Same Time Next Summer

AdvancepraiseforSameTimeNextSummer
“AnnabelMonaghan’sSameTimeNextSummerisanunforgettablelovestory.Packedwithlongingandburstingwiththemagicoffirstlove,it’severythingIwantinasummerromance.Idevouredit!”
—CarleyFortune,authorofEverySummerAfter
“Isthereanythingbetterthananoceanfrontnovelabouttheenduringpowerofsummerlove?AnnabelMonaghan’switty,wildSameTimeNextSummerhasitall:beachfrontparties,complexcharacters,andheartsthatwon’tbesilenced.Ilovedthisfun,heartfeltbook.”
—AmandaEyreWard,authorofTheJetsettersandTheLifeguards
“AnnabelMonaghansecuresherspotonmyauto-buyauthorslistwiththisgorgeoussecond-chanceromance.SameTimeNextSummerabsolutelycapturedmyheartfromtheverybeginning,andIcouldn’thelprootingforthesecharacterstofindtheirhappilyeverafter.Thisbookisthedefinitionofaperfectbeachreadandshouldbeoneveryone’ssummerreadinglist!”
—FalonBallard,authorofLeaseonLoveandJustMyType
“Handsdown,myfavoritebookofthesummer.Itwasbeautifullywritten,fullofdelightfulcharacters,andkeptmefeelingnostalgicforthatfizzy,all-consumingintensityoffirstlove.Iabsolutelyadoredit!”
—LacieWaldon,authorofTheLayoverandFromtheJump
“Deftlyweavingpastandpresentintoagorgeouslyrenderedtaleoflove,self-discovery,andtheexperiences—andpeople—thatdefineourlives,Monaghan’sSameTimeNextSummerwrappedmeinanostalgicblanketofheart-meltingromancewarmerthanabeachsidevacation.Thisissecond-chanceromanceatitsabsolutefinest…astoryyoudonotwanttomiss!”
—AngieHockman,authorofDreamOnandShipped
“Elegantandrichlyemotional,SameTimeNextSummeroffersaromanticstoryoftherenewingjoyofsecondchances.Weneverwantedtoleavethesummershoresandgorgeouspagesofthislyricallovestory.”
—EmilyWibberleyandAustinSiegemund-Broka,authorsofTheRoughestDraft
“SameTimeNextSummerisasecond-chanceromanceinfusedwithbeachsand,sunsets,andfindingyourheart’sonetruelove.Monaghancraftsacompulsivelyreadabletaleaboutfallinginlove,notjustwiththepersonofyourheart,butalsowithyourselfandtheyouthatyouwerealwaysdestinedtobe.Wittyandwonderful,thisbookshouldbeonthetopofeveryone’sto-be-readpile!”
—JennMcKinlay,authorofWaitForIt
“Delicious,likeabagofchipsyoucan’tputdownuntilit’sfinished.Ilovedit!”
—JaneL.Rosen,authorofNineWomen,OneDressandElizaStartsaRumor
“AnnabelMonaghanhasdoneitagainwithimpossible-not-to-lovecharactersthatstumbleoffthepageinalltheirmessyglory.Thiseffervescentnovelisperfectforanyonewho’severwishedtheycouldbottleupthemagicoftheirfirstsummerromance—anduncorkitdecadeslater.”
—ChristinaClancy,authorofTheSecondHomeandShoulderSeason
“SameTimeNextSummerisjusttheswoonyromanceweallwantandneed!Withcharacterswhofeellikefamilyandapicture-perfectbeachsetting,Monaghanhaswrittenabeautifullovestory,fullofwit,wisdom,andheart.”
—AmyPoeppel,authorofMusicalChairs
“AnnabelMonaghanhasworkedheralchemyagain:Withheart,humor,andthetrademarkwitthatgivesherwritingasophisticatedzing,she’sspunanirresistiblyevocativetaleofyounglovelostand,aftersomeunderstandablebutunfortunatemissteps,deliciouslyfound.Takethisonetothebeach,butbeforewarned:you’llbesosweptawaybythirty-year-oldSam,newlyengagedandcravingstability,andherfirstlove,Wyatt,thatyoumightnotnoticethetidecomingin.”
—KarenDukess,authorofTheLastBookParty
“EverywordofSameTimeNextSummerdrawsyouin,affectingonadeep,emotionallevel.Prepareforajourneythroughunforgettablefirstlove,itsmarriagetomusic,andthewitandcharmthatmakeMonaghan’sbooksfreshandoriginal.SamandWyattarethefatedloversreaderswillrootforoverandoveragain,atalerichandheartfelt.Thisisthelovestoryof2023.”
—RochelleWeinstein,authorofWhenWeLetGo
PraiseforNoraGoesOffScript
OneofCosmopolitan’s30BestRomanceNovelsof2022That’llGiveYouAlltheFeels
OneofSouthernLiving’sBeachReadsPerfectforSummer2022
OneoftheSkimm’s10BooksThat’llGetYouOutofaReadingRut
“Awittyandpoignantrollercoasterthatspringsadelightfulsurprise.”
—People
“Monaghan’swittyadultdebutnovelperfectlycapturestheapprehensionandexcitementofinfatuationblendedwithlife’scomplications.”
—TheWashingtonPost
“Theperfectescape.”
—USAToday
“Aperfectblendbetweenquotidianlifeandthefairy-talemagicpossibleonlyinthebestHollywoodendings.ReaderswholovedEmilyHenry’sBookLoversorLindaHolmes’sEvvieDrakeStartsOveraresuretosavorNoraGoesOffScript.”
—ShelfAwareness
“Filledwithswoon-worthymomentsandhilariouslylovablecharacters.”
—Woman’sWorld
“NoraGoesOffScriptbyAnnabelMonaghanisfunnyandsmart,withaNancyMeyers–moviequalityyou’llloveandamaincharacteryou’llwanttobefriend.Thisistheperfecteasy-breezy,feel-goodread.”
—RealSimple
“[A]funny,clever,andjoyfulrom-com.”
—BusinessInsider
“Likablecharacters,smarthumor,andadidn’t-see-it-comingendingmakesthisnovelamust-readforsummer.”
—TheAugustaChronicle
“Irresistible…Withpitch-perfectcharactersfulloffoiblesandflaws,theworktapsintogenuinefeelingsasthecharactersfallinlove.Thisisawinner.”
—PublishersWeekly(starredreview)AlsobyAnnabelMonaghan
NoraGoesOffScriptG.P.Putnam’sSons
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Copyright?2023byAnnabelMonaghan
PenguinRandomHousesupportscopyright.Copyrightfuelscreativity,encouragesdiversevoices,promotesfreespeech,andcreatesavibrantculture.Thankyouforbuyinganauthorizededitionofthisbookandforcomplyingwithcopyrightlawsbynotreproducing,scanning,ordistributinganypartofitinanyformwithoutpermission.YouaresupportingwritersandallowingPenguinRandomHousetocontinuetopublishbooksforeveryreader.
LibraryofCongressCataloging-in-PublicationData
Names:Monaghan,Annabel,author.
Title:Sametimenextsummer/AnnabelMonaghan.
Description:NewYork:G.P.Putnam’sSons,2023.
Identifiers:LCCN2023007358(print)|LCCN2023007359(ebook)|ISBN9780593544969(tradepaperback)|ISBN9780593544976(ebook)
Subjects:LCGFT:Romancefiction.|Novels.
Classification:LCCPS3613.O52268S362023(print)|LCCPS3613.O52268(ebook)|DDC813/.6—dc23/eng/20230221
LCrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2023007358
LCebookrecordavailableathttps://lccn.loc.gov/2023007359
p.???cm.
Coverdesignandillustration:SandraChiu
BookdesignbyAshleyTucker,adaptedforebookbyMaggieHunt
Interiorart?Shutterstock/AlinArt
Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,places,andincidentseitheraretheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactualpersons,livingordead,businesses,companies,events,orlocalesisentirelycoincidental.
pid_prh_6.0_143736954_c0_r0Contents
Cover
PraiseforAnnabelMonaghan
AlsobyAnnabelMonaghan
TitlePage
Copyright
Dedication
Part1:Now&Then
Now
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Then
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Now
Chapter11
Chapter12
Then
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Now
Chapter18
Then
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Now
Chapter22
Chapter23
Chapter24
Chapter25
Chapter26
Chapter27
Chapter28
Then
Chapter29
Chapter30
Chapter31
Chapter32
Chapter33
Chapter34
Chapter35
Chapter36
Chapter37
Chapter38
Chapter39
Part2:Now
Chapter40
Chapter41
Chapter42
Chapter43
Chapter44
Chapter45
Chapter46
Chapter47
Chapter48
Chapter49
Chapter50
Chapter51
Chapter52
Chapter53
Chapter54
Chapter55
Chapter56
Chapter57
Chapter58
Chapter59
Chapter60
Chapter61
Chapter62
Acknowledgments
BookEnds
AConversationwithAnnabelMonaghan
DiscussionQuestions
APlaylist
AbouttheAuthor
_143736954_ForStefaniePART1NOW&THENNOW
1
Youcan’tturnaroundonceyou’reinthetunnel.There’snoU-turn,nooff-ramp.You’reliterallystuckundertheEastRiver.Thisfactexhilaratedmeasakid.Nextstop,LongIsland.Atthefirstsightofsunlightattheendofthetunnel,Ifeltthecitymeltaway.Icrackedthewindow,poppedajuicebox,kickedoffmyshoes,andstretchedmylegsacrossthebackseat.Asanadult,enteringtheMidtownTunnelmakesmefeelsortoftrapped.
ThetrafficslowstoastandstillaswemergeontotheLongIslandExpressway.“Andthisiswhywedon’tcometoLongIsland,”Isay,swattingthesteeringwheellikeit’sresponsible.I’mnotsurewhatIwasexpectingonaFridayafternooninAugust.
“Webothknowthat’snotwhy,”saysJack,scrollingthroughhisphone.
IcanhandleLongIslandonceasummerforalongweekend,neveraweek.Threedaysatthebeachisenoughtowarmyouupbutnotenoughtoturnyouintomush.Forthreedaysinarow,mysister,Gracie,dragsmeintotheocean,andforthreedaysinarow,Iswim.IcountmystrokesasIcutthroughthewaterandlongfortheconstraintsoftheYMCApool,whereyoucantrackhowfaryou’vegonebasedonhowmanytimesyou’veturnedaround.Theoceanisafullmilelongonthestretchofbeachbetweenthejettyandthewoodedcoveinfrontofourhouse.There’sjusttoomuchroomforerror.
It’sbeenfourteenyearssinceI’vespentawholesummeratthebeach—sinceWyattandIbrokeup,andIbrokeapart.Puttingapersonbacktogetherisn’teasy,butifyou’resmartaboutityoucanreassembleyourselfinatotallydifferent,betterway.Turncarefreeintocareful;bandageupyourheartanddouble-checktheadhesive.Bitbybit,Ihaveleftmychildhoodbehind,replacingmyimpulsivenesswithdeliberatedecisionsandplans.Jackcallsitbeingbuttonedup,andIdon’tknowwhyanyonewouldwanttowalkaroundunbuttoned.IknowwhateachdayisgoingtolooklikeevenbeforeIopenmyeyes,andthere’ssomuchstrengthinthatknowing.IfIstayatthebeachfortoolong,Igetpulledback.Myoldselfisthereandshewantstodragmeoutthroughtherustychinksinmyarmor.Iblamethesaltair.
ThisisthefirsttimeI’vebroughtJackwithmeintheentirefouryearswe’vebeentogether.TravislikestosaythatI’vebeenprotectinghimfromourparents,whichisridiculousbecauseweseetheminManhattanallthetime.PartofmehaswantedtoshowJackthefront-yardhydrangeaexplosionandthedelicatewaythedunesblowinparalleltotheocean.Toshowhimwherethesandandthesaltandthesunconspiredtomakemeintoastrongswimmerandahappyteenager.Ijustdon’tknowifhecanhandlethesummerversionofmyparents.
Trafficpicksupwhenwe’reonSunriseHighway,andJackputsdownhisphone.“It’sprettyhere,”hesaysasiflookingoutthewindowforthefirsttime.“Ifoundagymtenminutesfromyourparents’houseandgotaweek’smembership.”
“There’snowaywe’restayingawholeweek.”I’vepackedexactlythreepairsofunderweartomakesureofit.
“Wellyoutoldyourmomaweek.Anyway,Itooknextweekoff,justincase.It’sgoingtobeahundreddegreesinthecitybyThursday.”Hetakesmyhand,andIfeelmyselfsettle.Jackistheoppositeoftheocean.He’smorelikealake,onethat’scrystalclearandprotectedbyamountainrange.WithJack,Iaminnodangerofbeingwashedaway.“Thismightbereallyfun.”
He’sscrollingthroughhisphoneagain.“Oh,here’sagoodone.Alistingforanin-houseHRassociateatanaccountingfirminmidtown.”
“They’renotgoingtofireme,”Isay.They’reprobablygoingtofireme.I’minthefiringbusiness,andIcan’timaginehowthisendsanyotherway.Frankly,I’dfireme,butI’msosickoftalkingaboutthisandthetight,defensivewayitmakesmybodyfeel.
“Theymight,Sam.”Heputshishandonmyshoulder.“Eleanor’swayofdoingthingsistriedandtrue.”
“IsaidwhatIsaid,andIapologized.It’soutofmyhands.”
“Ifyou’regoingtogoofftherails,youkindofneedabackupplan,”Jacksays.
“I’llrememberthatfornexttime.Soareyoureadyforwhatyou’rewalkinginto?Hippiesgonewild?”Mysmileisaquestionmark.“There’snoWi-Fiorair-conditioning,butifyou’relookingtoseeastatueofDavidmadeoutofpipecleaners,thisistheplaceforyou.”
Jacklaughs,presumablybecausehethinksI’mexaggerating.“I’vebeenwantingtoseethisforyears,I’mreadyashell.”
Jackknowsmyparentsinthecity,betweenthemonthsofSeptemberandMay,wheretheyliveinthesameLowerEastSidetwo-bedroom,rent-controlledapartmentthatTravisandIandthenGraciegrewupin.Afterthirty-twoyearsinthatapartment,theypracticallyliveforfree.MydadteachesarthistoryatNYU,andmymomteachesmodernpoetryattheNewSchool.Theyarelikesquirrelsinreverse—fromSeptembertoMaytheytoilandsavesothattheycanspendthesummeratthebeachdoingwhatevertheywant.Jacklikestheschool-yearversionofmyparents.HethinkstheyseemlikepeopleinaWoodyAllenmovie,realNewYorkers.
InOctoberwe’llbemarried.Jack’sparentshaveputdownasmalldepositforanOctober28weddingattheircountryclubinConnecticut,butwehaven’tfullycommitted.Thevenueisbeautifulandeasy—theyliterallyhavethreeweddingoptions:A,B,andC.Theyallseemprettymuchthesametome,butJacklikesB.IwantedtogetmarriedonthelawnoutsidetheboathouseinCentralParkunderneaththebeechtrees,butapparentlythatgetsbookedupyearsinadvance,whichIfindfascinating,likebridesarebookingvenuesbeforethey’veevenmettheguy.Idon’tknowhowImissedthis.
WewerereadytopressgoonJack’sBweddingwhenmymomputherfootdown.ShelovesJackandisdefinitelyrelievedtoseemesohappy,butastheweddinggetsclosershe’sstartingtofeelleftoutoftheplanning.Shefeelslikethespiritofmyfamilyisn’tbeingrepresented.Whenshecalledtolaythisonme,Iheldmyground.
“PleasecomehavealookattheOldSloopInnouthere.Comegetreacquaintedwiththisplaceandyourself.ShowJackwhoweare.”Isaidno.
ButwhenGracieaskedmetocome,Icaved.Unlessit’sbeensomethingdirectlyrelatedtohersafety,Idon’tthinkI’veeversaidnotoGracie.“Pleasecome,Sammy,”she’dsaid.“JustsoMomfeelsbetter.Jackwillloveit.It’llbeperfect.”
AsfarasJack’sconcerned,thingshavebeenprettyperfect.WemetgettingintooppositesidesofacabandthensharedaridetowhereIwasvisitingaclienttwoblocksfromhisdermatologypractice(perfect).IthappenedtoberightafterI’dgottenahaircutandablowout,soIlookedlikethemostaspirationalversionofmyself(perfect).Ayearlaterwemovedintoanapartmentoverourfavoritesushiplace(perfect).Heproposedtomewithaone-caratsolitairediamondringthatbelongedtohisgrandmother,whohappenedtoalsohaveasizesixringfinger(perfect).
Whenwe’refinallyoffthehighway,Jackputsdownhiswindowandtakesashowywhiffofthesaltair.JackboughtthisconvertibleBMWinamomentofmadnessIcan’tquiteputacontextto,thoughhe’sneveroncetakenthetopoffonaccountofthesun.EverytimeIgetin,Iwonderifhisalteregoappearedonedayandboughtit,aBizarroWorldversionofSuperman,onewhowelcomessunonhisfaceandtoleratesunkempthair.Itbothdelightsandterrifiesmetothinkthathecouldalsogototallyofftherailsforaminute.
IturnleftontoWestMainStreet,pasttheEpiscopalchurch,thedeli,Chippy’sDiner,andthelibrary.Ihaven’tbeentoOakShoresincelastsummerwhenJackwentonagolftripwithhisbrothers.Ihavethesensationthatthetownisgoingtonoticeadisturbanceintheforce.Hey,Sam,who’sthenewguy?Welldone
IfinallyturnrighttowardthebeachandontoSaltaireLane.WepassWyatt’shouse,astatelybrickthingwithblackshutterstomatchthehigh-glossfrontdoor.There’salightoninthefrontroom.Ihaven’tbeeninsidethePopes’housesincethesummerIwassixteen,butIcouldwalkintothathouseblindfoldedandgetmyselfaglassofwater.Theyrentittostrangersnow.
There’satallhedgebetweenWyatt’shouseandours.Islowdowntotakeitin.It’stechnicallyonthepropertyline,sobothofourfamiliesareresponsibleformaintainingit.Wyatt’sdad,Frank,alwayswantedtohiresomeonetodealwithitandsplitthecost,butmydadwouldn’thaveit.Thehedge,or“privet”ashecallsit,usingairquotes,isanhonortomaintain.Hetrimsitwithsmallclippersandnomeasuringstick.Someyearsit’swavyontop,someyearsitreachesahighpeakinthemiddle.It’snever,everstraight,andthisyearitleanstowardtheocean
Thebeachhouseandeverytreeandbushonthepropertyareagreatsourceofpridetomydad.Heboughtthehouseandeventuallypaidoffthemortgageduringadecadewhenhehadepicsuccessasanabstractartist.ItstartedwithapaintingcalledCurrent,whichisbasicallyswirlsofblackandwhiteonasky-bluebackground.Galleriesalloverthecountrysoldversionsofthispaintingasquicklyashecouldproducethem.Iwasjustakid,butIlovedseeinghimemergefromhisstudiowithcanvasaftercanvas.Ithoughtitwouldgoonforever.Butwhenthezeitgeistchangedandthedemandforswirlydriedup,hewasneverabletocomeupwiththenextthing.He’snowfifteenyearsintoadryspell,andthispropertyiswhathehasleft.
Tomyeye,thehedgeisapproximatelytheeightfeettallthatit’salwaysbeen,butitseemsdenserfromyearsofbranchescomingling.Throughoutmychildhood,Frankthankedmydadfordoingthehedgeswithanicebottleofscotchattheendofthesummer.IassumethescotchstoppedcomingafterMarionandFrankdivorced.Therealbarrierbetweenourhousesisnowasmuchpsychicasphysicalanyway.
“Arewehere?”Jackasks.
“No,thatnextone.”
