by Taylor Hale
“You girls staying?” Dean asks. “Party’s just getting started.”
Both social situations I’ve been in so far have been disasters. “I’m not really feeling it, but thanks for the invite.”
“Yeah, we’ll see you guys later, though,” Keely says.
“Just because Olivia doesn’t want to stay doesn’t mean you can’t.” Dean smirks against his cigarette. “C’mon, it’s a party, Keely. Hang out with us.”
“Sorry, guys, I can’t . . .” Keely looks at me with big, guilty brown eyes, like she’s waiting for my approval. I want to stop being that clingy best friend, especially because of the way they’re all looking at me right now.
“It’s okay, Keel,” I say. “You should stay.”
“You sure?”
I nudge her with a grin. “We’ve hung out every day this week. Besides, I could use some time alone to wander.” I want to see if my favorite tree is still around, but I don’t say it out loud because Dean would probably rip on me.
“Really? Seriously, I can come if you want,” Keely says.
“No, don’t worry about it, really. Have fun.”
“Okay, tell my mom and dad I’ll be home before midnight.”
“No problem.” I head down the driveway, thankful to have some time to explore by myself.
The beach is a short walk from downtown. Salt carries on the ocean air, and the sun’s position, slowly sinking toward the horizon, reminds me of so many evenings spent here. Shadows reach through the golden rays that paint the sand. Keeping my distance from the shoreline, I move along the overgrowth until the beech tree appears ahead. Even in the full bloom of summer, sparse leaves sprout from the thick, sturdy branches.
It’s still here.
Hot sand hisses beneath my feet as I run to the tree. But stopping at the trunk, my nerves fray—this wouldn’t have even been up for discussion when I was a kid; I would have just started climbing. But now the tree towers over me like it could be fifty feet high. One wrong move and a branch could snap and my leg could break. Or worse.
None of this is right. The old Olivia would never be scared. Shoving my fear aside, I take a deep breath and feel around for a sturdy branch to grab onto, then hoist myself up each one until reaching the strongest. I scoot my butt along the bark and get comfortable. This used to be my thinking place, my own personal Giving Tree. Not even Keely or Miles came with me, but one time, when I was ten and West was twelve, he found me crying here.
I’d been at an all-girls slumber party at Bailey’s, but Keely was home with the flu and a full-raging fever. Her mom wouldn’t let her go, no matter how hard she begged. Faye would be there, so I was nervous to go without Keely, but I did it anyway. Sure enough, when it came to truth or dare, Faye tried to force me to choose the former, digging for information about who I liked, whether it was Miles or someone else. But I always chose dare. Normally Faye would get me to do something gross like eat fish food, but instead, she told everyone that I didn’t have a crush because I knew no one would ever like me back.
It’s so stupid looking back on how upset I got, but she’d struck a chord. I got Bailey’s parents to call mine to come pick me up early. When they arrived, I begged them to take me to the beach and let me be alone. They walked along the shore nearby while I came here and sat on this branch. The sea swallowed the sun the exact same way it does now.
West then appeared at the bottom of the tree. Without saying a word, he climbed up and sat next to me. We remained in silence, listening to the waves lap against the shore, until I finally said, “Your sister’s mean, West. She hates me.”
He kicked his dangling feet. West was getting bigger, and the hair on his legs had darkened, his muscles becoming pronounced. “Faye makes my life hell too,” he said. “She and Miles.”
“I just don’t understand why she hates me so much.”
“Faye doesn’t like having her toys taken away. You spend too much time with my brother.”
“But he’s my friend.” I couldn’t stop crying. I didn’t expect it, but West wrapped his arm around my shoulder and rested his cheek against my head. He had never been affectionate with me before. Miles and I hugged sometimes, but never West—so feeling his warmth turned me to stone.
“Don’t cry, Olive,” was all he’d said. He held me until my tears dried. My heart thrummed against my ribcage, because by this time, I was old enough to understand why West always had such an impact on me. He was my crush. Not Miles. West.
But I never told Keely or anyone else, because Faye was right: he would never like me back. West was older, so much cooler. And the only way to keep a part of him to myself was to hide the fact that I liked him. Fool myself that we could go on being the friends we all were. And that day seven years ago was the only time he ever touched me like that.
Right now, he’s probably touching that other girl. At the cabin, maybe in the bed I slept in while I was there. It’s pathetic that, after all these years, the thought of him still makes my heart sore.
The sky transforms into nautical twilight, a sea of navy and violet. The waves move with the rhythm of the wind. I begin to climb down the tree.
By the time I’m back in the suburbs, the moon is a silvery crescent against a near-black sky. Mosquitoes nip me through the thin fabric of my gray zip-up.
Walking alone at night is never fun. It wasn’t a problem when I lived here before because Caldwell is so safe—the jail’s holding cell has mostly been used as a drunk tank over the years. Besides, I always felt good knowing Keely’s dad was patrolling the streets. But nighttime in the city was way different, way more dangerous. I’m used to keeping my head down, but as I turn onto Oak Crescent, a bush jostles. I look over my shoulder, into the obscurity between the trees that separate the properties. A bird hoos, insects buzz—and when a twig breaks, I jump and walk faster.
