For Lila, Forever

by Winter Renshaw

  Still, there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me this is all too good to be true.

  I guess only time will tell.

  Chapter 17

  Thayer

  “You’re leaving early,” Westley says Friday night. The flames from the bonfire between us light his face in shades of amber, and Whitley licks roasted, melted marshmallows off her fingers. “What’s the deal?”

  “It’s been a long week. Going to get to bed early tonight,” I lie. Earlier today, Lila pulled me aside and told me to meet her in the cottage around eleven tonight, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  Apparently her grandparents were waiting up for her Tuesday night so she wanted to lay low for a few days, and I agreed that it was probably a wise decision.

  “Ashlan wear you out?” Whitley asks with a laugh. “God, she’s so out of control around you. It’s sad, really.”

  “Nah. It’s all good. See you guys in the morning,” I grab my flip-flops out of the sand and slip them on before making the journey back toward civilization, only halfway there, I double check to make sure I’m not being followed, and then I take a detour to the cottage.

  When I get inside, she’s waiting for me on the sofa, her legs kicked up and an old magazine on her lap.

  Her eyes light, though I can tell she’s fighting like hell to act cool.

  “Hey,” she says, drawing her legs to the floor.

  I take the seat beside her and we lock eyes for a moment. This past Tuesday night has played in my mind a hundred times since then and I’ve been waiting all week to have another chance to be alone with her.

  My hair and skin reek of bonfire, and when I pull her into my lap, I inhale the sweet scent of her peaches and cream lotion.

  “I want to take you on a date,” I say. “A real date.”

  Lila gives me a half-chuckle. “Good luck. I feel like we’re stuck on this island. And if the two of us left together … at the same time … like that wouldn’t be obvious.”

  “No, no. I’ve been thinking about this all week,” I say. “So the grocery boat comes Monday and there’s always something we need from town. Supplies or something we can’t get at Beekman Grocer’s. Ask your grandma if you can go into town to grab whatever it is we need. Meanwhile, I’ll organize an trip to town with the twins, and we’ll play dumb when we realize we’re all hitching a ride on the same boat back to the mainland. And when we get there … we can ditch the twins and go off and do our own thing.”

  “Clever ...” she traces her finger up my chest. “But what if we can’t ditch the twins? Westley’s practically your shadow and Whitley goes wherever Westley does. Also, how would we get back?”

  “Let me worry about the twins. And we’ll charter a ride back. There are tons of guys around here who’ll do it for a good price.”

  Her mouth bunches at one side as she thinks this over. I’m sure she’s thinking of a million ways it could go wrong, but for once I need her to trust me. I’ve thought this through the last several days.

  “I just want a day with you,” I say, brushing a tendril of pale blonde hair out of her face. “A day of not sneaking around. A day where I can hold your hand and not think twice about it.”

  “As long as you’re sure—”

  “I’m positive.” Hooking my hand around the back of her neck, I guide her mouth to mine, tasting her sweet lips. She grinds against me as we start to make out and my cock responds in record time.

  I want her so badly.

  I want every damn inch of her, every way possible.

  Lila tugs at the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my shoulders, and I make a move for the waistband of her jeans.

  I make a mental note to add condoms to the shopping list for Monday.

  Chapter 18

  Lila

  I can’t believe we pulled this off.

  Thayer takes my hand as we stroll down Hanover Boulevard, Rose Crossing’s version of Main Street USA. The shops are quaint if not a bit touristy, but still fun to peruse.

  Lorelai ended up tagging along on the trip, claiming she had some shopping to do in town. Thayer was nervous at first, but it all worked out because the twins ended up going with her after she promised Whitley a new purse from the Gucci pop up store in town and Westley a new watch.

  “Oh, that looks like a cute place.” I point up ahead, at a wooden sign with Pearlhouse Attic and Antiques painted onto it.

  Thayer nods, as if to tell me to lead the way, and I drag him by the hand into a little antique shop filled to the brim with all kinds of curiosities—dolls and china and hats and cameras and furniture and tea cups and jewelry.

  I stop by the jewelry display when an opal ring catches my eye.

  My mom always loved anything opal, partly because it was her birthstone and partly because she thought it was one of the prettiest gems of all. Subtle and classy, she called it, each one with its own unique luster.

  I take the pearly opal ring from the display and slide it over my right ring finger, stopping to admire the piece once it’s in place.

  The stone is oval and the metal is some kind of faded white gold with filigree details on the band. It’s simple and understated, yet timeless. My mother would’ve loved this.

  When I flip the ring over, I read the little tiny price sticker on the bottom of the band and almost have a heart attack.

  This thing is seven hundred dollars …

  I decide to put the ring back before anyone notices—only there’s a small problem.

  It’s stuck.

  I glance around the shop as a cool sweat rushes through me, praying no one’s watching me in my silent state of panic.

  After a minute of trying in vain, my finger throbs, the skin around the ring turning an extremely obvious sign of pink.

  “Hey,” Thayer’s hand lands on the small of my back a moment later. “What’d you find?”