Thesoundoftiresongravelwelcomesusintoourdriveway.Peoplesayit’shardtotellifourhouseisahousewithaporchoraporchwithahouse.Theporchwrapsaroundtheentiregroundfloorandiscomparableinsquarefootage.Wisterialinestherailing,climbingupthepostsandrunningalongthegutterslikedelicatelyplacedlavenderfrosting.Thesmellofthewisteriawelcomesyouinfromthestreetandthenluresyouaroundcornerstotheoceanview.
Jack’salreadygottenoutofthecar,andItakeadeepbreath.IlookoutoverthesteeringwheelandfeellikeI’mabouttowatchahomemovie.I’mnotsureIwanttopressplay,butIgetoutofthecaranyway.Graciebarrelsoutthefrontdoor,alllimbsanddarkbraidswavingintheair.“Sammy!”shecalls,racingpastJacktogettome.Iburymynoseinthetopofherheadandamtransportedbacktowhentheweightofherinfantbodyinmyarmsfeltliketheonlythingthatwaskeepingmealive.Thesweetsmellofherhairandthefierceenergyofherhughavekeptmetetheredtotheearthforalongtime.Mytwelve-year-oldsisterisawalking,singing,laughingsilverlining.
“Hey,kiddo,”Isay.“DidyousayhitoJack?”Thisisrhetorical,aswebothknowshedidnot.
“Hi.”Shegivesaquickwave.
“Youwanttofillusinonwhatwe’rewalkinginto?”
“GrannyandGrampsarehere.TheyseemolderthanatChristmas.TravisandHugharecomingfordinner.There’slotsoftalkaboutwhereyoutwoaresleeping,likebeforeyou’remarried.”GracieblushesandItrytorememberwhatitwasliketobetwelve.
“Eew,”Isay.“Inthesameroomwithhim?”
“Right?Sogross.SoIthinkhe’sstayinginthegarageapartment.”
Jackdoesn’tseemtomind.“Waterview?”
Graciegiveshimayikesface.“Looksoverwherewekeepthegarbagecans.AndthegarageiswhereDadpaintssoitkindofsmellslikepoison.”
“Ishepainting?”Iask.
“Idon’tthinkso.LastweekIcouldsmellpaint,buthewasjustopeningcans.Allhisbrushesareclean.”
“Well,itsoundslikeagoodspotforme.Myownbachelorpad,”Jacksays.
“Sam,sweetheart!”It’smymom.She’sinalavendercaftantomatchthewisteria,herdarkhairsweptbackoffherfaceasifshegotoutoftheoceanandjustletitdrylikethat.Nomakeup,noshoes.She’spaintedhertoenailssilver.
Igiveherahug.“Hi,Mom.”
Shebeams.“Jack!Welcome.We’rethrilledyou’refinallyhere.”Shetakeshisfaceinherhandsasshesaysthis,andIseehimwince.Jackhasathingaboutforeignoils(onmymomI’mguessingCoppertoneandcanola)mixingwithhisSerumHydrée.
“Hello,Laurel,”hesays,andkisseshercheek.
Gracielocksherarminmineandleadsmeupthestairstotheporch.“Momputflowersinyourroomandchangedyoursheetstwice.”IfeelbrieflyguiltythatIhaven’tbeenhereallsummer.
WhenIhavethedoorhalfwayopen,thesmellsurroundsme.OldBayseasoning,sourdoughbread.AndsomethingfishyIcan’tidentify.Thisiswhatsummersmelledlike.
Jackstepsinbesideme.“It’salotofstuff,”hesays.
Ilookaround.Itis,truly,alotofstuff.Thisishowourbeachhousehasalwayslooked,sortoflikeapreschoolclassroombeforetheysingthecleanupsong.Alowtableintheentryhalliscoveredinmasonjarsfilledwithshells,seaglass,andself-adhesivegooglyeyes.Alargejaroverflowswithseaweed,whichexplainsthefishysmell.Mydadcollectsseaweedtouseaspaintbrushes,whichI’mnotreadytoexplaintoJack.
Rightpastthatcollectionisawidehallwaywherethediningroomtablehasbeenshovedagainstthewall.Onitarepilesofsticksandlargerpiecesofdriftwood.Therearevatsofwaterandadryingrack.Thisismymom’spetproject,makingasinglesheetofpaperandthenprintingthefirstcopyofanewpoemonit.Shesaysit’saritualofgratitude.Ican’tevendescribewhatamessitistomakepaper.
“What’sallthis?”Jacksays,almosttohimself.Italarmsmetoseeourhousethroughhiseyes.Theirapartmentinthecityispackedwithpapersandbooks,butit’ssmallandefficientinawaythatJackappreciates.Thisplace,withitsendlesscollectionsofwhathemustconsidergarbage,isawholeotherstory.
“Makesherownpaper,”isallIcangetout.
“Sam!”Mydadcomesinfromthebackporch,lettingthescreendoorsnapbehindhim.He’stanandhissilverhairalmosttoucheshisshoulders.Helookslikeanadforexpensivebeer.“Wellifitisn’tSamHolloway’sannualvisittothebeach!Nothingmakesmehappierthanseeingyououthere.”Igivehimaone-armedhug.TherewasatimewhenIwouldrunuptomydadandhughimsofiercelythatmyfeetwouldliftrightofftheground.Ilovemydad,butIdon’tworshiphimanymore.AsI’vegottenolder,I’velearnedthatit’stotallypossibletolovesomeonefromasafedistance.
“Bill.Youhaveabeautifulhome,”Jacksayswithasmuchconvictionashecanmuster.
“Thanks.We’vegotalotgoingon,that’sforsure.Nowcomeoutback.Wehaveaslewofoldpeoplewithseriousopinionsabouthowcloseyoushouldbesleepingtomydaughter.”
Mygrandparentsarethebest,handsdown.They’restraightforwardandfamiliarandnotatallafraidtotellyouwhat’sup.WhentheycamefromPennsylvaniatovisitusthefirstChristmasafterJackandImovedintogether,Grannywasquicktocriticizeourmuted,minimalistapartment:“I’veseenprisonswithmorepersonality.”Myparentsgasped,andGrannyandGrampslaughedandlaughed.That’showitiswithbothofthem,machine-gunfireofthoughtsandopinionsandthenabiglaughthattellsyounoneofitmatteredatall.
Wefindthemontheporch,andtheycryout,“Thebride!”inunison.SomeonehasgivenGrannyakazoo,andsheblowsit.
Mymompoursmaitais,whichseemoutofplacebut,Iadmit,aredelicious.Eachoneisadornedwithahandmadecocktailumbrella,foundsticksgluedtoscrapsofhomemadepaper.Jackimmediatelypluckshisoutandcheckshisglassfordebris.Idon’tknowhowtotellhimthatthere’salittlebitofsandineverythingatthebeach.Also,glue.
There’satoastandalotofsmalltalk,andItakeinthewelcomebeautyoftheAtlanticOcean.Justbeyondtheporch,thethickrunofdunesleadstoastretchofbeachthatleadstotheshore.Thesunislowandcastsspeckledlightonthewater.Thegullssoaranddiveasthewavesrollin,oneafteranother,reachingoutandpullingbackinaninfiniteloop.Theendlessnessofitalloverwhelmsme.IfeelliketheoceanshouldhavestoppedandchangedwhenIdid.
“Yourboyfriendishere,”Grannyissaying.
“Mother!”mymomscolds,andlooksatme.Thewordsregisterfirstinmychest,whichissuddenlytightandhot.Shecan’tmeanWyatt.
Graciesitsupstraight.
Grannysmilesoverhernearlyemptymaitai.“Oh,youknowwhatImean.Youroldflame,Wyatt.”ThentoJack,“Shelosthermindoverthatone.”
Iamstaringataspotonthetable,justbeyondmyhands,wheremymomhasplacedacitronellacandleintheshapeofaconchshell.I’mafraidtheheatfrommychestandthepanicinmyeyesmightmeltitintoapuddleofwax.“Whatdoyoumean‘here’?”Iaskwithoutlookingup.“LikeontheEastCoast?Oratthehouse?”
Mymotherbrieflylooksguilty.“Well,Imeanttotellyou.Rightthereatthehouse.IguessMariondidn’trentitthissummer,becausehe’sbeenthereforawhile.”ShestirsthepitcherofmaitaisandrefillsJack’sglass.
“YouknowWyatt?”Gracieasksme.Gracie’saskingmeaboutWyatt,anditthrowsmelikeawaveafterahurricane.Everyoneislookingatmeforaresponse.Thereisaloudringinginmyearsandtheheatinmychesthasspreadtomyface.Jackknowsthestory.Andheknowshowincendiaryallofthisis.
“Well,I’veheardallaboutWyatt,”Jacksays.“ThewholereasonIbecameadoctorwassothatIcouldcompetewithaguywithaguitar.”Nervouslaughtertittersoveremptymaitais.
“Iseehimallthetime,”saysGracie.“Heletsmewatchhimsurf.Andhe’steachingmetoplay‘LeavingonaJetPlane’ontheguitar.Hehasabunchofguitarsupthere.”
“Upwhere?”asksJack.
“Inthetreehouse,”saysGracie.ThismakesJacklaugh,andItrytomakesenseofit.Thereisnotonefunnythingaboutthattreehouse.OrWyatt.OrthefactthatI’mthirtyyearsoldandfeelingpanickedaboutseeingtheguywhobrokemyheartwhenIwasateenager.
Wyatt’sdadhelpedhisbrother,Michael,andhimbuildthattreehouseintheoaktreebetweentheirpoolandtheduneswhentheyweretenandtwelveyearsold,spendingdaysatjunkyardsandshipyardsalloverLongIsland.WhileIcanrememberfallinginloveinsmallmomentsalloverthebeachandwhilefloatingontheocean,Ilostmyvirginityspecificallyinthattreehouse.Atnight,aftermyhousewentquiet,IwouldsneakdownstairsandoutthebackdoorandthroughthedunestotheropeladderthatledtoWyatt.He’dsay,“Hey,Sam-I-am,”andhe’dkissme,andI’dwonderiftherewereanytwopeopleintheworldwhoweremorerighttogether.
Thetreehousewouldlastforever,Wyattoncetoldme,becausetherewerenowallsinthefrontorback.Astormwouldblowrightthroughit.Thetreeitselfgrewtoformabitofabackwall,givingusprivacyincaseMarionandFrankhappenedtobepeeringouttheirbedroomwindowwithbinoculars.Butthefrontwaswideopentotheoceanview,Wyatt’sbeachchairnexttomine.Eventually,justajumbleofbodiesandblankets.
Mychestisstilltight,andIcannotwrestlemyfaceintoneutral.Istudymydrinkandusemyhandmadeumbrellatotrytofishatinypieceofpineappleoutofmymaitai.Ihaven’tseenWyattsinceIwassixteen,haven’tspokentohimsinceIwaseighteen.Itwasteenageinfatuation,andDr.Judyevenwentsofarastocallitaddiction,butit’sbeenalongtimeandI’marebuiltgrown-uppersonwithareallivefiancéandacareer.Irecentlycontributedtoa401(k),forGod’ssake.Ican’timagineseeingWyattnow,introducinghimtoJackandaskingaboutlifeinLosAngeles.Sohey,how’dthatallworkout?Wyattisalocked-awaymemoryofatimeIdon’twanttogobacktoandapersonIcanbarelyrememberbeing.Andsomehowhe’sthirtyfeetaway,rightnextdoor.I’mnotsureIwouldhavecomeifthey’dtoldmehewashere.Whichprobablyexplainswhytheydidn’ttellme.
“YouknowWyatt,”IsaytoGracie.Justtoconfirm.JusttonaildownonesinglefactthatwillkeepeverythingIknowfromblowingawaywiththenextbreezeofftheocean.
“Yep,”shesays.“HeknewwhoIwasrightaway.”
TravisandHugharelatefordinner,butwe’veallhadenoughmaitaisandcashewsnottocare.“Niceslacks,”isthefirstthingTravissaystome.Ihaven’tseenhimsinceEaster,whenhecommentedthatIwasdressedlikeaDeltaflightattendant.
IhugHughbeforeIsay,“They’recalledchinosinthecatalog.Ithinkthey’reevencalled‘favoritechinos.’They’rewhatpeoplewhodon’tsurfalldaywear.”
“Ah,Ididn’tknowtheymadecatalogsjustfortaxaccountants,”Travissays.
“Cute.HowfardidyouhavetochasetheHawaiianPunchguytogetthatshirt?”Iask,andtossanothercashewintomymouth.Thisisourlovelanguage,butJackthinksTravisisthreatenedbyhowmuchI’vemadeofmycareerwhenallhedoesissurfandpickoutfabricsallday.Jack’sbeingoverlyloyal,becauseTravisandHughactuallydoreallywell.Theyhaveaboomingarchitectureanddesignbusinessintown,TravisbeingtheaestheticdirectorandHughbeingtheactualarchitect.Myparentshaveexpectedtheirengagementforlongerthanthey’dbeenexpectingmine.
Mydadbarbecuessausages,andmymom’smadeasaladandscallopedpotatoes.Weeatatthelongtableonthebackporch,asusual,asthesunputsonadramaticshowofsetting.Icandothisforthreedays.AslongasIcanavoidWyatt.He’snotgoingtojustwalkupontoourdeck,andIcouldputGracieonlookoutandletherruninterferenceforme.Itakeinmyimmediatefamily,mygrandparents,andmyhandsomefiancé.We’vesatlikethisdozensoftimessinceJackandImet,mostlyinmyparents’crampeddiningroominthecity.Butit’sdifferenthere,likeastepbackintimetowhomyfamilyusedtobe.
“SohavetheystartedsellingyouontheOldSloopInnyet?”Hughasks.“Thegardencanaccommodatetwohundredpeopleandthefood’sgreat.”
“That’swhatwe’reherefor.Tocheckoutallouroptions,”Jacksays,andgivesmyhandasqueeze.Mymomsmilesatthesightofourhandstogether.
“Ithinkyou’regoingtoloveit.Andithasthirtyguestroomsforout-of-towners,”saysmymom.Andthen,“Ofcourseyourparentswouldbewelcometostayhere,”whichstopsmyheart.Jack’smomdoesnotmakeherownpaper.Infact,herpapercomesinalovelyboxwithherinitialsprintedinnavyblueintheupperleft-handcorner.Likeanormalperson.
Travisshakeshishead.“Ithinkit’sunbelievablethatyouhaven’tnailedthisdownyet.Ifiguredyouwouldhavelaidallthisoutinaspreadsheetthedayyougotengaged.”
Ishrug.Itisplanned,ofcourse.JackpickedB.It’snotthebeachweddingIimaginedasakidortheCentralParkweddingIimaginedthedayJackproposedtome,butit’seasy,andI’msureitwillbebeautiful.
Afewguitarnotescomefromthetreehouse.Everyone’squiet,andIwonderiftheycanhearmyheartbeat.InoticeIamholdingmybreath.Thesamenotescomeagain,thenagainwithafewmoreaddedon.He’swritingasonginthereandIcanpicturehimdoingit,hislegsdanglingovertheedge,hisbrowfurrowed.It’slikeIwentoutintotheworldandgrewup,andhe’sstillrighthere.RightwhereIlefthim.2
Iwakeinmychildhoodbedroomtotheearlymorninglightcomingthroughthewindowandbrieflydon’tknowwhereIam.Thesoundofthewavescrashingoutsideisn’tsodifferentfromtherushofcarsdownLexingtonAvenue.Mydoublebedispushedupagainstthepaleyellowwallonwhichispaintedmyterribleversionofthetreeoflife.Igotthe
Ispentaweekworkingonitandwouldn’tletanyoftheboysinmyroomuntilIwasdone.Wyattwastheonlyonewhowantedtoseeitanyway.Lookingatthebigbrowntrunkanditsleaflessbranchesnow,IunderstandfullywhyIdon’tlikeworkingwithpaint.Paintdripsandbleedsandrespondstogravity.Ofcoursethisiswhymydadlovesit;he’spracticallyreckless.Atthetime,hewasthrilledwithmywall,probablybytheeffortmorethantheoutcome.Heputhisarmaroundmeasheranhiseyesovereverybranch.“Iloveit,”hesaid.“Needstexture.”
Icheckmyphoneandit’sonlysix.IliebackdownandpullthecoversupovermyheadtoseeifIcangobacktosleep,andalsotoavoidtakingintherestofthetimecapsulethatsitsonmyopenrolltopdesk.Ajarfullofseaglass.Threeswimmingtrophies.AredribbonfromtheSummerMuffin-a-thon.Stacksofself-indulgentjournalsthatIdecideIwillthrowouttoday.
InthedrawerofthedeskisasketchpadthatcontainsearlyversionsofthedrawingIdidofWyatt.Idon’tneedtotakeitout;Iseethemperfectlyinmymind.Itwasasuper-alivesummer,whenallofmysenseswereonadelicioushighalert.ItwasthesummerInoticedeverything—thewaythesaltdriedonmyskin,thewaysandsettledbetween
AsIgetoutofbed,Ithinkabouthowmemoriesarejustfinethewaynaturemadethem.Weareforward-movingpeople,soaswegothroughlifeourunnecessarymemoriesfadeuntilwefinallyshedthem.Theonesweneed—thetimeyoutouchedthehotoven,thetimeyouslippedonblackice—thosememoriesburrowintoourpsychestokeepussafe.Butthere’snoreasontowalkintothemuseumofyourchildhoodjustforoldtimes’sake.It’sconfusingtobefacedwithallthethingsyouusedtothinkwereimportantonceyou’vegrownup.IfIweremyparents,Iwouldhavechangedthisroomintoagym.
IfindGrampsonthebackporch,waitingforsomeonetomakehimcoffee.“Oh,thankGod,”hesayswhenheseesme.“YouknowAnnie’sgoingtosleeptilltenandIdon’tknowhowthehellthatcontraptioninthereworks.”
Ibrewthecoffeeandmakeraisintoast,butteredandwithmarmalade,thewayhelikesit.Iheadbackoutandplacethetrayonthetablebetweenourchairs.
“Ah,lovely,”hesays.“Whatawifeyou’llbe.”
“Gramps.”
“Antiquated?”
“Definitely.”Isipmycoffeeandnoticeittastesdifferenthere.There’ssomethingaboutthebeachthatchangesthechemicalcomponentsofeverythingaroundit.Woodfeelsdamp,sheetsrightoutofthedryerstillsmellofsalt.Andthecoffee,it’sjustbetter.
“Soundstomelikeyou’remakingyourownmoneynowanyway.Maybeheshouldbemakingyoubreakfast.”Hegivesmeasidewaysglancetoletmeknowhe’sjusttryingtogetmegoing.
“Idomakeplentyofmoney,Gramps.”
“Goodforyou,”hesays.“Cracksmeupthatpeoplepayyoutobossthemaround.”
“It’snotbossingthemaroundsomuchassettingstandards,”Isay.“Wetakeafact-basedapproachtohumancapitalandcreatemeasurableoutcomes.”
“Soundslikenonsense,”hesays,andIguessitdoes.IsaythatsentencesooftenIdon’tevenhearitanymore.I’vebeenworkingforEleanorSchultzforeightyearsandherapproachtohumanresourcesconsultingislikeherreligion,andminetoo.Thebeautyisthatthere’sneveranykindofmisunderstandingbetweenpeople;youneverhavetowonder.Ifwetellyouthatyouneedtoscoreeightonsomescaleandyouscoreseven,you’refired.Wecanliterallypointtothechartthatmadethedecision,sonohardfeelings.
ImetEleanorduringmysenioryearatNYUatarecruitingevent.Shewaswearinghersignatureblackwoolsuitandseemedcompletelyincontrolofherselfandhersurroundings,evenasshesatatafoldingtableinahardmetalchair.Thebannerbehindhersaidhumancorps:productivepeople,predictableoutcomes.AndIjustlovedthat.Iwantedtowrapmyselfinthatbannerandenjoyalifetimeofpredictableoutcomes.Nomoresurprises,nomorebrokenpromises.Justpeopledoingwhattheysaythey’regoingtodo.Eleanormayhavemistakenmyenthusiasmfortheconceptwithenthusiasmforthejob,butafewweekslater,Iwashired.
