by Sally Henson
My eyes pop open when I realize what’s happening, what he’s doing. There really is something between us. I drag my heavy arm off my face. He sings my name soft and low again.
Warning bells ping in my head like they did when he kissed me in the shed. Even my heartbeat increases at his touch. I swallow and turn my head to face him. “Can we talk about this later?” I look past him to make sure no one’s face is in view. “Alone?”
He purses his lips, blows out a quick breath through his nostrils, and flops over on his back. His face hollows, and I can tell he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.
I sigh. He's not the only one annoyed. “Please?” I don't want to make a scene.
He turns his head, shielding his eyes from the sun, and locks eyes with me. There’s a hardness in them. Without a word, he stands and stalks to the cooler for a water bottle. I turn over to dry the back side of my clothes in the sunlight. What I’m really doing is masking the disappointment causing the swirling pressure in my head and chest.
34
Lane
It’s not like anyone’s going to care we’re into each other. Guys ask me every freaking week if we’re “together.” The gang probably knows it. I mean, how could they not? But if she wants me to back off, fine. That’s exactly what I’ll do.
I down my water bottle and take off down the creek to a spot I saw some flat river rock. It won’t be like skipping rocks across the pond, but it’ll do.
Cam comes up behind me, reaches for a few rocks on the ground, and starts slinging them. We have a rhythm, alternating. I throw. He throws.
“We should go out tonight.” Cam keeps pace. “No girls. Find a party or something. Have some fun.”
“Honestly, I’d be all over that idea, but I have a family thing tonight.” The one night I want to hang out with someone other than Regan, my parents already planned a family dinner.
“We could meet up after.”
I throw my last rock. “Not sure when we’ll be back or if they’ll want me to hang around the house tonight.”
“I should want to just chill after being out in the sun all day, but I kinda feel like tearin’ it up. Ya know?”
Cam tearing it up, being crazy? Not unusual. His kind of fun is a lot like Tobi’s kind of fun…they just like laughing and having a good time.
I turn around and see Regan laying in the sun. “Let’s head back to Tobi’s.”
I’m ready to get out of here.
35
Regan
Cameron loads up his ATV and scurries off with Haylee. Neither one says much about their plans for the evening. Tobi's getting up early for some cattle thing the next morning, so she's staying home tonight. Lane's parents are taking him out to dinner. Maybe I'll read my Cousteau book and take in the night sky. I don't feel like hanging out anyway. Especially since Lane’s mad at me.
As soon as we leave Tobi's, he asks me what my problem is.
“Why were you avoiding me all day?”
I look down at the floorboard. “I wasn't avoiding you.”
“You wouldn't look at me. I call that avoiding.”
I let out a loud irritated sigh and look out the passenger window. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him at the river bottoms. That’s my problem.
“See, you won't even look at me now.”
I twist my lips and roll my eyes. He's half-right.
“I'll pull over and wait all night for you to tell me.” He brakes and slows the truck.
“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “It's your own fault.”
“How's it my fault?” He throws one hand up in the air.
“You're the one who told me I stare at your half-naked body. Our time at the river bottoms was the only time I tried to ignore you today.” I keep blabbering, though I know the skin on my neck and face are turning a shade of red. “Maybe you should’ve kept your shirt on and we wouldn't be having this conversation.” When I finish, my voice is a little higher than normal.
A smile spreads across his mouth. He quickly tries to fight it by biting his lip, but it doesn't work. At least he drops the questions and we drive with the windows down and the radio blasting.
Lane laughs out loud. “I'm sorry, but your hair is so crazy right now. I can't help it.” He throws his head back and laughs some more.
I know it's got to look like a beehive. I reach my hands up and act like I'm smoothing it down. It's so ratty it's rough against my palms. “What's wrong with my hair?” I try to act serious, but start laughing too.
The weight from the tension between us eases, and everything is normal again.
I prop a bare foot up on the dash and lean my head against the door, watching the fields of corn and soybeans trail off through the side mirror. Heat and humidity bring out the distinct scent of the corn leaves—a reminder it's the end of summer. Moments like this, when I'm taking in all that I love about living here, is when a war breaks out inside me—because right now, this very moment ... is perfect.
Riding down a country road, bare feet on the dash, next to my best friend who is very nice to look at and, now that I know, very nice to kiss. It's where I want to be. Look at him—arm resting on the edge of the door in the sun, shades on, sandy hair blowing around the edges of his cap, uninhibited—singing to the radio. He's so beautiful.
This is but a moment, though. How could I stay here in this cage? No expanding my horizons, just getting older and drowning in gossip. The Fanigers will never stop hassling Susanna and her family. Since I’m her cousin, that includes me. I can't hang around and take that crap for the rest of my life. The weight on my chest returns, even heavier than before.
I rub my sternum to alleviate the pain. Besides, there's no ocean here, no marine science careers. Am I going to let a few perfect moments overshadow years of oppressive gossip if I stay? I'll never get away from here if I don't do it as soon as I can.
We turn off the main road, and Lane clicks off the radio. “What are you thinking about?” My shoulders slump even more. How does he always know when I'm thinking about the future and leaving this place behind?
