“I don’t know.”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” Actually, it did hurt, but not in a bad way. He kept asking me if I wanted him to stop, and even though there was pain, I didn’t want him to. Instead the pain was like electricity pulsing through me, and it made me lightheaded and warm, like holding your breath for too long. Now I feel slightly empty and slick, as if my legs move too easily and I might lose control. A question itches in the back of my head, but I’m afraid to ask it. “I think I need to get home.”
Jay’s hands snake around my waist, dipping dangerously low. His fingers send sparks into my skin. “Already?”
“Well . . . ”
“A little longer,” he whispers in my ear before gently tugging on my earlobe with his teeth. His hand dips lower, and I feel myself start to get hard, against my will.
I take a sharp breath and hold it. Jay kisses my neck and pulls me tighter. I can feel him pressing into my back.
I can’t hold it any longer, and air shoots between my lips and the words come out with it. “Did you mean what you said?”
Jay freezes, but only for a second. He lifts his head from my neck, his lips only a fraction from my ear. “I love you.”
The words curl into my ear and hit my brain like a shot of morphine. I feel my muscles loosen, and I let Jay work his magic. I twist and lean into him. We fall back onto the seat.
Chapter 29
“Hellooo!” Becky snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Sean!”
“Oh, hey.”
“What is up with you?”
“Just tired. I was up late.” I grab a plastic ice cream scoop from the water-filled bucket by the freezer. I stare at it for a second. What was I doing?
“With Jay?” Becky asks.
I can’t keep a straight face. I stifle a giggle.
Becky narrows her eyes. She tilts her head as if something has just occurred to her. “You didn’t . . . ”
My shoelaces are suddenly very interesting, and my eyes involuntarily shoot downward.
“Were you planning to tell me?” Her eyes are wide in disbelief.
“It was like, I was dreaming.”
Becky shoves a waxy paper bowl at me, but it crushes under the force of her hand. “Why don’t you dream up a small vanilla with hot fudge?”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I just didn’t know how you would react.”
“Well, now you know.” Becky turns back to the window, her jaw clenched. I can see a muscle twitching just below her ear. I know I should have told her. Becky has been my best friend all summer. I open my mouth to . . . say what? I don’t know. It’s not like there’s anything I can say that’ll make her understand. I turn back to the freezer and start scooping vanilla.
Becky doesn’t give me the cold shoulder for long. Her curiosity gets the better of her, and when we get off at six o’clock, she practically drags me to the Gold House for a plate of cheese fries.
“So, did you do it? I mean, did you—” Becky waves her hands in front of her chest, a makeshift sign language to fill in the words she doesn’t say.
I stick my tongue out in an embarrassed smile.
“Omigod! You did!” Becky grabs a fry and points it at me. “Sean Jackson, please tell me you were safe!”
“Yes, Mom!”
“Thank God for that. So, what was it like? I want details.”
I roll my eyes. “A gentleman never kisses and tells.”
“Since when are you a gentleman?”
“Shut up.”
I tell Becky everything. She eats up my words as if they were the fries in between us, which she does a pretty good job on, too. I get to the end and punctuate my story by snatching the last fry before Becky can snag it. I pop it in my mouth before she can protest.
“What did your mom say?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“Well, duh, I mean, when you got home so late.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“Really?”
“She left me a note on the kitchen table.”
“And?”
“It said, ‘We have to talk.’ ” I shrug to say I’m not worried about it.
Becky leans back on the plastic bench seat and lowers her chin so she can look down her nose at me. She holds her gaze for a few seconds, then snatches the empty fry plate and gets up to return it. I watch her scrape our trash through the little swinging door below the counter and then leave the plate on top for someone to grab later. She turns back, and I read her T-shirt. IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES UNTIL SOMEONE GETS HURT . . . THEN IT’S HILARIOUS! Where does she find them?
“C’mon, Matt said he would meet us down at the marina,” she says.
“Right. What time is it?”
“Almost seven. Remind me again why your town has fireworks in August?”
