Tilly #2
I bite the inside of my cheek and look away for a moment, then back to her. She lifts one shoulder. "Seems arbitrary."
"When you put it like that," I say.
"I'm always right. It's exhausting." She checks her phone and swears. "I have a shift. This conversation isn't over, but I have to go.”
She hugs me on the sidewalk and jogs toward her car. I walk up toward St. Charles, lighter than I've been in weeks, in the sun, with a good problem and a plan and a Thursday to get to.
The house is blissfully quiet, so I can finally dive into this Oak Moss stuff. Italy was a break, but the clock is ticking. I need to make sure we're doing what we need to do before my grace period ends. I don't know where Rhodes is, but out of the house is best.
I've got the whole thing spread out in front of me.
There's the legal pad I started the morning after poker night, my handwriting getting messier down the page, and the erosion surveys I photographed off the county site.
The Oak Moss folder has gotten fat with everything I've pulled in the last month.
I work through it for an hour. The eastern bank has lost maybe twelve feet since the last aerial, which sounds like a death sentence and isn't one. Sediment's still there, just moving, and moving sediment you can work with.
The good part is handled, and I did it myself.
Three weeks of calls got me Rockville Coastal out of Johns Island, fifteen minutes from the property, and they take nonprofit work at a rate I can cover without asking a soul for a dime.
They'll walk the property, shoot an elevation profile, and put in writing whether a living shoreline holds on that bank.
And, more importantly, if we can add some of it back.
The fact that Banksie agreed has to be a good omen. It was grudging and salty, and it came after five solid minutes about trespassers, but it was a yes, and they can get on the land Thursday.
That's the first thing he's given me since the fight started.
I text Granger.
Coastal firm's coming to Oak Moss on Thursday for an elevation survey and shoreline viability assessment. Grandbank's letting them on.
Saw it on the calendar. Good. This is the right way to do it, Til. Send me whatever they write up, and I'll read every page.
I read that twice.
How was the flight? Y'all make it back ok?
Long. I'm still a little cloudy, but we are whole.
Oh, and hey, we're still fucking, so that's a plus. I giggle a little to myself, because the sadistic part of me would love to text that to him.
Good.
I sit with the phone in my hand, staring at our text thread. Rhodes and Oak Moss and my dad actually hearing me all jumble in my brain.
One thing so you're working against the real number. Contractor mobilizes June 15. If you've got something for me, I want it well before then. Not the week of.
This is what I wanted, not a yes, just a door cracked open far enough to make my case, even if seeing that in writing makes my gut tighten. I pull the legal pad over and write it in block letters at the top of a clean page.
JUNE 15.
I count backward on my fingers, then quit and do it properly against the calendar on my phone. It comes to eleven weeks, from Thursday's survey to a contractor putting equipment on that ground. I should be grateful for more time than I initially thought.
I box the date and draw a hard line around it twice so it stands out from everything else on the page. I've got enough time to build a case good enough to convince them that saving Oak Moss and keeping it for our family only is not just a sentimental plea.
He's talking to me like I'm presenting something, not a problem he has to tiptoe around. I want more of that than I want to admit.
My phone buzzes.
Cowbell? Burgers. I'm starving and I refuse to look at the empty fridge again.
I smile before I've decided to.
I would kill a man for a Cowbell burger right now.
I close the Oak Moss folder and set it on the corner of the table for tomorrow.
The burgers come in paper baskets, mine dripping in a way that means I'm going to need every one of these napkins.
Rhodes set the fries between us, and it feels like a line between us we aren't supposed to cross.
I've got a root beer sweating a ring onto the picnic table, and the last of the sun is cut in half by the old gas-station overhang, turning everything gold.
That's the thing about eating a burger with Rhodes Stone in public. We're two people who've known each other since before either of us had teeth, splitting fries on Oak Street.
"You've got the whole fries basket tilted toward you," I say. "I thought we were sharing?"
"It's for your own good."
I steal three fries at once out of spite.
A truck pulls up to the curb, and Deuce unfolds out of it, all six-foot-five of him, on his way somewhere else. He claps Rhodes on the shoulder hard enough to rattle the table.
"Look at this. Date night." He grins down at us. "Y'all want to be left alone, or you want company?"
"Ew. He's my brother's best friend, and I live in his spare room," I say around a mouthful of burger. "I'm here for the fries."
Deuce laughs and squeezes Rhodes's shoulder.
"Fair. My bad. As much as I know you want me, I'm actually meeting Ford. Just saw you here and couldn’t help but stop and bust your chops." He turns as he says it, then turns back briefly. "Rhodes, we're still on for Thursday at the gym. Don't flake out."
With that, he's back in the truck and pulls off down the street without Rhodes saying a single word.
His burger's sitting in the basket where he set it down, and he's still looking at the piece of curb where Deuce's truck was.
"You don't have to make it sound like it's the worst fucking idea imaginable," he says.
I stop with a fry halfway to my mouth and put it down, going for a drink instead. "What are you talking about?"
"Is the idea of us dating that crazy?"
I nearly choke on my root beer. "Um, yeah, Rhodes, it is. Are you being serious right now? We’ve talked about this.”
"Coop's home at the end of May. I'd rather tell him than have him figure it out and be pissed we hid it. And he'd be fine with it, as long as I'm not a dick to you." He says it fast, running downhill. "I'm never going to be a dick to you."
He takes a breath, and I can't believe what he's saying.
"Rhodes, that was never what this was. I think you have jet lag."
"I'm just saying, why not give it a try? We know each other better than anyone, and our families are so intertwined that it’s almost natural. Why not see if this could be something more?"
"I thought we both agreed what this was." My heart is in my stomach right now. I'm not sure what throws me more: that he caught me completely off guard or that, at almost any other point in my life, with any other guy, I might want to consider saying yes.
"If it turns out we're better as friends, then we know we explored it."
There is not one sentence anywhere in my head. For the first time in my life, I think, I'm speechless. I think about what Jo said, but I shake my head. It’s not realistic, and it’s not a good idea.
"I've got Oak Moss as my number one priority right now," I finally say. "My dad just told me today they're set to clear it on June 15, unless we decide to go another route. That's my whole spring. You know that’s where I have to focus.”
He doesn't respond, clenching his top lip between his teeth.
"Classes start back tomorrow. I'm still a freshman at twenty, and Coop's across the ocean." I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. "Let's not complicate things right now."
The fryer pops behind me.
"Okay."
"That's all?"
He picks up his burger again, but doesn't take a bite. "Yeah. You've got a lot going on."
"And?"
"And I'm not going to make it harder."
The relief doesn’t come.
I steal another fry. The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow.