Sixteenth Summer

by Michelle Dalton

“You’re right!” Will cried. “I was a fool, Allison. It won’t happen again.”

  I stopped clowning then.

  Of course it wouldn’t happen again.

  Every time Will or I inadvertently said something like that, it shut us up quick. Then we had to glance away from each other and swallow hard until the moment passed.

  “I’ll make it up to you with cotton candy,” Will whispered in my ear before planting a sweet kiss on my cheek.

  “You better,” I said. “And frozen lemonade.”

  With that, we forgot about sand castles entirely and went to the carnival.

  We found Caroline and Sam quickly after we arrived and dragged them to all the rides—the bumper cars, the small roller coaster, and the spinning teacups.

  My favorite ride was the giant wheel of swings that simply spun us around in long, lazy loops. We weren’t whipped about or turned upside down. We just made swoop after swoop around a giant ring with flashing lights and chimey organ music. The swings made me feel windblown and free after my very grounded morning of castle building.

  When our feet touched the ground after the swings came slowly to a stop, I clapped my hands like a little kid and cried, “Let’s go again!”

  So we did.

  We ended up skipping the cotton candy in favor of corn dogs and blooming onions, which we ate while we played the silly carnival games.

  Will and I both failed to lob Ping-Pong balls into a row of glass milk jugs, so we moved on to the contraption where you tried to ring a bell by pounding a pedestal with a giant hammer. A roly-poly guy was manning the game in front of a table piled with stuffed animals and plastic prizes. Among them, I recognized the hot pink boa constrictor that had been twined around Figgy Pudding on the Fourth of July.

  I touched the garish plush lightly and pointed it out to Will.

  “Do you remember that?” I asked.

  “I’ll never forget that,” he whispered in my ear. “I’ll never forget a bit of that night.”

  I leaned into him. Who knew if that was true. Who knew if that was even possible. But I wanted to believe, as much as Will did, that all these days and nights together would stay with us, etched like a tattoo into our memories.

  Sam broke into our bubble by offering the heavy hammer to Will.

  “Naw, you go first,” Will said. “I’ll watch your technique.”

  “Watch and learn, buddy,” Sam said with a grin. He planted his feet and swung the hammer. It hit the end of the pedestal, which seesawed to send a little metal disc zinging up a cord toward the bell. The disc hovered for a moment just below the bell, then plummeted back down.

  “Awww,” Sam groaned.

  Then it was Will’s turn. He flexed his muscles at me, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Sah-woon!” I joked in a high-pitched girly voice. Of course, I was actually admiring the way Will’s arms looked as he hoisted the hammer—all sinew and muscle and smooth, tan skin.

  Will pretended to spit on his palms, then swung. Once again the metal disc seemed to slow down just before it hit the bell. But it did hit it.

  Or rather, it just barely tapped it, making the weakest ding in the history of bells.

  “Sorry!” the carnie yelled. “Try again!”

  “Aw, that counted!” Sam yelled with a grin. “C’mon, dude. Throw the guy a bone. Or at least these giant sunglasses.”

  Sam plucked a pair of preposterous lime-green glasses off the table and put them on.

  “Nope!” the carnie said, pulling the prize off Sam’s face and shooing us away. “Move it along, kids.”

  “I was robbed,” Will complained. “I guess you think me less of a man now, Anna?”

  Caroline hooked her arm through mine and whispered in my ear, “Can you imagine being here with boys who actually cared about winning these things?”

  “Yes, I can,” I said with a shudder.

  I grabbed Will’s hand with my free one and squeezed it hard. I loved how different he was from so many competitive-about-everything guys.

  I loved how much fun he was having at this dinky carnival and how much fun I was having because I was here with him.

  I supposed I was just giddily in love. It was as simple as that.

  Or so it felt right then, when Will was still so solidly here.

  How many times had I wished I could freeze a moment with Will and just live in it, luxuriate in it, forever? It was a silly wish, but I couldn’t help making it over and over. I wrapped my arm around Will’s waist as we left the midway, feeling grateful for the wish, even if I couldn’t have the actual phenomenon.