“It’s like the anniversary of some Revolutionary War battle. Supposedly the Bell Cove militia stopped the British reinforcements from crossing the lake and getting to the real battle on time. The way the Historical Society puts it, if it weren’t for Bell Cove we’d still be under British rule.”
“So, basically, this is the one day a year when Bell Cove gets to pretend it isn’t some insignificant speck on the globe?” Becky skips ahead of me a few feet and turns around with an impish grin, inviting me to fight back.
I surrender. “That’s not fair. You’re from New York.”
We walk out onto the series of wooden docks that serves as the Bell Cove marina. The docks are crowded tonight with boats from across the lake. Their owners are probably enjoying dinner on Main Street or grabbing an ice cream before night falls and the show begins. The town sets off the fireworks out on the lake, and by dusk the public beach will be carpeted with towels and picnic blankets. Many of these boats will be anchored out on the water for an even better view. That’s why we’re meeting Matt. He invited Becky and me to watch the fireworks with his parents out on their boat.
“I hope Matt could find a place to dock,” Becky says, scanning the marina.
“I wish Jay was around,” I say. I was hoping to watch the fireworks with Jay. Maybe even have a repeat of yesterday, but with fireworks in the background. Now that our relationship has moved to the next level, I want to make our feelings more public. I feel like I might be ready to take the next step out of the closet.
“You’re not going to be one of those codependent boyfriends, are you?”
Do I sense a hint of disgust in her voice?
“No.” But I do miss Jay. It’s been eighteen hours since I was with him on the boat. Feels like much longer.
“Where is he, anyway?” Becky asks.
“Said he had family stuff.”
“Matt?”
“No, Jay. Wait, I see Matt!” I point to the right, and Becky follows my finger to where a sleek boat is drifting up to the docks. Matt is leaning over the side getting ready to tie up. Nathan is standing at the wheel, and Jo Anne has her arm around his waist, her long black hair pulled back with a colorful scarf. We hurry over to help Matt.
“Hey!” he shouts when he sees us approaching. “Sorry we’re a little late.”
Jo Anne holds her hand out to me, and I help her out of the boat. She’s wearing paint-spattered cutoffs and a gauzy white peasant top. “Nathan and I are going to pick up some veggie and hummus wraps at the Bread Board. Can we get you anything?”
Behind her, Becky puffs out her cheeks as if she is holding back a mouthful of vomit.
“No thanks,” I say. “We just ate.”
“Matt?”
“Extra pickles.”
Nathan steps up onto the dock and takes Jo Anne’s hand. We watch them head toward Main Street.
“Your parents are so cute,” I say.
Becky puffs out her cheeks again, and this time adds sound effects. She’s very convincing. “I’m not sure which is worse,” she says, “your parents or your sandwich. Hummus?”
“It’s all part of growing up hipp
ie.” Matt smiles at me. “I’m glad you two could make it.”
“Because there’s so much else for a kid without a car to do in Bell Cove.”
Becky steps between us and throws her arms around our necks. It’s a very Kodak moment. “Let’s walk around the marina while we wait for your parents to get back. C’mon.”
Becky pretends like she’s a yoke, and Matt and I are stubborn oxen in need of guidance. She drags us down the wooden dock with her arms still around us. We have no choice but to obey.
The Bell Cove Marina is a series of six docks jutting out from the shore, connected by a seventh dock parallel to Main Street. Normally, there’s space for five or six boats on both sides of each dock, and the marina is rarely even half full, but tonight it’s operating beyond capacity. Boats of every shape and size are crammed in and tied up two or sometimes three to a mooring ring. There are V-bottomed fishing boats, canopied pontoon boats, twenty-year-old outboard speedboats, and brand-new swanky cruisers. We walk up and down each dock looking for our favorites.
Matt spots a classic wooden cigar boat. The high-gloss lacquer reflects pink light from the sinking sun.
“Sharp,” I tell him.
Becky likes a slick black powerboat with a teal slash running down its side. Gold letters on the stern proclaim it Deus ex Machina. We covered that during mythology in English; it means “god from a machine.”
