyes alight with a hopefulness I pray will pressure Mac into saying yes to my next request. “You want to wake up early and see if anything’s biting? I haven’t been fishing in ages. We’ll be done in time to make breakfast. I promise.”
Mac gives me a withering glare. “I don’t fish, Sam. It’s never going to happen.”
Mac’s right, it was my dad who used to fish with me, and the memory becomes a lead weight plummeting into my stomach. “You’re no fun,” I say.
“Assuming I don’t have a hangover tomorrow morning,” she says dismissively, “I’ll consider accompanying you.”
I knew that wasn’t going to happen, despite her intentions. Mac doesn’t do “dirty things” like fishing or even gardening, especially not in the morning when she’d rather be sleeping. I, on the other hand, haven’t slept in late for so long I might’ve forgotten how to do it. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand how you can work with grease monkeys and lube and stinky, synthetic liquids, but the purity of nature bothers you.” I squint at her, incredulous.
“Grime under my fingernails and grease that I can wash off is different. Slimy, wiggling things that eat decaying matter and live underground . . .” She cringes. “There’s no coming back from that, Sam. I can’t just wash something like that off. It’s imprinted in my brain—”
“Forever,” I finish for her. “I know.” We burst out laughing. “You’re pathetic.”
“No, I’m a girl, something you should act like every once in a while.”
“Hey,” I say, defensive. “I got a date just fine, and I was dirty and stinky and—”
“None of which you should be proud of, Samantha Marie Miller. If this Adam guy is as dreamy as you describe him and the big shot his website claims, then you’ll need to step out of cutoff-and-cowboy-boot zone and sex it up a little bit for your date.”
I recoil. “Sex it up?”
Mac grips my arm. “You’re still on birth control, right?”
I frown. “Yeah, but—”
“Good. That’s one less thing you have to worry about then.”
I groan. “I haven’t ‘sexed’ anything up in so long I think I might’ve forgotten how to do that, too,” I grumble.
“That’s why I’m going to help you. I’ll raid my closet and find you the perfect outfit. Figure out where you’re going when we get back, okay? That will help me narrow our options down.” She turns serious. “You really need to try and make this work, Sam.”
I frown. “Excuse me?”
There’s no sympathy in her tone, no placating. “This is going to be good for you. You need to get out more, start living your life. So don’t sabotage it, okay?”
“Why would I sab—”
“I know you called Tommy Baker right before your date with him last month and claimed you were sick, Sam. I know you showed up for that blind date I set up for you last year with one of my customers, then left like ten minutes into it because you suddenly weren’t feeling well.” She studies me, the flickering fire illuminating concern and annoyance in her brilliant eyes. “There was nothing wrong with those guys, Sam. I interviewed them myself. You were scared and stopped anything from happening before they even had a chance to hurt you.”
I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and don’t want to talk about this. Refusing to meet her gaze, I take a sip of lukewarm toddy.
“Sam,” Mac says sternly. “Look at me, Sam.”
With a raised, expectant eyebrow, I spare her a glance. “Yes, Miss Bossy-Pants?”
Her expression softens and the genuine worry in her eyes makes me uneasy. “Not every guy is an asshole like Mike.” She rubs one hand over her bare legs to keep warm.
After making a noncommittal noise, I reach for the fleece blanket folded up in Nick’s empty chair on the other side of me. “I know that,” I say and spread the blanket over her lap, tucking in the edges.
“I know what you’re doing,” she says. Mac watches me a moment, what seems to be her trademark for the night, and I can tell her mind-wheels are turning.
“Yeah? And what’s that,” I say, though I don’t like the direction this conversation is going. I draw nonsensical shapes in the mug’s condensation.
“You’re trying to control everything because you think it’s the safest option.”
A frown settles on my face. “What the hell is this, an intervention or a camping trip?”
Mac’s green eyes are bright but gleaming with sadness, and it hurts me more than I thought.
I lift an indifferent shoulder. “So what, I’m taking my time, making sure I don’t make any more bad decisions—God knows I’ve made enough of them. That’s not some horrible thing.”
When Mac doesn’t say anything, I venture a look at her, though I’m certain I’ll regret it.
She gives me a grim smile. “This is the last thing I’ll say,” she says and holds up a hand. “You can’t control everything. You’ll constantly be disappointed if that’s what you’re waiting for.”
I stare into the fire. Little does Mac know I already gave up on that. Now I’m just trying to keep my head above water.
When the silence hangs too long between us, Mac uncurls herself from the chair. “I’m gonna change. Want me to grab you a sweatshirt or something while I’m up?”
I shake my head, needing the cool air that bites my exposed skin, wanting to feel the chills raking painfully over my body because anything is better than the unwanted pain in my heart.
“Don’t drink the rest of the toddy before I get back,” she teases, trying to lighten the mood before she disappears into our tent.
It bothers me that she can’t just let me be. She says she wants me to let loose, but then she pries and prods until my miserable life is all I can think about. Despite my intention to forget about everything but having fun this weekend, my mood has officially turned sour. What little light there was has been chased away by the darkness again.
I want to steal off into the shadows, be alone, and cope the only way I know how. My gaze fixes on the Ziploc bag of forks and knives on the picnic table, but I check the impulse, banishing the thought when I realize my sudden absence would only cause a scene I don’t have the energy to deal with.
Willing the darkness in my mind to go away, I stare into the glowing embers of the fire, inhaling the scent of smoky pine and wishing I could scorch the old pain and memories away and start anew. But it’s too late for that. I already feel like the charred piece of kindling that braces the side of the fire pit—cracked and burned nearly to ash.
After a dozen heartbeats and a couple of deep breaths, I hear footsteps behind me. I don’t bother looking back. I know it’s Reilly because he’s silent, not boisterous like Nick.
“Hey,” Reilly says as he steps out of the trees. I can hear Nick cursing in the darkness farther back.
“Hey.” I continue to stare into the flames. There’s rustling and chatting behind me as the guys settle back into camp, but I don’t pay much attention. I’m debating going for a walk when Reilly’s form looms above me. “Mind if I sit?”
I shake my head. “Sure.”
He lowers himself into the chair to my left, and lets out a deep breath as he stares at my mug. “How did it turn out?”
“Amazing, apparently,” Nick says as he strides up behind us. He hands Reilly a beer. “There’s barely any left.” They clink bottles and Nick pulls up a chair beside Reilly.
“We caught a few trout, Sam. But we let them go. You’d be proud of us.” Nick smiles like a child needing positive reinforcement.
All I can manage is a weak smile, and I settle deeper into my seat. I’m suddenly exhausted.
Nick drapes his hands over his knees. “You alright?”
“I’m just tired,” I say. It’s not really a lie.
“Hmm.” Nick stares at me a moment longer, then exhales, like he’s surrendering. “Well, I stink like fish. I’m going to change.” He lights a cigare
tte and heads toward the row of our tents.
It’s quiet for a moment, the sound of Mac struggling into her clothes a few yards away mixing with the crackling embers of the dying fire. The flames are so low they no longer fend off the chill of night. I like it.
Reilly leans forward and tosses another log into the pit. I sigh and we sit in silence, an awkward silence that makes me uneasy.
“There you are!” An all-too-familiar voice grates on the last of my nerves.
Bethany prances over toward the campfire with a red solo cup in her hand. She’s all smiles and her eyes are glazed over as she scans the campsite.
Reilly stands up to greet her and Bethany leans into him, giving him a hug. Unable to watch them—to relive this sordid memory all over again—I stand up, take three hurried steps to the picnic table, steal a steak knife out of the utensil bag, and shove it into my pocket.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I call over my shoulder as I head out of camp. No one responds, which is all the better. I can’t escape fast enough.
I grip the knife more tightly in my pocket. The pressure of the serrated edge of the blade against my palm already makes me feel better, and I slip away into the shadows of the tree line. My desperation is tangible and though my face likely resembles a mask of indifference, I want to scream at the top of my lungs.