“ThethingIlikeaboutHumanCorpsisthatwehelppeoplesucceedbymakingrulesthattheycanliveby.Thentheyjustgettodecideiftheywanttodowhatittakestokeeptheirjobs.”
“HumanCore?Likeanapple?”
“No,like‘PeaceCorps.’?”
“Soifyouwriteitdownitlookslike‘humancorpse’?”Grampslaughs.Heputsdownhiscoffeeandsaysitagain,“Humancorpse.”Soonheislaughingsohardthathehastotakeoffhisglassestowipehiseyes.Hetakesagianthandkerchiefoutofhispocketandblowshisnose.
Hislaughingmakesmesmile,andIdon’trememberthelasttimemybodygaveitselfovertoalaughthatway.HumanCorpse.I’llneverbeabletounseethat.
“Kindofalifelessjobyou’vegotthere,sweetie,”hesays,stilllaughing
“Itcanberigid,”Isay.
“Abunchofstiffsinsuits.”He’swipinghiseyesagain.
ItbafflesmethatIeverdidanythingtocompromisethisjob.Ilikethepeople,Iliketheprocesses,andIlikehowIknowexactlyhowthingsaregoingtoturnout.It’stheperfectjobforme.Mymistakewassuggestingsomethingnewtoaclient.Lookingbacknow,Iseeitwasridiculous.WhenEleanorcalledmeintoheroffice,sheblamedmyengagement.Accordingtoher,inthepastyearI’vebeenlesspredictable,whichisaprettybiginsultcomingfromher.It’sbeenaweeksincethisallwentdown,anditfeelsliketemporaryinsanitymorethananythingelse.
Grannyappearsontheporch,inanightgownandacardigansweater.“YoutwohadbetterthankGodyoumadeenoughcoffeeforme.Itsoundslikethere’sahyenaouthere.”Shetakesalongsipfromhermugandlooksoutatthewater.“What’ssofunnyanyway?”
“Sam’sahumancorpse,”saysGramps,blowinghisnoseagain.
Grannyturnstowardthewater.She’sfocusedonaveryspecificspot.“Isthatadolphinoraperson?”
WhileGrannyseesprettywellforeighty-four,youwouldn’texactlytrusthertolandaplane.Igetuptohavealook.Thewateriscalm.It’sapaddleboardermovingparalleltothehorizon,abighatonhishead.AndIknow.Icantellfromthewayhemoves.EventhoughtheWyattIknewdidn’tpaddleboard.Idon’teventhinkthatwasathingbackthen.
Myheartratequickensandmybreathgetsshallowaswestare.Mymemoryfillsinhisfeatures,hiswide-setbrowneyes.Thewayhishaircurledupontheleftsideofhiswidow’speak.Thefurrowofhisbrow.Iwonderifhe’dbedoingthatnow,concentratingonthewater.
“It’shim,”Isayalmosttomyself,butofcoursetoGrannybecauseIneedherhelp.“Hefeelslikeaghost.”
Grannyputsherarmaroundme.“AndIbethe’sstillholdingacandleforyoutoo.”
“OhforGod’ssake,”Isay,wigglingoutofherembrace.“Noone’sholdingacandleforanyone.Thatwasoveradecadeago,wewerekids.”
“Ohmy,”Grampssays.“Strongfeelings.”
Thetwoofthem.HonestlythecutestpeopleI’veeverwantedtostrangle.“Okay,enough.We’regoingtopretendhe’snothereandfocusallofourenergyonthemanI’mactuallymarrying.Thegoodone.Thedoctor.”
Jacksleepsuntilnine,whichsurprisesme.He’snormallyupandatthegymbyseven,butthegarageapartmentisdarkandhesleptrightthrough.Jackworksoutfour(neverfive)daysaweekinourbuildinggym,alternatingbetweenpushday,pullday,andlegday.OntheotherdayswehaveFritzcometoourgymwithhigh-intensityworkoutsthataredesignedtoconfuseourmusclesintoshape.Itallfeelscompletelycounterintuitive,andsometimesIfeellikemymusclesaremorethanconfused,butit’sanefficientworkoutandsomethingwedotogether.Twonightsaweek,JackplaystenniswithhiscardiologistfriendElliot,andGraciecomesovertoeaticecreamfordinner.
I’mhappytoskipthegym,becauseit’sbeautifulonthedeck,eightydegreeswiththesunlightfeatheringthewater.There’sabreezecomingthroughthedunesthathitsmeeachtimemyskinstartstofeeltoowarm.ThebreezeonmyskinremindsmeofsomethingIdon’twanttoremember.I’mstartingtofeelthepulloftheocean,andonadaylikethis,Ican’timaginespendingninetyminutesinabasementgymconfusingmymuscles.
ItakeJackintotownforlunch,andwesharealobsterrollandaCaesarsaladatChippy’s.WewalkdownWestMainStreetafterward,andIpointouttheice-creamshopwhereweusedtogointheafternoonsandthelibrarywhereIworkedthatsummer.OakShorehasknownmeateverystageofmylife—whenIwassevenandgotscoldedforrunninginto
WewalkbytheOldSloopInn,butwedon’tgoinbecausemymom’sgoingtomakeusdoadeepdivetheretomorrow.“Rustic,”Jacksays.Everyoneknows“rustic”isnicefor“needspaint.”
“Well,yes.It’sasoldasthetown.”
“Ican’treallyseeyoustandinginagowninfrontofthatplace.”
Ilookattheinnforafewseconds.“NeithercanI.Let’sjustlookatitformymom,thenwecantakehertoConnecticut,andshe’llloveit.”
“Idon’tknowwhyIwaspicturingtheHamptons.”
“You’renotthefirst,”Isay.
Something’soffaswemeanderthroughtown,specificallythefactthatnoone’smeandering.There’sadisproportionatenumberofpeoplewhoaren’tinbathingsuitsandcover-ups.They’rewearingmessengerbagsandmovingquickly.
Jacknoticesittoo.“What’swithallthepress?”
“Isthatwhotheyare?”
“Lookslikeit.I’veseenthreeguyswithcamerabags.ThinktheyheardSamantha’sbackforaweddingvenueshowdown?”
“Ha.”
Asmilingolderwomanapproaches,andittakesmeasecondtorecognizeMrs.Barton,ourlibrarian.Shedropshergrocerybagsandpullsmeintoahug.“Sam!Ican’tbelieveit!Iheardyouwereengaged!Isthishim?”
“I’msohappytoseeyou.”Ihugherandbreatheherin.Ifit’spossibletosmelllikebooks,shesmellslikebooks.“Yes,thisisJack.”
“Sohandsome!Yourmothertellsmehe’sadoctor!”saysMrs.Barton,becausemaybeshe’slostherfilterandhercommandofpunctuation.
“It’snicetobeback,”Isay.“Wewerejustnoticingallthepress,what’sthatabout?”
“Somuchexcitement.There’sanamateurmusicfestivalattheOwlBarnthisweekend.Lotsofup-and-comingmusiciansarehereforit.UsuallyhappensinNewport,butyourWyatttoldsomeoneaboutOakShore,andheretheyare!Greatforthelocaleconomy,thoughnoonecomestothelibrary.”He’snotmyWyatt.3
I’mtiredwhenwecomebackfromthecommotionoftown,andJackwantstoread.JackandIreadalot.Hepicksthebooks,literaryfictionmostly,thoughIhavevetopower.Wereadalotabouthistoricalfigures,fictionalizedtoincludechildrenandrelationshipstheyneverhad.Thereareghostssometimes,andchaptertochapter,Ihaveahardtimeknowingwho’stalking,butbythetimeI’vefinishedIfeellikeI’veaccomplishedsomething.Sometimeswebuytwocopiesandreadthesamebookatthesametime.It’saparticularlevelofintimacy,readingabookwithanotherperson.TodaywearereadingWetlandsofWesterleigh,andI’mforty-threepagesbehindwhereJackis.Wesit,feetup,onthebackporchwithourbooksandicedteas.Ipretendtoread.
Thebeachhasitsownsymphony—wavesbreaking,childrenplaying,gullssquawking.Thesesoundsrolloverme,andIrememberwhyIonlycomebackhereonceayear.Cominghomefeelsliketiptoeingthroughaminefield,likeIcouldhappenupononeparticularlycompellingshellandallofmyhard-earneddefenseswillbegone.Beforeyesterday,Icouldn’trememberthelasttimeI’dthoughtaboutWyattinmorethanapassingway.SometimesIhearthatsongandthinkofhim,butthatcan’tbehelped.Astimegoesby,it’sontheradiolessandless,andIsteerclearofstationsthatareplayinganythingthat’snotbrand-new
TheoceanisreachingouttomeandI’mafraidit’sgoingtocrackmerightopen,andthereI’llbelikeaRussiandoll,withlayersfallingoffuntilI’msosmallthataseagullcouldjustpluckmeoutofthesandandswallowme.Iremembermybodyintheocean,unburdenedandstrong.IrememberthefeelofWyatt’sskinonmineforthefirsttime,justwherethewavesbreak.Irememberstandingunderthelindentreeandwillingmyhandsnottotouchhisstomach.Ihaven’tthoughtaboutthatinalongtimeandthememoryofitmakesmesmile.Iclosemyeyesandrememberthekissthatcamenext.Icanfeelthebreezeofftheocean,IcanhearWyatt’sguitar.
“Thatguy’sliterallyplayingthesamepartoverandover.Areweallowedtomakerequests?”Jack’stalking.
Iopenmyeyesandrealizeit’sactuallyWyatt’sguitarthatI’mhearing.“Isthatcomingfromthetreehouse?”Iask.
“Soundslike.”
Iturntofacehim.“Doyoucarethathe’shere?Myoldboyfriend?Iguesshe’sheretobreakintothemusicbusiness,butI’msorryit’sthisweekend.”
“Well,itturnsupthedramaabit,doesn’tit?”Jacklaughsalittle.
“Iknow.Butyoudon’tmind,doyou?”AndIrealizethatIwanthimtomind.IwantJacktofullyunderstandtheseismicimpactofthatbreakuponmylife.It’slikewhenyou’vebeencoveringupanuglyscarbutalsosortofwanttoshowittopeoplesotheyknowwhatyou’vebeenthrough.
“Don’tbesilly.WhywouldIcare?Youwerekids.”Jackgoesbacktohisbook.THEN
4
Wyatt
ThefirsttimeWyattlaideyesonSam,shewasfiveyearsold.Hewassixandhadjustfinishedkindergarten.HisfamilydroveupfromFloridaonthelastdayofschoolwithhisandMichael’sfeetproppedupovercoolersinthebackseattofindanewfamilylivinginwhattheycalledthePorchHousenextdoor.
Samwassquattingatthebaseofthemapletreeinthefrontyard,pickingupsticksandyellingsomethingatTravis.WhenTravissawthecarpullup,heimmediatelydisengagedandstoodattheedgeofthehedgetowatchthemunload.Itwasamiracletoshowupsomewhereandfindkidsyourownage;atleastTraviswaseight,likeMichael.Withinthehour,thethreeboyshadclimbedthebigoakbetweenthepoolandthedunes,contemplatingbutnotexecutingdivesfromitintothepool.Theyracedintotheoceanandswamuntiltheywereforcedoutbyhunger.
Sam’sparentsmetWyatt’swhentheycamelookingforTravis.BillandLaurel,newintown.MarionandFrank,ontheireighthsummerinOakShore,offeringtheinsidescoop.TheadultsdrankbeerandsnackedonFritosandgrapes.Theboysjumpedinandoutofthepool,theenergyofthethirdboyrevitalizingthegamesWyattandMichaelhadplayedforyears.Samsatbyhermother,ignored.
WyattprettymuchignoredSamuntilthesummershewasnine.Bythen,shewasastrongswimmeranddidn’tseemlikesuchaliability.Shecouldholdherownonaboogieboardandknewenoughnottocryifshegottumbled.Theyinventedapaddlegamewithlinesinthesandthattheycouldallplaynowthattheywereagroupoffour.WyattwasthefirstonetocallherSaminsteadofSamantha,possiblyhiswayofmakingitokaythathewasplayingwithagirl.
Theydugholesandburiedthemselvesinthecooloftheundersand.Theybuiltsandcastlesandcarvedpathsinthemfortennisballraces.Whentheseprojectsdeterioratedintotheboys’peltingeachotherwithtennisballsashardastheycould,Samwouldgohomeandreadinbedorwalkdownthebeachcollectingshells.OnethingWyattalwaysknewaboutSam,sheknewwhenshe’dhadenough.
BythesummerthatSamwastwelveandWyattwasthirteen,thefoursomewaspartofabiggerpackofkids.They’dspendthedayatthebeach,sprawlingonanislandoftowels.Theirdailybusinesswasswimmingandsunbathing.Intheafternoonthey’dallhoponbikesandheadtotownforicecream,bikingbacktothebeachone-handedtocarrytheircones.
OnenightinlateAugust(itwasalmostSeptember,whenSamwouldhavebeenthirteen,Wyattlikedtoremindhimselfwhenhethoughtaboutthis),thekidswereonthebeachafterdinner.Thesunwaslowbutnotdown,thatlastwhisperofasummerdaythatyouwanttosuckdry.TravisandMichaelandsomeoftheolderkidshadprocuredbeer;oneeachwasalltheycouldget,sotheysippedthemslowlyandleftthemcarefullyinthesandastheywentforonelastswim.
IfWyattwasbeinghonest,he’dadmitthathe’dfeltleftbehind.MichaelandTraviswerecrossingabridgeintoaworldhewasn’tinvitedto,evenifhe’dwantedtogo.Itwasasifalinehadbeendrawn,andhewokeuponedayandwasstuckwiththelittlekids,nolongerpartoftheircrew.
“Theythinkthey’resocool,”saidSam,watchingtheolderkidsinthewater.Shewasbraidingherhair,justthefrontpiece,blackropesintertwiningawayfromherface.Hemayhavethoughtshewasbeautifulthen,orhemayhavejusttriednottobecause,well,weird.
“They’renot,”hesaid.
“It’sokayifyouwanttogoin.You’renotstayingheretobabysitme,areyou?”
“You’renotababy,Sam.”
“Let’sdumptheirbeers,”shesaid,jumpingup.“Quick.JustTravandMichael’s,andwe’llrun.Theycan’ttellonus,becausethey’renotsupposedtohavethemanyway.”Herhandswereonherhips,herleftfoottapping.
WyattwasusedtoignoringSam’ssudden,poorlythought-outideas,buthewasjusttherightamountofresentfultolikethisone.Heleanedforwardandtookeachoftheirhalf-fullbeersandthrustthemheadfirstintothesand.
Whenhelookedup,thecrewofolderkidswascomingoutoftheocean.Samgrabbedhisarmandsaid,“Run!”Theyranupthebeach,intoandthroughthedunes,andheardtheirnamesbeingcalled,andnotinafriendlyway.WyattlookedoverhisshoulderandsawTravisandMichaelthirtyfeetbehindthem.Ontheothersideofhispoolwasasmallcupboardwheretheykeptthecushionswhenitrained.Thedoorwashalfopen.Samsawitthesecondhedid,andtheyrantoitandslammedthedoorbehindthem.
Itsmelledofsandandsaltandwet.Theycouldn’tfitshouldertoshouldersohehadtoturnsidewaystowardhertofit,hiskneesathischest.Maybethathadmadeallthedifference,beingthatclosetoherandhavingtolook.Shesmiledathimandherfaceopenedup.He’dseenthissmilebefore,whenshefoundaparticularlygoodhaulofshellsorwhenhecaughtafireflyinajarandfinallyagreedtoletitgo.
Shesaid,“Idon’tcarehowmadtheyget,”justasWyattheardTravis’svoicenomorethantwofeetfromthecupboard.Sohedidit:heplacedhisfingersonherlipstoquiether.Anormalperson,hethoughtmanytimesafter,wouldhaveplacedafingeronhisownlipstoconveythesamemessage.Buthe’dchosentotouchhers.Itwasn’tmuch,butitwasthebeginningofeverything.5
Sam
Thebeachwasforbarefeet.IfSamhadanyguidingprinciplearoundwhichshelivedherlife,itwasthat.ForninemonthsinManhattanshewasboundupinsocksandsneakers.EvenduringswimseasonwhensheracedfortheYMCA,shehadtowearflip-flopsaroundthepoolsoshedidn’tgetawart.ButthesecondtheywentthroughtheMidtownTunnelinmid-June,Samkickedoffhershoes.
Thebeachwasforgettingupandputtingonabathingsuitfirstthing.ItwasforgrabbingaPop-Tartandeatingitasyouracedthroughthedunesintotheoceanwhilethesunwasstilllowandthegullswerejuststartingtoheatuptheirwings.SamwasbaffledthatatfifteenTraviswastedtheentiremorningsleeping,whileshewanderedinandoutoftheocean,swimmingsouthdowntheshoreandcollectingshells.Ifshefoundaparticularlycompellingshell,she’dtuckitundertheelasticofherbathingsuitandswimtherestofthewaytothewoodedcoveatthesouthendofthebeach.Shebroughtherbestshellsthere,thestandouts,andplacedthematthebaseofherfavoritelindentree.Sheknewfromexperiencethatifshebroughtsomethingtoointerestinghome,itwouldendupaspartofoneofhermother’sartprojects.Andthebeachwasforkeepingsomethingforherself.
Atthebeach,shehadherownroom.ItwasthemostluxuriousthingshecouldimagineaftertwelveyearsinthebottombunkwithTravissnoringrightoverherhead.Shecouldstayupandreadaslongasshewantedwithoutanyonecomplainingaboutthelight.Sometimesshesleptnakedjustbecauseshecouldandluxuriatedinthefeelofthesheetstouchingeveryinchofherskin.
Samwashappytospendtimewithwhoevershowedupatthebeacheachday.IfWyattwasupearly,hewouldcomewithherassheswamdowntothecove.ShelikedswimmingwithWyattbecausehewasayearolderandfasterthanshewas.Hefollowedheroutofthewaterwhenshewantedtostopandlookforshellsandwaitedsilentlyassheinspectedwhateverhadwashedup.SamlikedhowWyattdidn’ttalkunlesshehadsomethingtosay.
“Helpmearrangethesesotheylookliketheyjustlandedhere,”Samsaidonemorningwhenthey’dmadeittothebaseofthelindentree.She’dpulledfourshellsoutofherbathingsuitandwaspacingthelengthofthetree,decidingwheretoputtheminrelationtotheonesshe’dplacedyesterday.“They’restartingtolooktooorganized.”
“Thisissoweird,Sam,”Wyattsaid,tryingtofindapatchofsuninthewoodswherehecoulddryoff.
Shewasonherhandsandknees,turningtheshellssotheycaughtthelightindifferentdirections.Shestoodupandadmiredherdesign,whichwasatbestabstractbutdidlookasifallofthoseshellshadwasheduponasinglewave.“Maybe.Butit’sbeautiful.”Shesmiledathimwithhandsonhips,daringhimtodisagree.Thebeachwasforfollowingcrazyideaswherevertheyled.
Wyattrolledhiseyes.“Raceyouback.”Andtheyranthelengthofthecovebackintotheocean.
Attwelveyearsold,Sam’sbodywasmagic.Shewasastrongswimmerinthepool,butintheoceanshecouldjustletherbodygowithouthavingtoremembertoturnaroundeveryfiftymeters.Itseemedlike,atthebeach,herbodyknewexactlywhattodo.Thebottomsofherfeettoughenedasthesandheatedupeachweek.HerbodytemperatureknewhowtoacclimateassheplacedherfeetandthenhershinsintheicyAtlantic.Bythetimeshewasfullysubmerged,shefeltindistinguishablefromtheocean.Herbodyfeltsorightinthesummerthatitstretchedandgrewuntilthestrapsofherbathingsuitsleftdeepmarksonhershoulders.