Matt laughs at her. “I’m pretty sure that God doesn’t need a boat. Parting the Red Sea and all.”
“But he’s got good color sense,” Becky says, hitting Matt in the shoulder.
“Ow!” Matt rubs his arm.
“Yeah, she does it to me, too,” I say.
“You let her?” Matt turns and hits my shoulder. “No wonder. You’re easy!”
“Hey! That hurts!” But I can’t help smiling. “And I’m not easy.” I lunge across Matt’s path to try and get Becky’s shoulder, but she dodges out of the way.
“That’s not what I hear,” she says, laughing.
I open my mouth and let out a short gasp. The air comes out in a high-pitched hiccup, and I hear how gay I sound. I try to cover it up by doubling over in a coughing fit.
Becky stands over me and rolls her eyes, but Matt slaps me on the back and asks, “Are you okay?”
He is so earnest that I just can’t take it. I start laughing one of those laughs that starts like a small grinding in the back of your throat but slowly builds until it starts to come out through your nose, and you can’t hold it back anymore, and it shoots out in high-pitched squeaks that sound so ridiculous they just make you laugh harder. The terrible thing about that kind of laugh is that it also sounds like you could be crying, and Matt puts his arm around my shoulder, and he is really concerned.
“Are you okay? Sean?”
At this point I am laughing so hard I am losing my breath. I try to nod to reassure him, but the movement just makes me light-headed and suddenly I am going down—with Matt on top of me.
“Oops!” I make a pathetic attempt to catch myself, but only succeed in twisting around so Matt falls across my lap. I’m laughing so hard I’m crying, but Matt seems to have figured out I’m okay because he is laughing, too. Becky just stands over us shaking her head. She has a smile, though.
“Maybe it’s time we head back to the boat. I’d go by myself, but clearly you two can’t be left alone.”
Matt crawls over me and manages to get to his feet. Still laughing, he pulls me up, and we start to head back toward his boat. Suddenly, I stop short. Did I just see what I thought I saw? I wheel around and look toward the end of the dock. There it is, a beautiful blue-and-white twenty-foot Craftsman tied up and gently bobbing alongside all of the other boats in the crowded marina.
“Is that . . . ?” I break away from Matt and Becky to investigate. I tell myself that it’s just another, similar boat. But as I get closer I see a familiar hot-pink T-shirt in a ball under the windshield. I don’t need to get any closer to know it’s a Pink Cone T-shirt. Jay’s Pink Cone T-shirt.
“What’s wrong?” Becky asks as she catches up to me.
“That’s Jay’s boat.”
“I thought you said—”
“He had other plans.”
“Maybe his parents are here?”
“His plans were with his family.”
Matt had kept a few feet behind us, but now he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Hey,” he says, “we should get back.”
I nod without saying anything and let Becky and Matt lead me back to Matt’s boat. My mind is racing, trying to find an explanation, but I keep pulling blanks. Jay had specifically said he had to hang out with his parents. He had specifically not said they would be hanging out in Bell Cove. So why is his boat here? And more important, why did Jay lie to me?
Becky and Matt do their best to keep me from thinking about Jay for the rest of the evening. We find a great spot out on the water to watch the fireworks. Matt’s dad produces a deck of cards, and the five of us start a game of bullshit. It doesn’t surprise me when Becky wins, but who knew Matt’s mom was such a good liar? Matt, on the other hand, is a terrible liar. Every time he tries to lie, he clears his throat first. All four of us laugh and call him on it. Needless to say, Matt ends up with all of the cards.
The fireworks start about nine thirty. Matt, Becky, and I take seats in the front of the boat while Matt’s parents sit in the back. The display is nonstop, and there is too much to try to look at all at once. As soon as one blossom of red sparks explodes over our heads, a series of white pinwheels shoots out directly in front of us, and then twin threads of green twist and shoot their way into multicolored chandeliers.
“I love those,” I say after one of the chandeliers twinkles toward the water.
“Me too,” Matt says over the boom of a red, white, and blue explosion.
“I like the loud ones,” Becky says.
