“You’re looking much better than you did yesterday,” I said to her.
She smiled. “Yeah. I’m…I’m good.” She nodded as she made eye contact with me and I could see the sincerity in her eyes.
I reached for her and we hugged.
“Now,” she said, “I just need to decide what to do about Connor.”
“What do you mean?”
She sat down on one of the stools behind the counter. “I’m not sure. All along the problem with him was that he was too nice, you know? And then when I needed a nice guy, I call him, and he’s right there for me in a way that the guy who I thought cared about me wasn’t. I’m confused.”
“Why?”
She took a deep breath that lifted her shoulders, then dropped them as she exhaled. “Last night when he brought dinner over, I told him the truth. I debated whether to do it, but I figured if he lost interest in me as a girlfriend, then I kind of had it coming because of how I had treated him when I started seeing Kyle.” She sighed, swallowed hard, and continued. “But I knew I wouldn’t lose him as a friend, and that was important to me.”
I watched her face go from an expression of sadness to one that looked more like angst. Not wanting to throw her off her train of thought, I didn’t say anything.
“So when I told him, he didn’t seem to judge me at all. He was the same. And he even said he understood why I didn’t tell him the truth right away. That was before I apologized for lying to him.”
I leaned on the counter, thinking she might have a totally screwed-up view of this. The emotions of the last few weeks culminating with the intense drama of the last few days—and maybe some of the pain medication—seemed to be clouding her thinking.
I shook my head. “I don’t get it. You’re talking like he’s perfect for you, but…what?”
She had started to shake her head and look like she was on the verge of tears. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have treated him like I did, and he shouldn’t be so willing to accept it. I don’t deserve him.”
I moved toward her, grabbing her shoulders. I resisted the urge to try to literally shake some sense in her. Instead, I held her, making her look at me. “You can’t think that way. Of course you deserve him. But you know what? Don’t take my word for it, and don’t believe the lies you’re telling yourself. He thinks you deserve him, so believe him. You trust him, don’t you?”
She nodded.
“Then trust him on this.”
. . . . .
Drew came by the shop as I was getting off work, his surfboard in tow. We had planned it earlier in the day. “One last lesson” he had called it, and I was glad we were on the phone at the time so he couldn’t see the sadness in my eyes.
I promised myself I wouldn’t let this night, or any of the last few remaining ones, be anything but fun. Maybe on the last day, there would be time for a difficult, tearful goodbye.
“Have you been practicing?” I asked after he completed three rides, all of which had been pretty decent.
“Nope. Just lucky, I guess.” He bent his neck quickly and placed a kiss on my lips. “Very lucky.”
We were standing on the beach at dusk. For the first time all summer, I wore a bikini in public. I caught Drew leering at me several times. Once I asked him if he was doing that on purpose, sort of a carry-over from the night I told him I wanted him to stare at all of me. He insisted it wasn’t planned, that he hadn’t even realized he was doing it, and that he couldn’t help it.
I couldn’t help looking at him, either—his bronze skin looking darker in the fading light, the water beading at the ends of his hair, droplets running down his chest.
We spent some time engaging in a pretty shameless public make-out session, lying right there in the sand, Drew on top, then rolling me over onto him.
We were up near the dunes, in the soft sand, away from where people usually took evening strolls on the beach.
At one point, though, Drew whispered into my ear, “Get a room.”
“You get the room, I’m there.”
. . . . .
We had a room on his boat, and that’s where we ended up after taking a shower together, which included some of the most erotic teasing I’d ever experienced. Or caused.
Later, we were lying on his bed. Drew was on his back. I lay with my head on his chest and one leg wrapped around his. His arm was around my shoulders and he held me close as we recovered.
“I think we could have been real trouble for each other,” he said.
I snapped out of the dreamy state I’d begun to slip into, lying there enjoying the calm and his warmth.
I looked up at him, resting my chin on his chest. “Why do you say that?”
Without hesitating, he said, “I don’t mean trouble in a bad way.”
I knew I had a confused expression on my face, but he didn’t see it. He wasn’t making eye contact with me. His gaze was focused straight up at the ceiling.
I lifted myself, propping up on one elbow so I could see his face better. “What do you mean?” I felt my brow furrow involuntarily. I didn’t like the heavy feeling in my chest.
“Nothing,” he said. “Maybe that was a bad choice of words. I just meant…I really like you and it sucks that this is the end.”
Of course it was going to come to an end, but I resented the heavy feeling in my chest and the way my stomach felt like it was knotting so tightly that I might throw up. This was no surprise. The only unknown was when it would happen, and Drew, for whatever reason, had chosen now.
“Maybe you could come back next summer,” he said. “Or I could come see you. That is, if you want. I don’t want you to feel obligated. It’s not like we’re in a relationship or anything. We don’t have to make it like that.”
That sealed it for me. I had let this go too far. I should have known better.
Drew was a distraction, at best. And, judging by his last comment, I was nothing more than a distraction to him as well.
