Chapter 35
SADIE
The pounding in my head feels like the beat of a kick drum.
Those pina coladas were poison.
Tasty, fruity, sweet poison.
I can’t seem to open my eyes. They’re heavy, still drunk from last night.
Last night. What all happened last night?
I remember the Ferris wheel. Forgiveness. Karaoke. Pina coladas. Milo singing with me . . .
Milo sang with me? Yes, he did. And I think I requested our song. Our song about his smile. About all the things left unsaid . . . except did I say things?
I remember something about a mermaid, the stars, throwing up . . .
I threw up. Milo held my hair. He wiped my mouth with his shirt . . .
How mortifying. My vomit on his shirt.
Everything else is a sleepy blur. Feeling like I was cradled in a boat being rocked by the ocean. But it was his arms and the sway of his body as he carried me back to our room, to this bed . . .
I feel around the bed and discover I’m the only one in it. I’m pretty sure I asked him to hold me, but there’s no warmth in the sheets except from me.
I finally peel my eyelids back. I squint at the brightness of the room, the pounding of my head doubling. I groan as I slowly turn over to check the time.
11:03 a.m.
But my eyes take in a carefully laid-out assortment of items beside the clock with a note. I reach for the note.
Bookworm,
I’m having church on the beach this morning.
I don’t know when you’ll wake up, but there are two Tylenol laid out.
Take those immediately, followed by as much water as you can handle.
I brought you up a banana and some croissants.
Eat what you can. There is coffee I made in the pot over in the kitchenette, but only after water and food.
I’ve only had one hangover in my life. It was brutal, but my tolerance was a little loftier than four pina coladas . . .
I’m leaving my phone behind, so you’ll have to come find me or go back to sleep and I’ll be back.
Hot Shot
My eyes snag on having church on the beach for a moment before they swing back down to the fact that Milo’s had a hangover. I wonder what kind of parties he went to, what his college life was like . . .
But then my head begins to feel as if someone is inside knocking on my brain like it’s a door to open.
I close my eyes and carefully sit up, letting my legs hang off the edge of the bed.
I open one eye halfway and grab for the Tylenol, placing them on my tongue before opening the water bottle and swallowing.
How long do hangovers last, and why does everyone always act like hangovers are a worthy price for the alcohol? I would have rather had pineapple juice mixed with some coconut. Same taste without the lingering effects of wondering what words came out of my mouth last night.
After about thirty minutes, I’ve managed to drink the rest of the water, eat half a banana, and savor one very flaky, buttery croissant. It practically melted on my tongue.
Milo’s phone buzzes on the kitchenette counter beside the coffee maker.
I slowly stand and walk toward it. I know I shouldn’t look. My eyes dance over a few times toward the screen, but I resist the temptation to read what looks like a text message.
I take a mug and pour some brewed coffee in it, the steam rolling off the top. I inhale deeply, the boldness of it making my eyes widen a little more.
Milo’s phone buzzes again. The screen is lit up, and this time I indulge myself. I lean over and read the text.
Caleb
Hey, man. I know you’ve said you’re not interested, but I know how much you love . . .
I can’t see the rest. It fades behind his locked screen.
Interested in what? Who is Caleb?
It’s not my mind that is twisting at the words and what they could possibly mean.
It’s my heart squeezing with a familiarity from ten years ago.
I walk away from Milo’s phone to the other side of the room, where I open the door and step out onto the balcony. The day is already hot and sticky, but the breeze is cool as it greets my skin.
I inhale the smell of the beach before I take a long sip of my black coffee.
I tilt my head, curiosity tugging at my mouth as I look at the black liquid in the cup. I’ve never liked plain coffee, but there’s something about it today that feels refreshing. It’s not dressed up to be something sweet or palatable.
Or maybe I’ve just had my fair share of sweetness in those pina coladas for a while.
After another ten minutes and an empty coffee mug, my headache feels less life-threatening and more of an annoyance. I walk back into the room to get dressed so I can go find Milo.
I choose white flowy pants and a blue tank top.
I take the elevator downstairs, the mechanical hum louder in my head than it probably really is.
When I walk out of the hotel, the brightness causes my pupils to protest. The beach is only a few feet away.
