He pulls me to my feet and hugs me. “You’re strong, and if anyone tells you differently, you can send them to me.”
I pull back just enough for him to see my face.
“Don’t you mean I should go tell ‘my neighbor, Drew Culver?’” Not only do I nail the tone and verbiage of his casual introduction to Dotty only minutes ago, I seem to have struck a nerve.
Drew’s almond-shaped eyes sharpen on my face, his gaze blazing a path to my lips. He’s not amused by my impersonation.
“You’re more than my neighbor, Joss.”
“How much more?” I’m baiting him. And by the slight crease at the edge of his mouth, he knows it.
“Enough to wish I could redo our first kiss every time I see you.”
Drew’s hands slide up my back to cradle my head. The pads of his thumbs rest under my jawbone, my pulse thrumming wildly against them. In mere seconds, the steady current between us sparks like a downed, live wire, flailing with want. His lips brush across mine, as if to test the charge.
Drew takes the risk.
Tightening his grip in my hair, Drew pulls me forward, my hands pressing flat against his chest. His mouth covers mine, his lips urging me to follow his lead, to find a rhythm that’s all our own. Knocking hard against my palm, Drew’s heartbeat hums the cadence of desire. I lean closer, invite him to take our kiss deeper.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Not the setting sun or the buzz of cell phones or even the lure of a legendary dock floating above placid water could pull us from this kiss, this moment.
Because whatever we’ve discovered, it’s something.
And something is significantly more than a summer fling.
Chapter Twelve
‡
Fluffy spun sugar, chewy caramel popcorn, and every kind of skewered meat that money can buy are the pungent aromas of Fourth of July on Lopez Island.
We were at Harve’s warehouse till late last night, applying the finishing touches on the Trash or Treasure parade float. Really, there wasn’t too much left to be done, but once again, Drew had managed to get me out of the cabin during yet another round of showings. This trick has become a new favorite pastime of his: knocking on my front door with some ridiculous emergency, or a food craving, or a sudden itch to go fishing off the Culver’s dock.
Over the course of the last week, a half-dozen families have walked through my cabin. And little by little, showing by showing, the cinched belt around my heart’s been adjusting, one notch at a time.
Drew secures my hand in his, and together we walk to the end of the parade route, to Harve’s old Ford. The float platform is attached by a trailer hitch, and seeing this huge steampunk-style clock finished in all of its unique glory makes me smile.
We did this.
Drew squeezes my palm as we approach a familiar three-legged dog and his master. “Hey, Harve.”
“There you two are,” Harve says, clearing his throat. “Thought you should do the honors.” He tosses a ring of keys at Drew.
“Wait. You want us to drive? In the parade?” I ask, speaking the confusion written on Drew’s face.
“Yep. I’ve looped that parade route more years than you two have been alive.” His wrinkles crease deep trenches on either side on his smile. “Just don’t forget to throw the candy. The kids love it.”
Pete whimpers near Harve’s ankle, and the old timer bends to scratch behind the pit bull’s ears. “Let’s go get us a bite to eat, Pete.”
“You’re sure?” Drew calls out to Harve’s backside.
Harve lifts his hand and shuffles away. “As sure as the coming rain.”
I lift my eyes to the sky. Clear. Blue. Sunny.
Drew chuckles at my expression. “Don’t second-guess him.”
“Um…there’s not a single cloud. It’s a gorgeous day.”
He nudges my shoulder with his. “I tend to trust the instincts of people who’ve outlived me by half a century.”
And once again, Drew has a point.
A bright spear of sunshine spotlights the bulky buckets of candy in the Ford pick-up. My heart smiles as I think of old man Harve, who just like candy, has a sweet center.
I laugh more in the next two hours than I’ve laughed in the last six months. My forearm sports a permanent indentation from leaning out the window, tossing candy to hoards of patriotically-dressed children screaming for sugar.
