Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“My life isn’t like yours. There’s a lot of things that are broken,” she told me. “My heart doesn’t have to be one of them, though. I learned that a long time ago.”
This was so sad. I also knew to respect it.
“Well, I have to say I’m grateful for your expertise,” I said now. “Not sure where I’d be without it.”
“I do,” she said. “Thinking about mastodons, waiting for Colin to change his mind.”
I made a face. “Scary prospect.”
“Don’t worry. There was no way I’d stand for that,” she said. “I would have thrown your phone in the lake myself.”
I didn’t doubt that. Instead of saying this, though, I just smiled as she turned and shifted her gaze to the water. An emotional day, Liz had said. It really had been. We sat there together, watching it end.
“Is this seat taken?”
It was the first time I’d been alone since arriving at the Pavilion, and Clark had only just walked away a moment earlier. Which meant this approach of a dark-haired guy sporting a noticeable sunburn on his face had been carefully timed.
I looked at the slim, crooked piece of lumber sticking out of the sand on which I was perched. “Actually—”
Before I could finish, he’d plopped down. Something about the way he sat—slightly hunched, beer both clutched and balanced on one knee—seemed familiar, even before he said, “I’m Scott. Where you from?”
In seconds, I’d retrieved his last name—Crawley—as well as Lana’s summary of him as someone whose game had long been played out with the locals. Another reason, I was sure, he’d decided on me.
“Lakeview,” I replied. I looked over at Lana, who was openly flirting with a Black girl in cutoffs and a baseball hat that said, simply, DEAL WITH IT. A redhead in a flowered maxi dress, obviously invested, stood about a foot away, eyes narrowed over her red cup. “My friends will be right back.”
“Sure, sure,” Scott Crawley replied, in such a way I was pretty sure he’d paid no attention to my reply. “So you like tubing?”
Before I could answer, music again started up from over on the half-roofed platform.
When I looked over, I saw Ben, nodding at the girl on banjo as she began to strum something.
Hector, again in his fringed vest, added an unfortunate hip swivel as the pace sped up, a few people up front clapping along.
Scott Crawley was still waiting for my reply, probably so he could plug in whatever he usually said next. Instead, I put my hand to my ear, wiggling my fingers in a sorry-it’s-so-loud-I-can’t-hear-you fashion in the hopes he’d move on.
“Tubing,” he repeated instead, then nodded at the lake. “On the water?”
“Finley.” I looked up to see Cardoon, a cup in each hand. “Here’s that beer you wanted. Sorry it took a minute.”
It was, in fact, the first time I’d seen him since that morning at the Egg. Although there was no need for Scott Crawley to know this.
“That’s okay,” I replied, gesturing as widely for him to take a nearby seat as I had not to Scott.
“No problem.” He sat. “Least I can do for Clark’s favorite cousin.”
Scott looked at me. “Clark Perry?”
I nodded. “You know him?”
“She’s also Lana’s roommate,” Cardoon added. “Crazy, huh?”
With the first name, I could see Scott reconsider. After the second, he was on his feet, mumbling something about needing another beer before slinking away.
“Wow,” I said once he was out of earshot. “Thanks for running him off.”
“Child’s play,” he replied, taking a sip of his beer. He glanced at Lana, who was now modeling the DEAL WITH IT hat as its owner looked on. “Wish it was that easy with everyone.”
He looked so glum. Time for a subject change. “Your name is really interesting,” I told him. “I’ve never met a Cardoon before.”
“Pretty sure I’m the only one.” He looked down at his name tag, then back at me. “My parents met in college at this yoga-center-slash-farm. Cardoons were one thing they grew there. Mom liked how it sounded.”
“I’ve never heard of a cardoon, either,” I admitted.
“It’s akin to an artichoke.” He sipped his beer. “I guess I’m lucky they didn’t name me that.”
“Was that Scott Crawley I saw lurking around here?” Clark asked as he reappeared, dropping to a squat beside me. “Ten bucks says he had a sunburn and tried to talk to you about tubing.”
Cardoon rolled his eyes. “It’s like he’s never even heard of SPF.”