  Very soon after that, the moment really did have to end because I had to go to work. The Scoop was always slammed on the day of the sand castle competition.

  “I’ll come by later,” Will promised me. “After I have dinner with my mom and Owen and, of course, go to the sand castle judging.”

  “You’re going?!” I laughed. “What, the big hammer thing didn’t bruise your ego enough?”

  “That thing was rigged,” Will said, flexing his biceps at me again.

  I laughed and because of all the people milling around us, gave him a quick kiss on the lips. But I wished it could have been much, much longer.

  Later that night, Will marched into The Scoop, dodged around the swarm of people peering into the ice cream cases, and slapped a muddy brown ribbon onto the counter.

  “Our prize!” he announced proudly.

  I stared at the rosette-free ribbon. In small gold letters it said PARTICIPANT.

  “Participant!” I sputtered. “Not even honorable mention?”

  “Would you rather it say ‘last place’?” Will asked.

  “Good point,” I said with a laugh. I started to take the ribbon but Will snatched it away.

  “I’m keeping this for posterity,” he said. “It’s much cooler than my childhood baseball trophies.”

  I thought of the little keepsake drawer in my bathroom and wondered if Will had one of his own.

  Then suddenly my mind zipped into a distant future in which I was poking around in my vanity drawer for a walk down memory lane. I pictured myself pulling out the toothpick I’d saved from my first date with Will. I wondered if it would make me get dreamy and smiley, or if I’d be all tragic soul-searching.

  Where will I be then? I wondered. Who will I be?

  Not that I had time to get philosophical. I had a long queue of hot, sandy customers clamoring for something cold. So I shook myself out of my daydream and smiled at Will. Adopting my best aren’t-you-a-pathetic-little-puppy voice, I said, “It’s a great ribbon, honey. Now what I can I get you? The Greek Holiday’s going quick.”

  “Mmm,” Will said. “How about Pineapple Ginger Ale.”

  Oh, great. That only made more memories wash over me. I looked away from Will. If he added anything else to this bittersweet brew of mine, I was going to have to retreat to the cooler, where I could become a puddle in private.

  Instead, I was jolted out of my brooding by the high-pitched whoops of a gaggle of girls coming into The Scoop. When I turned, I saw that one of them was my sister, waving a red ribbon over her head. Her friends surrounded her, pumping their French-manicured fists in the air and shimmying their hips.

  “Se-cond place!” they chanted. “Se-cond place!”

  “Sweetie!” cried my mom, who was working the cash register. She waved at Sophie. “That’s wonderful!”

  As a fellow castle builder, I finally understood just how wonderful second place was. A simple thumbs-up wouldn’t do. I handed my ice cream scoop to my mom and scooted around the counter. Then I gave my sister a big hug.

  “Congratulations!” I exclaimed. “We saw your opera house. It really was amazing.”

  From behind me, Will added, “It was awesome, Sophie.”

  “Thanks!” Sophie said. She glanced down at my arms, which were still wrapped around her, and gave me a look that meant, You’re weird.

  But she quickly followed it up with a sweet smi
le.

  “I saw your castle too,” she said. “It was … well, it was nice? Um, what was it?”

  “The Flatiron Building,” Will piped up. “It’s the third most famous …”

  Will trailed off as Sophie’s teammates began chanting again and my sister, as always, got sucked into the center of her social circle.

  Through the crush of girls, I gave Will a don’t sweat it smile.

  He returned it with a smile I’d learned to recognize. The one that meant I’m crazy about you.

  Me too, I thought with a deep, shuddery breath. Me too.

  Then I went back behind the counter to make Sophie a Diet Coke float with chocolate chip ice cream, and scoop up some Pineapple Ginger Ale for Will. His favorite.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up and it was August 28. It was a day when all I wanted was routine. I wanted to go with Will for a lazy swim and a long, luxurious bike ride. I wanted to go to work and have him show up at nine like he always did.

  But there was nothing routine about this day. Instead, there would be Will returning Zelig to the bike shop and packing and cleaning the cottage and having his last Dune Island moments with his family.