One last time, I reach into the bucket as Drew nears the last corner of the parade route. I toss a hefty handful of candy to a couple of knee-height toddlers waving their miniature flags. They aren’t quite old enough to collect the treats that tumble over the curb onto the pavement, so I aim the candy at their feet. The festively dressed woman next to them waves at me, thankfulness in her smile.
Satisfied, I sigh and fall back into the cab. Drew slides his hand onto mine and flips my palm over to intertwine our fingers. Two tiny shivers dance up my spine at the contact of his skin on mine. I could melt into this touch.
“How did I get lucky enough to have a pro candy thrower as my co-captain?”
I lean my head against the seat, the sun’s rays kissing my face. “You were the expert parade driver. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Five miles an hour isn’t exactly expert-level driving.” He slows the truck to a stop and parks under the leafy branches of an oak tree. “I could have fallen asleep at the wheel and no one would’ve noticed.”
As if intoxicated by sunshine, sweets, and celebratory happiness, I rotate in my seat to face him. The words slip through my lips without hesitation. “I would have noticed.”
Drew’s prominent boy-next-door grin, the one he’s worn since my first night on the island, no longer feels innocent. A prickly heat fills my chest.
His eyes linger on mine, a stretching silence that spans the distance of our shared bench seat and pushes us closer, pulls us together. There’s no first move, no grand gesture, no spoken invitation. We simply answer the silence.
Our lips meet.
The bright, cloudless sky might prevent the visibility of fireworks until nightfall, but within the depth of Drew’s kiss, an explosion of fiery color extends from my head to my toes.
Under heavily lidded eyes and through raspy, uneven breaths, Drew presses his forehead to mine. “Joss.”
There’s an ache in his voice I’ve come to recognize. The same desperate plea that’s taken a hold on my heart. A tone that carries with it a kind of pleasurable pain that plagues as much as it pacifies.
“I know,” is what I want to say, “I’m falling for you, too.”
But, instead, my words are lost to a kiss I hope will last until the real fireworks begin.
*
“It’s so loud. Where are you, Syd?” I cup my hand over my opposite ear and adjust the phone. The phone beeps a warning into my ear. Low battery. I step off the blanket Drew laid out for us hoping for a great view of fireworks over the water.
“My mother’s ridiculous bachelorette party. Hang on. I’m almost inside. I just wanted to check in with you.” The peppered beat of a drum fades, and suddenly I can hear her again. “I haven’t heard from you since we texted last week.”
I hike my way to the top of the short hill. “I know. I’m sorry.” My apology is lame, but trying to come up with an excuse that will satisfy Sydney, or any of my friends, would be even more so.
“When are you headed back?” Sydney asks.
If only “back” were an actual place. “Um…I’m not exactly sure yet.” I glance down at Drew. He’s entertaining a family of six with card tricks galore. The fireworks show isn’t set to start for another hour. “The island’s been good for me.”
“You mean Doo-Doo Drew’s been good for you,” she says in a sing-song voice.
“Not funny, Syd.” I’m starting to regret telling her about him at all.
She laughs. “Sorry, couldn’t resist. I’m sure he’s every bit as hot and charming as you claim, but what does Drew have planned whe
n this little summer rendezvous is over?”
The word “rendezvous” punches me in the gut.
“He’ll go back to school. He’s a senior on scholarship at UW with the rowing team.” I swallow the uncertainty that swells in my throat, and anticipate her next question.
“And then, what? Do you think you’ll do the whole long distance thing? Or is this just a—”
“How’s Myrtle Beach?”
She laughs at my poor attempt to reroute her. “Haven’t seen much of it yet. Bridezilla and all. I’m so ready for this wedding to be over.”
“I bet.” I draw a heart in the sand with the tip of my sandal and pretend I haven’t thought about how impossibly hard it would be to watch one of my parents remarry as many times as Syd’s mom. Or remarry at all.
“So…”
I stop moving at the hesitation I hear in her voice. Sydney never hesitates. She says what she means, means what she says. “I talked to your mom yesterday, Joss.”
“What? Why?” The voice that squeaks out is small and tight.
“Because she’s worried about you.”
I brush my foot over my art in the sand and turn my back to Drew and the pack of goofy kids calling out card games to play. “What did you tell her?”
“The truth. That I’ve been worried about you, too.”
“Sydney!” I slam my eyes shut, search for a tangible calm inside. I find none.
“You disappeared on everyone. No one knows what you’re thinking.”
“That’s not true, Drew—”
“Has known you for all of three weeks. I’ve known you since fourth grade.” She sighs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question is so soft, yet it’s loud with emotion. “Because then I’d have to face it.” I’m shocked I’ve admitted this so freely, but I shouldn’t be. What Drew’s helped me come to terms with in the last three weeks could be classified as miraculous.
“Yes, but out of the four of us, I get it, you know? You were there for me when my parents went through their divorce. You made me cards and drew me pictures and invited me to sleepovers at your house constantly. I know we aren’t kids anymore, but I can still be there for you. All of us can be, if you let us.” She pauses again, and I blink quickly to avoid the spill-over of pooling tears. “I’m glad you’ve had Drew this month, really I am. But he can’t replace a lifetime of friendships. He can’t replace two loving parents. And you shouldn’t want him to.”
She’s right; I hate that she’s right. My bottom lip trembles as I open my eyes and exhale. “I miss you.”
“If I could be there with you I would be. You know that, right?”
“I know it. I love you, Syd.”
“Ditto.”
I hang up the phone and power it down to conserve the rest of my battery life. Drew waves and I join him again on the plaid blanket he swiped from Grandma Culver’s sofa.
“Everything, okay?” He lifts his eyes to mine while two blonde boys, each no older than seven, sit on the edge of our quilted perimeter. Looks like they settled on a game of Go Fish.
I sit, loop my arm through his, and lay my head on his shoulder. “Perfect.”
He kisses the top of my head, anxiety leaving me like sand through a sieve.
We stay this way long after the last of the fireworks have exploded. Long after the last family has packed up. Long after the moon and stars have reclaimed the night sky.
On our slow walk back to the Culver’s dock, Drew kisses my cheek. The way he’s done at least a dozen times since we left the beach. And not even the blisters forming on the back of my heels can kill the joy I feel just by being near him. I’d walk all night long if it meant random kisses from him.
We reach the trail that forks at the Culver’s dock. He grips my waist, and I take several calculated steps backward on the path that leads to my cabin. It sits, perched like a lighthouse at the top of the trailhead. Ever since the showings began, I’ve kept the lights on, hoping to avoid random knocks on the door or peeks through the windows.
“We should say goodnight,” I say.
“Go ahead. Say it.” He continues walking, hands steering my hips.
We’re only a few yards out from the back of my cabin.
“No, you say it.”
Drew laughs, the curve of his lips teasing me to join in the fun. “Nope.”
“You’re so stubborn.” I stop walking and place both my sandaled-feet on top of his. Drew is not deterred. He continues forward, carrying me with him as he steps. My laughter echoes through the dense forest around us.
“Stop!” I wheeze, clutching his biceps for balance. “You’re never going to wake up in time for your run tomorrow.” Something cold and wet tracks down my scalp. I hold my palm out to the sky. A raindrop. The old man was right. “And now it’s raining!”
Drew kisses my left temple and then my right. “You’re worth the lack of sleep. And rain’s never bothered me.”
“You’re crazy,” I whisper against his mouth as several more drops land on our heads and shoulders and backs.
“It would seem that way.”
He kisses my mouth once more and I sigh into it, wrap my arms around his neck, and wish I could stay like this all night. “Goodnight, Island Boy.”
“Let me walk you to the front door.”
The rain falls harder, thumping against the ground, releasing the scent of pine and bark and fresh, rich soil. “No, Drew.” My meaning is clear. Not tonight. I’m not clear-headed enough to keep him on the front porch.