WhenWyattreachedoverandtouchedherlipsattheendofthatsummer,shefeltsomethingdifferent.Shewascuriousaboutwhyhisfingersfeltsogoodonhermouth.Shealmostaskedhimtokeepthemthere,butthepointwastotrytobequiet.6
Wyatt
Wyattstartedhighschoolthatfall,anditallhitthefan.Heknewhecouldn’tread,atleastnotlikeotherkids,buthe’dfakeditbylisteningtoaudiobooksorbypayingenoughattentioninclasstogetbywithoutreadingthetextbook.Hismiddleschoolteachershadremarkedthathewasn’tastrongwriter,agenerousassessmentthathe’dearnedbybeingastrongcharmer.Butintheninthgradetherewasnomorefakingit.Hishistoryteachersuggestedhebetested,anditallstartedtofallapart.
InJanuary,hestartedataboardingschoolforkidswithlearningdifferences.ItwascalledtheCenterforUntappedPotential,whichWyattfoundpatronizingandalsoalittleoff.HewasskepticalabouttheideathathispotentialwashiddeninruralIllinoisbehindthickbrickwalls.Heknewthat,totheextenthehadpotential,itwouldbefoundoutdoors,someplacewheretherewassurfing.
Hesettledintohissingleroomandmadefriendswiththeboysonhishall.Butbymid-February,whentheskywaslowanditwasdarkatfourp.m.,hestoppedtrying.Hewasnolongerinterestedinplayingcards.Hestoppedgoingtoclass.Hestoppedcrossingthefrozenquadtoeatthetoo-creamyfood.Bythetimetheadministrationfiguredoutthathe’dstoppedgettingoutofbed,ithadbeenthreedays.Hisparentswerecalledandagreedthatheneededcounseling.
“Sweetie,it’sprobablyjusttheweather,”Marionsaidonthephone.“Seasonalaffectivedisorder,it’ssocommon.I’msendingaspeciallightforyourroomtohelpwiththat,andinthemeantimeyouneedtogoseeDr.Nick.Otherwise,they’regoingtosendyouhome.”
“Promise?”Wyattsaid.FloridainFebruarywassuddenlyathreat?
“Iknow.Iknowyouwanttocomehome.Butthisschoolisthebestinthecountryforhelpingkidslikeyou.Learnwhatyoucan,sothatyoucancomehomeandfinishhighschoolhere.Finishthesemester,we’llhaveafunsummer,thenwe’lltalkaboutanotheryear.”
WyattsleptthroughhisfirstappointmentwithDr.Nick.Hewassleepingallthetime.Butonthemorningofhissecondappointment,theheadmasterbangedonhisdooranddraggedhimintothehallandacrosscampusinhispajamabottomstotheStudentHealthbuilding.
“Sowhat’sbeengoingon?”Dr.NickwasdeliberatelycasualandapproachableinjeansandaVanHalenT-shirt.Therewasanacousticguitarleaningonhisdesk.ThewholethinglookedlikeacostumetoWyatt,andheimaginedDr.Nickgoinghomeandchangingintoatweedblazerafterwork.
“Istoppeddealing.”
“Withwhat?”
Wyattlookedoutthewindow;hedidn’tevenfeellikedealingwiththestupidquestionsaboutwhathewasn’tdealingwith.“Learning,doing,being,eating.Talking.”
“Isthereanythingyoulikedoing?”
Wyatttookintheendlessfieldofdirtysnow.“Surfing.Pickedagreatspotforit,right?”
Hewasduebackthenextdayandshowedupofhisownvolitiontoavoidthespectaclewiththeheadmaster.
“Doyoulikemusic?”
“Everyonelikesmusic.”
“Iseeyoueyeingmyguitar,doyouplay?”
“No.Ijustliketolistentomusic.Likeanyone.”
“What’sthatlike?”
Wyattrolledhiseyes.“What’sitliketolistentomusic?Sameasitisforanyone.Iclosemyeyesandlisten.Icanseethedifferentinstrumentscominginandoutofthesong.Iliketopickitapart,Iguess.”
“That’snotthesameasitisforanyone.”
Wyattletoutabreath.“Great,we’vediscoveredanewareawhereI’mafreak.”
Overthecourseoftwoweeks,theytalkedabouthowhethoughtMichaelwaspartyingtoomuch.HowhethoughthisparentseitherwerescaredofMichaelorhadgivenuponhim.TheytalkedaboutSamandTravisandhowtheirfamilywasperfect,howeasyeverythingwasforthem.WyattdescribedthebraidSammadeinthefrontofherhair,theeaseofit.
“IhavenoideawhyItoldyouthat.”Wyatteyedtheguitar.
“Listen,”saidDr.Nick.“Betweenyouandme,Idon’tthinkthere’sanythingwrongwithyou.Ithinkyou’reasurferstuckinthemiddleofthecountryinFebruary.IthinkyoumightbealittleinlovewiththisSamperson.”HeheldupahandagainstWyatt’sprotest.“Butthat’syourproblem,notmine,tofix.I’mgoingtoreleaseyoufromthesesessions,ifyouagreetomyterms.”
Wyattwasn’tsosurehewantedtomeettheterms;hekindoflikedcomingtoDr.Nick’soffice.Hestillhadn’ttalkedaboutthethingbetweenhisparents,andhefeltlikehefinallywantedto.
“Ineedyoutogotoclass.Everyclass.Ineedyoutoeat.Andeverynightafterdinner,youaregoingtogotothemusicdepartmentforguitarlessons.Firstone’stonight.Takethis.”HehandedWyatthisguitar.Wyattranhishandalongthesmoothneckandlethisfingersrestonthefrets.Hedaredtopluckoutasound,andhesawittakeshapethesecondheheardit.7
Sam
ThesummerthatSamwasfifteenshefoundherselfsafelytuckedintoagroupofgirls.Theygatheredonthebeachinthelatemorningsandwenttotownortoeachother’shouseswhenitgottoohot.Intheafternoonsthey’dswimorwatchtheboyssurfuntilthesunwentdown.
Therewasalotoftalkinginabiggroupofgirls,andSamtriedtokeepup.Theytalkedabouttheboysonthebeach,whomtheysimultaneouslyignoredandhopedwouldcometalktothem.Everytimethetalkingsloweddown,Samjumpedinwithasuggestion:swimouttothejetty,digaholebigenoughforallofthem,biketothebakery.
ShestillspenthermorningswithWyatt,swimmingdowntothecoveandaddingshellstoherdesign.Theynevermadeplanstodothis,butSamwouldwalkoutontoherbackdeckeachmorningandfindWyattsittingonthestepswaitingforher.
“Hey,”he’dsay,gettingup.
“Hey,”she’dsay,andthey’dwalkstraightthroughthedunesandintotheocean.
OnamorninginAugust,Samcameoutfortheirswimwithhalfagranolabarandafrown.“Youokay?”Wyattasked.
“I’mfine,”saidSam,andwalkedpasthimthroughthedunes.Shereallydidn’twanttotalkaboutit.Lastnightherclosestgirlfriend,Cayla,hadcalledherandsaidthatallofthegirlsweregoingtogotoaboy’shouseinSunnydale.Hisparentswereawayandtherewasgoingtobeaparty.
“It’sgoingtobelikeboysandbeerandstuff.Notreallyyourscene,butIjustwantedtotellyou,likenottoleaveyouout.”
SamcouldhavetoldCaylathatshe’dlovetogo.Butthetruthwasthatitwasn’treallyherscene.Shedidn’twanttogohangoutwithabunchofstrangeboys;shedidn’twanttodrinkbeer.Shejustwantedtowakeupearlyandcollectshells.Assheswamdowntowardthecove,shewonderedwhatwaswrongwithher.
Samswamstraighttothecovewithoutstopping.Whentheywerecomingoutoftheocean,Wyattstoppedtocatchhisbreath.“God,Sam.TheonlywayIcandothisisifyoutakebreakstolookforshells.”
Samwasn’toutofbreathatall.“Iforgot,”shesaid,andwalkedintothecove.
Wyattfollowedherandwatchedasshemovedafewshellsaroundandthenmovedthembacktowheretheyhadbeenbefore.
“Let’sjustgo,”shesaid.
“Sam,what’swrongwithyou?”
Shedidn’tsayanything.Shelookedathershellcollectioncarefullystrewnaroundunderthetree.Shewonderedforthefirsttimewhatherfriendswouldsayiftheysawthis.
“You’reright,”shesaid.“Thisisweird.”
Wyattwalkedovertoherandtookherhand.Itwasthefirsttimehe’deverheldherhand,andthefeelofitcompletelydistractedSamfromfeelingsorryforherself.Shefeltliketheheatfromhisskinonherswasmovingallthewayupherarm.Sheplacedherotherhandontopofhissoshecouldkeepthisfeelingalittlelonger.
“Comeon,”hesaid.“I’mfreezing.Let’sdryoff.”Wyattletgoofherhand,andshefollowedhimtoapatchofsunattheedgeofthecove.Theysatlookingupthebeach,wherethesunwasstilllowontheunspentday.
Samlaydownflatonherbackandletthesunwarmherup.Shefeltthelastdripsofwateronherskinevaporate.ShecouldstillfeelwhereWyatt’shandhadtouchedhers.Shewasafraidthatifsheopenedhereyes,she’dstopfeelingthesethings.
“Soareyougoingtotellme?”Wyattasked.
“What?”
“Whateveryou’rethinkingabout.”
“Iwasjustthinkinghowniceitfeltwhenyouwereholdingmyhand.”Hereyeswerestillclosed.
Wyattlaughed.“That’snotwhyyou’reupset.”
“No,butit’spartofthesamebasicproblem—I’matotalweirdo.”Shesatupandwrappedherarmsaroundherknees,suddenlyawareofherselfinabikini.
“You’renotthatweird,Sam.”
“Myfriendswenttoapartylastnight,likearealparty.”
“Andtheydidn’tinviteyou?”
“WelltheytoldmeaboutitbutassumedIwouldn’twanttogo.WhichIdidn’t.BecauseI’mababy.”
Wyattdidn’tsayanything,whichshetookasasuresignthatheagreedwithher.Hestartedscoopingsandontoherfeet.“They’regettingsunburned.”
Samstaredatthegrowingmoundonherfeet.Hiscoveringherwithsandfeltlikehewastouchingheragain.Itfeltprotective.
Wyattkepthiseyesonthesand.“Trustme,Sam,youdon’tlooklikeababy.”
SomethingnewflutteredinSam,butshegaveWyattashove.
Hesmiledatthewater.
“SometimesIjustwanttogobacktoplayingCapturetheFlag,”shesaid.
“That’sbecauseyou’regreatatit.”
“Iam.”
“You’relikeanavySEALsneakingoutofthewater.”
“Iam.”Samwassmilingattheocean.Thiswastrue—shewasgreatatCapturetheFlag.Shelovedthebeach.Eitherherfriendswouldslowdownorshe’dcatchup.AndWyattwouldstillswimwithhereverymorning.
“I’llraceyouback,”shesaid.Shetookhishandandledhimtotheshore,becauseshewantedtofeelitagain.8
Wyatt
Inthesummer,therearealotoflastnights.Thelastnightbeforethefirstkidleaves,meaningthelastnightsummerisstillintact.OnthelastnightbeforeWyatt’sfamilywasheadingbacktoFlorida,allthekidshadabonfireonthebeach,rightinfrontofWyatt’shouse.Theysataroundthefireonscatteredbeachchairsandblankets.Wyattarrivedlatebecausethesilencebetweenhisparentsfeltparticularlycharged,andhewantedtohelppackupthecarandstashthepooltoystosmooththingsover.
HespottedSamwithherfriendsbutwasstoppedbyTravisandMichael,who,atlonglast,wereofferinghimabeer.“Didyousoothethesavagebeast,buddy?”Michaelasked.
“AtleastIpackedhiscar…we’llsee,”saidWyatt,takingasip.Hewassurprisedathowgoodthisfelt,beinggroupedinwiththeolderguys.Hewasn’tgoingtoturntocheck,buthehopedSamwaslooking.
Olivia,agirlMichaelknewfromtherestaurantwhereheworked,tookWyatt’shalf-fullbeerawayandgavehimafullone.Hefeltlikeacelebrity.Shepulledhimdowntositnexttoheronablanketbythefireandstartedtalkingabouttheothergirlssheworkedwith.Itwasalmostwhitenoise,aseriesofstoriesaboutsmallsinsandfailuresthatamountedtonothing.Wyatttriedtoconcentrateasthesecondhalfofabeerloosenedhimup.HewonderedwhatSamandherfriendsweretalkingabout.
Whenhefinallyturnedtolook,hesawSamgetup,grabhertowel,andwalkbacktowardthedunes.Shewasheadedhome,andhewasleavingatseventhenextmorning.Hesatforasecondwatchingher,knowinghe’dgetshitfromhisfriendsifhewentafterher,butalsonotunderstandingwhyshewasn’tsayinggoodbye.Shemightbecomingback,hethought,buthecouldn’triskit.
Hegotupandfollowedherontothenarrowpathbetweenthetallgrassesofthedunes.“Hey,”hesaid,andshedidn’tstop.“Sam.Wait.”
Shestoppedandhecaughtupwithher,herheadstilldown.“What?”
“Areyouleaving?YouknowI’mleavingtomorrow.Iwantedtosaygoodbye.”Shewasstilllookingdown.Heputhishandonhershoulder.“Youokay?”
Whenshelookedup,thereweretearsinhereyes.“It’sjust…Thesummer’sover.You’releaving.Andsuddenlyyou’reajerkwithabeerandyou’vejustleftmealready.”
“Sam,youknowIwasgoingtocometalktoyou.Ialwayscometalktoyou.”Hishandwasstillonhershoulder.“You’remypersononthebeach.”
Samwipedhereyeswiththebackofherhand.“I’mbeingstupid.I’mjustsad.”
“Let’sbeinbettertouchthisyear.Liketextmesometimesandtellmewhatyou’rereading,andI’lltellyouhowboringitsounds.”
“Okay,”shesaid.
“Areyoureallygoinghomealready?”Thethoughtofitwasexcruciatingtohim.
“Yeah,I’mnotintoallthatoutthere.”Shelookedupathim,andthisnextpartwouldliveinhismemoryinsuperslowmotion:herhairfelloverhereye,thepiecethatshesometimesbraided.Hetookhishandfromhershoulderandtoucheditandbrusheditawaybehindherear.Nowhishandwasonherneckandhisheartwasracingandhehadtostopthisrightnowbeforeheruinedeverything.
Andthat’swhenshekissedhim.Atfirstitfeltlikeshewastestingitout,brushingherlipsagainsthistoseewhatthatmightfeellike.Thenitwasaslow,warming-upkissthathewantedtodiveallthewayinto.Hekepthishandonherneckandpulledhertohimwithhisfreearm.Whentheirbodiesweretouching,Sampulledaway.
“Okay,nowI’membarrassed.IhavenoideawhyIdidthatandIneedtogohome.”
“Sam.”Hepulledherintoahugandburiedhisfaceinherhair.
“No,really,I’mgoingtobesoweirdifIstayhere.I’msorry,Idon’tknowwhatmyproblemis.”
Wyattsmiledather,feelingsuddenlyincontrolofthings.“Sam,it’snothing.Justtextmetomorrow.I’llbeboredinthecar.”Shehuggedhimagainandwalkedtowardherhouse.Itwasn’tnothing.9
Sam
Thenextmorning,SamcamebackfromswimmingalonetofindthatWyatthadtextedhertheminutehisfamilystartedtheirdrivebacktoFlorida.Itwasbasicchitchat,hiswonderinghowthewaveswere,sayinghowboringtheridewas.Samfeltalayeredwaveofrelief,boththattextingwithWyattwasn’tdisappearingwiththesummerandthatherkissinghim(likeatotallunatic,shewouldhaveaddedifshehadanyonetotell)wasn’tgoingtomakethingsweird.Wyattwasatruefriendandshewasn’tgoingtolethercompletelyout-of-controlbodydoanythingtocompromisethat
Bythetimetheywerebothbackinschool,theyweretextingeveryday.Itwasastrangethingtobringhersummerpersonbackintothecityinthisway.ShetextedhimonthesubwayandfromthelockerroomattheYMCA.Theynolongerneededthesurfreportasanexcusetotext,anditfeltlikethemoretheytalked,themoretherewastosay.Wyatttoldheraboutsongshewaswriting.Hetoldherhe’dplaythemforhernextsummer.Hetoldherabouthowhisparentsdidn’tspeakdirectlytooneanotherfortheentiretyofparents’weekend.Samtoldhimabouthowhergeometryteacherhatedherandthatthegirlsinhergradeweresneakingintoclubs.Sam’sfavoritepartofthedaywasgettingintobedatnight,becausesheusuallyheardfromhimthen.Shesmiledatherphoneeverytimethefirsttextcamein:What’shappeninginthebigcity?
Itwasduringwinterbreak,whenWyattwasinFloridaandSamwasinNewYork,thathecamecleanabouthisschool.Traviswasout,soSamwastakingadvantageofbeingabletoactuallytalkonthephoneintheirroom.
“Ineedtotellyousomething.”Hesoundedreallynervous.“I’vebeensortoflying.”
“What?”Samsaid.Hehasagirlfriend.Thisthoughtlandedwithathud.Ithadneveroccurredtoherbefore.Whywouldn’tWyatthaveagirlfriend?Onewhocouldalsoplaytheguitarathisartsyschool.Thehandthatheldthephonetoherearfeltshaky,andshebraceditwithherotherhandwhileshewaited
“Myschoolisforkidswithlearningdifferences.Ihavedyslexia.ButIdoplaymusicthere.Ijustfeltweirdthatyoudidn’tknow.”
Wavesofrelief.Likeallthewaythroughherbody.Samletoutabreath.
“Doesitbotheryou?”heasked.
“Whywoulditbotherme?”
“Well,like,allyoudoisread.Andit’sthethingIcan’tdo.”
“Yeah,becauseourwholefriendshipisbasedonbooks?Whocares?”HemayhaveinterpretedSam’slighttoneascompassion.Butreallyshewasjustsohappyhedidn’thaveagirlfriend.
OneFridaynight,Wyatttextedatmidnight.Samsmiledwhenshesawitwashim,thatfamiliarbutimpossiblefeelingthathewasinbedwithher.
Wyatt:Hey
Sam:It’slate.Whatareyoudoing?
Wyatt:Iwasjustdownthehalldrinkingscrewdriverswithsomekids
Sam:Youcouldgetinsomuchtrouble
Wyatt:Iknow.Butitwasfun
Sam:Okay,butbecareful
Wyatt:Doyouthinkyou’lleverkissmeagain?
ItwasMarchbythen.They’dtalkedabouteveryotherthingintheworld,butneverthatkiss.Samstaredatherphone.Shewastakingtoolongtoreply.Herheartwasracing,andhermindwasgoingblank.Herfriendswouldhavebeenabletothinkofthecoolthingtosay.Shecouldonlysaythetruth:Ihopeso.
Wyatt:Metoo.Goodnight10
Wyatt
Wyatt’sjunioryearofhighschoolfeltfull.Hewasspendingtwohoursadayinthemusicdepartment,andhejoinedtheswimteamforthefeelofthecoldwateronhisskin.Hewaslearningstrategiesfordecodingwordsthatmadehimabetter,ifslow,reader.Plus,hehadagirlfriend.Well,notreally,buthehadSaminhislifenearlyeveryday,andthewholethinghadpotential.
WhenthePopespulledintotheirdrivewayonSaltaireLaneattheendofMay,Samwasinthefrontyard.Shewassixteen,incut-offshortsandatanktopandnoshoes.Herhairwaslongerandwaspulledbackinaponytail.Justthatonestrandhunglooseinthefront,andWyattwonderedifitwasonpurpose.
“Hi.”ShewavedasMarionandFrank,Michael,andfinallyWyattgotoutofthecar.