“I was just absorbing the sights and smells of summer’s end.” I flash a grim smile. “And fighting a war.”
His brow wrinkles. “A war?”
I hitch my shoulders in a shrug.
“Tell me about this war.”
I rub my hand across my forehead and down my face with a groan. “I don't want to dredge through it right now.” I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“Always so serious.” His voice is soft. As if maybe he didn’t know he said it out loud.
Just in case, I change the subject. “There's a blue moon tonight.” I try to sound upbeat. “It should be up by eight-thirty.”
Lane turns in the driveway and parks by the shed. No one's home yet.
I take off my seat belt and rest my head on the back of the seat. My thoughts turn back to the perfect moment, wishing I could freeze time so it could’ve lasted. My expression must have deepened again because Lane seems concerned.
He takes his seat belt off and lays his sunglasses on the dash. “What's wrong?” His face softens, eyes gentle and pleading as he turns his body toward me.
I blink to keep the tears from prickling. “It's just, it was a great day with a perfect moment, and I don't want it to end.” I trail off to a whisper.
My vision begins to blur from a buildup of tears. Lane’s right, everything is changing. With him leaving for college, nothing will ever be the same. And days like this, with Lane and our friends, are coming to an end. Maybe even forever. Perfect moments always come to an end, right?
He slides over and pulls me into him, not saying a word, only holding me tight with his cheek against my ratty hair. The motion of his chest rising and falling is in sync with mine. We become one. I'm awaking to the realization that Lane may be the only person on this earth who gets me. He holds me with my head against his chest for a few moments.
The rumble of Dad's car makes us jump apart to o
pposite sides of the cab—where we should be. Reaching over, he wraps his hand around mine and squeezes, seeing through my eyes, touching my heart. With one look, one touch, he makes things better. How does he do that?
The car door bangs shut and Lane releases my hand. Dad’s footsteps crunch on the gravel, drawing Lane’s gaze away from mine. I sigh and reach for my bag on the floorboard. Time to put on my “I'm fine” face.
Lane gets out of the truck.
Dad greets him, “It's good to see you, Lane.”
He meets Dad at the back of the truck to shake his hand. “You, too, sir.”
I slide out with my bag in tow and head their way.
Dad inspects my wild hair. His brows draw in and he cocks his head to the side. “What have you been up to?”
Lane starts to answer, but I cut in. “After practice this morning, the gang joined us at Tobi's. We goofed off in the ATVs. Coach canceled Friday night open gyms.”
“Ahh. Did you have a good time?”
“Yes, sir. We found a little water.” Lane gestures to my crazy hair not even trying to hide his snicker.
I roll my eyes. “I'm sure I look like Medusa. I don't care.” Lane's already laughed at me once. I admit I deserve a chuckle or two. “Where's mom?”
“She'll be home shortly. Do you want to stay for dinner, Lane?”
“Oh, thanks, Mr. Stone, but my parents are taking me out tonight.” He pulls his phone out and looks at it. “And I should be going. I'll see you Sunday.”
“God willing,” Dad replies and strides to the house.
Lane turns and climbs in his truck. He watches my dad disappear through the door as he starts the engine, then moves his gaze on me.
“It's okay.” His tender smile warms my heart and makes believe him. “I'll see you soon.” He winks at me.
I can't keep the smile from spreading across my lips. Those cute, funny, sweet idiosyncrasies of his lighten my load. I may consider being more than friends. The thought of kissing him again has my pulse speeding up.
I watch him leave and then go in to take a shower to wash the sweat and grime off, not to mention the rat's nest sticking out of my head.
“Regan?” Dad calls through the bathroom door with a stern voice.
“Yeah?” I’m on my second round of shampoo, finally making progress with my mop.
“Come outside when you’re done. I want to talk to you.”
36
Regan
After braiding my clean, wet, rat’s-nest-free hair and starting some laundry, I go out to see what Dad wants. I'm still humming the tune of the last song Lane was singing when I step outside. I’m determined that tonight is going to be a good night.
The smell of burning charcoal fills the air. That means Dad's cooking on the grill tonight. I follow the scent around the corner to the back patio and see him still dousing the fire with lighter fluid. Huge waves of flames dance up, threatening to lick his arm.
I stand beside him but not too close, protecting myself from the flames. “What's for supper?”
He keeps his eyes on the flames, ready with the lighter fluid bottle in his hand. “Pork chops. Run inside and bring them out for me.”
When I return, I hand him the platter, but he gestures to place it on the patio table.
“What's up, Dad?” I ask and pull out a chair to sit down.
He sits too. “Are there any boys who have your attention?”
I'm sure my eyes bug out of my head. Wow, we're starting out with a bang here.
“I hear you like your friend, Cameron.”
My nose scrunches. Stupid Stacey. There goes my good mood. “What do you mean by like?”
“There are a couple pictures of you two floating around where you look like you’re much more than friends.” His dark brows raise above his deep-set eyes. “How old is he?”