The street is totally empty. My phone shows 9:33 p.m., but it feels so late. The lights in most of the houses on this street aren’t even on.
Another twig snaps.
My pulse jerks into my throat, and I pick up the pace. Calm down, you’re being crazy. I close my eyes and snap the elastic.
But then I hear clap, clap, clap behind me. Footsteps.
Gasping, I check over my shoulder. The street is deserted. My blood pumps faster than a coursing river and thuds against the back of my skull. Screw walking—I’m running. My shoes pound the road as I book it. My imagination races faster than my legs move. Kidnapping, rape, murder.
The animal killer.
When I slam straight into a body, I scream.
“Jesus, Olivia?”
West stands in front of me—all six-foot-something of him—with a Rottweiler at the end of the leash in his hand. Every tide in me calms.
“What’s up?” he asks. “You good?”
“I don’t know.” Hugging myself, my teeth chatter. “I felt like someone was following me, but—”
The way West steps closer and looks over my shoulder makes me feel safe. “What do you mean? Did you hear someone?”
“Maybe, no, I just . . .” I brush my hair behind my ear. “It was just a weird feeling. Forget I said anything?”
He half smiles. “Okay. You want to walk with us?”
“Oh, right!” My anxiety was so high, I didn’t even say hi to the puppy. I pat his too-big-for-his-body head, and his flappy pink tongue hangs from his mouth in a panting dog smile.
“This is Oscar,” West says. “Come on, boy, let’s walk Olive home.”
“Hi, Oscar.”
Oscar woofs.
As I fall into step beside them, my jitters vanish, like they were never even there at all. Thank God West can’t read my mind and know how much I’ve been thinking about him over the past week because it’s beyond embarrassing.
“So,” West says, “last weekend. Awkward, huh?”
“Yeah . . . I wasn’t expecting you to show up.”
“Likewise. I should’ve known Miles was going to be there.”
“Why aren’t you there now? With your girlfriend?”
“We broke up.”
Okay, heart. Stop leaping. We pause as Oscar raises his leg at a tree.
“How come?” I ask. “You seemed . . . close.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” The corners of his eyes crinkle. “I don’t like it when people say one thing but mean something totally different. Melissa was really bad for that.”
Wait, Melissa? So that wasn’t Amelia?
West puts his free hand in the pocket of his jacket. “She was all pissed off I couldn’t get the cabin last week when I said I could, but then she pretended like everything was fine for the whole weekend. Then when I went to drive her home—she lives a few towns over—she started tripping on me. Shit like that was pretty much a weekly occurrence with her, so I just dropped her off and said it’s over. She didn’t care.” His voice lifts near the end in a subtle way I’m sure he doesn’t want me to hear. I do hear it, though. It’s the slightest crackle of pain.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Thanks. I’m not that upset about it. I guess I feel free more than anything.”
“Free to do what?”
We pass under a street lamp, then dip back into the night. West’s aquamarine eyes meet with the clear sky, his free hand tucked into his jacket, and the offshore wind breathes through the leaves of the aspen tree on someone’s lawn. The lights in their house are out, and the ting ting of their wind chimes tinkles through the air.
“Anything,” West eventually says. “I can walk around with you like this and not have to worry whether Melissa will be pissed or not. She didn’t like me hanging out with girls, which caused a lot of problems since my roommate is a girl.”
I can’t blame her, considering West is drop-dead gorgeous, but he probably didn’t appreciate being told what to do. I’ve never been in a relationship, but I wouldn’t want to be with someone like that, someone who would try to control me.
We pass by a stretch of grass occupied by a single willow. Not knowing what else to talk about, I say, “I didn’t know you had a dog.”
“Yeah, he’s a good boy. A girl I was seeing last year brought me to this shelter, and I wasn’t planning on leaving with a puppy, but hey, here I am. Can you believe he’s only a year old?”
“Wow, he’s really big.”
Oscar lifts his leg at another tree. When we continue walking, West says, “You should come see me sometime.”
The answer is yes—five million times, yes—but I bite my lip and play it cool. “And do what?”
He smiles and shows the dimples in his cheeks, accentuating the attractive stubble that lines his jaw. “I don’t know, catch up, whatever. You can tell me what it’s like in the big city. I can tell you how nothing’s changed here.”
“It feels like everything’s changed.”
“I don’t know about that. But you’ve definitely changed.”
Fizzing soda pops throughout my body as he stares at me, and I don’t know what to do about it, so I look away. “I should get back. Keely’s parents might wonder where I am.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
We continue up the street, toward Keely’s neighborhood. I pet Oscar and pretend to be occupied by him, but in reality, my mind plays questions on repeat. West is incredibly attractive. And he’s single now.
Stop.
The last time I allowed myself to feel anything for him, he ended up hurting me more than anyone ever has. I still don’t understand why he was so mean to me in Coral Park, only a year after holding me for the first and only time.
If this summer is about facing my past, I need to face him too.
“West, can I ask you something?”
“Okay.”