“Well,youlookallgrownup,Sam,”saidFrank.
“It’screepy,”saidMichael,grabbingtwosuitcasesandheadingtothehouse.
Mariongaveherahug.“Don’tlistentohim.I’msohappytobehere,we’llhaveagreatsummer.”
WhenMarionhadgoneintothehouse,itwasjustWyattandSamonthefrontlawn,sixfeetbetweenthem,whichmightaswellhavebeenathousand.
“Sohey,”Samstarted.“Whyisthisawkward?”
Wyattlaughed.HecouldalwayscountonSamtojustsayit.“Idon’tknow,becausewe’renotusedtobeinginreallife?Youlookdifferent.”
SamlookeddownatherselfandbackatWyatt.“Youdotoo,butinagoodway.”
“Imeanitinagoodwaytoo,Sam,”Wyattsaid.Frankcalledfrominside,somethingabouttakingthepoolcoveroff.“I’llseeyoulater,”hesaid,andhopeditsoundedcool.
TheHollowaysinvitedthePopesforabarbecueonthebackporch.Wyatthadeatentheredozensoftimesbefore,andtherewasaformulaforit.Billgrilledsomekindofprotein,andLaurelservedsomekindofcreamycarbohydrateandasalad.Therewasalwaysabasketofbreadonthetableandaroom-temperaturestickofbutter,tomakeiteasiertospread.OverWyatt’sentirechildhoodhe’dmarveledathoweasythingswereattheHolloways’house.Whothinkstoleavethebutterouttosoften?Wyatt’smomdidn’tliketocookandmostlyheatedthingsup,thingsthatFrankfoundtoosaltyandunevenlyheated.Therewereentiredinnersdevotedtothislineofconversation,justhowbadthefoodwas.
Thisnight,theofficialfirstnightofsummerbecausetheywerealltogether,thetabletwinkledwithcandlelight.Themealwassteaks,macaroniandcheese,andanarugulasalad.Asalways,thekidssatatoneendofthetable,butthisyearitfeltmoreliketheywerealmostalladults.TravisandMichaelwerenineteen,TravishavingjustfinishedhisfirstyearatTrinityCollege;MichaelwasattheUniversityofMiami.Wyattwasseventeen,andBillofferedhimaglassofwine.He’dneverforgetit,thisriteofapassage,oranythingaboutthisnight.
SamandWyattsatnexttoeachotheratthetable,comfortableinthefactthattheydidn’treallyhavetolookatoneanotherunlesstheydidsodeliberately.Whentheydidturntofaceoneanothertheyweresoclosethattheyquicklylookedaway.Wyatt’sshoulderoccasionallybrushedupagainstSam’s,andeventuallyhejustletitrestthereagainsthers.Billaskedquestionsupanddownthetable—howwasFrank’sgolfgamethiswinter?WhatwasMariongoingtodoabouttheAsianshorecrabsthatweremovingtowardheryard?WhatdidMichaelthinkabouttheDolphins?WhenhegottoWyatt,itwasaboutcollege,ofcourse.
“I’mnotreallysure,”hesaid.“IwanttogoouttoLosAngelesandworkinmusic.”
“SolikeUSC?UCLA?”Billasked.Itwasaninnocentquestion,butWyattknewforsureatthatmomentthathisparentshadn’ttoldtheirbestfriendsabouthislearningsituation.
“Someplacearoundthere.”Wyattsmiledgenerallyatthetable,inthewayhedidwhenhewantedtosmooththingsover.
Marionjumpedintochangethesubject.“Well,you’renotgoinganywhereuntilyougetthattreehousecleanedoutorjusttakethewholeeyesoredown.”
“Overmydeadbody,”saidFrank.“Takingitdown,Imean.”
Afterdinner,thefourkidsrandowntotheoceanforanightswim.Themoonwaslowandcastalongwhitestripeonthewater.WyattwastornbetweenenjoyingtheexquisitechillofthewaterrisinguphislegsandtryingnottolookatSaminherredbikini.She’dwornbikinislastsummer,buttheyhadbeensportiersomehow.Thisonehadactualstringsonherhipsandonherback.Hewasmesmerizedbythemdanglinginthewater,theinvitationtopulloneandwatchallthatfabricfloataway.
Whentheygotoutoftheocean,MichaelandTraviswentdownthebeachtosmokeajoint.Wyattwonderedifthiswastheprogressionofthings,ifnextsummerheandSamwouldbesmokingpottoo.Hedidn’tliketheideaofSamsmokingpot.
WyattandSamsatonthesandwrappedintheirtowels,watchingthemwalkaway.“Losers,”Samsaid.
“Really,”saidWyatt.
“So,youdon’tseemtohavesomuchtosaytomenowthatwe’reactuallytogether.We’restillfriends,right?”Shewaslookingdownatthesand,drawingacirclewithherhand.Themoonlitupherfaceinsuchawaythathecouldseeeachfreckleonhernose.Therewasthetiniestbitofsandinhereyelashes.Shelookedupathim.“Right?”
“Ofcourse,we’refriends.AmIbeingweird?IthinkIneedtogetusedtoyou.”
“You’renotusedtome?You’veknownmeyourwholelife.”
IneedtogetusedtohowIwanttopullonthatredstring,Wyattdidn’tsay.UsedtothewayIactuallyneedtotouchyourlips.Samwasactingmildlyrejected,andWyattdidn’thavetheconfidencetosetherstraight.Hefeltincapableofself-regulation,likeifheopenedupabouthowhewasfeelingitwouldrushoutanddrownthemboth.NOW
11
Jack’sstillreading,andit’spossiblethathe’llfinishthisbookbeforeIgetthroughthefirstchapter.Thisdoesn’tworrymebecausewithJackstayingoverthegarageIcanstayuplatetocatchup.Ilikethewayreadingthesebooksfeelssodeliberate,likeeachpagerequiresmyfullattentiontotakeinandprocessthewords.It’ssortoflikemuscleconfusion,butforthemind.
Kidsarebuildingsandcastlesonthebeach,andteenagersaresprawledoutontowelswaitingforaswell.Wyattisplayingtheguitarinhistreehouse.Allthecharactershavereassembledonthisbeachafterfourteenyears,andIamtheonlythingthat’sdifferent.
Gracierunsoutsideinayellowone-piecebathingsuitthatmayhavebeenmineahundredyearsago.“Sammy,let’sgoforaswim.”BeforeIcanrespond,she’sgrabbedmyhandandispullingmeupfrommychair.“We’reatthebeach.Putonabathingsuit.”Handsonhips,Gracieisexasperatedbymybeachincompetence.
“Fine,”Isay,andgoupstairstochangewhileGracieyellsthroughmywindowformetohurryup.TheurgencyinhervoiceremindsmeofatimewhenabeachdayfeltsoexcitingthatIdidn’twanttowasteasinglesecondofit.
WhenI’mbackonthedeck,shegrabsmyhand,andwewalkthroughthedunes,theoneswhereIkissedWyattforthefirsttime.“Areyougoingtotalktohim?”Gracieasks,motioningtothetreehouse.
“Notonpurpose,”Isay.“Howlonghashebeenhere?”
“Likeamonth.”
“He’sbeenhereforawholemonth?Ishehomelessorsomething?”
“Doesn’tseemlikeit.”
WeslogthroughthehotsandandpassatowelislandfullofgirlsafewyearsolderthanGracie.Shesteersclearoftheirtoo-loudlaughter,theirtoo-smallbikinis.Itrytorememberbeingtwelve,stillwearingboardshortsandarashguardandtryingtohangoutwithmybrother,eyeingtheoldergirlsliketheywereanexoticdiseaseIwasabouttocatch.
Idropmytowel,rollmysunglassesintomycover-up,andcoverthebundlewithmyhat.Gracieisalreadyrunningintothewater.Ifollowherandmyfeetarewet,wavesretreatingandthenracingupmycalves.IwadeouttowhereGracieisalreadyfullysubmerged,andsuddenlyIamalsotwelveyearsold.Weightless,unencumbered,andfree.Beyondthewaves,GracieandIfloatonourbacksandshereachesformyhand,unselfconsciousinthatna?vewaywhereyoustillthinknothingwilleverchange.
Gracie’sastrongswimmer,andIliketotakecreditforit.WhenshewastwoyearsoldandIwasatNYU,IstartedtakinghertoswimmingclassesattheYMCA.Themotherslookedatmewithconcernandatouchofhorror—practicallyateenagermyselfwithnoweddingringandatwo-year-oldonmyhip.Nothingtoseehere,Ialwayswantedtotellthem,she’sjustmyemotionalsupporttoddler.Dr.JudyassuredmeI’dgetpastthis,butafterWyattandIbrokeup,theonlythingthatbroughtmebacktomyselfwasGracie.HoldingGracieinthewater.TakingGracieforatoo-bigsundaeatSerendipity.TurningmyoldbedroomintoasafariandtakingaSharpietoourpajamassothatwecouldbeleopards.Gracie’sunfilteredjoyshouldcomeinpillform.
WeswimsouthalongthehorizontowardthecoveuntilmylimbsarejellyandIcallforhertostop.“Mysisterisanoldlady,”shelaughsaswewadeoutofthewateraboutaneighthofamilefromourhouse.
“Kindof,”Isay,catchingmybreathandshakingoutmyhair.Ican’tevenseewheremytowelisaswewalkalongtheshore,andIcan’trememberthelasttimeIjustwalkedaroundinabathingsuit,thesundryingthesaltandsandonmyskin.“MaybeIshouldhangoutwithyoumore.”
“Weshouldhangoutheremore,”shesays.“EvenJackseemstolikeithere,right?”
Idon’tanswerbecausethere’ssomeonestandingbymytowel;he’sstuckhissurfboardinthesand.Istop.Ormyfeetstop;Idon’tevenknowifImeantostop.ButGracieisrunningtowardhim.HeliftsahandinawaveandIknowIneedtobeanadulthere.It’sbeenthirteensummers.
Istartwalkingandammoreacutelyawarethaneverofhowawkwarditistowalkacrosssoftsandinabathingsuit.There’sthefactofyourwholebody’sbeingfullyexposedfromallanglesinthehorrificlightofday,combinedwiththeup-and-downjigglymotionofsandstepping.Ichoseabikinifrommychildhooddresser,redwithatriangletopandside-tiebottoms,sothatIcankeepthenewonesIboughtformyhoneymoonpristine.Whatgoodarethosebikinisdoingmenow,allwrappedupintissue?Ofallthebaddecisionsthathaveledmetothismoment,theonethatcausedmetobeapproachingWyattwithmythirty-year-oldbodyshovedintothebikiniofmyyouthisthebaddest.
“Hey,Sam-I-am,”Wyattsayslikeit’snothing.Thesoundofhisvoiceislikeasongontheradiothattakesyoubackintimewiththefirstfewnotes.Ithitsmerightinthechestandmovesthroughoutmybody.Myhandfliesuptomynecktowipeawaythememoryofhislipsthere.
“Hey,”Isay.He’stan.Hishairisaslightlydarkershadeofbrown,longishandbrushedoffhisfaceasifit’sbeencombedbackbyfingers.He’ssmilingjustalittlebitandtherearelaughlinesbyhiseyes.Istareattheselines,abitstunnedbymyownstupidity.InmymindWyattisseventeen,sittingbymeonthebeachwaitingforwaves.Thenhe’seighteenandactivelynotreturningmycalls.That’swhereIlosttrackofhim.Andnowhereheis,thirty-one,withhismoredefinedjawlineandhisfilled-inframe.OfcourseWyattgrewup.
Hisbathingsuitseemsnew,whichisallwrong,becauseI’mtheonewho’smovedon.ItisofcriticalimportancetomyinnerteenagerthatheknowsI’vemovedon.IfIcouldthinkofawaytobringupmy401(k),Iwould.
“So,Ihearyou’regettingmarriedouthere,”hesays.
“Maybe,”Isay.“OrinConnecticut.Wehaven’tdecided.JackandI.Myfiancé.Jack.”OhmyGod,stop
“He’saluckyguy,”hesays,whichgivesmepause.Wyattwasaluckyguy.Wyattleftme.HowluckycouldhepossiblythinkJackis?
“Heis,”Isay.“Alittleoldforatreehouse,aren’tyou?”Idon’tknowwheretoputmyarmsandtheyseemtobetryingouteverypossiblelocation.Handsonmyhips,armsacrossmychest,handsclaspedbehindmyback.It’slikeI’mdoingmyownversionoftheMacarena.
WyattlooksatGracie.“Notreally.”
“Youshouldclimbupandseeit,”shesays.“It’sawesome.”
“I’veseenit,”Isay,andfeelmyfacegohot.“Weshouldgetinside.I’mgettingsunburned.”Ithrowonmycover-up,whichIcan’tbelieveIdidn’tdoearlier.“Nicetoseeyou.Comeon,Gracie.”
Whenwe’rebackontheporch,mymomisleaningovertherailinglikeshe’sbeenwatching.ShegivesmealookandIshakemyhead.No,don’tworry,I’mfine.No,Idon’twanttotalkaboutit.No,I’mnotstillinlovewiththeboywhobrokemyheartinhighschool
Jackdoesn’tlookupfromhisbook,butIsqueezeinnexttohimontheloungechair,arranginghisarmaroundmeandrestingmyheadonhischest.Jack’sbodyfeelssolid,likeahousethat’swellcaredforandoverlyinsured.
“You’regettingsunburned,”hesays,pullingaway.
“It’snotcontagious,”Isay.
“It’snotfunny,youhavefrecklescomingoutoveryournosejustfromthismorning’sexposure.”
Iputonmyhat,andJackletsoutabreath.Isettlemyheadonhischest.I’vemovedontoamuchbetterplace.12
IwakeupSundaymorningtoaratherformalemailfromEleanortellingmethatIamonleavefortheweekwhilemanagementreviewsmyemploymentstatus.IamnottocomeintotheofficeuntilnotifiedbyanofficerofHumanCorps.Eleanorisn’tjustmyboss,she’smyfriend.We’vebeenoutfordrinkstogether,we’vegottenmanicures.Iknowwhichoneofherkidsdoesn’teatdairyandwhichoneneedsanEpiPen.Andnow,readingthisemail,shefeelslikeahumancorpse.
Wecouldstillleavetomorrowmorning.We’vedoneourthreedays.Butthere’sahintofreliefintheideaofnotgoingbacktothecity,ofswimmingintheoceanandtakingJacktoseeStarfishBeach.JackseemshappyandrelaxedouthereandIdon’tknowwhatIwassoafraidof.Iwonderif,withoutWyatthere,thisisaplacewherewecouldreturnasamarriedcouple.Ourkidsrunninginandoutofthewaterallday.
MymomconsidersitamajorvictorywhenItellherwe’restayingforanotherfewdays.“Iknewit,”shesays,andI’mnotsurewhatsheknew.WedecidetopushoffourvisittotheOldSloopInnbecauseJackhasn’tbeentothegymintwodays.Wehaveplentyoftime,soit’stotallyfinewithme.HefindsMom,Granny,andmeonthebackporch.
“I’mgoingtocombinepushdaywithlegday,tomakeupforyesterday,”hetellsme.“Wanttomeetintownforlunch?”
“Sure,”Isay.“Let’smeetatChippy’satnoon.”
“Youwon’tforget?”
Igivehimalittleswat.“No,I’llbehungry,somystomachwillremindme.”
Hekissesmeonthetopofmyhead,andIhavethisfamiliarwarmfeelingasIwatchhimwalkaway,likeI’mdatingthecaptainofthefootballteam.
“Whywouldyouforgetlunch?”mymomasks.
“He’sjustteasingme.I’vebeenforgettingthings.LikeImissedourballroomdancinglesson.”
“Ballroomdancing?”Grannyasks.“Whoareyou?”
Mymomlaughs.“Forthewedding.It’snicetoseeabrideandgroomwhocanwaltz.”
“Exactly.ButIgotcaughtupatworkandtotallyforgot.Twoweeksinarow.”
Grannynarrowshereyesatme.“Interesting.”
“Notreally.Ihaveaweddingcomingupandnothing’sbeenplanned.Ihaveaprettyintensejob.Imean,it’snormalthatIwouldletsomethingslipthroughthecracks.”
“Whatelsehaveyouforgotten?”Grannyasksinatonethat’sreminiscentofDr.Judy.
Ishrug.Besidesforgettingtokeepmybigmouthshutatwork,Ican’tthinkofanything.“Nothing.”
Grannysays,“Youmightwanttoconsiderthefactthatonsomelevelyoudon’twanttowaltz.”
Mymomsays,“Mother,that’sridiculous.Everybridewantstowaltz.”It’sprobablytrue.IliketheideaofJackandmemovingperfectlyinstep,one-two-three,one-two-three,aroundthedancefloor.Howrelaxingitwouldbeiftherewerechoreographyforeverything.
“It’sunbelievablethat,ofthethreeofus,I’mtheonetheycallold,”Grannysays.
“Laurel?”It’sWyatt’svoicecomingfromtheothersideofthehedge.
“Overhere,”mymomreplies.Andthereheis,comingoutofthedunesanduptheporchsteps.
Ipullmycover-upovermynot-so-tanthighsandreachforsunglassesthataren’tthere.Iknowmymothersees.
Hewalksontothedeckandlooksaround.“Boy,Ihaven’tbeenhereinalongtime.”
“Wellwe’vemissedyou,”saysmymom,atraitor.“CanIgetyousomeicedtea?”Icedtea.Afterallthathappened.We’regoingtositdownandhavesomeicedtea.
“Thanks,butIcan’t.I’mheadedovertotheOwlBarntohelpsetupforthefestival,andIhadtotakemymom’scarinforaninspection.Travisleftmehiscar,butIdon’tseethekeys.”IthurtsalittletoseeWyattasastill-aspiringmusicianwho’sdrivingaborrowedcar.NotthatIhaveacar,butIfeellikeWyattshould.
“Ah,they’reinthekitcheninthebowlbythesink,”mymomsays.
“Thanks,”Wyattsaystomymother.“I’lldropthekeysbylater.”
Grannytakesasipofhertea.Mymomfoldsbackthebrimofhersunhat.Wyattislookingatme.
“What?”Ihearmyselfsay.
Hesmiles,newlinesbyhiseyesbutthesamesoftsmile.
“Nothing.It’sjustbeenareallylongtime.AndI’mtryingtodecidehowyou’redifferent.”
IreallywishIhadsunglasses.“I’llsaveyousometime.I’mdifferentineverysingleway.”
“Idon’tthinkso.”Andhewalksrightintomyhouse.THEN
13
Wyatt
ThewaveswereneverthatgreatrightinfrontofWyatt’shouse,buthelikedtorideafewinthelatemorninganyway.He’dbeensurfingforsolongthathisboardfeltlikeanextensionofhim,andeachwavefeltlikeanopening.Somuchofhislifehadbeenfilledwiththingsthatfeltimpossible—reading,math,evenexistingpeacefullyinhisfamily.Beingoutonthewaterfeltcompletelynatural,andhewonderedifhiswholelifecouldbefilledwiththingsthatfelteasyandmadesense.Surfing,playingtheguitar.Sam.
HegotoutofthewaterandfoundSaminthemiddleofabiggroup,laughing.TherewassomethingaboutthewaySamlaughedthatalwaysmadeWyattwanttostopandwatch.Shedidn’tlaughasapunctuationtosomethingshe’djustsaidorbecausethepeoplearoundherwerelaughing.Samlaughedbecausesomethingwasreallyfunny,sofunnythatitscrunchedupherfaceandshookhershoulders.Samwasapersonwhowascapableofgivingherselfuptoherlaughter,andashestoodandwatched,hethoughtitmightbehisfavoritething.
Samlookedoverandcaughthiseye.Afewkidsturnedtoseehimjuststandingthere,wetwithhisboard.Hehadtosaysomethingbecause,otherwise,hewasjustaguystandingthere,staring.
“I’mgoingtoteachyoutosurf,”hesaid.