“He’s my age, but I—”
“Your mother and I agreed you could date when you turned sixteen, but that doesn't mean behind our backs. You still need to get permission.” He tilts his head and looks down his nose at me.
My back presses into the chair as if his words hold me in place.
“I didn't know you were interested in any boys, and I find out your friend is carrying you around in your bathing suit like that?” His voice isn't loud, but it’s disapproving. “And what does Lane think about this?”
He knocked the wind out of me with that comment. “It's not what it looks like, Dad. I was going to tell you about the pictures, but we haven't seen that much of each other lately.”
“Start explaining, young lady.” He folds his arms. His cold slate eyes narrow at the same time his mouth twists, showing his disappointment in me.
“A couple weeks ago the gang and I went swimming at the cliffs,” I begin, laying out the whole story for him.
He stares at me, deciding if I am telling the truth or not. “Lane was there?”
“Yes, Lane was there.” I'm going to implode one of these days because of Stacey's venom. Or explode. Or maybe both. Whatever.
“Where did the pictures come from?” He keeps his arms crossed.
“I'm not sure. Tobi and I think someone took a video with their phone and captured the shots from it.”
He presses his lips into a thin line and lowers his brow. “How could they do that?”
“It's easy, Dad. All they have to do is download the video and use software to take a clip out like a picture. Whoever it was teamed up with Stacey Faniger. I'm sure of that.”
He takes the platter and puts the pork chops on the grill. “You're not interested in dating Cameron?”
I scoff. “No way. He's my friend. Nothing else.”
I try to enjoy the silence but, I'm not sure if it's good or bad. It keeps me pinned to my chair.
Mom comes around the corner with drinks just in time to hear dad's question. “You're going to be a junior this year, right? What boys do you like? Who are you interested in dating?” He sits back down.
“No one. What's the point in dating? I’m not planning on getting married anytime soon.” My shoulders soften. At least I can tell the truth. I don’t want to date Lane, but I don’t want him to date anyone else.
Mom hands me a glass of tea. “I'm glad you aren't planning on getting married soon. When do you think you might be ready?”
“Sometime after college. I want to get at least two years into my career first. Who knows where it’ll take me.” My words come out a little dreamy at the end, but I do dream about it.
The weight of Dad's eyes and words have lifted and I pull my knees up and hold on. Mom and Dad talk, but my attention is across the back yard into the trees of the woods. I see more than a country setting in the middle of the United States. I see glimpses of the ocean and the beach. I hear the roar of crashing waves. It's my hope for getting out from under my Dad's thumb and the dark cloud of the gossiping Fanigers.
Inside at the dinner table, Mom brings up my fight with Lane I mentioned a couple days ago. “Did you and Lane make up? Your father said he brought you home today.”
“Yeah.”
Dad takes a drink. “What were you fighting about?”
I sit up in my chair and clear my throat. “College. Career.” I'm trying to keep it simple. We did fight about that, before.
She tilts her head. “What about college and career?”
Mom asks too many questions. Dad jumps to conclusions. I can’t win.
“He says his parents are pushing him to go into a field that is more practical than being a conservation officer.” Just the thought of it ticks me off.
She shrugs with a fork full of food. “What's there to fight about?”
I grit my teeth. “He's wanted to be a game warden for years. We've talked about it hundreds of times.”
“They have his best interest in mind.” Mom defends her friends, of course.
I want so badly to roll my eyes and huff. The tightness in my chest grows. And though I’m doing my best to be the calm respectful
daughter, my self-control is slipping through my fingers. “His best interest is following his dream. I told him he was giving up, and he didn't have to settle.”
She raises her eyebrows as if it isn't my business to be saying such things.
I drop my fork against my plate and shake my head. “He said he didn't have a choice.”
Dad has the left side of his mouth twitched up. “There's something to be said for being practical, Regan. Chasing dreams is like chasing the moon and the stars—always out of reach.”
I look down and roll my eyes with a sigh. “That's encouraging.”
“Sometimes, life isn't encouraging. Sometimes, you have to choose doable and settle for less than what you want.” Dad usually speaks thoughtfully, but he's disregarding Lane's whole choice in the matter.
The tension spreads to my shoulders. I’ll look like the Hunchback of Notre Dame by the time this conversation is over. “That sounds like a miserable way to live.” I'm trying to contain myself here, but fighting for my dreams always gets me a little-worked up.
He straightens his back as if he's looking down on me. “Your perspective is a youthful one. One without experience in such matters.” He says it almost like a curse.
I sit as tall as I can and hold my chin up. “My youthful perspective is part of what makes these dreams achievable. It's not fair he can’t chose what he wants to do.”
He raises his thick brows. “What have I told you about life, Regan?”
A quiet growl rumbles in my throat. “Yes, life's not fair. But shouldn't your parents be supportive of what you want to do in life? Shouldn't they support the dream you've had for years?”
“Not if it's far-fetched and unrealistic. And I must say, Regan, it wouldn't hurt you to consider some alternate degrees and careers yourself.”
I fall back against my chair and look at him. What? “Are you suggesting marine science is far-fetched and unrealistic?” My breathing is shallow. The pain in my chest keeps me from breathing any deeper.