Drew buries his head into curve of my neck, his damp hair against my skin causes me to shiver. “Text me before you fall asleep, okay?”
“Okay.” My heartbeat’s in my throat when he lifts his head again to search my eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I slip out from his hold and continue up the path, one slow backward step at a time. I want to see him until the last possible second. Drew doesn’t move, not even as the night’s drizzle turns into a pounding onslaught of rain.
“Lock the door behind you!” He calls after me.
At the front corner of the house, I turn and scurry up the porch steps.
I dig in my pocket for my key, but before I can grasp it, before I can recognize the sound of a turning deadbolt or notice the parked vehicle that sits off to the right of the driveway, I’m staring into the eyes of my unresolved past.
“Hello, Joslyn. Nice of you to join us.”
Chapter Thirteen
‡
I can’t help but compare the fresh facelift of the summer cabin to the angry scowls of its inhabitants. My parents stand in the center of the living room, arms crossed over their chests, mouths turned down into half-moons. My arms hang loosely at my sides, hands numb and heavy. And for a moment, I forget how to speak.
They’re here. Together. At the cabin.
These phrases cycle through my mind a dozen times until my dad’s frown morphs into a lecture I can easily recall from my teenage years.
“Why are you getting home so late?”
Only I’m not fifteen anymore, and I no longer have a curfew. I shake my head, willing a boldness into my voice that might over-compensate for the weariness in my limbs. “What are you doing here?” I ask.
“We own this cabin, Joslyn,” my mother says, her eyes sleep-heavy, her mascara smudged. “It’s after one in the morning. We’ve been waiting for you for hours, calling you over and over.”
But my phone is a dead lump in my back pocket.
My eyes skirt the living room, searching for something that might make their surprise visit feel less like an invasion and more like a homecoming. But the sting of the surreal only intensifies as my eyes hone in on the photographs. There, strewn about the floor, are the snapshots once stored inside a familiar hand-crafted chest.
I can’t stop the gasp that escapes from my throat or the tears that burn hot behind my eyelids. All of my childhood memories are on display. Pieces of paper that could easily rip or tear or smudge—
all reminders of a past determined as inconsequential by the very people standing in this room.
My dad says something, or maybe several somethings, but the drumbeat inside my ears drowns him out.
“What are you doing with these? Why are they out of the chest?” A rescue mission to reclaim these treasured pictures consumes me as I push past them. Shrugging off my wet jacket, I pick them up, one by one by one. I press the photos to my dry, warm chest.
“Joss, sit down. We drove a long way to see you, and now we’re forced to take tomorrow’s early morning ferry.”
My head snaps up at the use of we. “Together? You drove here together?” I snatch up another collection of photos, of birthday cake wishing and Christmas card posing.
“No. Your mother’s car is parked at the ferry dock. I just drove her to the cabin.”
Figures. The ride to the cabin from the ferry dock is less than ten minutes. Last time we were all together like this in mom’s condo they lasted about twelve minutes before the bickering began.
“Sit down, please.” The strain in my mother’s tired voice tugs at the child inside me. I obey.
My parents move to sit on opposite sides of the sofa while I refuse to get comfortable. I perch on the arm of a chair across from them. My right foot ticks uncontrollably, my cramped fingers still clutching the hope of my youth.
“This has got to end, Joss.” The rational father I’ve grown up with is back, a calm descending over him despite the charge in the air. “You can’t go days or weeks without returning our calls. We need to know you’re doing okay. With all of this.”
I clench my teeth together so hard my jaw aches.
He continues, “Our divorce isn’t about you. We want to make that very clear.”
So much for my resolve to stay silent. “Not about me?”
“You know what I mean. This is a choice we’ve made. It will affect you, but it’s not because of you.”
“Those lines were blurred a long time ago, Dad.”
My mother’s worn-out eyes find mine. “It may feel like all this happened once you moved out, but the truth is we had problems even before you were born.”
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