Samjumpedup.“Okay.LetmegetTravis’sboard,”shesaid,asifthesewereplanstheyalreadyhad.
Whentheywereoutonthewater,Sampaddlednexttohim.“Thisiskindofhard,”shesaid,thrustingherselfthroughthewater.
“You’llgetusedtoit,”hesaid,pullingahead.Theypaddledoversmallswellstowhereitwascompletelystill.
Theylayfacedownontheirboards,andWyattreachedouttoholdontoSam’sboardsotheywouldn’tfloatapart.Therewasanintimacyinthishugeexpanseofspace,evenmoresothanwhenthey’dbeenhidinginthatstoragecabinet,orthattimehe’dpassedheronthenarrowstairsonhiswaytoTravis’sroom.Theyweren’tasclose,buttheywereintenselyalone.Therewerenowaves,sotheyjustfloated.
“Haveyoubeenwritingsongs?”sheasked,scoopingwaterontohisboard.
“Almostconstantly.”
“Aboutwhat?”
“WhateverI’mthinkingaboutalot.”
“Whatdoyouthinkaboutalot?”
“Idon’tknow,Sam.”Hewasflustered.Shewaswhathethoughtaboutalot.Thewayshesmiledathim,thespotwhereherneckcurvedintohershoulder.Thewayhewantedtoreachoutandtouchherallthetimebutdidn’twanttoriskmakingthingsweirdandlosingher.“Stupidstuffmostly.IfIwriteanythinggood,I’llplayitforyou.”
“Okay,geez.”Samsplashedhim.“Areyoureallygoingtoteachmetosurf?”
“Doyoureallywanttolearn?”HelovedbeingalonewithSamonthewater,andifhecouldgethertostartsurfing,theycoulddothisallthetime.
“No,”Samsaid.
“Yesyoudo.”
Samlaughed.“I’dliketobeabletosurf,itseemsfun.ButIamnotgoingtotrytostanduponthisthingandfallflatonmyfaceahundredtimes.”
“You’dbeagreatsurfer.”
“BecauseyouthinkIcanjumpupintotheairandlandonapieceofwigglingfiberglass?”
“Ido.”
Samlookedoutatthehorizonandbackatthekidsonthebeach.“Ifyoureallythinkso.”
“Ican’tteachyououthere,especiallywithnowaves.We’llstartonsolidgroundandI’llteachyoutopopup.Tomorrowmorningateight.Meetmeatthebeach.”14
Sam
Surfingwasimpossible.Impossible,frustrating,andunnecessary.Whynotjustswim?Theystartedonthesand,andaftertwolessons,Sammasteredthemotionofpoppingup.Butinthewater,thevariablesweretoomuchforher.Shewouldpopupperfectlyjustasasmallswellcameandthrewheroff-balance.
“Ican’tdothis,”shesaid,pullingherboardbacktowardherandclimbingon.
“Ofcourseyoucan.”
“Thewaterkeepsmoving.”
“That’swhatwaterdoes,Sam.Getbackup.”
Theymeteachmorning,andSamtried.She’dsitonherboardandwatchasWyattrodewaveafterwave,likeitwasnothing.
Afteraparticularlyinelegantfall,Samsatonherboard,braidingherwethair,andsaid,“Igiveup.Theoceanwins.”
Wyattlaughed.“That’skindofyourproblem.Youhaveavibeaboutyoulikeyou’retryingtocompetewiththeocean.Thisisn’tawin/losething.It’slikeyouneedtoadjusttothemovementoftheocean,tocooperate.”
“OhmyGod,stop,”Samsaid.
“Justtrytocatchawavelikeyou’renottryingsohard.Getupandthenbefullywillingtofalloff.Imeanyou’realreadywet,right?”
Samknewhewasright.Everythingshelovedtodocamewithoutforce.She’dbecomeaswimmergradually.She’dstarteddrawingwithoutanyparticularendinmind.Sheopenedbooksandjustletthemcarryheraway.Themostfunsheeverhadhappenedwhensheactedonanideawithoutthinkingitthrough.Buttryingtosurffeltliketryingtomastergravity.Shewasn’tentirelyproudofthefeelingsthatcameupwhenshewasconsideringawave:distrust,uncertainty,fear.ShelikedthewayWyattthoughtofherasstrongandcapable,thegirlwhocouldalwayscapturetheflag.
Thenextmorningshegotouttothebeachatseven.Thereweresmallwavesbreakinginfrontofherhouseandshefiguredshehadnothingtolose.Shewantedtofeelwhatitwasliketoglidealongthecurlofawave,stayingsteadybutopenenoughtoletittakeherwhereveritwasgoing.Somethingwashappeningtoher,anditscaredher,mostlythefactthatherbodyactedofitsownaccordaroundWyatt.Shewantedtobeopenenoughtoletthattakeher,too.
Thewaterwascoldonherfeet,coolonhershins,andthenabsolutelyperfectonceshewasallthewayin.Herbodyknewwhatitwasdoing.Shepaddledouttowherethewaveswerebreakingandwaitedfortherightwaveandhercouragetoemergeatthesametime.Awavestartedformingfromthesouthandshedecidedtotry.Shepushedupandfelttheboardbeneathherfeet.Sheimaginedthemotionbeneathherwentbothways,asiftheoceanmovedherandshemovedtheocean.Shewascompletelyunderwaterbeforesherealizedshe’driddenthatwave.
ShecameupforairandsawWyattrunningintothewavestomeether.“Isawit!”hecalledtoher.Heheldouthisarmslikehewasgoingtohugherbutdroppedthemtohissidesquickly.Toherownsurprise,shethrewherarmsaroundhisneck.Hehuggedherback,andthefeelofhim,warmanddry,pressedagainstherwetbody,wasshocking.Ithadneveroccurredtoherthatanotherperson’sskinagainstherscouldmakeherfeellikeshewasmelting.Herskinfeltsosoftagainsthisthatshewonderedifithadbeenchangedsomehow,asifthecellsofhisbodyinteractedwithherstocreateawholeotherthing.Wyattletgofirst,whichembarrassedher,likehe’dbeenstandingtherewaitingforittobeover.
“Soyousnuckouthereandtaughtyourselftosurf?”
“Iguess.Idon’tknowhowithappened.”Shewasrelievedhe’dchangedthesubject.Shewasafraidshemightaskhimhowhisskinfeltagainsthers.Shewantedtoknow.
“Let’sgobackout,”hesaid.Hehoppedonhisboardandstartedtopaddle.Hewassmiling.15
Sam
“Ihaveagreatidea,”saidSamtothekidsonthebeach.
“Herewego,”saidCayla.
Samignoredher.Thisreallywasagreatidea.“Let’scampoutdownatthecovetonight.Allofus.Sleepingbagsands’moresandstuff.Theweather’sgood.Andiftherearewavesinthemorning,wecansurffirstthing.”
Everyonelikedtheidea,andtheyagreedtomeetonthebeachbeforesunsetsotheycouldwalkdowntothecoveandarriveasitgotdark.Samdidn’thaveanyparticularfeelingaboutsleepingoutside,buttheideaofbeingthereinthedarkwithherfriendsandthenwatchingtheskybrightenfirstthinggaveherthefeelingthatshewastakingsummertoawholenewlevel.
SamandWyattfoundthemselveswalkingaheadofthepackwiththeirsurfboardsandsleepingbags.HewaswearingaChicagoCubsT-shirtthathadbeenwashedtheexactnumberoftimesittooktomakeitrestperfectlyovertheoutlineofhischest.Samhadnoticedthisbefore,stealingglancesathimfromthepassengerseatofhisdad’struck.Itwasstrange,shethought,howdistractedshecouldbebyhisbodyinthatT-shirtwhenshespenthalfthedaywithhiminnoT-shirtatall.Wyattshirtlesslookedgreat,butWyattinthatT-shirtwasobscene.
Theydroppedtheirsleepingbagsinthewoods,andSamandWyattpretendedtobesurprisedtoseethearrayofshellssurroundingthebiglindentree.“Looksliketheyallcameinonasinglewave,”saidWyatt.Everyoneagreed,thoughnoonewasveryinterested.
Thesunwasn’tquitedown,andeveryonescatteredaroundthecovetowatchitset.SamwaswatchingtheorangeskymoveintopurplefrombehindthebranchesofthelindentreewhenshefeltWyattcomeandstandbehindher.SheturnedaroundandtouchedthebottomofhisT-shirt.Thiswasanotherthingshedidn’tthinkthrough,herhandjustwanted
“Ihaveathingforthisshirt,”shesaid.“Andseriously,Wyatt,I’mtheweirdestpersonever.”
Wyattsmiled,andsheturnedaroundtowatchthesunfinishsetting.16
Wyatt
Wyatttoldhismotherhewouldquitsurfingearlysohecouldcleanoutthetreehouse,whichstillhadn’tbeendonethreeweeksafterthey’darrivedatthebeach,thefloorstillcoveredwithleavesthathadblowninoverthepastninemonths,wetanddecayed.Buthe’dgottenatuneinhisheadwhenhewassittingwithSamonthebeachearlier,anditrepeatedliketunesoftendidwhentheyweretryingtogetoutintotheworld.Hesatdownwithhisguitarjusttoseeifhecouldcaptureit.Hestartedslowlyandcorrectedhimselfafewtimesbeforeitsoundedright.Hecouldseethenotesasheheardthem,overandoveragain.
AsongwasstartingtotakeshapewhenSamshowedupatthebottomoftheropeladder.Hesmiledbecauseitwasasifshe’dwalkedintohissong.Sheworejeans,rolledupatthebottom,andawhiteT-shirtthatwasthetiniestbittooshort,anegligibleamountofstomachshowing,solittlethatitcouldhavebeenamistake.Herhairwasdownandstillwetfromtheshower,leavingtheshouldersofherT-shirtslightlysee-through.ItwasalltoomuchforWyatt.Heputhisguitardownandstoodup.
“Notmuchofacleaner,areyou?”shesaidatthetopoftheladder.Shewalkedpasthimandgrabbedthebroomoffthefloor.
“Igotdistracted,”hesaid,tryingtotakeitfromher.
Sheloweredherhandonthebroomsothattheirhandsweretouching.Helikedthefeelofherhandoverhis,justthatspotwherethebottomofherfisttouchedthetopofhis.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”hesaid,anditcameouttoosmall.Theystoodthere,holdinghandsaroundthebroom,forwhatseemedlikeforever.Theyweretooclosetobejusttalking,butnotcloseenough.
Samsaid,“Iwantedtoseeyou.”
“Yeah,”hesaid.Themoonlitupthespaceandtheairbetweenthemfeltthick.Itwasarisktokissher,butmaybeabiggerrisknotto.Itachedtowantsomethingthismuch.Hebarelyhadtomovetobrushhislipsagainsthers,andhelingeredthere,justtomakesure.Samkissedhimbackandwrappedherarmsaroundhisneck.Afterthat,somethingbetweenthemtookover.Itwasasif,aftertakingthisstep,therewasonlyonepathforward.He’dpracticedthiskissinhismindathousandtimes.Buthewasnotpreparedforthesalty-sweettasteofSam’slipsandtheurgentwayshepressedherbodyagainsthis.Hishandswereeverywhere—herhair,herneck,herhips—asifthiswerehisonechancetotoucheverypartofher.
“Weneedtoslowdown,”shesaidbythetimetheywerelyingonthedampleaves.
“Dowe?”Hewasnotslowingdown.
“Wehaveallsummer.”
Iwantforever,hethought.17
Sam
“IreallythinkIshouldgohome,”Samsaid,becauseitsoundedlikethesanethingtosay.Itcameoutbreathless,andsheknewshedidn’tsoundlikeshemeantit.ShefeltdrunkfromkissingWyattforsolong.Justbeingabletorunherhandsalonghisarmsandfeelhisbreathonherneckmadeherwonderifshe’deverhavethestrengthtoclimbbackdowntheropeladder.
“Don’t,”hesaid,kissingheragain.“Ordo,Idon’tknow.Ijustwantyoutowanttocomeback.”
Samlaughed.“I’llcomeback.”
Whenshefinallywenthome,shecouldn’tsleep.Shewantedtotexthim,butshecouldn’timaginewhatshewouldsayafterallthat.
Shetookouthersketchpadandstarteddrawing.TherewasanimageofWyattinhermindfromearlierthatnight,sittingontheedgeofthetreehouseplayingtheguitar.Itwasasongshehadn’theardbefore,andshe’dfolloweditthroughthedunesandtotheropeladder.She’dwonderedifsheshouldturnbackandleavehimalonewithhissong,butshe’dwantedtoseehim.Whenshewasonthethirdrungoftheropeladder,helookedupatherbutcontinuedtoplay.Itwasasplitsecondwhenhewasfullyimmersedinhismusicandsmilingatheratthesametime.Itwaslikehe’dletherallthewayin.NOW
18
It’sMondayandJackgoesforarunbeforeourappointmenttoseetheOldSloopInn.IputonasundresssoIcanseembridal,likeit’sanoccasion.Whichitis.Outsidemybedroomwindow,mydadisstaringattheengineofhisoldVWBug,handrestingontheopentrunk.Hepoursmoneyintothiscaryearafteryear,anditalwaysletshimdown.HeclaimsthattheskyblueofthepaintandthecurveofthefenderinspiredtheoriginalCurrent.Ithinkhejustdoesn’tlikethrowingthingsout.
Wyattappearsfrombehindthehedge,andIbrieflywonderwhatgoodahedgeisifitisn’tactuallydoingitsjobofkeepingusseparate.Hehashisheadunderthehoodnow,histoolboxontheground.Iwanttohearwhatthey’resaying,butIdon’twanttodrawattentiontomyselfbyopeningthewindow.It’shardtofathomthetwoofthemtogether,justshootingthebreezelikethis.Wyattispointingtosomethingandgoesinwithawrench.Dadislisteningtohim,nodding.
Jackreturnsfromhisrun,anewadditiontothissilentmoviefromhell.FrommyperchIseethemtogetherforthefirsttime.Mydadintroducesthem,andtheyshakehands.Thetwolovesofmylife,sodifferentfromoneanother.EverythingaboutJackisbydesign.Hisbodyistheresultofaspecificgymregimenengineeredforultimatefitness.Hishairispartedandcombedtohangatanexactspotonhisneck,cuteverythreeweeksbyPabloonSixty-EighthStreet.Jackmightbetheprivetofpeople.
Wyattisbentover,working.HisbaseballhatisbackwardandIknowexactlyhowhishairwouldpopoutifhetookitoff.Themusclestenseinhisarmsinafunctionalway.Helooksfitfromsurfingandworkingwithhishands.
Dadgetsinthecar,turnsthekey,andthere’ssuccess.Celebratorysmilesandpatsonthebackallaround.MydadisbeamingatWyatt,thenJack,whoisconsideringsomething.Henodsandthisoddtriodisperses.
“SoyourdadinvitedWyattonourexcursiontonight.Heseemedlikehewantedmetookayit,soIdid,”Jacktellsme.
IpullintotheOldSloopInnparkinglotandfindaspotbeforeresponding.“Why?”
“Idon’tknow.WhatwasIgoingtosay?‘Youcan’tcomebecauseyoudatedmyfiancéwhenshewasakid’?Plus,itwouldn’thurttohaveamechanicontheboat.I’veseenhowmuchyourdadknowsaboutfixingacar.”
“He’snotamechanic,”Isay,andIhavenoideawhy.
“Hefixedyourdad’scar.AndhesayshedoesalotofthatataShellstationoutinLA.”
SoWyattworksatagasstation.Ittugsonmealittlebittothinkhe’ssofarawayfromwherehewantedtobe.IneverimaginedWyattdoinganythingbesidesplayingtheguitar.Andnowhereheis,stilllookingoutovertheoceantryingtocomeupwithsomethingthatwillsell.But,whatever.Ibuildproductivitygraphs,andit’snotlikethatwasmydream.Whenwewerekids,mydreamwastobeatthebeach,withWyatt,forever.THEN
19
Wyatt
Therewouldneverbeabettersummer.WyattknewitthesecondhekissedSam.Hewokeupeverymorningknowingthathewasgoingtoseeherandtouchher.Hecouldn’timagineanythingbetterthanthat.Samgotajobtakingcareofkidsatthelibraryfivemorningsaweek.She’drideherbikethere,andafterstorytime,Duck-Duck-Goose,andGoldfish,Wyattwouldmeetherwithsandwichesandthey’ddrivetothenorthendofthebeachandeatthemonthejetty.Somedaysthey’dthrowtheirsurfboardsinthebackofFrank’soldtruckanddrivearoundLongIslandlookingforwaves.TheonlythingWyattlovedmorethankissingSamwaskissingSamintheocean.Thefeelofherwetbodyagainsthisandthesaltytasteofherwerehisnewfavoritethings.
WyattworkedattheAutoHopinthemornings,changingoilandoccasionallytakingapartengines.Helovedhowacarwasacompleteunit,builtfortheexpresspurposeofrunning.Therewasonlyonewayforthecrankshafttoconnecttotherubberbeltsandtherubberbeltstoconnecttothecamshaft.Itmadesenseeverytime.Whenhewasn’tworkingorhangingoutwithSam,hewaswritingsongs.Moreaccurately,hewaswritingsongsthewholetimehewaswithSamtoo,justinhishead.Fixingcars,writingsongs,beingwithSam.Itwasperfect.
Itdidn’ttakelongforeveryoneonthebeachtofigureouttheywereacouple.Everyoneintownknewtoo.ThewaitressesatChippy’sDinersmiledateachothereverytimetheysatdownattheirregularbooth.WhentheywalkedintoGinnie’sBakery,Ginnieputherhandoverherheartandsaid,“Oh,it’sthatsweetyoungcouple!”Sam’sbossatthelibraryalwayscalledoverhershoulderwhenshesawhimoutside,“YourWyatt’shere!”Heunderstoodthatthisshouldhavebeenembarrassing,buthelovedbeingherWyatt.
Mostdaysthey’dfindthemselvesbackatthebeachafterlunch.Samwouldsurforsitandcatchupwithherfriends.Wyatttriedtoactlikeanormalperson.Hetriedtohangoutwithhisfriendsandtalktootherpeoplewhentheywereinthelargergroup,buthealwaysgravitatedbacktoher.Helovedwhenshe’dcatchhiseyeacrossthebonfireatnightandsmileathiminawaythatmadehimknowshewasgoingtosneakouttothetreehousetoseehimlater.
DinnerhappenedmostlyontheHolloways’deck.Wyatt’sfamilywasinvitedseveralnightsaweek,astheyalwayshadbeen,justsortofwanderingoverwithwineandsomethingtothrowonthegrill.Thesenightswiththesunsettingovertheoceanandhisparentsexhibitingtheiroutsidebehavior—politetoeachotherandcharmingtoeveryoneelse—Wyattfeltthedeepestsenseofpeacehe’deverknown.EvenMichaelcametodinnerandwashisbestself,laughingwithTravisortalkingaboutsportswithBill.WyattlikedthewayhisfamilyfeltwhenitwaspartoftheHolloways’.20
Sam
AroundmidnightonaThursdayinJuly,SamwassittingonherbedlisteningtoWyattworkonanewsonginthetreehouse.She’dbeendrawinghimtheresincethefirstnighthekissedher.Hislegsdanglingovertheedge,themoonoverthewaterlightingupthespace.She’ddoneeightversionsofthisdrawingandshe’dstartedtothinkthedetailsofthetreehousedidn’tmatterasmuchastheopeningshe’dseeninhiseyes.Shewantedtocrawlrightintothatspace.Thefirstversionsofthedrawingwereoverdone,butthiswastheoneshelikedbest,withthewholesceneinoutlineandonlyhiseyesdrawninintricatedetail.
Samhadgonetotownfordinnerwithherparentsandthentoamovie,anexcruciatingfourhours,whichmeantshewouldn’tseehimuntiltomorrow.SheandWyatthaddrivenallthewaytoGarnetBayearlierintheday,presumablytosurf,buthadendedupmakingoutinthebackofthetruckinstead.
