Summer Sunsets

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  “You were screaming. I heard you call my name.” She sits so close our shoulders lightly touch. “I need you to talk to me.”

  “I said it was nothing.” My tone is sharp, and I know she doesn’t deserve it, but I can’t talk about this, can’t talk about what it feels like. Sometimes I wonder if I’m always going to have this nightmare, or maybe that if we do end up together, that will finally drive it away. Who knows? Unable to look her in the eye, I force myself to my feet and pace the room, trying to calm down and get a grip. The last thing she needs is to see me like this.

  “If that was nothing, I’d hate to see something,” she says, following me. We both stand in front of the window. Although there are small hints of a storm that’s finally passed—scattered rain and gusts of wind—the night has eased to a relative quiet. I feel her set her hand on my shoulder, each finger a separate unit of heat on my flesh.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper.

  “Of course it does. I’m the reason for it, after all.” Her forlorn voice cuts through me, and I stagger backwards slightly before I turn to her.

  “Nothing is your fault,” I say, setting one hand on each of her shoulders.

  “Wrong. That was the dream, the nightmare about me, wasn’t it?” she closes her eyes and exhales, her body seeming to shrink as the air leaves her. “I was so selfish.”

  “You had help—and lots of it, just in case you’d forgotten. And I was being an ass.”

  She reaches to my face and strokes my cheek. “You weren’t an ass, Devin. You didn’t have all the facts, so how could you have known what was happening? That wasn’t fair to you.”

  Taking a deep breath, I set my hand atop hers and look into the depths of her eyes, searching for anything that will moor me to a universe far removed from the world where she died. That world hurts too much.

  The world seems to stop until she’s the only thing I can see. I find myself slowly lowering my head as though gravity is gently tugging me toward her. Her lips are parted as she takes quick shallow breaths, and I keep expecting her to move, to run, but she doesn’t. A moment later, our lips gently brush together as I kiss her for the first time. I feel as clumsy as a seventeen-year-old, the same seventeen-year-old who should have given her a first kiss. There were so many firsts we should have shared; if we had, maybe none of the past would have haunted us like this.

  For a moment, we linger there in perfection, then I slowly back away, afraid to linger too long so I make her second-guess everything we have. Even as I lean back, I see her eyes are still closed, her lips softly parted as though waiting for me, and she’s lost in a place I hope is half as happy as that she brings me to. I smile softly and stroke her cheek, waiting for her eyes to resurface. At the feel of my fingers, her eyelids flutter and open. In that instant, all the ease and bliss abruptly vanishes. It’s like she senses the return of all the things I’ve wanted to erase but have had no power to, and her lips clench shut. She winces as though in pain.

  “Skye?”

  She pulls away from me then, flying out the front door. I race after and find her on the porch, staring at the endless roll and return of the waves, the smell of rain yet clinging to the newly washed world.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, standing at the threshold. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Why? Why did you?” Her voice is thick, and it sounds like she’s crying, which is probably what made her rush out of the room in the first place.

  I look down at the wood beneath my bare feet. The planks are cold and damp, but that’s nothing compared to the sudden chill between us. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Skye, it’s just hard, having that dream and worrying about you. It’s no secret I love you. It’s never been a secret.”

  She wipes her hand across her face. “And yet somehow I was the last to know. Go figure.”

  “I won’t do that again,” I promise, trying not to think about what this means for the future I so desperately want. “Just please come inside. I don’t want this to spoil the time we’ve planned together.” I start to reach out and touch her shoulder, but I can sense it’s the wrong thing to do, that it won’t bring either of us comfort no matter how desperately I want it to.

  She slowly turns and looks at me. “I kind of thought you had a girlfriend.”

  “What do you mean?” I rake my fingers through my hair, trying to get the unruly strands to cooperate and lie back down.

  “Kimmie Whatsherface.” She hedges through the doorway, and I follow.