When this had all started, he’d been very clear about his philosophy: “Life is nothing more than what’s around you at any time, and what you choose your life to be.”
He lived life on a whim. Doing what he wanted, when he wanted, as he said several times. That left very little, if any, possibility that he would even entertain the idea of being in a relationship.
Drew was a wanderer in life. Just as he had unexpectedly wandered into my life, it should have been clear to me all along that he would wander out of it, too.
What I didn’t want was some kind of arrangement where he would wander in and out of my life again and again.
His voice broke me out of my thought trance. “You’re shaking.”
I hadn’t noticed it, but as soon as he said it, I realized I had a chill, and probably not so much from the cool air blowing out of the air conditioning vents. “I…I’m sorry. Maybe just the air,” I lied.
I sat up, pulling the sheet with me so I could cover my body with it when I stood.
“You leaving?”
I was looking for my underwear, bra, shorts… They were strewn all over the place, mixed with Drew’s clothes.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible. “I have to get some things packed.”
“Not hungry?”
Hungry? Was he serious? After what had just happened, how could he be hungry?
“No,” I said, slipping behind the bathroom door so I could get my clothes on without him watching. “Just…tired.”
“Let me walk you out,” he said, starting to get off the bed.
“No, don’t. I’m good.” I hurried out of the stateroom, into the cabin. “I’ll talk to you later.”
Cliff jumped off the couch, hopping around me, happy to see me. I touched his head, hating the fact that I would miss him too.
I left there wondering if I had meant something—anything—to Drew, or whether I’d simply take up a few pages in his journal.
Chapter Twenty-One
I might have slep
t an hour, maybe two at the most, that night.
When I got back from Drew’s boat, I was surprised I’d made it. The tears flowed so heavily it was like driving in a rain storm without windshield wipers.
I knew all along that this would be nothing more than a summer fling, and the more I thought about how I had reacted to his words, the angrier I got. Not at him, but rather at myself. I shouldn’t have let myself be so hurt by him saying something that I already knew.
But knowing something to be true isn’t quite the same thing as having it come true.
When I was thirteen, I knew I was getting a new pair of shoes for my birthday. They were the hottest thing going at the time, and were quite expensive. I asked my parents for them, and they gave me the typical parental response: Maybe for your birthday. I knew that meant I’d get them, but when I opened them on my birthday, there they were, and it was a whole new reality.
When I applied to USF, I knew I would get in. My grades were excellent, my SAT was decent enough even though I thought I could have done better. There was only an extremely small chance I wouldn’t get in. I knew it to be true. But knowing it wasn’t anything like receiving the acceptance letter in the mail that day, my dream of studying marine biology at USF becoming a reality.
And now, the end with Drew. I knew it was coming. I knew there was no way it was going to continue beyond the summer. I knew those things well enough that they had actually physically hurt me when I thought about them. Hearing those words from his mouth, though, was different. It had a certain finality to it, one that I wasn’t ready to accept, despite knowing all along that there was no other possible outcome.
I couldn’t concentrate on watching anything, so Netflix was out. I browsed the Internet for a while. Tried to read a book. Thought about going surfing in the middle of the night. Considered binging on all the food in my cabinet and refrigerator; it had to be dealt with anyway, since I was leaving.
But I just ended up lying on my bed, watching the ceiling fan go around and around until I fell asleep.
I woke up just after seven, my neck and shoulders tight and sore from sleeping with my muscles tensed up. I lay there for a good hour, replaying the events of last night over and over in my mind, and also thinking about how Drew obviously knew I was upset but he hadn’t called or texted.
I thought back to Drew disappearing for nine days and when he returned, I had asked him: “Do you always run away when there’s trouble?” And he freely admitted that he does, in situations that involve other people and circumstances beyond his control.
But was he running this time? Is that why he hadn’t called or texted? He had said it was “too bad” that this was coming to an end. That didn’t exactly imply any kind of deeply felt emotional connection on his part.
The awful truth was that we had been nothing more than summer hobbies for each other.
One thing was for sure—I was too tired and groggy and sore and grumpy to expect my brain to produce any meaningful conclusions at the moment.
. . . . .
I was lying in bed, trying to muster the energy to get up and go to the kitchen to get something to drink and maybe a bite for breakfast when my phone rang. I fumbled around for the phone, hoping it was Drew.
The Caller ID told me it was my parents.
“You sound terrible,” Mom said when I answered.
“Gee, thanks.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, honey. Are you okay?”
I sighed. “Yeah, just tired.”
Then, Dad’s voice in the background, “Can’t wait to see you in a few days.” They had me on speaker.
“Yep, just a few more.” My words came out so flat, so completely void of happiness, enthusiasm, excitement, or anything remotely positive.
My mom picked up on my tone. “We know it’s going to be tough, Leah, but you can do this.”
I knew I could do it. I just didn’t want to. Didn’t want to face my friends and have all of them asking about my summer, having to answer the questions over and over every time I saw someone for the first time. Maybe I’d gather them all together and get it over at once, and then announce, “That’s all I’ll be saying about it.”
