“Is that a cigarette? Are those cigarettes?”
Tim looks a bit nonplussed. “Sure. D’you mind?”
“You’ll die if you smoke those. Your lungs get black and shrivel up. Then you die.” George is suddenly near tears. “Don’t die. I don’t wanna see you die. I saw Jase’s hamster die and it got all stiff and its eyes stayed open but they weren’t shiny anymore.”
Tim’s face goes blank. He glances over at Jase as if for instruction. Jase just gazes back at him.
“Hell,” Tim says, and shoves the cigarette back in. He stands up, stalks to the pool, and dives in deep.
George turns to me. “What’s that mean? Does that mean no or yes?”
Mrs. Garrett sticks her head out the back door. “Jase—the garbage disposal broke again. Can you help me out?”
The Garretts have fireworks, thanks, Mrs. Garrett tells me, to her brother Hank, who lives down south and ships them up illegally every year. So we’re all on the Garretts’ lawn as the summer sky darkens.
“Jack!” Mrs. Garrett calls. “Please don’t burn off your hand! Why do I need to say this? I tell you this every year.”
“If I do,” Mr. Garrett says, placing some fireworks in a circle of stones, “I’m suing your brother. He never sends instructions. Light up, Jase!”
Jase strikes a long match and hands it to his dad. Mrs. Garrett encircles George and Patsy in her arms. “You wouldn’t read them anyway!” she calls out as the match flares blue and the fireworks shoot into the night sky.
As the last firework fizzles down, I roll onto my side, following the lines of Jase’s face with my index finger.
“You’ve never played for me,” I say.
“Mmm?” he sounds sleepy.
“I’ve seen Andy and Duff play their instruments. You claim you can play the guitar. But I’ve never seen evidence. When are you going to play me a ballad?”
“Uh, never?”
“Why not?” I ask, tracing the arch of one of his dark eyebrows.
“Because that would be incredibly lame, not to mention goofy. And I try to steer clear of lame. Not to mention goofy.”
He shifts to his back, pointing into the night sky. “Okay, what’s that star? And that one?”
“The Summer Triangle. That’s Vega, and Deneb and Altair. Over there is…Lyra, Sagittarius…” I follow the path of the flickering stars with my index finger.
“I love that you know this,” Jase says softly. “Hey, is that a shooting star? You can wish on those, right?”
“An airplane, Jase. See the little red taillight?”
“Jesus. Okay. So much for not being lame and goofy.”
I laugh, lean over to kiss his neck. “You can wish on the airplane anyway, though, if you want.”
“Somehow the thrill is gone,” he says, pulling me close. “Besides, what else would I wish for?”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Hello sweetheart.” The voice is cool as water. “Have anything to say to me?”
I freeze in the act of silently closing the front door. Oh God. Oh God. How did I not see Mom’s car? I thought the fireworks and steam train would take longer. How could I have stayed out so late?
“I never thought I’d be doing this for you.” The voice is amused now, and I look up to see Tracy sitting on the couch, shaking her head at me.
I’d forgotten her pitch-perfect imitation of Mom, which, combined with her impressive forgery skills, got her out of field trips she didn’t want to go on, school days with tests she hadn’t studied for, and health classes she was bored by.
I laugh and take a deep breath. “Jeez, Trace. You almost gave me a heart attack.”
She’s smirking. “Mom called right at curfew to make sure you were safe and sound. I told her you’d been tucked up in your little bed for hours, dreaming sweet innocent dreams. Good thing she can’t see you now.” She stands up and walks behind me, turning me to face the mirror in the hallway. “So who’s the guy?”
“There isn’t—” I begin.
“Samantha, please. Your hair’s a mess, your lips are all puffy, and you’ll be needing that stupid Breakfast Ahoy scarf to cover that hickey right there. I repeat: Who’s the guy?”
I do indeed look flushed and rumpled, a look I’ve seen on Tracy many a time but am still getting used to on myself. “You don’t know him,” I say, attempting to straighten my hair. “Please don’t say anything to Mom.”
“Little Miss Perfection has a secret lov-ah!” Tracy’s giggling now.
“We’re not…We haven’t—”
“Huh,” Tracy says, unimpressed. “Judging by the expression on your face, it’s just a matter of time. I covered for you. Now, spill. If I don’t know him, there’s got to be a reason why. Please tell me it’s someone Mom won’t have a fit about.”
“She would not be happy,” I admit.
“Why? Is he a druggie? A drinker?”
“A Garrett,” I say. “From next door.”
“Holy heck, Samantha. You’re really pushing the limits, aren’t you? Who knew you’d turn out to be the big rebel? Is he the one with the leather jacket and the motorcycle? If so, you are doomed. Mom’ll ground you till you’re thirty-five.”
I blow out an impatient breath. “Not him—his younger brother. Jase. Who’s probably the best person I’ve ever met…kind and smart and…good. He…I…” I run out of words, rub my lips with my fingers.
“You’re a goner,” Tracy groans. “I can tell by listening to you that he’s totally got the upper hand. You can’t let that happen no matter how amazing you think the dude is. If you are going to be knocking boots, make sure he thinks you’re doing him the favor. Otherwise you’re just asking to be done and dumped.”
My sister, the hopeless romantic.
Well? I text Nan the next morning.
???? she replies.
R U still on the boat? What happened?
No. Daniel had 2 get it back b4 parents knew he’d had it all night. I’m home.
And???
Where R U?
I’m at the beach before work at the B&T, watching Mr. Garrett train Jase. At the moment, Jase is slogging through the water knee-deep, emerging to do some push-ups and wading back in. If you’d told me I’d find this riveting a few weeks ago, I’d have laughed. My fingers hover, still hesitant to reveal too much to Nan, but finally I type: At SB beach.
Give me 10, she texts back.
Nan shows up fifteen minutes later, just as Jase flops onto the sand for another round of push-ups.
“Oh, I get it now,” she says with a knowing smile. “I thought you were swimming, or catching some early sun. But it’s all about the boyfriend, huh, Samantha?”
I ignore her. “What happened with Daniel?”
Nan flops on her back, wrist over her eyes—almost exactly what Tim did yesterday. Even after all these years, I’m fascinated by the way they sometimes unconsciously echo each other. She squints in the sun, then rolls onto her stomach, turning to look at me with serious gray eyes.
“On the boat? Well, we went upriver to Rocky Park, and anchored there and had a picnic. Then we went out in the sound. Daniel swam, but I was freaked that there might be great white sharks. He said it was too cold for them but—”
“Nan! You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I do?” she asks innocently, then relents. “Do you mean did Daniel and I ‘Take Our Relationship to the Next Level’?”
“Um, no. Because who calls it that?” I flick a toenail shell at her.
“Daniel calls it that.” Nan sits up, looking out at the water now, shielding her eyes from the sun. “We did not.”
“Because…? You decided you weren’t ready? Or it wasn’t what Daniel had in mind?”
Jase slogs back into the water, massaging his thigh as though he has a cramp.
“Why’s he doing this?” Nan asks. “It seems like torture. I keep expecting his dad to get out a hose and spray him in the face with cold water. Or make him sing one of those macho rhyming songs—Navy Wings are made of lead, hup, two, three…”