Chapter 15 Present Day
CHAPTER 15
PRESENT DAY
July
I follow Wes up the lawn to his garage. When I almost trip over a stray root protruding from the ground, he grabs my arm to steady me. A hot charge passes between us, and when he releases me to enter the code, my skin feels changed.
Clutter crowds the garage. Kayaks, floating tubes and a stack of life jackets litter the space over an interplay of old boxes and furniture. The nostalgic smell of lake and plastic washes over me.
“The pedal boat should be here somewhere.” Wes shifts through boxes and old plastic lawn chairs at the back of the garage. “Aha.” He lifts the corner of a faded tarp, revealing a patch of the neon monstrosity.
“That was buried deep.” I grip my elbows tightly.
He lets out a harsh laugh. “Well, it hasn’t been unearthed in a decade.” This boat probably hadn’t been out since the last time we were in it together.
I’m silent as I go to help him, moving the lawn chairs to the side as he pulls down the tarp. In sync, we lift the boat silently out of its premature grave, my fingers clenched tight on rough plastic. As we place it down, I notice that the steering gear is disconnected. We could paddle as much as we wanted, but we wouldn’t be able to set a steady course.
“It’s broken.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own.
“It’s an easy fix,” I hear Wes say, but his words seem to echo outside of me.
The world starts to spin and no matter how hard I blink, my eyes burn. “Excuse me,” I choke as I stride across the yard towards my cottage, stopping underneath the looming willow tree.
I should never have come back. I should never have left.
Steadying myself, I place my hand on the thick trunk, my neck bowed over. The grief of everything I’ve left and lost rushes through me. Ten years ago, I had so much hope for the future. I had a whole family. I had Wes.
And then I lost it all.
“Hey. You okay?” A shadow comes up towards me. Wes holds my shoulder, turning me so that I’m protected from the blinding rays. My face nestles into his chest. I breathe in clean soap, salty skin and comfort.
“I’m fine,” I rasp.
I feel rather than hear the soft rumble of his incredulous laughter. His arms come around me tight. He’s pulling in all my fragments before I disintegrate. My tears now come in big, gulping cries that are muffled in his T-shirt. One of his hands strokes my hair in a soft, predictable manner, while the other rubs my back reassuringly. I time my breath to the movement of his hand.
“You’re not fine,” he says. “We don’t lie to each other, Lia.”
He’s only half-right. Our time apart has been a lie of omission.
“It’s been too long. And now the boat is broken.” It’s not the whole truth, and it doesn’t describe everything I’m feeling, but he presses me closer. A breeze of pine fills the air, relaxing my tight lungs.
“I know. It can be fixed, though.” The weight of his hand on my back anchors me.
We’re silent as my breath calms. The shift comes for both of us at the same time. I’m aware of how his hands are exploring at the hem of my tank top, one of them stroking the sliver of skin between my top and my leggings and then sliding up the small of my back. His fingers leave dancing sparks on my skin.
I let out a quick breath, allowing my lips to graze the side of his neck. We’re pressed together everywhere. He’s tense underneath me, like he’s warring with himself as he holds me. My brain goes white hot. It would be so easy to move into him, but I manage to stop myself, frozen still, unable to fully let go because it feels so good. So good to be held this way, warm, suffused in the fresh scent of forest and bayside breeze. When I look up, his deep blue eyes are dark with a question. All my cells are attuned to his fingers, pressing into my back like he doesn’t want to let go either. My skin is sensitive all over, sensation taking up every thought, pulling at my restraint. The familiar feeling of being on a train rolling without brakes, picking up more and more speed until the inevitable fiery conclusion.
I pull away. “Thanks,” I say. I’m still keyed to him, the way he’s studying me, as if he’s putting together a puzzle where the pieces have been incorrectly jammed together.
His arm drops away from me with a polite smile. Still, his care for me lingers in the imprint of his hug.
I blink the moisture back from my eyes, shaking with the desire to unburden myself on him in all ways possible. “Sorry about that,” I breath out, roughly. “It’s hard being back here.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs, his eyes unreadable as they meet mine. Only the harsh swallow of his neck and the clench of his fingers reveal he was affected at all.
Wes was mostly right. It wasn’t an easy fix, but it was doable. While I gather myself, he manages to reconnect the steering stick into the boat, strong, capable hands manipulating it until it controls the levers again. I stand off to the side, watching as Wes drags the boat into the water, trying to ignore the sense of comfort I’d felt in his arms.
When he remembers to bring me a cushion for my seat, my heart flutters, even though I remind myself he would do that for anyone. But when he takes my hand to help me in, I feel his intense focus on our intertwining fingers.