  I shake my head. “Kimmie is just an acquaintance. We’ve never gone out and never will, trust me on that one.” I close the door behind us.

  “Does she know this?” Skye steps to the couch and sinks down.

  “I’m sure she’ll figure it out eventually.”

  I sit on the opposite end, wondering how to get past my cosmic blunder. Usually, I’m much better at keeping my feelings under wraps, but having that dream makes me vulnerable in a way nothing else can. I hate it.

  “So can we call a truce?” I ask. “Just go back to how things were before I…did that?”

  She sighs and stares ahead distantly. “Yeah. Sure. But I’m going to have to get some shut-eye. I’m pretty worn out.”

  I nod. “Me, too.”

  She rises slowly and shuffles towards the bedroom. “’Night.”

  “’Night.”

  I watch her go, hoping she’ll be sleeping better than I will. I’ll probably spend the time going back over things and mentally kicking myself for not having better control. Yet, I think, lying on the couch, I know I felt her respond to my kiss. It was only when she started thinking again she freaked out. I wish I knew the right way with Skye. All the pieces are there, but I can’t seem to find a way to put everything together as though it had never been broken—as though we had never been broken.

  I walk to the window and look out at the night, where everything is now calm. There’s no sign of the storms that ripped through here, which is kind of how Skye is. Everything seems fine on the surface, but even now, even after all these years, I see the scars no one else does. I wish I knew what to do.

  Chapter Five

  For the next couple of days, things seem to fall back into the same rhythm, as though I had never kissed Skye. We never speak about it, even though I want to. I guess part of me is afraid of what will happen because of it. I’ve thought about it so many times, trying to analyze what she might have been thinking or feeling at that moment, and surely if she had had no feelings, she would have protested. But she hadn’t, and that’s what I don’t get. Maybe I’m not supposed to. Anyway, since we never talk about it, nothing is pushed, and nothing changes, which could be good or bad, I guess.

  We spend the days lounging on the beach or fishing off the pier, and it’s a welcome respite for both of us, considering the stress of graduating we’ve both just had. From time to time, I see glimmers of the old Skye hidden beneath this one, and I wonder if perhaps the two of us just stayed here would she return. Could that happen?

  I guess I’ll never know because no matter how much we’d both like to stay here and enjoy summer, we’ll do have to get moving in a few days, though neither of us is talking about it. It’s almost like we don’t want to ruin what is right in front of us with worries about the future and what we’re going to do in the “real” world.

  We have a few days yet, and right now Skye and I stand on the pier where I try to teach her to fish. I’m no expert by any measure, but I do know enough not to get my line tangled. That’s trademark Skye.

  “How did you do this?” I ask, madly trying to detangle the line.

  “I wish I knew. I just cast it out like you said.”

  Although the beach is pretty much deserted, to the left of us, we hear a couple of teenage girls giggling as they push each other. One is blonde and bubbly, the other dark-headed and more subdued. At that moment, I think they really shouldn’t do that, not on the pier, anyway. As if they can read my mind, they push harder, th
e blonde literally shoving the brunette toward the edge. Her body seems to stop at the railing, but the force of it sends her reeling over. She screams.

  In that instant, I watch her body fly through the air, smacking her head on one of the support beams before she sinks into the water. The thudding sound reverberates, and I doubt she’s even conscious. I drop the pole and yell at Skye. “Call 911. Now!”

  Jerking off my shirt and shoes, I jump into the water near where the girl has sunk. The cold rushes up to meet me, and at first, I can’t find her. I have to bob back to the surface to get a breath. I scan the area. She hasn’t come up. I dive deep again, searching. Just when I’m almost out of breath, I see her long, dark hair flowing in the water around her. Her still body tells me I was right. She’s unconscious and breathing water.