  Before I have a chance to respond, the middle-aged sales associate approaches the jewelry counter, her eyes immediately going to my hand.

  “You like this, Lila?” Thayer asks.

  “That’s a beautiful piece,” the saleslady says. “It once belonged to a Hedy Lamar, hence the asking price. We acquired that one last year at her great nephew’s estate sale. We have the certification if you’d like to see it.”

  Thayer takes my hand in his, examining the ring, and another customer waltzes through the door. He must know the sales associate because her face lights like the Fourth of July and she waves before heading his way.

  “Thayer,” I whisper. “I can’t get it off.”

  “Let me try.”

  I yank my hand away. My finger is already on fire from all the tugging and pulling. I wouldn’t be surprised if I dislocated the damn thing.

  “I’ve been trying,” I say. “For, like, five minutes. It’s stuck.”

  He’s quiet for a second. “Do you like it?”

  “What’s that matter?”

  “Just answer me. Do you like it?”

  “Yes. It’s beautiful. But that’s not the point. I need to get this off. I can’t afford this.” I flip it over and show him the price sticker on the bottom.

  “Do you want it?” he asks.

  “Thayer ...” I lose my train of thought when I realize what he’s about to do. “You can’t.”

  The sales associate returns just then, and Thayer doesn’t give me another chance to protest before informing her that he’s buying the ring.

  “Can I box it up for—” she begins to ask.

  “No,” we both say at the same time.

  “She’ll wear it out,” he says as he hands over a blue AmEx from his wallet.

  I lean in, keeping my voice low as I tell him, “You don’t have to do this.”

  He waves me off. “It’s gorgeous and you like it and it suits you. You should have it.”

  The woman returns with a receipt for him to sign along with certification deeming that the ring once belonged to Hedy Lamar.

  “T
hank you,” I say as I rise on my toes and kiss him. “So much.”

  I’ll have to get the ring re-sized eventually, but for now I’ll wear it home and hope some butter or lotion does the trick.

  “We should probably stop at the hardware store before we forget,” I tell him as we stroll down the sidewalk, hand in hand. He’s been checking in with Westley here and there, making sure we’re in separate parts of town so we won’t be caught by the three of them. “Grandma said we needed oil for the mower. Silver polish. And some garden fertilizer.”

  Thayer checks his watch. “We still have a couple hours before we have to be back at the dock. There’s a killer ice cream shop up ahead on the corner. I know you said you don’t love ice cream, but you’ve never had their ice cream. I swear one spoon of their mint chip and you’ll be a total convert.”

  “All right, fine,” I say, my tone teasing. He leans down to kiss my forehead as we pass another couple on the sidewalk, and I relish in how normal and ordinary all of this feels. Being off the island with Thayer is liberating, and I wish this day could go on forever. I’m not ready for it to end.

  Five minutes later we’re sharing a double scoop of Meyerson Farms’ famous mint chip ice cream, a local bestseller according to the description on the case.

  “What do you think?” he asks, reaching across the table to wipe the corner of my mouth.

  “Not bad.”

  “Not bad?” Thayer scoffs. “Not bad? Come on. You can do better than that.”

  Honestly it tastes like any other kind of ice cream to me, but the way it puts a smile on his face and gets him all excited like a kid at Christmas makes it special in its own right.

  “What kind of law do you want to practice?” I ask. I know it’s random, but I’m realizing that I haven’t asked him that yet and I’m curious.

  “Constitutional law,” he says. “My dream would be to take on the kind of cases that would have a profound impact on society for the better.”

  "You’re lucky you know exactly what you want to do,” I say. “I still don’t have a clue.”

  Just another way we’re polar opposites …

  “You’re eighteen. You’ve got plenty of time to decide.” He licks the back of his spoon. “You’ll know when you know.”

  “When did you know?”

  “Tenth grade careers class,” he says. “We had a guest speaker who was an attorney specializing in constitutional law and talked about some landmark cases he’d taken on. Opened up this whole other world for me, and I knew that’s what I wanted to do. I want to leave this world better than I found it, you know?”

  Why does he have to be so damn perfect?

  I rest my chin on my hands, watching him finish the rest of his mint chip ice cream, admiring the way he takes his time and enjoys every bite like he’s completely in this moment, which reminds me to stay in this moment as well … instead of letting my mind fixate on all the ways we’re still so opposite of each other.

  So far, Thayer’s shown that he’s a pretty incredible person, inside, out, and every way in between, and I don’t want to ruin this.

  My entire life, I watched my mom chase guys away. Plenty of good ones, guys who were sweet and kind and crazy about her. She always found a reason to push them away as soon as shit got real.

  I don’t want to be like that.

  I don't want to repeat her mistakes.

  I want to enjoy this, I want to experience this with every fiber of my soul … come what may.

  Chapter 19

  Thayer

  “Brought you something,” I say to Lila Tuesday night at the cottage.