  And me there for all of it, my heart threatening to explode.

  In the morning, I went to Will’s house. When I got there, his T-shirts were in a neat stack on the bed. I loved Will’s T-shirts, so soft and worn and perfect-fitting.

  When Will left the bedroom to help his mom with something in the kitchen, I sat down next to the T-shirt stack and gave it a little pat.

  Then I laid my cheek down on it. The shirt on top—a light blue tee with a faded navy crew neck—was as soft as always. But without Will’s torso inside of it, it didn’t move me at all.

  In fact, it made me feel unspeakably empty.

  “Anna?”

  I bolted upright to see Will standing in the doorway, trying not to laugh.

  “Shut up!” I said. “Hey, at least I wasn’t smelling your shirts. They always do that in the movies, have you noticed?”

  “I know,” Will said shaking his head. “Cheesy.”

  “So do you want to say good-bye to The Room?” Will said, pointing across the hall to his mother’s orange-and-brown lair.

  “Eh, that’s okay,” I said. “I’ll say good-bye to your mom and Owen, though.”

  They were eating breakfast on the deck. As we walked through the tchotchke-clogged living room to the back door, I felt a wave of grief wash over me. This house, with a suitcase by the door and another splayed out on the dining room table, already felt stale and empty. Lifeless. Will-less.

  Out on the deck, Owen took a break from a massive bowl of cereal to give me a bear hug.

  “Hell of a summer,” he said, shooting Will a not very Owenish look of concern. “Anna, I will think of you every time I see a ghost crab.”

  “I think I’ve just been insulted,” I said with a laugh.

  “Definitely not,” Owen said, giving me his usual devilish grin. “Definitely not.”

  Ms. Dempsey’s good-bye hug was more fragile. When we looked at each other, both our lower lips were trembling.

  “Oh, Anna,” she said, her voice filled with lots of things—sympathy and worry, but also joy and maybe a vicarious twinge.

  “Are you glad you came back?” I asked her. “Was the summer what you hoped for?”

  “I think I’ll need to ponder that for a while before I know,” Ms. Dempsey said. “But you know what? I think so.

  “And it was lovely knowing you, my girl,” she added, her smile looking more mommish now. “Now, you guys go on. Have a good day.”

  She gave my hand a quick squeeze.

  I wondered for the first time if Ms. Dempsey knew exactly what I was going through; if she’d fallen for a boy on Dune Island, too, long, long ago.

  If I’d had more time maybe I would have asked her. But there was so little time left. And Allison and Zelig had one last ride in them.

  “Are you ready?” Will asked.

  I nodded eagerly, and with a last little wave to Will’s family, I followed him down the steps to the road.

  We rode up and down Highway 80. We swooped back and forth across the highway, passing each other at the road’s center line. It was a habit we’d developed during our many bike rides that summer, in which the destination had mattered so little that half the time, we’d just given up on it and kept pedaling.

  We’d become experts at that center-of-the-road crisscross, even high-fiving sometimes as we passed each other. But today we were clearly off our game. At one point, we came so close to each other, we almost crashed. Will skidded to the side of the road and had to jump off his bike to avoid falling. He took a few stumbling steps, then stopped himself with his hands to keep from face planting into the gravel.

  We looked at each other and shook our heads at our own patheticness.

  I motioned northward with my head.

  “Let’s go, huh?”

  Will nodded, picked up his bike, and we headed to the North Peninsula.

  Our beach.

  I was happy to see that it looked as deserted as ever when we got there, maybe even more desolate than usual with its sunfried dune grasses and the CLOSED sign on Angelo’s door. (Angelo always took his vacation between the tourists’ departure and Labor Day.)

  I unfurled my desiccated wrap from around Allison’s handlebars and dropped it on the sand near the water. I quickly peeled off my shorts and tank top. Underneath I was wearing my blue flower-print two-piece, because it was my favorite—and I knew it was Will’s favorite too.

  We were silent as we waded out past the breakers. Then, once we were up to our necks in the water, we circled each other, our faces somber. Will swallowed hard. Then I swallowed hard.

