Henry
“You remember,” she says on an exhale.
I smile. “How could I forget?”
She pulls her hand free of mine; I’ve been clinging to her for-fucking-ever.
“It’s been a long time,” she says.
“I guess,” I reply, shrugging like a small but significant piece of my history didn’t just fall from the sky—and into a swimming pool.
She looks a lot like I remember, except her curls used to be like corn silk, and now they’re mahogany dark. “I’ve been wondering if you still lived at the Towers.”
She blinks. “Have you?”
“Well…yeah.” I scuff the sole of my shoe against the deck, the back of my neck going hot. That was a weird thing to admit.
“I still live here,” she confirms. “I’ll likely die here.”
“It’s crazy to run into you again.” It’s another asinine statement, but damn if she doesn’t have me flustered.
She looks up at the stars, and I wonder if she’s thinking about the night we met.
I sure as shit am.
She lowers her eyes to meet mine, narrowing them. “You disappeared. I thought I’d see you the next day. Or the following week. Or at least before now.”
“I wish I’d said something—goodbye, for starters.” I point to the east tower. “My dad lives up there. The last time you and I saw each other, I’d come to hang out with him for a week. I left the morning after we met. I should’ve told you, but it all seemed kind of…”
“Surreal?” she supplies.
I smile. “Yeah.”
“And now you’re here for another visit?”
“First in three years. I got into town a few hours ago.”
“Well. Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” I say. And then, unsure what’s supposed to come next, I let my gaze drop.
Her cutoffs are dripping water down her legs.
She’s still wearing the blue T-shirt—the one she had on earlier when I spotted her in the parking lot.
SUGAR BAY MARINE CONSERVATION PARK, it says.
Tiny illustrated turtles dot the i’s. Her nails are blue green, similar to the color of the water in the illuminated pool.
She says, “I live in the west tower. But I hang out down here a lot.”
She heads for a nearby lounge chair, then sinks onto it, gesturing to the one beside it. I sit, a little woozy suddenly, because holy shit, I’ve just plugged back into a conversation that disconnected three years ago.
The pool area’s as nice as I remember—swept pavement, neat lines of chairs, lampposts that emit a soft glow—and so quiet I hear waves crashing down on the beach. The stars over the ocean are bright and innumerable. I get why she likes it here.
Piper.
I can’t believe I’m sitting next to her after all this time.
Life is fucking weird.
A breeze rustles the palms. The air’s warm, but she’s soaking wet. “Are you cold?”
“Are you kidding?” she says. “The water felt good.”
“Oh, so the swan dive was intentional?”
“Clearly.”
“It’s strange, though, right? That it’s so warm in the middle of the night?”
“Not strange for Florida. Where do you live?”
“Spokane.”
“Washington?” When I nod, she asks, “Does it really rain all the time?”
“Nah. You’re thinking of Western Washington.
Spokane’s on the east side of the state.
There’s a mountain range that runs north-south, the Cascades, and it traps most of the precipitation that comes off the Pacific, which means the eastern part of the state is arid.
The winters are cold and the summers are hot, unlike Western Washington, which is mostly mild and—” I cut myself off; her eyes are glazing over. “Sorry. Boring.”
She flashes a teasing grin. “No, fascinating. How long are you in Sugar Bay this time?”
I set my book, The Art of Command, on the empty chair beside mine. “All summer.”
“Why do you say that like it’s a prison sentence?”
It feels disloyal to talk shit about my dad while he’s upstairs sleeping off the quartet of IPAs he drank at dinner. I shake my head, remembering his suggestion that I call him Davis, his invitation to down a beer. “My dad’s…a lot.”
“A lot,” she echoes. “I get it.”
She’s wearing a pearl in each earlobe, but her right ear also has a trail of tiny silver hoops traveling its helix. They’re new. New to me, anyway.
I remember her tears when we first met, her insistence that whatever had caused them wasn’t worth rehashing. Her assurance that she’d be fine, and could we just talk about something else? She’d calmed down, and I’d let it go because back then I was clueless about how to nudge the truth from a girl.
I don’t let it go now. “Is your family maddening too?”
“Quite.” She hesitates, inspecting the nail polish on her left hand. “You know how I said I hang out here a lot?”
“Yeah. Because your parents get on your case?”
“Because it’s the perfect escape,” she says, telling me nothing at all.
I smile. “Except now I know where to find you.”
She huffs. “Like I’m worried. After tonight, you’ll disappear for another three years.”
I let my head rest against the back of the chair, angled so I can study the hills and valleys of her profile.
Her oil-slick hair and straight nose are striking.
The smattering of freckles across her cheeks is adorable.
Her lips are full and glossy; it’s hard to believe I kissed her once.
My teeth were bracketed in braces back then. Must’ve been terrible for her.
“Chances are,” I say, “you’ll see me again.”
She laughs, skeptical. “Your track record’s shit. Excuse me if I don’t get my hopes up.”
While I fumble for a response, something in the distance catches her attention. I follow her gaze toward the west tower, where a featureless woman, backlit against the light of the lobby window, is waving in our direction. “Piper!” she shouts. “Home. Now!”
Piper pops up out of her chair, shaking her head.
“Your mom?” I guess.
“My warden. I’ve gotta go.”
“I’ll look for you next time I’m out here.”
“Sure,” she says, though it’s clear she doubts there’ll be a next time. She collects her cotton balls and polish, then heads for the west tower, where the woman has ducked inside.
Just before she steps through the gate, she turns back to call, “Hey, Henry? Seriously, though…it wouldn’t suck to see you again.”