  I grab her arm and pull her to the surface, where I prop her still body against my chest and backstroke to the shore on which the other girl, sobbing hysterically, waits. I’m out of breath when I carry the girl to the beach. I set her down amid the other girl’s screams, asking me if her friend is okay.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her, gritting my teeth as I wave her to silence so I can hear if her friend is breathing. She’s not. “Damn it,” I mutter, lightly tapping her face. “Hey, can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “What’s her name?” I ask, turning her friend on her side so I can thump her back to dislodge anything blocking her airway.

  “Sam. She’s my best friend. You gotta help her!”

  I turn Sam back over. “Sam, can you hear me?” I ask, lightly tapping her face.

  Nothing. She’s still not breathing.

  In my peripheral vision, I see Skye on the phone, calling for help as I begin compressions. Water drips from my hair onto the girl’s soaked face. I count to myself and breathe for her. No matter how much I don’t want to think about this, it reminds me of Skye and that day. This girl is probably right around the same age. No, she hadn’t made the same choice, but does that matter? She’s here. She’s not breathing, and I’m the only one tethering her spirit to this body.

  I check to see if she’s breathing. Stillness. I hear Skye tell the other girl, “He’s doing everything he can. I promise.”

  I begin another round of compressions, counting in my head. My arms are starting to feel the brunt of swimming and now this, but I won’t give up. I can’t. I don’t know how many sets I complete before the sirens scream toward us, telling me help is on the way. Skye embraces the blonde girl, who never meant for any of this to happen, and I want is this girl to be okay. I want it so badly, but things don’t always work the way we want them to, no matter how desperately we try to make them that way.

  Another breath for her. “Come on,” I gasp. “Don’t do this.” I can see the EMTs running this way, but I keep going, hoping it will be enough. My eyes are playing tricks on me and I keep thinking it’s Skye, even though I know it isn’t. This is the beach, not the bedroom. The girl’s lying in wet sand, not Skye’s bed. Yet no matter what I tell myself, my mind sees what it wants, and I force myself to keep moving until an EMT takes my place. I crumble onto the sand and try to catch my breath. My arms are on fire, and for all I’ve done, the girl’s as still as a stone.

  “Come on,” I whisper. “Please.”

  Suddenly she starts coughing, and I feel my whole body collapsing into itself as she starts coming around. It’s then I notice Skye walking up to me. She sets her hands on my shoulder and gently squeezes. There are tears in her eyes, and I know what she’s thinking, not that I have the strength to talk about it. There are moments I wish I could forget, but I know we’re all damned to remember things that hurt so much and leave scars that never heal.

  Ocean water drips from my hair, and I close my eyes, wanting to slow the gallop of my heart. I slowly get to my feet and walk toward Skye, my hand reaching for hers as I lead her back to the pier to collect our poles and whatnot. Neither of us says much, leaving the soft breeze across the ocean to carry the conversation. More than once, I look down at the two girls and feel a tightness in my chest as my mind skitters among the possibilities. I used to be the optimist, but not anymore.

  More than once, Skye’s fingers fumble, and she drops things I bend to retrieve. Her face is flushed, and I can tell the gears in there are spinning on overtime. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know where her thoughts are—they’re with the elephant both of us are pretending we can’t see.

  “You okay?” I ask softly, staring at her, even though the sun is in my eyes, casting a golden halo of light around her head.

  “Yeah,” she says carefully, unwilling to look into my eyes. “Why?”

  “How long have I known you, Skye?”

  She doesn’t say anything as we carry our stuff back to the house. Her gaze is fixed ahead, and even though I could try to force her to talk, it wouldn’t do any good, at least not until we get inside the house. So I don’t push. I take the poles, set the hooks to the eyelets, and set them on the porch before we slip into the house, where I unload my arms of the tackle box and folding chair. Skye follows my lead. Once unencumbered, she steps to the window and peers out at the beach, her gaze drifting in the direction from which we’ve come as though she’s still looking for the two teenagers we left behind.

  Frowning, I step up behind her and linger there, wondering if she senses me. “So what’s up, Skye?”