At first we’re quiet as we pedal, fighting against the rocky waves, my hold tight on the steering stick. The wind blows in our faces, as if trying to push us towards Secret Island. I refuse, staying on course. Whenever my eyes flit to Wes, his posture is languid, as if he’s totally at home on the boat with me. The only clue to his unrest is his furrowed brows, half-hidden beneath his Ray-Bans.
“What I said on the dock the other day came off wrong,” he abruptly says, sitting up straight.
“What do you mean?”
He pulls his sunglasses off to look at me directly, squinting into the sun. “About your work. I know that you do a lot for the people you care about. The way you’re toughing things out with your cousin, the rest of your family. You did a lot for me too, you know.”
I blink as the expanse in front of me shimmers. “I could always do more,” I say. “It never feels like it’s enough. Sometimes I wish I had time to pursue other things.”
“You’re only one person,” he replies. “You can only do so much.”
I swallow the lump down in my throat. “I know. Sometimes I feel stuck. After my dad died, I started supporting my mom financially. They paid my law tuition, after all. It feels like I owe them.”
It’s strange talking to Wes about my finances. Growing up, he’d been so tightly pressed to find money, make money, that I rarely brought up the financial pressure that my family faced. It felt stupid to whine about scholarships and tuition to a boy whose mother was scraping by working retail.
“Your dad must have left some savings for your mom,” Wes says. “It shouldn’t stop you from exploring other career options if that’s what you want.”
“Not enough for the mortgage. Plus she likes to tell people what I do.”
The wind calms. I let my hand trail the surface of the current, focusing on the cold in my fingertips to distract from the vulnerability gnawing at me.
“You told me what your mom likes. What about you?” he asks. “Because it seems like now you’re trying to do anything but work.”
I gesture outward. “Who wouldn’t want to be outside on a day like today?”
Wes nudges me with his shoulder. “Don’t think you can distract me like that.” When I don’t answer, he continues, “Listen. I was helping my mom too.” A sad smile quirks his lips and fades as a passing cloud floats above. “That was part of the drive to stay at my job. The security, the money. The clout. It should have been everything.”
“But it wasn’t.”
He closes his eyes. “No, it wasn’t. That’s what I keep reminding myself now.”
“And so, what about now?” I ask. “Do you know where you want to go? Are you going to stay or are you going to leave?”
“I don’t know.” I almost don’t hear him over the splashing paddle. “I want to be here for my mom.”
“You can have both, you know. You can leave and come back. There’s a way to find a balance,” I say.
His arms tense, my eyes catching on sunlight dancing off the hair dusting his forearm. “Maybe we can both find a way to make that balance possible,” he says. I let the sun blind me so I can’t meet his appraising gaze.
“So, when did you last see Mel?” I ask to break the tense rubber band between us.
His forehead creases with my redirection, but this time he follows my lead. “I was a student teacher at her school last year.”
“I see.” Mel told me none of this.
“We’re going in circles,” Wes cautions. “Where do you want to go?”
“What do you mean? I’m supposed to be up for promotion soon,” I say. “I’m moving forward.”
“No, Lia,” Wes says, laughing. “You’re steering us in circles.” The current ripples around us, a revolving spiral.
I straighten the rudder.
He sobers. “The summer after I quit, I volunteered at the library here and it was like something clicked in my head. I started my master’s that winter. And then last summer when I was on break from school, I saw your aunt and Ciji next door. At first, I thought your aunt was your mom and that your family was finally up again. I was hopeful and went over to say hello. Your sister was up as well. She didn’t want to talk to me, but I wore her down and, eventually, she hooked me up with a placement at her school. I asked her to connect me with you, but she said it wasn’t a good idea,” he continues. His eyes are wide, open like the sky, and I can’t look away. “My world orbited around you for years, Lia. The thought that you were back, it was like a wake-up call. I remembered what was important. Now I’m trying to find a way to live true to it.”
It’s how I felt too. Like a satellite with no gravity to ground it, being tugged up and away. Only I ended up floating out in space by myself.
“I always thought we’d have another chance,” he says. “But I won’t push it, not if I’m out of line.”
“It’s not out of line but…” Longing dries my words out in my throat. “But I’m looking for something serious with someone who fits in my life.”
“And I don’t.” It’s not a question. His arm crosses over his broad chest as if to protect from injury.
I hate to be the blade to cut him.
“We were too complicated, Wes. It was too hard to make us work.”
“That was then,” he says, his eyes a blue fire. “Don’t take the easy path, Lia. You said that, not me.”