“We don’t know,” he says. “Sophia’s either excellent at playing dumb, or she really doesn’t know who Rick Tatum is. She’s been blowing up my house phone trying to get me.”
“Why doesn’t she call your cell?”
“She doesn’t have this number,” he says. He’s still looking out to the beach. “The only ones that do are my father and Landon.”
“Are you going to call her?”
“When I figure out what to say to her, I will. She was cheating on me, Hale. I don’t think she needs to be told that it’s over.”
“What if you’re wrong?” I ask. What I mean is, if she didn’t have anything to do with this, are you going back to her? I don’t know why it is such a dark question that I have a problem asking it. I shouldn’t care. It’s just getting really hard to remember that Oscar’s a complete stranger.
“The guy knew her name,” he says. “I’m pretty sure she had everything to do with it. Look, I’m going to go for a walk and clear my head.”
And that’s it. He goes out and the door latches shut behind him with a gritty bang.
“Come running,” I whisper, but he doesn’t hear me.
CHAPTER SIX
HE IS GONE FOR TOO LONG. I finally follow his path out the sunroom door and down the short, curved sandy path to the beach. The trees open up and the lake stretches out even larger than I thought. I’m surprised that, although I can see the other side, there are no houses looking back. The only sign of life I see is Oscar sitting at the end of a long dock with his feet in the water. I pick my way around a beached, aluminum boat, but I only get a foot away from shore before I stop. The wobble of the boards makes Oscar twist around to see me.
“Hi,” he says, scooting himself, and his removed shoes, over to make a spot for me. “You want to come sit?”
“No,” I say, backing off the dock. The slight quake in the structure makes me feel lightheaded, but it’s the thought of falling in the water that fills me with sharp icicles.
“Come on, the view’s even better out here.”
“That’s okay,” I say, but he’s on his feet already, walking down the dock to me. When he gets to the end, he steps off and says, “Are you mad about something?”
“No,” I say, but Oscar starts explaining himself anyway.
“Sorry that I walked out of there like that. I was just surprised and needed a minute to think. The guy that died, Rick Tatum - my dad doesn’t think Sophia even knew him, but Tatum told my dad that Sophia sent him. It doesn’t make sense. Tatum thought my dad was me, and told him to stop dating Sophia, because Tatum said he’d been seeing her the last couple weeks. But I guess Sophia’s trying to find me, and keeps calling the house and begging my dad to tell her where I’m at. I can’t figure out why she would do that, if her other boyfriend was just found dead behind a bar. She’d have to know. It was on the news. Unless she just didn’t see it. My dad said it was just a short blurb, but Sophia would’ve wanted to hear what happened from Tatum, if she actually sent him. My dad said that if she knows anything, she’s totally convincing him in the opposite direction.”
“Maybe you should just call her,” I say. I don’t say it very loud.
“I can’t,” he says, rubbing his temple. “I still don’t know what happened yet. I don’t want to say anything to her before I know exactly what’s going on.”
I wonder what he’ll end up saying, if she didn’t have anything to do with it. I wonder if he’ll say he wants her back, and I wonder what that will mean to me.
“You want to come sit on the dock? Put your feet in the water?” He grabs my hand, warm and soft, and a shot of jealousy about Sophia shoots through me. He steps onto the dock. I pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let go. “What’s the matter?”
“I, uh, I don’t know how to swim,” I say.
“Ohhh,” he breathes, but instead of letting go, he squeezes my hand. “You can still sit on the dock though.”
“No,” I feel the color drain from my face. My breathing accelerates and piles up in my throat. “It freaks me out. If I’m out there and I fall in, it’s too deep.”
Oscar looks out at the end of the dock. “It’s shallow up here, but see that red beam way down there? The one with the red stripe at the top?” I spot the beam immediately. There’s a few yellow-tipped ones before it, and then, about thirty feet away, at the halfway point on the dock, there is a bright red beam. “That’s where the drop-off starts. But up here, it’s shallow. The deepest it gets is up to your thighs. If you fell in, all you’d have to do is stand up.”