“That’sit,”he’dwhisperedintoherear,thefullweightofhisbodyonher.
“That’swhat?”sheasked.
“Myfavoritesound.It’slikeyou’recatchingyourbreath.It’smyfavoritethingintheworld.I’mgoingtowriteasongaboutit.”
“You’remyfavoritethingintheworld,”Samsaid,and,althoughsheknewforafactthiswastrueandthathealreadyknewit,shefeltcompletelylaidbare.
Heliftedhimselfontohiselbowsohecouldlookherintheeye.Itwasaneternitybeforehesaid,“Iloveyou,Sam.”
“Areyousure?”shesaid,mainlybecauseshewantedtohearhimsayitagain
“I’mprettysureI’velovedyoumywholelife.Butnotlikethis,likeIdonow.”
Samhadn’theardanythinganyonehadsaidatdinnerthatnight.She’dmissedtheentirepointofthemovie.Shewasscheduledtoworkinthemorning,whichmeantshewouldn’tseeWyattuntillunchtime.Thisseemedimpossiblylongasshegrabbedherfinisheddrawingandmadeherwaydownstairsandoutthebackdoorandthroughthedunestotheropeladder.Wyattwasrightwhereshe’ddrawnhim,browfurrowedandlegsdangling.
“Icouldn’tsleep,”shesaid,sittingnexttohim.
“Good,”hesaid,andkissedher.
“Idrewthis.Iwantedyoutohaveit.”Shehandedhimthedrawingandwatchedhimtakeitin.“Iknowitdoesn’tlookfinished,butIwasjusttryingtogetthatexpression,andIdidn’twantalltheotherstufftotakeawayfromit.”
“It’sincredible,”hesaid.
Samfeltrelievedandalsokindofembarrassed.“Let’shangitup.”Shegotupandfoundanailstickingoutofoneofthesidewalls.“Here?”
“That’sgoingtowreckit,”hesaid.“Wecangetaframeorsomethingtomorrow.”
Shelovedthatshe’dcreatedsomethingthatmatteredtohim.“Letmejuststickithere.Andifyouthinkit’swreckedIcanmakeanotherone.I’mnotgoinganywhere.”
Wyattsmiledatthis,andshepressedthepaperontothenail,makingasmallholeinthetopofthedrawing.Shelikedthelookofit,rusticonthewoodplank.
Shewalkedpasthimandlaydownonthepileofblanketsandpillowshenowkepttherejustforthisreason.Wyattlaynexttoherandtookherinhisarms.“Ireallydoloveyou,Sam.”
Samrolledontopofhim.“Iloveyoutoo.Noquestion.”Shekissedhimandluxuriatedinthefeelofthefulllengthofherbodyonhis.Shepulledoffhisshirtandthenhers.Shewasstillinherbikiniandwatchedhisfaceasheslowlypulledontheredstringaroundherneckandthentheoneatherback.Shetosseditawayandthenbentdowntohim,lettingthefeelingofherbarechestonhismovethroughoutherbody.Hekissedher,andsheshivered.
Heranhisfingersalongherspine.
“Tellmeagain,”shesaidintohisneck.
“Iloveyou.”
“Tellmeallthetime,okay?”
“Promise,”hesaid.Hekissedheragainandmovedontopofher.Heranhishandsdownthesidesofherbody.Sheimmediatelywrappedherlegsaroundhistokeephimthere.Shewasastonishedbyhowmuchshewantedthis.
SamloopedherthumbsundertheelasticofWyatt’sshortsandstartedtopullthemdown.Hecaughtherhandsinhisandgatheredthemtohischest.“Sam,whatarewedoinghere?”
“Iwantto,”shesaid.
“Areyousure?”
“Thisismysurestthing.”
Lookingback,Samcouldthinkofnothingmorenaturalthanthetwoofthemlosingtheirvirginitythatnight.Therewasnopretenseofexperience.Therewasnoawkwardnessaboutthehopefulboxofcondomshe’dstashedinhisguitarcase.Wyattwasliketheocean,andherbodyknewexactlywhattodo.Astheylaythereafterwardinthemoonlight,Wyattwhispered,“Sam,Iam,”andshethoughtsheknewwhathemeant.21
Wyatt
Wyattthoughtalotabouthowhappyhewas.He’dthoughtaboutbeinghappybefore,butitwasusuallyinretrospect.Thisstateofbeinghappyandknowingitrightinthemomentwasfascinatingtohim.Hewasgoingtospendtherestofhislifethisway:happy,withSam.
“Ihaveasurprise,”Wyattsaid,waitingoutsidethelibrary.
Samthrewherarmsaroundhimandkissedhim,righttherewithMrs.Bartonlookingoutthewindow.“Tellme.”
“Iloveyou.”
Samlaughed.“No.Thesurprise.”
“IstoppedandchangedMr.Cameron’sflattireonmywaytoworktoday,becauseI’malocalhero,obviously.”
“Iamnotsurprised.”Shekissedhimagain.“So?”
“He’sgivenmehisboatfortheday.It’ssmall,justatwo-seater,butwhywouldweneedmoreseats?We’regoingtoStarfishBeach.”
Samthrewherarmsaroundhimagain.“Canwegonow?”
“Yep.Ievenbroughtlunch.”
TheysetofffromtheCamerons’dockonthecanalandrodeoutintotheopenocean.Theyrodepastthestretchoftheirownbeach,wheretheirhomeslookedsocozytogether.Theenginewastooloudforthemtoheareachothertalk,buthelovedlookingoverandseeingSamsmileintotheoceanair.
StarfishBeachwasasmallstretchofsandanddunesthatyoucouldonlyaccessbyboatoronfoot.Mr.Cameronhadtoldhimexactlyhowtogetthereandhowtotieuptheboat.Wyattunpackedablanket,towels,andabagofsandwichesandhelpedSamofftheboat.“Ilovewhatyou’vedonewithyourhair.”
Shelaughedandnudgedhimandtriedtobraidthewholemess.
Theyfoundthebeachcompletelydeserted.Noonewasusingthepicnictables,buttheydecidedtoeatonthebeach.Theylaidtheirtowelsonthesandandunwrappedtheirsandwiches.
“ThisisthenicestsurpriseI’veeverhad,”Samsaid,wipingmustardfromhermouth.
“Youare,”hesaid.
“Haveyoualwaysbeensoromantic?Idon’trememberthisfromwhenyouweretwelve.”
“It’shappenedjustrecently,”hesaid,andpulledherdowntolienexttohim.Heclosedhiseyesandlistenedtothewavesbreakingjustbeyondthebluff.HefelttheweightofSam’sheadrestingonhischest.
“Howlongdoyouthinkthiswilllast?”sheasked.
“Whatkindofaquestionisthat?”
“Idon’tknow.”Shewasrunningherhandfromhischesttohisstomachinperfectrhythmwiththewaves.“ImeanIcan’timaginenotbeinglikethis.Like,Idon’twanttogoback.”
Wyattmovedherhairoutofherfacesohecouldlookather.“Ifyou’velovedsomeoneyourwholelife,itkindofmakessensethatyou’dlovethemforever.”NOW
22
IamparkedinfrontoftheOldSloopInn.Jackisinthepassengerseat.ThesearetheonlythingsIknowforsure.BecauseImusthaveimagined—hallucinatedeven—Jack’stellingmethatmydadhasinvitedWyatttocruisetoStarfishBeachwithmyfamilytonight.Thereisnoway.
“Sam.It’snobigdeal.Yourdadjustwantedtothankhimforfixinghiscar.”Myhandsfeelclammyagainstthesteeringwheel,butIdon’twanttoletgo.Iamclearlynotsteeringanythinganymore.
“Soallofus,myfamilyandWyatt,arecruisingtoStarfishBeachtonight?Weretheygoingtotellme?”IflashonWyattandme,lyingonStarfishBeach,talkingaboutforever.Iwasstuckonthatafterwebrokeup,tryingtoreconcileWyatt’ssayinghethoughthe’dlovemeforeverandthenhisnot,infact,lovingmeforever.Dr.Judyhelpedmeunderstandthatwhenyou’reeighteen,youchangeyourmind.Obviously.ButIcannotwalkthroughthatspacewithWyattthere.
“Ijusttoldyou.It’llbefine.Bytheendofthenight,thingswillbesonormal.We’regrown-ups,Sam.Andsoishe.”
Irestmyheadonthesteeringwheel.Weshouldhavegonebacktothecitywhenwehadthechance.IcannotexplainwhathappenedbetweenWyattandmeonthatbeach,becauseIknowitwillcomeoutheavy.
Helooksupattheinn.“Honestly,thisplaceisalittletired,andallthenauticalstuffisn’treallymything.Butlet’slook.It’sfuntoseeyourmomsoexcited.”
Iwanttostartfeelingexcited.23
MydadfrequentlyborrowsHaroldMeyer’sboat.Inreturn,hedoesHarold’shedges.Wedrivetohishouseonthecanalandgetreadyforoursunsetouting.Theboatseatseight,whichwasfinewhenweweremycrewofnine,butnowthatWyattiscoming,it’sgoingtobewaytootight.WyattarriveswithTravisandHugh.GrannyhugsWyatt,tight.GraciethrowsherselfatWyatt,whopicksherupandswingsheraround.Howlonghasthisbeengoingon?Iwonder.Mydadloadstwolargecoolersonboard.TravisandHughareladenwithchampagneandplasticcupsfortheboatride,andJackhopsofftheboattohelpthem.It’stoomuch,theweightofit.Iworrytheboatcan’tholditall.
TheridetoStarfishBeachistwentyminutes,butmydad’scruisingslowenoughforustogetthroughthechampagne.Ofcourse,wecouldhavedriventoanynumberofotherbeachesforapicnic,butmydadhasnorespectforefficiency.GrannyAnnie’sfaceisinraptureasit’shitbythesaltair.Mymomhasascarfoverherhead,andIwishI’dthoughttodothesame.Honestly,Ijustwishwe’ddriventoarestaurant.We’dbetherebynowandmyhairwouldbenormal.Inevergoanywherewithoutahairtie,andIamslightlystunnedthatI’vechosentodaytoletthishappen.Asthewakespraysadeliciousmistonmyarms,myfingerswanttobraid,butIwon’tallowit.JackkeepshisarmaroundmeasIholdmyhairinaponytail.IthinkWyattiswatchingus,butIdon’tdarelook.
Wepulluptothedockandmydadkillstheengine.Thesilencefillsmyears.ForasplitsecondIlookattheplayersonthisstage,smilingandwindswept,andnothingmakessense.WeclimboutoftheboatandIwatchTravisandWyattwalkdownthedocktogether.Jackwheelsbothcoolersbehindhim,andItakeGracie’shandforreassurance.
Thepicnictablesarerightonthebeach,andwepushtwotogethertoaccommodateourcrew.Mymomlaysoutpinkandwhitetableclothsandplasticplatesandcups.Shescattersbaguettes,cheese,andmoundsofprosciuttoalongthecenterofthetable.Whenwe’reseated,mydadpoursrosé.“Tothebrideandherbridegroom!”hesays.Andweallclinkglasses.
Dinneriscoldfriedchickenandgrilledvegetables,andeverythingfeelssurprisinglyeasy.WyattandIareonoppositesidesofthelongtable,separatedlengthwisebyfourbodies.
“Sowhataboutyoutwo?”WyattasksTravisandHugh.“Anyweddingplans?”
“Sortof,”Travissays.
“Well,wewould,”saysHugh,“butit’snotreallyagoodideatax-wise.”Travisrollshiseyes.
“Morelikeit’sHugh’sworstnightmaretohavethatmanypeopleinaroomlookingathim,”saysTravis.“Hewantstoelope;Iwantalittlehoopla.Sowedon’tgetmarried.”HeputshisarmaroundHugh’schairinawaythatmakesmeknowthey’llfigurethisout.Ican’timagineeitherofthemwithanyoneelse.
“Ah,romance!”Mymotherlaughs.“Whataboutyou,Wyatt?AnyonespecialoutinLosAngeles?”Whattheheck?Idon’twanttoknowthis.Ilookdownatmyfoodandamsuper-intenselyawareofthefactthatnooneelseisuncomfortablebutme.Iamlivinginadecadepastwheremymotherwouldn’thavedaredmentionWyatt’sname,muchlesscasuallyaskifhehadagirlfriend.Ifeelaflushofembarrassmentatmyownthoughts.Iwanttobeapersonwhohasmovedonsocompletelythatshe’sonlymildlyinterestedintheanswertothisquestion.Ilookupandtrytoorganizemyfeaturesintoneutral.Itiltmyheadthewaydogsdo,forgoodmeasure.
“Well,‘special’isastrongword,”hesays.“I’vedatedasingeronandoff.Nothingserious.”Wyattlookssatisfiedthathe’scompletelyansweredherquestionandbitesintoachickenleg.
GrannyislookingatmelikeI’mliquidinabeakerandshedoesn’tknowwhatcolorI’mgoingtoturn.Isipmywine.
“Wheredoesshesing?”asksJack.It’sagoodquestion.Agreatquestion.Onethattotallyfollowsthethreadofthisconversation.
WyattiswipinghishandsandisconsideringhisanswerforlongerthanIthinkthequestionwarrants.Unlessshesingsinprison,thisisaprettystraightforwardquestion.
“Wherevershegetsagig,”hesays.“She’sgood.”
“Andyouwritesongs?”Myvoiceissmall,likeit’stestingitselfoutafteralonghiatus.
“Yes.Andtinkeraroundwithcars.WhichishowIgotthisdinnerinvitation.”Heraiseshisglasstomydad,andthislineofquestioningisover.24
Thenextmorning,IbiketotownassoonasJackleavesforthegym.It’sTuesdayandI’mprettysureItoldmymotherwewouldleaveWednesday.JackinsistsIsaidThursday,whichIcan’timagineIdid.Pedalingmybike,IfeellikeI’mgoingforicecream,butIreallyneedacoffee.I’vealreadyhadcoffee,ofcourse,butIdon’tfeellikereadingandIdon’tfeellikestaringattheoceanandwatchingmylifestoryreplaybehindmyeyes.
AssoonasIroundthecornerontoMainStreet,Irealizethatthehighlightreelisstillplaying.ThetownofmychildhoodhasnotbeensomuchaspaintedsinceI’vebeengone.ThelibrarywhereWyattstoodandwaited;Chippy’sDiner,wherewehadaregulartableandalwayssharedfries;theice-creamshop;Ginnie’sBakery.IstopinfrontofChippy’sandlockupmybikeonthebikerack.ThebikerackinfrontofwhichWyattranhishandsovermybarebackandtoldmeIwasbeautiful.Ireallyneedsomecoffee.
“Sam!”saysChippyassoonasIwalkin.“Towhatdoweowethepleasure?”
“Hi!”Chippyhaslostallofhishairandnoneofhischarm.“I’djustlikeacoffeeplease.Togo.”
Chippy’ssmilingovermyshoulder,andIknowwithoutturningaround.“Heythere,Wyatt,”hesays.
Ilookdownatmyten-dollarbillandpretendIhaven’theard.WhichistheonlywayIcouldhavemadethismoreawkwardthanitalreadywas.
“Hey,Sam,”Wyattsays,positioninghimselfnexttomeatthecounter.“Thatwasfunlastnight.”
“Yeah.Thanksforfixingmydad’scar.”Iforcemyselftoturntowardhimandlookhimintheeye.Hehasn’tshavedandhasthefaintestshadowalonghisjaw.Thisisdifferent,andIcan’tlookawayfromit.Myhandwantstoreachupandseewhatthatfeelslike,Wyattallgrownup.
“Sure.”HeturnsbacktoChippy.“CanIhaveacoffeetooplease?”
StandingthatcloseandlookingrightatWyattmakesmefeellikeIamstuckinquicksand.Idon’tknowhowtobecasualwithhim,likehe’sjustaregularperson.IturnbacktowardChippy,andWyattandIwaitinsilence.Istealaglanceathishands,whicharerestingonthecounter,andtheyarethesame.Maybealittlesun-worn,butbasicallythesame.IthinkthereissomethingIshouldsaytoWyatt,likethere’saninnocuousquestionIshouldask,butmymindhasgoneblank,andit’sbecomingevidentthatnotsayinganythingismoreawkwardthantheawkwardthingImighthavesaid.
Ittakesforevertomakethesecoffees.Chippystartstofillmycupandthepercolatorisempty.Hegrindsmorebeans,emptiesandrefillsthefilter,andsetsittobrew.Wecan’twalkawaybecausewe’veorderedthem,sowestandthere,waiting.WhenChippyhasfinallyfilledourpapercupsandwearealmostfreetogo,hehandsthemtousandgoesintothekitchentohuntforlids.Wearemarooned.
“Jackseemslikeaniceperson,”Wyattsays,finally.Hereachesforthepitcherandpoursmilkinhiscoffee.
“Yes.”IshouldbefillingtheairwithwordsaboutwhatanicepersonJackis,butIamdistractedbyWyatt’scoffee.
“Doyouwantasiporsomething?”heasks.
“No,it’sjustthatIthoughtyoudrankyourcoffeeblack.”
Wyatttakesasipandturnstofaceme.“Whywouldyouthinkthat?You’veneverseenmedrinkcoffee.”
“That’snottrue.”
“IstarteddrinkingcoffeewhenIwastwenty-five,andIamahundredpercentsureIhaven’tseenyousinceIwasseventeen.”
Isthattrue?Ofcourseitis.Whenwewereteenagers,Idrankcoffeeandhedidn’t.HeusedtokissmeafterIhadcoffeeandsayIsmelledlikeanoldman.Andthenhe’dkissmeagainanyway.WhyisitthateverytimeIimaginedWyattdrinkingcoffee,itwasblacklikemine?WhyisitthatI’veeverimaginedWyattdrinkingcoffee?Iamontheprecipiceofmortified.
Ishakemyhead.“Imusthavebeenthinkingofsomeoneelse.”
Thiswoundshimalittle;Icanseeitinthesetofhismouth.ItwouldwoundmetooifWyattconfusedanythingaboutmewithsomeoneelse.
Chippycomesbackwithourlidsandwesecurethem.Ihopeweareputtingthelidonthiswholeconversation.
“Youbikingback?”hesays.
“Yeah,”Isay.
Wewalkoutsideandbothheadtothebikerack.Hegrabshis,andIkneeldowntounlockmine.
“Expectingacrimewave?”hesays.
“Youneverknow,”Isay.IcouldfillabookwiththewordsIdon’tsayabouttheimportanceofprotectingthingsthatmatter.Predictableoutcomes.
AmanwholookslikeayoungWillieNelsonstopstosayhellotoWyatt.“IwasjustdownattheOwlBarn.Theplaceislookinggreat.”
“Yeah,Istoppedbyyesterday,Ithinkwe’reingoodshape,”saysWyatt.
“Thankssomuchfordoingthis,man.”
“Areyoukidding?It’sfuntohaveithere,”saysWyatt.“Sorry,Jason,thisisSam.”
Jasonshakesmyhandandgivesmeabigsmile.“Sam,likethesong!”
“Whatsong?”Iask.
Herollshiseyesinagood-heartedway.“?‘Sam,IAm,’ofcourse.Goodtoseeyou,buddy.”Andhewalksoff.
“Ishouldgetback,”Isaytothesidewalk.It’ssodumbthatthementionofthatnicknameandthatsongmakesmefeelflustered.Isteadymybikeand,forthefirsttime,considerhowdifferentbikingwithacupofhotcoffeeisfrombikingwithanice-creamcone.Thelid’sontightbutthere’splentyofopportunityforcoffeetospilloutofthesippingholeandscaldme.Wyatt’sstandingtherewatchingme,andthere’snowaytomakeagracefulexitonthisbike.Iholdupmycoffeetohiminagesturemeaningcheers,goodbye,andIgiveup.“Thiswasaterribleidea,”Isay,andhelaughs.Istarttowalkmybikehome.I’mnotgettingburnedagain.25
“He’sreallypartofthefamily,isn’the?”Jacksayswithaneye-roll.WyattandTravisarewalkingupthebeachlatethatafternoon,surfboardsundertheirarms.