“Right on both counts,” I said.
“Knew it.” Clark took a look around. “Is it just me, or does the Pavilion vibe feel especially weak this year?”
“No, it does,” Cardoon told him. Although, again, he was looking at Lana as he said this.
“Which is too bad for you, Finley,” Clark said. “Any other year you’d have your pick of options.”
“Oh,” I said, instinctively glancing up at the platform, where the girl on banjo was continuing to solo, “that’s fine. Not really what I’m looking for at the moment.”
“Lucky you,” Cardoon grumbled.
“I mean,” Clark continued, “even Ben’s not into the scene this year. Normally he’d at least be entertaining the idea of one of those girls following him around. Instead, all he does is sit out on the dock at night, keeping me up with his moping.”
“Moping’s loud?” I asked.
“In his case, yes.”
“Guess it’s a good thing you’re not into relationships,” I observed.
“Seriously.” He drained his beer. “Although it’s much easier when there are no viable prospects.”
“Can we go?” Lana said, appearing on my other side. As Cardoon visibly brightened, seeing her, I looked over at where she’d come from. DEAL WITH IT and the girl in the maxi dress were now walking toward the water, their hands loosely intertwined. “Everybody here sucks.”
“Everybody?” Clark said.
She sighed. “You know what I mean.”
He lifted his hand, signaling to Ben, who nodded. At the same time, I took note of the two girls gathered at the base of the platform. One wore baggy overalls and was swaying slightly to the beat. The other, in glasses, was just flat-out staring.
Would I have noticed this if Clark had not referred to his groupies moments earlier? Probably. Did it seem a more important detail now? I decided not to dwell on it, and instead to stop asking myself questions.
“So you met Scott Crawley.”
I’d just come around the dock to find Ben waiting. “You saw that?”
“Can see just about everything from the platform,” he replied. “Although that guy making his move is especially hard to miss.”
He was sitting against the Egg’s back door, legs out in front of him. I eased myself down so we were side by side, moving my left foot to touch his. Normally he would have turned at that moment, facing me. He didn’t.
“I’m wondering if we should think about making another list,” he said instead.
“Of?”
Now he did shift, his eyes meeting mine. “Reasons not to sneak around.”
“We’ll need more than one item,” I pointed out, going for the joke.
“In that case, I’ll count Scott Crawley twice.”
Okay, then. “He did come up to me,” I reminded him. “Not the other way around.”
“I know,” he replied. “And I’m aware that this”—he moved a hand between us, both the word and the gesture vague—“is not officially a relationship as much as an extended agreed nighttime meetup.”
I raised my eyebrows. “It sounds almost boring, when you put it that way.”
He lifted a finger, running it through one of my waves. “You think this is boring?”
My breath caught. “I said almost.”
Now he moved his hand down my shoulder, spreading his fingers over my arm. “So, hypothetically, let’s just say we stop hiding. What does that look like?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Different.”
He traced the line of my chin. “Different good, or different bad?”
“Is there such a thing as different better?”
“I can’t say I have a lot of experience with it,” he said. “Have to start somewhere, though.”
I slid my hands, palms flat, up his chest. “The other option is that we decide now we don’t have to solely sneak around anymore. But we also don’t plan, like, a big reveal.”
“So you’re saying you don’t want us to have a passionate moment by the bus pan tomorrow morning?”
“Maybe not just yet.”
He bent his head, pressing his lips to my temple. Making me reconsider, honestly.
“This happened in its own way,” I said softly. “Maybe we give whatever is next that chance too.”
“Okay.” His mouth trailed down to my cheek, then collarbone. “Daytime Us will let it play out.”
“I like Daytime Us already,” I said, sliding my arms around his neck. “We’re so practical.”
“Whereas Nighttime Us make bad decisions.” He scooped up my legs, putting them over his own. “Like meeting at two a.m.”
“Climbing out of windows,” I added.
“Keeping people from their REM cycle,” he said. We were entwined now, face-to-face, our lips only the slightest bit apart. That edge, again. “Should we keep going?”
“Yes,” I said, and then my mouth was on his, and we did.