He gives my hand a little tug, but I pull back.
“No, I think I’ll stay here.”
“Come with me. You can see down to the bottom. It’s all rippled sand.”
“No thanks.”
“I’ll be sure you don’t fall in.”
“Nuh uh,” I shake my head, but he doesn’t give up.
“How about just coming in up to your calves? You can do that, can’t you?” he asks, as he wades onto the abbreviated beach. I remove my shoes and follow him in, a little embarrassed.
“Yes, I can do that,” I say, but when he pulls me a little further, the sloshing that rises up over my knees is reflected in my belly, and I have to put on the brakes again. I feel myself going pale. Oscar turns back to me and ducks his head to catch my gaze.
“Too much?” he asks. I nod stiffly. “Let’s sit down.”
“Not in the water,” I say, but Oscar’s expression tells me that I must look as scared as I feel.
“Don’t worry about getting wet. We’ve got dry clothes up at the house.” He kneels down in the water, tugging me down with him, but I stumble forward and end up on my hands and knees. I yelp and panic and hold my chin up out of the water. The idea of it on my face, going down my nose or into my mouth makes me want to throw up. Oscar gets hold of me and hauls me up, onto my knees.
“You’re okay,” he tries to assure me. The entire front of my shirt is soaked, and my entire body starts to tremor. The wet fabric is as miserable as holding a frozen, metal cookie sheet against my skin, but worse than anything – I can’t catch my breath. Oscar stands up, pulling me with him, and wraps an arm around my waist. “You really don’t like the water,” he tries to joke. My lips are quivering too much to answer.
The sand sticks to my feet as Oscar guides me back to the cabin door. Once we’re inside, he only lets go of me when I’m planted on a kitchen chair. He’s gone for a moment, while I hiccup my breaths, and returns with a fluffy blue towel from the bathroom. He puts it around my shoulders, and I don’t remember anything else until I open my eyes again.
#
“Hale?”
I’m lying on the couch and Oscar is hovering over me, tapping my cheek. When my eyes open, Oscar lets out a breath and says, “Oh, thank God. You scared me to death.”
“What?” I say, and then, I remember the water and look down. My shirt is missing. So are my shorts. I’m just lying there in my bra and panties with a towel bunched up beside me. I grab it as I sit up, trying to cover myself. I spot my shorts and shirt in a soggy heap on the floor. I gape at Oscar. “You undressed me?”
For whatever reason, my words startle him. He takes a step back, glancing at the clothes and me and runs a hand through his hair. “No...I mean, yes, I did, but...no.” he stammers. “It’s not what you’re thinking. Not at all. You passed out and I thought the wet clothes were doing it...”
“My clothes?” I glare at him. “You think it was my clothes, and not that you pulled me into the water after I told you I’m fucking afraid of it?”
The towel doesn’t cover anything and it keeps slipping. But Oscar’s not looking at my body. He’s combing his fingers over his face, frustrated.
“I thought it’d calm you down,” he says.
“Dunking me, or undressing me?” I ask.
“Both, actually.”
“Bad call,” I tell him, getting off the couch. When he looks back at me, his eyes slide down
my body, and I shout at him, “QUIT LOOKING AT ME!”
I slip past him and scramble up the stairs, but Oscar’s right behind me.
“Hale,” he says, but I don’t stop to listen to him. I’m all the way to our bags, still heaped on the floor, before he says my name again. I ignore his pleading tone and rifle my bag for the first shirt and shorts I can find. Oscar stands two feet away, watching me as I yank on a shirt and step into my shorts, my cheeks hot. From my peripheral vision, I can tell he hasn’t looked away once, but I keep my eyes on the floor, even after I’m completely dressed again.
“I was just trying to help you get over your fear,” he says softly.
“That’s not the way. Don’t help me like that again.”
“I won’t,” he says. “Not until you ask me to.”
“Oh, I won’t ask,” I snap, but instead of turning and leaving like I think he should, Oscar steps closer to me.