Uncalled for? Maybe.
Pathetic. Yes, but I can’t bring myself to care right now.
I’m tired of everything being insurmountably difficult, of the last couple weeks embodying everything that I hate and despise about myself. I can’t deal with Bethany right now too.
Only when the chatter back at camp is inaudible do I stop walking. I pull the knife from my pocket and stare down at it, glinting in the slivers of moonlight. Surprisingly out of breath and suddenly frantic with need, I fall back against a tree trunk. I press the pad of my thumb over the end of the blade, piercing the skin with one quick slice that tears, stings, and then burns as the air assaults it. The combination of confusion, anger, and loneliness is dulled by pain, and I exhale.
Release . . .
But it’s not enough.
I take a deep breath and pull the loose leg of my cutoffs up as high as it’ll go on my right thigh. I’ve rarely taken it this far, but I don’t care tonight. With my fingertip, I frantically trace over my skin, seeking the scarred tissue I’ll use as a guide.
The moment my finger grazes the puckered skin, I feel stronger, and before I can change my mind, I press the edge of the blade into the flesh just below my hip bone, biting my bottom lip as I press even harder, feeling the skin break. I heave out a breath, and with one fluid motion, everything that makes me feel weak is eclipsed by the burn and rush of relief.
Suddenly shaking, I fling the knife into the trees, and I drop to my knees. This time I cry.
* * *
Four Years Ago
“This isn’t a Porsche,” I grumble as I grab hold of the “oh shit” handle above the passenger window of Mac’s new Jeep. “You think you could slow down a bit?” I peer over at her as she downshifts around a tight corner. “I’d like to live long enough to actually see the guys’ graduation.”
“Where’s your sense of living, Sam?”
“I’d like to live past seventeen,” I say, rueful and a little anxious. “I can’t believe your dad bought you a new car. Clearly he hasn’t driven with you much.”
“Ha! Too bad he’s the one who taught me how to drive.” Mac lets out a giddy laugh, her long hair falling back around her bare shoulders as she slows the Jeep and turns into the public parking lot.
“Look, you lived!” She flashes me a smirky smile. After pulling the Jeep into one of the few parking spots remaining, she flicks my shoulder. “Now get out! It’s time to have some fun!” She leans behind me, rustling around and groaning as she collects our beach bags from the backseat.
“Here,” she says, shoving my bag at me. “Remind me to get you a new one for Christmas, okay?” She straightens, and I look at her bright pink bag embellished with rhinestones, then at my dulled, holey tan one. A perfect representation of how different we are, no matter the nine years we’ve been friends.
Mac pulls out a tube of lip gloss and examines herself in the mirror, just as my phone jingles in my bag. Fumbling, I pull it out, secretly hoping it’s Reilly, especially now that our lakeside chats have turned into heavy petting sessions, so to speak.
“If it’s the boys,” Mac says, pursing her lips together in the mirror, “tell them we beat them here, like I said we would.” She runs her hands through her hair. “Well, this is as good as it’s going to get,” she says to her reflection.
I glance down at the notification: Alison’s Cell. I shake my head, feeling some of my excitement for the day drain away. “It’s not the boys.”
Message: You forgot to unload the dishwasher before you left this morning.
Mac’s lilac perfume fills my senses as she leans over my shoulder. “Ugh.” She nudges me. “Ignore her. They’ll be there when you get home . . . and so will she, unfortunately.”
It’s easier said than done, ignoring Alison. It seems like nothing makes her happy, and it’s only been getting worse. Papa says she just needs more time, but I’m not so sure.
Mac clicks her seatbelt off and pushes the driver’s side door open. She turns to me, adjusting her strapless cream and brown swirled sundress, wrinkled from the drive.
“Stop that,” Mac chides.
I look at her. “Stop what?”
“Stop thinking about her. I hate that look you always have because of her.” Mac leans in and her voice softens. “It’s the weekend, Sam. We’re two hot chicks going to hang out with a bunch of hot guys. We’re at the beach . . . it’s time to have some flipping fun.” She grins from ear to ear. “Don’t let her ruin that.”