  She lifts a hand and touches the back of her neck, trying to ease the kinks there. Without asking, I lift my hand and my fingers join hers, trying to help. At the feel of my hand, she stiffens at first but gradually relaxes as though accepting it’s just me. She knows that no matter what, I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

  “Skye?” I prompt, hoping she’ll open up.

  “I was wondering if that was what happened when I….” Her voice dies, and I know she can’t say it. It’s been years, and she can’t. That’s part of the problem with choices.

  Sometimes they leave you speechless years after the event, and no matter what you try to do to make things easier, some choices never ease into manageable things.

  I move my hand to her shoulder and slowly turn her to face me. Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, and the weight of the world seems to hang on me. I have trouble speaking because I don’t want to hurt her, but with that question, I’m not sure there’s a way around it. “Something like that,” I manage. There’s no way to relay what those minutes felt like when I didn’t know if she were going to live or die. How could anyone explain that with words?

  Sometimes there’s only the sound of breath, the stutter of the heart, and the spin of the clock’s hands. It’s the rush of emotions, the panic of knowing the wrong things, and the emptiness of never having the right ones.

  She frowns. “I’ve tried to recreate those moments I put you through hell because I figured it was only fair, but I just couldn’t see it. Until today. You jumped into the water for a stranger because you knew there was no one else, and when you thought you were losing her, I could see the pain on your face. But that was nothing compared to what I caused, was it?”

  “It doesn’t matter, Skye. The only thing that matters is you’re here. That’s all I care about. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.” Although she struggles for me not to embrace her, I don’t give her a chance to argue with my arms. She’s in them, right where she belongs. Maybe it won’t heal the past for either of us, but I believe that, given time, it will be enough.

  Chapter Six

  The week seems to fly, but I know that’s just because I don’t want it to end. I never want it to end because of Skye, especially since we’ll both be driving back to West Martin, Illinois, back to the town that seemed to tear us apart in the first place. I know she’ll be glad to see her mom and Warren, but I also know part of her won’t be able to forget the past. I see it rising in her eyes when she gives me that distant look. She’s been freer here, less guarded, but I sense all of that is about to change, and I can’t blame her.r />
  “Are you all packed?” I ask, looking at her car, which appears to be stuffed with all her college belongings.

  She, too, glances over at the vehicle before nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think it’s all in there. What about you?”

  I give her a thumbs-up gesture. “I’m ready, too.”

  “Then what are we waiting for?” She settles her hands on her hips playfully, and I shrug.

  “I was waiting on you,” I tell her. I’m waiting on her in more ways than one, but I’m definitely not going to say that.

  “Okay, I’ll follow you. Just remember that I need to stop for some gas, okay?”

  “Sure. I’ll get us out of traffic and find a place.” Both of us head to our vehicles, and I give the house one last look, wondering when I’ll come back here. It’s one of my favorite places in the world, maybe because the memories I have of Skye here are safe and happy. Who knows?

  At any rate, I pull out and check to make sure Skye is following. Then I start through town, heading toward Illinois and home. I keep my cell in the seat, just in case. My fingers touch it before moving on to the radio to break the silence flowering in the cab of the truck. While I like introspection, right now I really just want something to distract me; otherwise, all I’ll do is think about the ring I want to give Skye. I keep telling myself that it is a matter of timing feeling all wrong. Trouble is, I’m not sure when it’s going to feel any differently. You’d think it’d would be easy to tell my best friend I’m so in love with her I want to spend the rest of my life with her. Yet unless you know Skye, you have no clue just how easy that isn’t.

  The first gas station we come to after most of the traffic has thinned out is half gas station and half grocery store, neither side of which is especially clean or appealing. I look in my rear-view mirror, wondering what Skye will say. I don’t know how low she is on gas, so I tap my turn signal and lurch into the parking lot, figuring if she really objects to this place we can go somewhere else.