I snatch my sunglasses from my hair, offering relief to my eyes, and slip my sandals off my feet so I can feel the sand squish between my toes.
I spot Milo in the distance. The sun is already high above the ocean and he’s sitting in the sand, gazing toward the water. As I approach him, something lying beside him catches my attention.
A small brown Bible.
I gave it to him when we were ten.
Joe had dropped him off at Sunday school. Pastor Jeff had brought him to our class, where we were discussing water turning into wine, and I didn’t understand why Jesus couldn’t have chosen apple juice or Fanta Orange.
Milo took the seat next to me after I had smiled at him in the doorway.
“Do you have one of these?” I asked quietly, leaning over toward him.
He shook his head.
I slid mine over on the table. “You can have mine.”
“I can’t take your Bible,” he argued.
I shrugged. “I can get another.”
Which was true. When I told my parents I gave my Bible to Milo, the new pink one I wanted was on my bed two days later.
He took it from me reluctantly. “Thanks.”
I’d forgotten about that little brown Bible.
My bare feet press into the soft sand as I walk toward Milo. He turns as if he senses me before I reach him.
“Hey, you.” His words are warm and low. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the hangover remedies.” I sink down beside him, pulling my knees up to my chest before I add, “You still have my Bible.”
His lips turn up as he reaches over for it beside him. “I do.”
He gives it to me. I brush the sand off the bottom and when I do, I realize how worn it is. I study it. The leather is cracked and the brown faded where his hands have gripped it. As I open it, pages are folded and notes are scribbled along the margins.
I don’t remember him using this Bible much through high school. He never wrote in it or bent the pages. It was more of an accessory than a lifeline.
Milo’s watching me, his eyes searching for my thoughts.
“You’ve really used this,” I say, pausing on a note that reads, Less of me, more of Him and another that reads Oof.
His grin turns gentle, rocking his side into mine softly. “I finally figured out I couldn’t do things on my own. Took me a while, though.”
“You could have bought a newer Bible.”
“Well, you know me and my memories,” he muses. “I’m pretty fond of this one.”
“So, this is church?” I ask.
“A form of it. God’s not contained by a building. Besides, I think He’d be okay with this spot right here.” His gaze goes back to the ocean.
We sit in silence and I’m thankful for it. The walk down to the beach was more difficult than I thought it would be. My head is starting to feel tight and too small again. I close my eyes and take long, slow breaths.
After a while I stand, walking closer to the ocean, letting the water wash over my feet before the tide pulls it back. I let my head tilt to the sky, closing my eyes, my face meeting the sun’s rays.
I can feel Milo watching me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve missed church back at home. In fact, I’ve never missed a Sunday. But I have missed the message many times, Pastor Jeff’s voice turning into a hum as my eyes glaze over or my mind begins to make lists of all the things I need to get done that day.
Milo’s Bible shows something much different than my current faith, which feels a little shaky or simply practiced.
I’ve been living a life of going through the motions. Church is on my checklist.
The note in the margins of his Bible that says Oof hits me right now.
I look back down at my feet being cleansed repeatedly, as if even the ocean is trying to give me grace.
I turn and walk back to Milo, who’s still sitting where I left him.
He looks up at me and asks, “How long do you want this trip to last, Sadie?”
I draw in a breath.
Truthfully, I haven’t really thought too much about it. I just can’t be in Dusty Hollow right now. Not with my dad waiting for an answer I’m not ready to give.
But Milo also has his life. Football training will be starting up soon. He probably has preparations for his classroom. Then there’s that text from Caleb . . .
“I mean, we can go back,” I reply reluctantly.
Milo stands and closes the space between us in one step before he says gently, “That’s not what I asked.”
“I don’t want to take up all your time.” My eyes begin to dart around. “I know you have your own life—”
“Sadie.” His warm hands wrap around my face, forcing me to look at him. He grins at me. “Can I take you somewhere? It’s quite a drive from here. Over ten hours.”
I start to argue, but I bite my tongue—my heart already sighing with relief. I’m not ready for this trip with no plans to end.
I match his smile. “As long as there’s lemon ice cream on the way. I think you owe me.”
“Sadie Summers, I take my bets very seriously.” He tilts his head, grin lingering. “Haven’t I always paid up?”