“No surprise there,” I say. Becky pushes me and I fall over into Matt’s lap. Laughing, I look up at him.
“Sorry,” I say. Matt’s face is lit blue by another round of fireworks.
He smiles down at me. He shakes his head and sticks out his tongue. I sit up and push Becky back.
“Feeling any better?” she asks.
“A little.”
We watch the rest of the fireworks in silence.
Chapter30
I get home a little before eleven. The house is still dark; my mother isn’t home yet. I lie down on my bed, but I’m not tired, and I’m not really thinking about sleeping. Actually, all I can think about is Jay. I was able to forget him for a few hours out on the boat, but in the silent house, my mind inevitably drifts back to my favorite subject.
After the fireworks, we took the boat back to Matt’s house and his dad drove Becky and me home, stopping to pick up my bike from the Pink Cone on the way. I didn’t get a chance to see if Jay’s boat was still docked in the marina.
But why had it been there in the first place? Jay lives across the lake. He only comes to Bell Cove for work, and I had heard him say more than once that if it weren’t for the Pink Cone, nobody would come to Bell Cove. I know there must be some logical explanation. I refuse to believe that Jay would lie to me.
I’m still not sleepy, but I decide I might as well get ready for bed. I pull off my cargos and flip them over the back of my computer chair. I stare at the little white light in the corner of the monitor. Out of curiosity I grab the computer mouse, waking the computer from sleep mode. After a few seconds, my desktop appears. I click the instant message icon and wait for the computer to sign me on. In a moment a long, thin box appears showing which of my friends are signed online. I scan the list for Jay’s screen name and double click to open a new chat.
NHBeachBoi: r u there?
There’s an instant reply.
Jayman814: Out. Leave me one for when I get back.
His away message. I wait for a few seconds, but nothing else appears. He must really be away. I think about leaving him a messa
ge saying I saw his boat at the marina, but what should I say? Every time I try to type it sounds like I’m accusing him of something. I start and delete a message four times, and I’m in the middle of my fifth attempt when I hear the front door open. Whatever. I wasn’t getting anywhere trying to leave a message anyway. I click the “X” and the message box disappears from the screen. With a sigh, I decide I might as well get the “talk” with my mother over with.
I’m halfway down the stairs when I hear my mother’s voice. I know my mother’s crazy, but she doesn’t usually talk to herself. She’s not alone. I take the last steps more carefully and follow her voice into the kitchen.
He’s sitting there, a man I haven’t seen before, at the counter, while my mother is twisting a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. Two glasses sit on the counter between them. My mother’s back is to me, and the man is watching her closely, so he doesn’t see me at first. She’s wearing a pink spaghetti-strap tank top, and her shoulders are bare. She usually wears a blouse over this particular top, and I notice that a white cotton button-down is draped over one of the kitchen stools. My mother pulls the cork from the bottle and begins to pour the wine. It’s dark purple, almost black. She’s leaning on the counter, and her hand is a little unsteady while pouring; this isn’t her first glass of wine tonight.
I shift my weight, and the floorboards let out a low groan. My mother turns quickly to face me. She grips the wine bottle with both hands as if the sudden movement threatens to dislodge it.
“Sean!”
I don’t speak, and an awkward five seconds pass between us. My mother’s eyes are wide, and she seems confused by my presence. Finally, the man clears his throat, bringing my mother back to reality. Her head gives a quick jerk, and she places the bottle on the counter.
“Sean, this is Steve.”
Steve stands up and reaches an arm across the counter to shake my hand. I stay in the doorway. For the first time, I really look at Steve closely. He’s compact and wiry and not unattractive for someone dating my mother. At least my mom hasn’t lost her touch. He’s wearing a black polo shirt with a little alligator on the breast, and jeans. A lightweight corduroy blazer is hanging on the back of a dining room chair. It’s the perfect trying-without-trying-too-hard outfit. His wire-rimmed glasses make him look distinctly professorial, especially when he puts that blazer on, I’m betting. All he needs is leather patches on the elbows and a nasal British accent.
If I Told You So Page 17