“You’re right,” he says and his smirk is back. “You won’t ask. So, I’ll promise you this: I won’t, until you beg me. Fair enough?”
Before I can answer him, he turns away and goes down the stairs, without looking back.
#
I stay upstairs, crunched into the catcher’s mitt chair, unsure of what to do. Oscar moves around downstairs and even though he’s not slamming doors or banging cupboards – in fact, everything sounds pretty peaceful, as if he’s being careful not to wake me or something – I still have to assume he’s angry. When I think of it, I made a huge deal out of nothing. It’s not like I was naked. The thought of being naked in front of Oscar makes my mind wander, until I feel tingles running all through me.
Someone knocks on the door downstairs. My thoughts quickly re-focus on Oscar’s footsteps treading across the living room to the front door.
“Hey!” his voice is excited, welcoming. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming up until Friday! Come on in!”
The door creaks wide open, and I hear the thunk of suitcases banging against the door frame and a syrupy female voice say, “What’s going on with you, Oscar? Soph’s been worried sick about you!”
“Good to see you, Amy,” Oscar says, but his voice is tight. Amy and Landon. Landon, Oscar’s best friend and Amy, Sophia’s bestie. I’m so screwed.
“You up here by yourself?” Landon’s voice wanders, as if he’s craning his neck to look around.
“No, actually,” Oscar says. “I’m not.”
“What do you mean?” Amy’s tone is sharp now. “Soph’s home right now.”
“Obviously, it’s not Sophia,” Landon says, as if it’s all a good joke. A game. “Where is she? It is a she, isn’t it?”
“Very funny,” Oscar says. “Her name’s Hale and she’s upstairs.”
“Hale?” Amy’s voice splits the pause like a hunting knife. “What are you talking about, Oscar? You’re still dating Sophia, Mr. Faithful. At least, as far as she knows. You just went missing, and you haven’t even bothered to tell her that it’s because you’re seeing someone else? Do you know how asshole-ish that is?”
“Quit busting his balls,” Landon says.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because it’s none of our business, hon.”
“My best friend’s boyfriend snuck away to be with some other girl, hon. I think that makes it my business.”
“No.” Oscar’s polite grin is obvious in the way his words turn up. “Land’s right. I appreciate the concern, but it’s not your business.”
There is a long pause and a sigh.
“She’s my friend,” Amy says, but her tone throws up its hands in surrender. “At least call her and tell her what’s going on, so I don’t get in trouble for knowing. And bring down your new one.”
“Don’t call her that,” Oscar says. “Her name is Hale.”
“So you are playing the field,” Amy’s voice shoots up in the middle of the word. “I thought you weren’t looking to do anymore of that?”
“I wasn’t, but this girl slammed it out of the park,” Oscar says. And then, as if to stop Amy, he says, “You guys wanna meet her?”
And that’s when I start feeling like I should’ve been prying the window open about ten minutes ago.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“HALE,” OSCAR CALLS FROM THE bottom of the stairs. I don’t want to answer. I think of every excuse, that I’m sleeping, or sick, or even passed out again, but all it will do is bring them up here.
“Is there really somebody up there?” Amy asks. But by then, I’ve moved across the room to the stairs, and the top step creaks when I step down on it. Amy goes silent, while each step decides to whisper a squeak as I come down. By the time I reach the bottom, it seems like the stairs have silenced everyone.
Oscar is waiting with a grin. Landon gives me a curious, but welcoming, smile. And Amy, a girl with a natural slope to her eyebrows that makes her look angry, actually stands there with no expression. Her mouth hangs a tiny bit, and her eyes are so bland that they appear almost sorrowful as she takes me in.
“This is Hale,” Oscar says, stepping in front of Amy and reaching for my hand. I guess it’s time to really sell the charade, but I blush a little when I spot my clothes still in a heap near the couch. Amy’s eyes dart after mine and she sees them too. I wonder what Oscar’s friends would think if they knew that, a half hour ago, I wasn’t slipping out of those clothes on my own, and that I wasn’t even coherent when Oscar did it for me.