“What happened before I left? I thought we were friends, then you started acting weird. Sure, you were always a little distant with me, but that day in Coral Park, when you told me to go away . . . you really hurt my feelings.” My laugh sounds pathetic. “Maybe you don’t even remember it.”
The stretch of silence is too long. Our feet scrape against the road.
“I do remember,” West says. “And you were my friend. I didn’t mean what I said to you, I didn’t want you to go away. The guys had been teasing me for spending time with you and Miles, and I just . . .”
“Was that all it was? Because they teased you?”
He rakes his hand through his hair. “I had other issues too, Olive. Issues at home. But none of that shit is an excuse. I was a brat, plain and simple. I’m sorry.”
God, the number of times I’ve imagined him saying those two words—I’m sorry—but I never thought he would. It’s surreal.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I just wish you hadn’t let me think I’d done something wrong all these years.”
“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry.”
The sound of bubbling water fills the night. Since Caldwell is built up the side of a cliff, there’s a bridge that cuts through the middle of town, separated by a rapid river with a small waterfall that leads into the ocean. The drop isn’t that high, but by memory, I know there are rocks frothing with the current. A tall metal railing bars in both sides of the bridge to prevent people from falling. Billows of mist engulf it, but something else is there. It takes me a moment to realize what I’m looking at, and I instinctively grab West’s arm.
“Oh my God, West, look!”
A man stands on the railing of the bridge, and it looks like he’s about to jump.
“Holy shit.” West’s voice is low, and we both turn to ice. We’re close enough to the man that he’ll hear us if we speak too loud, so West whispers, “We can’t spook him. Here, I need you to hold the dog and stay here.”
“But—do I call the cops?”
“Not yet, we can’t freak him out. I know him, he’s my friend. Let me handle it.” West shoves the leash into my hand. “Oscar’s a good dog, but he’ll bark if he senses something’s off. Stay here, keep him occupied. I’m going to try to talk him down.”
“Okay. Okay, I can do that.” My mouth is as dry as sand. I grip the leather leash like my life depends on it.
On the bridge, the man’s body wobbles, and I squint to make out the side profile of his face through the darkness. That grizzled beard, that hunched back—it’s Old Man Jenkens.
When I think of people who want to throw themselves off bridges, I think of troubled teens or people who are stressed out in their middle age. Not disgruntled men in their sixties. But of course, there’s no age limit to something like this. It’s hard to imagine Jenkens in any other form, like he’s always been old, cantankerous, and ready to jump off a bridge. But he hasn’t always been that way, I know that. He was once young like us. With dreams. Aspirations.
West raises his hands. The water below crashes loudly and muffles out their voices, so I step closer in order to hear West shouting, “Hey, Jenkens! It’s me. Don’t be scared, I’m heading down your way, okay? Just want to talk.”
“Weston. Damn, didn’t expect to see you. Get out of here, boy.”
“I have a better idea, why don’t you come down here?”
Jenkens looks down and laughs. Then he glances back over his shoulder and finds me and Oscar.
“Shit,” Jenkens says, “you brought company.”
“Yeah, that’s Olivia Cathart. You remember the Catharts, right? They used to live here.”
“Of course I remember the Catharts. Jesus, boy, I’m old, not senile.” The teasing nature of his voice unsettles me, considering how close he is to death.
“Jenkens, come on, man. Come down and talk to us.”
“Dammit, I can’t tell you how many times I thought about jumping off this thing, and th
is is the closest I ever came to it, and now you . . .”
“Don’t do this, man.”
“Why not? There’s nothing left for me here.”
Mist from the waterfall envelops them. West is quiet, like he’s desperately thinking of something to say. I want to help, but my knees are Jell-O. West said no cops, but Roger would know what to do. I dig into my pocket for my phone.
But of course, it’s dead.
My bones shake. On the bridge, West has inched closer to Mr. Jenkens. Oscar paws impatiently at the grass, and the wind picks up, rustles through the leaves. I tie the dog to a tree then step closer to the bridge until their voices are clearer.
“Sure there is,” West says. “And I mean, if you go like this, you’re going to traumatize us forever. Do you really want to carry that?”
This gets Jenkens cackling. “I admire your honesty, Weston. That’s something your rotten old dad doesn’t have. But fuck if I care, I’ll be dead!”
“There’s no guarantee of that, you might wash up down at the beach all clogged up with algae.” West holds his arms out like he’s ready to grab Jenkens if he jumps. Another burst of wind blows in, harder this time, and battles the back of Jenkens’s windbreaker. “Besides, who’s going to look after your shop?” West asks.
“No one. That’s the whole point. There’s no one.”
West subtly waves me over. I’m seized with fear, but only for a moment. Get it together—I have to help! On shaky legs, I approach them, terrified that one wrong move will cause Jenkens to jump. I carefully step onto the bridge.
“Hey, Jenkens,” West says, “Olive’s here.”
Jenkens’s withered eyes find mine. He’s broken in ways I can’t fathom. For a man with such deep ridges on his skin to be looking into a willing death—it’s haunting. And if he jumps, it will follow me forever.
“Hey,” I say. “Hey, I remember you. I remember your shop.”