“I have fun,” I say.
“Not nearly enough since Alison entered the picture,” Mac grumbles. “Now, come on. Reilly’s waiting,” she says in a singsong voice. “That should be enough to keep a fat smile on your face.”
I jump out of the passenger seat, feeling naked without my glasses on. Against my better judgement, Mac has convinced me to leave my hair down and flowing all around me, which is a little too unruly for my liking.
“I’m so proud of you! You wore a dress today—and no boots!” Mac gives me three excited claps then wraps one arm around my shoulder, squeezing me into her.
“Look who decided to show up!” Nick shouts up from the fire pit on the beach below. “I thought maybe you ladies might’ve gotten lost in Mac’s closet.”
“Hey! I thought we beat you!” Mac cries. When I peer down the cliff at the beach, there are dozens of people I go to school with—mostly the baseball team and their groupies—sunbathing below and playing volleyball, including Reilly. I watch him a moment as he talks to Bethany, see the way she rests her hand on his arm and the way he smiles at her. I try not to be jealous, but I can’t help feeling a little betrayed.
Mac and Nick banter back and forth as we hike down the trail to meet up with everyone, dropping our bags on the blankets spread out around the campfire when we reach the sand.
I tune their bickering out the instant my eyes meet Reilly’s. When had he become this unattainable godlike guy that I dream about? When had he gone from Josh Reilly, jock and neighbor boy, to something so much more it hurts? All the time we’ve been spending together at the lake has everything to do with it, but regardless of when things changed, they definitely had. I find more and more reasons to walk down to the lake, to see him and spend time with him.
Realizing I’m staring, I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose, only to remember I’m not wearing them. Not today.
Reilly walks over from the volleyball net toward me. A gorgeous smile engulfs his face, and a moment passes between us that makes my nerves twist and tingle and tense. I completely forget about Bethany’s hands all over him, because I know he’s happy to see me today—it’s written all ov
er his face. I will never grow tired of his dreamy smile. It’s a smile that makes me feel like the most important girl in the world, like he’s been waiting for me to get here all day.
His rich blue eyes almost dance in the sunlight as he walks up to me. The wind picks up, ruining any chance of a moment we might have as my hair whips me in the face. Patting it back down, I silently curse, then blush.
Reilly laughs and smooths down a strand of wild, wispy hair. “I can’t remember the last time I saw you with your hair down.” His gaze is intent and appraising.
I moisten my lips. “Yeah, probably not the smartest decision.” I throw my hands up as the wind picks up again.
His chuckle is soft this time as I gather and twist my hair, draping the loose twist over my shoulder. “Well, I like it,” he says.
His gaze—one that I’ve known my whole life—fixes on mine, reflecting an emotion I’m not familiar with. Reilly takes a deep breath, then he looks away. “You want a drink or something?” He trudges through the sand, his bare feet disappearing beneath it with each step, back to the ice chest.
“We’ll both have a wine cooler!” Mac chirps. “Pretty please.”
Reilly winks at me and pulls out two bottles of red-colored liquid I know is too sweet for my taste, but ten times better than beer. After removing the caps, he gives one to Mac and then to me. I don’t know where they got the booze, probably Brady’s dad’s bar or something, but I don’t bother to ask.
“Happy graduation, boys!” Mac exclaims. She and I giggle and clink bottles, then she looks back to the guys. “Thanks for inviting us to hang out with you, though I’d expect nothing less.”
“If you think I’d risk the wrath of Machaela Carmichael, you’re crazy,” Nick says, lifting his beer in another toast. We cheers again, Mac rolling her eyes this time as he yips and yodels in excitement.
Reilly grins at me, a small, secret smile that makes my own broaden, and we both take a sip from our drinks. It’s a little awkward, but I’m just happy to be standing with him as Sam, more-than-friends, possible girlfriend, and not Sam, the neighbor girl.
Saratoga Falls: The Complete Love Story Series Page 18