  But just as I thought we’d both buckle under the weight of all these lasts—last bike ride, last swim, last date—Will lifted his feet and swam splashily toward me. And I remembered—in the water, you’re weightless.

  So I floated too. And then we were floating together, kissing and kissing, our arms and legs tangled up, hanks of my long, wet hair sticking to Will’s bare shoulders. I didn’t quite know where he began and I ended. I was only aware of his lips on my lips, on my neck, on my shoulders, his hands skimming over my body, memorizing it, while I did the same.

  I love you, I love you.

  We said it over and over again.

  I felt a quick flutter of my old desire—to just duck beneath the waves, do my mermaid kick, and head out to sea. This time I wanted to take Will with me.

  But instead, I looked at the sun, which was already going slanty in the sky, and told Will that it was time to go.

  We’d floated a good bit away from our shoes and clothes, and the walk back to them gave our swollen lips a chance to start returning to normal.

  We rode back to the boardwalk together, but I headed for home before Will went to return Zelig to the bike rental shop. For some reason, that was a “last” I couldn’t bear to watch.

  While Will had a last Dune Island supper with his mom and Owen, I took a long bath to get ready for our date that night. As I combed out my hair and put on makeup at the vanity, I opened my little keepsake drawer, dug beneath the note paper and the sea glass, and found that little plastic toothpick from the Dune Island Beach Club.

  It was hard to imagine how guarded and clueless and terrified I’d been on our first date; hard to fathom the fact that I hadn’t always known Will, and loved him, the way I did now.

  It was even harder to believe that I’d known him for less than three months.

  The fact that after tomorrow I might never see him again was the most difficult to envision. I didn’t want to, anyway. Like Will always said—there’d be time for that later.

  Instead, I slipped on my silver bangle and a swishy, long-skirted white sundress and headed out the door, feeling the same flutter of comfortable excitement I always felt when I left for a date with Will.

  And I went right on feelin
g fluttery and excited until Will and I sat down for dinner that night. We’d decided to go to Fiddlehead, one of Dune Island’s fancier restaurants. (Will had promised to eat light with his family.) We sat at a low-lit, imposing table, complete with burning candle, basket of artisanal bread, and massive, leather-bound menus.

  The place was beautiful.

  The menu was impressive, too, all iced platters of raw oysters, high-grade steaks, and buttery pastas. The ambiance was pure, manufactured romance.

  It was also purely wrong. For us.

  “I feel like I have to whisper in here,” Will whispered, leaning across the table.

  “I feel like I should be wearing a corset,” I responded.

  I threw my head back, looked at the bronze-painted, pressedtin tiles on the ceiling, and felt miserable.

  And I didn’t want to feel miserable tonight. We didn’t have time for that. So suddenly I stood up. I grabbed my purse from the back of my chair and rifled through it, pulling out a ten-dollar bill. I tossed it on the table.

  “What are you doing?” Will sputtered.

  “That’s for the bread and the waters and a tip for the server,” I said, grinning at Will. “You’ve already eaten with your mom and Owen anyway, and I’m not hungry. Let’s go!”

  Will got to his feet so fast, he almost tipped his chair over. We gritted our teeth to keep from guffawing into the ambiance, then dashed out the door.

  We made a quick, surreptitious stop at The Scoop for a soft cooler with a long strap, an ice pack, and a couple of pints of ice cream.

  And then, holding hands, we headed south.

  “Where are we going?” Will said as we walked down the sandy sidewalk that led from the boardwalk toward the lighthouse.

  “I can’t believe I never got around to taking you here,” I said. “I’m just glad it’s a clear night.”

  “Where?” Will almost yelled.

  “You’ll see,” I said. “We’re almost there.”

  Before we reached the lighthouse parking lot, we veered left onto a gravel road, which culminated after about a quarter mile at …

  “The water tower?” Will said, peering up at the giant, oblong tank on top of a crisscrossing network of steel stilts. “Seriously?”

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “It’s great during the day, but it’s magic at night.” We walked around the tower until we reached its ladder. I kicked off my sandals, slung the long handle of the ice cream cooler across my chest, and started climbing.