God, I was dreading this. The pessimism in me was intensifying and I worried that I’d take out my frustrations on someone when they simply asked how I’d been doing.
“Did you send Liz the signed lease?” Dad asked.
Shit. I’d totally let it slip my mind. “Not yet. I’ll get it to her.”
“Better hurry,” he said. “Those places fill up quickly.”
I rolled over onto my side, looking at the window. Dew drops slid down the glass. It looked sad to me, like crying. “I know.”
“Also,” Mom said, “we got a letter saying that all of your registration stuff would be sent to your school email address instead of them sending out paper copies. Something about trying to reduce paperwork. But apparently you still have to turn in the forms, so all they’re doing is transferring the cost of the paper on to you.”
“As much as we pay them, they’re trying to skimp on paper,” Dad said. “Ridiculous.”
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, not wanting to let my dismay seep into this conversation. I didn’t want to snap at them. They were just being parents—good parents, who had supported my decisions through all of this trouble. And I had to keep reminding myself that they weren’t trying to be hard on me about getting enrolled at USF. They weren’t demanding. Despite all that I’d been through and all that I was feeling, I knew my parents were just trying to help me stay on course and realize my dream.
“I’ll check the email,” I said, “as soon as I get up and get some breakfast.”
“That’s my girl,” Dad said.
“It’s going to be so good to have you back,” Mom added. “And don’t forget to send the lease to Liz.”
. . . . .
When the call ended, I knew I needed to get up and get moving. I couldn’t lie in that bed all day, wallowing in pity. There were things I needed to do and I just had to force myself to begin the day.
I went to the kitchen, got a glass of pineapple juice, and thought I’d have some toast with it. Opening the cabinet to get the bread out, I saw the box of Apple Jacks on the top shelf. That first morning I had gone to Drew’s boat, that’s all he had to eat, saying they were his favorite, and so that’s what we ate together. A couple of weeks later, anticipating him possibly spending the night at my place, I had picked up a box of the cereal to surprise him. A small gesture, yes, but I thought it would be cute. He had never spent the night with me, and the box remained in the cabinet, unopened, and probably destined for the trash can when I moved out.
After having the juice and some toast, I stood in the shower for twenty minutes letting the nearly scalding water pelt me, almost like a massage on my shoulders and neck, making that stiffness go away.
I got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around my body and another on my head, then went to check my school email address for the registration info. Having changed my personal email address and gotten a new phone, I had new passwords and had forgotten my school password since I’d gone several months without logging in. I tried twice and it failed each time. I went to get dressed, all the while trying to trigger my memory, and the password finally came to me.
When I opened my inbox, I thought I’d been attacked by spammers. There were 479 new emails. Some of the subject lines were left blank, although most contained things like “Hey sexy” and “Nice” and “Let’s see more!” and “You’re hot”….
I opened one email, read the nasty message, then another, and another until I couldn’t look at any more of them. I fell back on the couch, covering my face, nearly hyperventilating, and terrified at the realization that random pervs from anywhere in the world had seen me naked and, worse, knew how to get in touch with me.
All along, I had no idea that my name and school email address had been posted along with the pictures.
&nbs
p; I thought about calling my parents back, but I was a sobbing mess and I didn’t want to freak them out. I thought about calling Rebecca, but with everything she’d been through lately, I didn’t want to lean on her even though I knew she would come right over.
I decided to call Liz, and was sent right to voicemail. I texted her, then redialed and got voicemail again immediately. Her phone was off. Great.
My mind raced with thoughts about calling Drew. Despite what happened last night, I knew I needed him and I knew he would be there for me.
I brought up Drew’s number, touched it and he answered on the second ring.
Before he could finish saying hello, I said, “I need you. Please. Right now. Please?” Begging, and I didn’t care.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Just get here as soon as you can, please?”
. . . . .
Not even thirty seconds later, I heard footsteps running up the wood staircase to my front door.
Then a knock, and Drew shouting, “Leah!”
I’d gotten lucky and had called when he was here checking on his grandparents.
My voice weak and tired, I said, “It’s open.”
He came through the door, swinging it closed behind him, and dropped down on his knees at the edge of the couch, taking my hands in his.
“What’s wrong?”
I fell into him, throwing my arms around his neck.
He wrapped his arms around my back, holding me close. My nose was clogged up from all the crying, and aside from wishing I wasn’t so gross at the moment, I found myself wanting to hold onto him and smell him—his cologne, his shampoo, the smell of sea salt and sweat on his skin, anything that would make his touch and his scent the only things in my world.
“Try to tell me,” he whispered. “Whatever you can get out.”
“Kevin.” That’s all I could manage to say through my sobbing.
Drew pulled back from me, his hands on my forearms. He held me in front of him so he could see my face. “Did he come here?” His eyes narrowed. His jaw clenched, making the cords of his neck throb. A look of anger I’d never seen on his face before.
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