  She’s been here two weeks now, but we’ve got a long, hot summer ahead and she’s bound to get bored when we’re not together …

  I place a stack of books on the coffee table in front of her. All of them are hardback first edition classics I took from my grandfather’s study. He won’t miss them. The man doesn’t read anymore. He says he has to use a magnifying glass and it ruins the experience for him.

  “Where’d you get these?” she asks, examining the leather-bound spines. “Are these first editions?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t know what you were into, so I grabbed a few different things.”

  “Sylvia Plath … Charles Dickens …” she rattles off the author names as she sorts through them. “Thank you. So much. This is amazing. How did you know I was into reading?”

  “Lucky guess ...” I say, taking the spot next to her. My palms ache, antsy to touch her as soon as humanly possible.

  “We used to have this hammock,” she says. “Mom set it up on the balcony of our condo. I’d go out there and read for hours … until the sun went down and I was forced to go inside or get eaten alive by bugs.”

  Lila runs her hand over the cover of The Scarlet Letter.

  “This is one of my favorites,” she says. “Did you know Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote this for his wife when she was dying? He wanted to make sure she was entertained when she was confined to her bed. Isn’t that the sweetest? He never left her side. He just wrote and wrote and wrote and kept the story going.” She offers a wistful smile. “That’s intense, right? A little over the top? I feel like that’s something you would do.”

  She elbows me.

  “Is that a bad thing?” I ask.

  “Not at all.” Lila sets the book down before crawling into my lap.

  “Wait,” I say between kisses. “I brought something else.”

  She climbs off of me and I reach for the canvas bag at my feet, pulling out a stack of playing cards, a small chess set, a lighter and some candles, and finally two leftover slices of Junie’s salted caramel cheesecake that I stole from the kitchen after dinner.

  “Thought we could make this into a date kind of a thing,” I say before rising and leading her to the kitchen.

  I place the desserts on the table, followed by two plastic forks I brought along, and then I light one of the candles and set it between us.

  “You’re too much,” she says as she digs into her piece.

  We sit side by side in silence, the candle dancing between us as we finish our treat. When she’s done, she pushes her plate away and sighs a satisfied sigh.

  “That was amazing,” she says. “This … is amazing. You are amazing. I wish we never had to leave here. It’s like nothing bad happens in this house. Ever.”

  She rests her pretty face on the top of her hand and stares at the empty wall in front of us, lost in thought.

  “You really like this place, don’t you?” I ask.

  “Love it.”

  “Then someday, when this is all mine, I’ll give it to you,” I say.

  Lila turns to me, half laughing and half looking at me like I’m insane. “You can’t just give someone a house.”

  “Why can’t I?”

  “Is it even yours to give?”

  “It will be. For whatever reason, Granddad’s leaving me the island in his will,” I say. “If you want this house? Consider it yours.”

  “Thayer ...”

  Getting up from the table, I search through a few drawers until I find one filled with miscellaneous junk. I locate a black Sharpie and remove the cap, hoping it’s not too dried out to work, and then I proceed to scribble on the wall beside the table.

  For Lila, forever.

  Signed,

  Thayer Ainsworth

  May 25, 2009

  “There,” I say.

  “You’re insane!” Lila claps her hand over her mouth. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

  “It’s yours now,” I say, pulling her against me as she stares at the writing on the wall. “Or it will be someday.”

  Chapter 20

  Lila

  I duck into the cottage the next night, fully intending to spend some time alone with one of the beautiful books he brought for me last week, but the second I step inside, something catches my eye.

  A flash of red just beyond the back door.

  With my heart in my teeth,
I immediately scan the room for a place to hide—assuming that someone’s lurking just beyond the back door. But when I manage to calm myself down a minute later, I summon the courage to peek out one of the kitchen windows toward the little brick patio off the back of the cottage.

  “Oh my god.” I suck in a breath.

  It’s a hammock.

  A week ago, I casually mentioned how I used to lie in our hammock and read on the balcony ... and now a hammock magically appears.

  I have no idea where he got it or how he pulled this off, but it’s truly one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me.

  Tears fill my eyes, clouding my vision as I head outside to check it out. A folded piece of paper is taped to the red canvas cloth, and I open it to find a note scribbled in blue pen and small, meticulous handwriting.

  L-

  A housewarming gift. Now your cottage is complete.

  -T

  Chapter 21

  Thayer

  We’ve been sailing the better part of the day, Westley, Granddad, and I, with no end in sight when out of nowhere, Granddad mutes his radio and clears his throat.

  “Boys. Come closer. I want to tell you a story,” he says.

  Westley and I exchange looks before making our way to the back of the ketch.

  “When I was about your age, there was this young woman by the name of Emeline. She worked at the bakery down the road. Her parents owned it. My mother always loved their bread. Anyway, one day, my mother had a cold and decided she’d send me to the bakery to get that week’s bread order.” He adjusts his aviators, peering straight ahead. “Anyway, long story short, that’s the day I met Emeline.” He chuckles. “Legs up to her neck. Dimples. Dark hair. Always wore this red lipstick that made her look like Snow White, always smiling. Pretty thing. For an entire summer, she was the object of my affection. I was obsessed. Nothing mattered but her.”