“I’m Landon,” Landon says, juggling all the bags hanging off him, with his hand out. He gives my hand a shake so quick that it could snap me like a towel, if he’d used the full-range of my arm. Landon’s a thick, blond monster with cargo shorts, and hair that is carefully spiked on top. He says, “Good to meet you.”
He seems to mean it, just like Oscar said he would.
“And this is Amy,” Oscar says, when Amy doesn’t introduce herself first. Besides the eyebrows, Amy is a tall, blond Popsicle stick of a woman with a long nose and beautiful curls. She puts on a grin and reaches for my hand, doing a light fingertip-to-fingertip shake, gone before it was really ever there. She turns to Oscar.
“Should we just haul everything upstairs, honey?” she asks. Something in her honey drizzles a little too warmly. I don’t know why, but I wrap my arms around Oscar’s waist and tell myself I’m just doing it for the show. I feel oddly good about wanting to convince Amy that Oscar is mine and our relationship is real.
“You’re okay with sharing our bed?” I ask, looking up into his eyes. I let the rest of the thought trail away. Oscar’s eyes flash devilishly before he ducks down and kisses my forehead, as if he’s done it every day for years.
“No, I’m not,” he says. “We’ll put the inflato-bed down here, if that’s good with you, Land?”
“I can sleep any place,” Landon shrugs, letting all the bags finally fall off his shoulders and onto the floor. He leans over to kiss Amy’s cheek, even though she’s still staring at me. Her expression makes her look like a statue in a wax museum. She sways from the peck on her cheeks, and snaps out of her stare in time to catch Oscar’s eye, then turns to plant a kiss on Landon. She open-mouths it. Landon’s body goes rigid a second with surprise. Oscar and I exchange an uncomfortable glance.
Amy comes up for air and, looking back at Oscar, says, “It’s fine. I can sleep any place too.”
#
“Your friends are really weird,” I whisper to Oscar. He’s lying on our bed, and I’m sitting beside him. We’d retreated upstairs after Landon and Amy had blown up the inflato-mattress near the front windows. When they laid down on it, and started touching each other’s hair and giggling softly, Oscar suggested that he and I go upstairs to give them their privacy. I was happy to escape the two of them, especially Amy and the glares she kept shooting at me.
“Not Landon,” Oscar whispers back. “He’s the best guy you’ll ever meet, but Amy...yeah, she’s weird sometimes.”
“She’s just looking out for her friend,”
I say darkly. “I can’t blame her for that. Sher would do the same for me.”
I stare at his phone on the nightstand and I think of Sher.
“Can I use your phone?” I ask.
“You want to call your dad?”
“No, my friend, Sher.” I say. I’ll never want to call my dad. Not anytime soon, at least. Oscar thinks on it for a minute.
“What are you going to say to her exactly?”
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Are you going to say you’re trapped at some guy’s beach house?” I see the nervousness when he says it. He’s trying to act like he’s kidding, but he’s not.
“No,” I say, although it had occurred to me. “I was going to tell her that I was kidnapped by a dude that is forcing me to marry him.”
“Forcing? No, that wouldn’t attract any attention,” he says. “Sorry, I think my phone is out of order.”
“Come on,” I say. “I was just kidding. I was going to tell her I was at my cousin’s house.”
Oscar sits up, his chest touching my shoulder, the side of his leg touching my back. His raw energy crashes right through me in waves. My body comes alive, prickling as if it’s waking from a ten-year sleep. The stinging tickle centers itself between my legs.
“You want to use my phone?” he asks. His breath is on my cheek. “I’ll let you.”
But as I reach for the phone, Oscar grabs my hand.
“For a kiss,” he says. I try to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t let go.
“Forget it, ya perv,” I say.
“What’s the problem? You’ve already kissed me once. I think it’s fair to say you enjoyed it.” He draws back my hair over my shoulder. “But I’m not even asking for a kiss from you. I’ll tell you what – I’ll give you the phone, if you just accept a kiss from me.”
I think of how nice it would be to talk to Sher. How nice it would be to have him kiss me again like he did downstairs.
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