“HeandTraviswerefriendswhentheywerekids.They’vebeenoutoftouchforalongtime,thisiskindofnew,”Isay.
Theywalkthroughthedunesandleavetheirsurfboardsatthebottomoftheporchsteps.Wyattshouldbewearingashirt,Ithink.It’snotrightforhimtobestandingthere,tanandwetandalittlesandy.There’satinypieceofseaweedonhisshoulder,andmyhandprickleswiththedesiretoreachoverandpickitoff.TheurgeissostrongthatIshovemyhandsinmyarmpits.This,Irealize,issortofagrossthingtodo,andnowIdon’tknowwhattodowithmyhands.Thisisjustthebeach,Ithink.Inthecity,mybodytotallybehavesitself
“Youshouldhaveashirton,”Jackissaying.Icouldn’tagreemore,butwhat?“Allyoursunscreenwillhavewashedoffinthewaterandyourshouldersarealreadyred.”
Wyattlooksathisshoulderandpicksofftheseaweed.“I’vegottogetbetteraboutthat.”Hegrabsatoweloffaloungechairanddrapesitoverhisshoulders.HetossesanotheronetoTravis.Iamrelieved.
“So,youhelpedbringthemusicfestivaltotown?”Iamtryingforsomethinginthecategory“ThingsaFriendMightSay.”
“Yes,”Wyattsays.“Iknowsomeofthepeoplewhorecruitthebands.”
“Areyougoingtogo?Iheardyouplaythismorning,yousoundedgood.”Iamsoawkwardsayingthis,asifpayingWyattacomplimentisgoingtomakemegoupinflames.
Travisgetsupfromhisloungechair.“I’mgoingtoneedabeerforthis.”Hewalksintothehouse.
“Thanks.”Wyattsmiles.
“Sowillyougo?”Iask.
“Yeah,I’llstopbyafewoftheevents.Toseehowitallturnedout.”
“Thisishowithappens,”Jacksays.“Connections.Goodforyou.”
TravisisbackwithbeersforjustWyattandhim.Iask,“Sowhydidtheydecidetomovethefestivalhere?”Easywords,neutralconversation.Icantotallydothis.
“Theydidn’treallywanttotryanythingnew,butIpitchedittothemanyway.Thequaintsmalltown,easyaccessfromthecity.Newportishardtogettoandexpensive.”Wyattsitsdowninachairoppositeusandhistowelfallsfromhisshoulders.JackandIbothstarenervouslyatthoseshouldersandJacktosseshimabottleofsunscreen.WyattgrabshisT-shirtinsteadandpullsitoverhishead.It’shisoldChicagoCubsT-shirt,whichhasnowbeenwashedwithinaninchofitslife.Itispaper-thinwithasmallripalongtheneckwherehisleftcollarboneisexposed.Hemightaswellbesittingtherecompletelynaked.Iblinktheimageaway.
Wyattgoeson.“IthinkwhatsoldthemwasthefactthatSkipWarrengotmarriedhere.AttheOldSloopInnactually.Theguyinchargeisahugetennisfan,sothatsortoflegitimizedtheplace.”
Jackleansforwardinhischaise.“SkipWarrengotmarriedhere?”Andtome,“Didyouknowthis?”
“Iguess.Wewerekids,Ithink,”Isay.
“Youwerefifteen,”Wyattsays,andsmilesatmethetiniestbit.
“Ican’tbelieveIdidn’tknowthat.Imean,SkipWarren.He’sthewholereasonIstartedplayingtennis.”Idon’treallyhaveitinmetodebunkthisstatement,butthewholereasonJackstartedplayingtennisisthathiswholefamilyhasplayedtennissincetheywereabletowalk.
TravisraiseshisbeertoJack.“Wellhere’stotheOldSloopInn.”26
“Absolutelynot.”Ican’trememberwhenI’vebeensoemphaticwithJack.We’reinthegarageapartment,whichwasmyideabecauseIabsolutelyneedtohavesexwithhimtogetmyheadbackonstraight.Ineedafresh,successfulsexualexperiencetowashtheimageofWyattinthatT-shirtfrommymind.Jack’sruinedthemomentbytellingmehisparentswanttovisittomorrow.
“Whynot?Theythinkitsoundslikeaniceplaceforthewedding,andtheylovethewholeSkipWarrenthing.”
“SkipWarren?ArethererealpeoplewhocareaboutSkipWarren?”I’msittingonthenicelymadebedwhileJackcarefullyunbuttonshisshirtlikethisisactuallygoingtohappen.
Hestopshalfwaydown.“Iamoneofthosepeople.Plusmyparentsmakethree.Look,letthemcomefortheday.We’llseethemforawalkaroundanddinner,that’sit.”
It’stoomuch.IputmyheadinmyhandsandtrytothinkofsomethingtosaythatwillmakeJackknowhowIfeel.“It’stoomuch.”
“Whereverwegetmarried,we’regoingtohaveallofourfamilytogether.Thisisaminiversionofit.Andiftheylikeit,maybewewillgetmarriedouthere.Maybeeveryonewillbehappy.”
Jack’smom,Donna,isanofficemanager.She’spreciselikeJack,andIhavetoguessthatthebookswheresheworksarebalancedanddustfree.Iloveprecisepeople;I’mmarryingone,afterall.Ilikethewayshesendsmeabirthdaycardthatarrivesexactlythedaybeforemybirthdayeachyear.Ibetsherenewsherdriver’slicenseonlinebeforeitexpires.LikeJack,shehasastandinghairappointmenttokeeptheedgesrazorsharp.Peoplelikethisdon’tblowuptheirfamilies.Peoplelikethishavelong-term-careinsuranceandlivingwills.
MyparentshavemetJack’stwiceinfouryears.Bothtimeswemetfordinnerinthecity,neutralterritory.Jack’sdad,Glen,wonmydadoverwithquestionsaboutaNewYorkTimesarticlehe’dreadaboutCurrent.DonnawonmymomoverbysayingthatI’mthedaughtershe’salwaysdreamedof.Theyaretrulylovelypeople.
“Okay,fine,”Isay.
“Good,”Jacksays,pullingdownthecoversforme.“Becausethey’llbehereinthemorning.”
I’mthrownbythis,boththefactthatthey’recomingandthefactthatitwasadonedealbeforeIevenknewaboutit.I’mthrownbytheprospectofDonnawalkingintomymother’skitchen.ButIlookupatJack,whoisopeninghimselfuptoOakShoreandmyfamily,andIstarttoundress.27
SomuchforleavingonWednesday.Jack’sparentsarearrivingatnoon,andIthinkIhearJacktellmydadthatwe’restayingthroughtheweekend.Thiscan’tberight.Jackleavesforamorningatthegym,andGraciechallengesmetoswimallthewaydowntothecove.Wewalkdowntothewater,andworrieschaseeachotheraroundinmyhead—thestateofmyjob,whatJack’sparentsaregoingtothinkofMom’sdriftwoodcollection,thepossibilityofrunningintoWyattagainwhenI’mhalf-dressed.ThecoldwaterticklesmyfeetandsoonIamswimmingalongsideGracie.Theknotsstarttountangle.AsIgetintoarhythmandmystrokeclicksin,Iseethingsfromadifferentperspective.Irecognizeitasthebraver,lighterperspectiveofayoungerme.IthinkaboutmyjobandhowmuchI’velearnedthere.IfI’mfired,Ihavetheskillstofindanotherone.Maybeevenonewherethere’sroomfornewideas.IpicturemymothermakingpaperandthinkhowimpressedDonnamightbebythat.Howmanypeopleknowhowtomakepaper?Mywhat-ifshavelosttheirheaviness.
Whenwegettothecove,Iamshockedbythebeautyofthelindentree.Ihaven’tbeendownhereinyears,andit’sthesame,ifbentslightlymorebythewind.
“Ican’tbelieveyouswamthatfar,”saysGracie.
“Iknow.Iwasn’tthinkingaboutit,Ijustkeptgoing.”I’moutofbreath,butIlikethewaymybodyfeels.Wesitdownatthebaseofthetree,sidebyside,withalltheshellsscatteredinfrontofus.
“Youseemhappier,”saysGracie.She’smakingacircleinthesandwithherindexfinger.
“Happierthanwhat?”
“Thaninthecity.Happierthanwhenyou’redressedinstiffclothes.Idon’tknowwhyyou’resoweirdaboutcomingtothebeach.”
Iputmyarmaroundher.Idoknowwhy,butshedoesn’tneedtohearit.“ItsoundslikeJackwantstostaytherestoftheweek,”Isay.“Canwedothisagaintomorrowmorning?”
Graciesmilesatmelikeshehasn’tseenmeforalongtime.
JackandImeetDonnaandGlenattheOldSloopInnforlunch.Iwasrelievedwhenmyparentsdecidedtostayhomeandgetthingsorganizedfordinneronthebackporch.IalmostaskedmymomtoputherpapermakingoperationawayandmovetheseaweedintoDad’sstudio,butthesightofherputteringaroundherchaotickitchenandhummingsoftlytoherselfgavemepause.Mymotherissohappyandcompleteintheworldshe’screated.Iamsometimessouncomfortableinmine.Ienvyherthisanddecidednottosayanything.Howmanypeopleknowhowtomakepaper?
“Thisissoexciting!”Donnasays,givingmeatighthug.“SkipWarren.Ihadnoidea.”Thisconfusesmeabit,becauseIwassureshewasabouttosayourweddingwastheexcitingthing.
“Ican’tbelieveiteither,”saysJack.“Anddon’tyoulovethisplace?”
Wewalkthroughthesmalllobbyintothemaindiningroom,wheretheweddingwouldbe.Itreallyischarming,withwhitewashedwoodandlightingfixturessecuredbynauticalrope.IthasabeachyelegancetoitthatIlike,Iguessthenextbestthingtohavingthewholethingoutside.
“It’sgreat,”saysGlen.“Let’sseeaboutthefood.”Thentome,“Yourparentsareallforthisplace,right?”
ThisOldSloopInnthingseemstobegettingawayfromme.IfIthrowmyparentsinasayes,thiswillfeellikeadonedeal.“Theyjustwantwhateverwewant.”Wesitatourtable,andDonnaandJackcarefullyunfoldtheirnapkinsandspreadthemontheirlaps.
“DonnaandIdrovebyWarrenWoodsonourwayintotown,”Glensays.“Gorgeouspark.Perfectplaceforarehearsaldinner.”
“That’sagreatidea.Thewholeweddingweekendwillhavekindofalow-keytheme,”Jacksays.I’msureI’vemisheardhimbecausethere’snowayI’mhavingaWashed-UpTennisPlayer–themedwedding.
“It’sagreatpark,”Isay.“Travisusedtoplaybaseballthereinthesummertime.ButJackdoesn’twanttoplananythingoutdoorsinOctober.”
“Well,no,thereIwould.Itprobablywon’train.”
“Andwe’dhaveaplanBforsure,”saysDonna.“Ihavetheperfectcaterer,andtheyworkwitharentalcompanywhowillbringineverythingweneed.”
Thethreeofthemarenoddingandsmilinglikewe’vejustdiscoveredanewcleanenergysource.Ican’tthinkofanyreasontodisagreewiththem.Myparentsaregoingtobeecstatic.
“Thewashed-uptennisplayer?”mydadasksoverdinner.He’sbarbecuedchickenandmymomhasmadeorzoandachoppedsalad.Thetablelooksbeautiful,andIamashamedofmyselffordreadingthismoment.Myparentsaregraciousandhappy,andthissharedenthusiasmformyweddinggiveseveryonetonstotalkabout.
“Hewasacad,”Grampssays.“SleptwitheverygirlonLongIslandbeforeheknockedoneupandhadtomarryher.”
“Dad,”mymomlaughs.“That’snottrue.”
“AstrueasI’msittinghere.”
“Well,thisisn’ttodowiththem,”Donnasays.“It’sabeautifulhistoricpark,andtheinnisjustperfect.”
“Isaywebookit,”saysmydad.
Jacklooksatme,andIshrug.I’mnotshruggingIdon’tknow,IthinkI’mshruggingWhatdifferencedoesitmake?Ican’tquitepicturewhatthisweddingisgoingtofeellike,andatthispoint,LongIslandandConnecticutseeminterchangeable.
Donnagivesmeasmile.“Let’sleaveittothebride.Youletusknowwhatyoudecide.”Sheraisesherglassandsays,“Tothebride!”
Iamwaitingtofeelonewayoranother.Icheckmystomachforahoorayoranabsolutelynot.There’snothingtherebutacceptanceandabitofreliefthatthisdecisionisclosetobeingmade.Ihaveletgo,andthisweddingisprobablygoingtobetheonethingIinsisteditnotbe:onLongIsland.Idon’treallymind.
Afterblueberrypie,wewalkDonnaandGlenaroundtheporchtotheircar.It’sablackMercedessportscarofsomesort,makingmesuspectGlenhadamidlifecrisisinthepastfewyears.
“Ohhey.”Wyattwavesfromhisdriveway.He’sinjeansandaT-shirt,holdinghisguitarcase.Ifheweren’tabouttogetintohismother’sstationwagon,he’dlooklikehesteppedoffanalbumcover.
“That’sWyatt,”Isay,likeit’saconfession.
“Hello,”GlenandDonnasay.
Wyattwalksoverandshakestheirhands.“That’sabeautifulcar,”hesays.
“Thankyou.GetsmefrompointAtopointB,”Glensayswithalaugh.
“Nicewaytotravel,”Wyattsays.
“He’samechanic,”saysJack.“AtaShellstation.InLosAngeles.”Andit’snotnice.Idon’tknowwhy,butthere’satonetoit.
“Notexactly,butI’moffdutytonight,”saysWyatt,likethepunchdidn’tevenland.“I’mheadedovertotheOwlBarntohelpsomeofthebandswarmup.”Heraiseshisguitarcase.
“Oh,areyouaperformer?”asksDonna,withherhandoverherheartlikeitjustfluttered.IswearifIdidn’tknowher,I’dthinkshewasflirting.
“Imostlyjustwritesongs.”Hegivesheragenuinelykindsmile,likehe’sgladsheasked.Likehe’scompletelyatpeace.IlikeknowingthisabouthislifeinLA,thathe’sstillworkingatitevenifhe’snotgoingtoperform.“Well,itwasnicemeetingyou.Yourson’smadeagreatchoice.”
“Weknow.Wecouldn’tbehappier.Anditlooksliketheymightdecidetogetmarriedouthere,”Donnasays.
Wyattlooksatmeinsurprise.
“ItwasthedrawofSkipWarren,”Itellhim.
Helaughs,“Ofcourse.Yourfavorite.”28
It’sThursday,andIcan’tbelieveI’vestayedherefornearlyaweek.Ialsocan’tbelieveIamstartingtocomearoundtotheideaofhavingmyweddingouthere.Iimaginemyfriendsfromthecitycomingoutandseeingthisotherpartofme,suntannedandeasy.Idon’tknowwhereI’vebeenkeepingher,thisotherSam,butIwanttothinkthey’dlikeher.
I’mupearly.I’vesleptwiththewindowsopen,andIcanhearthewavescrashing.Ilieinbedandletthesoundwashovermeagainandagain.Icanfeelthechillofwateronmyskinandimaginemyselfswimmingallthewaydowntothelindentree.Ihearthewaterrushbymyearsandfeelthewaymyshoulderswouldstretchwitheachstroke.Igetupandputonmybathingsuitimmediately,thewayIwouldhavedoneasakid,justknowingthattheoceanwasgoingtobewovenintomyday.
Outonthedeck,themorningisbreathtaking.There’saslightbreezecomingoffthewaterthatblowsthedunesgracefullytotheleft.Gullsareglidingoverhead,stretchingtheirwingstoembracetheday.Ihearafewnotescomingfromthetreehouse.Wyattisup.Iimaginemyselfwalkingofftheporchandintohisyardandclimbinguptheropeladder.I’dsay,“Hey.”Andhe’dsay,“Hey,Sam-I-am.”He’dsmileatmeinthatwaythathadmademefeelwholeandseenmyentirelife.Andmaybethatwouldbeit,we’dbefriends.
Wyattisplayingasongthatsoundsalittlebitlike“Sam,IAm,”butdifferent.Ilovethatsong,ofcourse.ItwasMissyMcGee’sfirstbighitandwasthenumberonesongontheradioforever.ThefirsttimeIheardit,IwasajunioratNYU.IwasinabarandthoughtIwashallucinating.Ishushedthehair-gelledguyIwastalkingtosoIcouldhearthechorus.EverythingaboutitremindedmeofWyatt.Thelyricsaboutcatchingthebreathofthepersonyou’reinlovewithandtherhythmofthemusicputmerightbackinthetreehouse.Foraboutsixmonthstherewasnoescapingthatsongateveryparty.IfIhearditinabar,Iwouldwalkoutside;ifIhearditinthecar,Iwouldchangethestation.IfIwasalonewithGracie,Iwouldletmyselflisten.
YearsagoIreadanarticleaboutMissyMcGeeinPeoplewhereshewastalkingaboutoldrelationshipsgonewrong.AndIthought,OneofthoseguysmustbetheSaminhersong.AndshemusthavefeltallthesamethingsabouthimthatWyattandIfeltabouteachother.Irealizedthateveryonewho’syoungandinlovemustfeelexactlythesame.Inaweirdway,itmademefeelbetter.
WhichIguessiswhyitwassuchareliefwhenImetJack.IloveJack,butIdon’tneedtobetouchinghimallthetime.Thereisn’tthisfeelingofholdingonsotightlybecauseImightfallintotheabyssifIletgo.TherehasneverbeenamomentwhereIfeltlikehewasapartofme;heisjustrightnexttome,apartner.Lovelikethisissomuchmoremanageable,somuchlessterrifying.Hehashisworkandhisfriends,andsodoI.Hehaswonderfulparents.Sometimeswevisitthemtogether.SometimesJackgoesalone,andIenjoyaweekendintheapartmentbymyself,orwithGracie,nottalkingaboutexercising.Thiskindofside-by-sidelovefeelslikeamanageablekindofjoy.Inowunderstandthatthisiswhatgrown-uploveis.It’snotthatthethingwithWyattwasmagicandthisisn’t;it’sjustthatbackthenIwassixteenyearsold.IhateitwhenDr.Judyisright.
WhenImetJackinthebackofthatcabforthefirsttime,Ithought,Iwantthis.ThethoughtgrewlouderinmyheadasItookhimin.Hisshouldersandhishaircutmadehimseemincontrol,asifheasapersonwasimpervioustoanunexpectedgustofwind.HeworeawaxedBarbourjacket,warmbutalsoreadyforrain.Heturnedhisbodytowardmeaswedroveuptowninawaythatmademefeellikehewasinterestedinmetoo.
HewasgoingtoThirty-FourthStreet,andaswegotcloser,itdidn’tlooklikehewasgoingtoaskformynumber.Inapanic,Istartedleavinghimbreadcrumbsincasehedecidedhewantedtotrackmedownlater.
“IworkforHumanCorpsonForty-ThirdStreet,”Isaid.Hecouldwaitoutsidetheofficeandaskmeout.Maybetherewouldbeflowers.
Then,“It’shumanresourcesconsulting.MyTwitterhandleisSaminhr,butnoonegetsitandtheyspellout‘salmon’likeI’mafish.There’snosuchthingassalmonHR.Imeantheyallswimthewaythey’resupposedto,right?”Thiswasnotmyfinestattemptattheartofconversation,butwewerehalfablockfromwherehewasgettingout.Iwantthis.
Whenwepulledupinfrontofhisoffice,hehandedmeaten-dollarbillandsaid,“Well,SaminHR,itwasnicemeetingyou.Haveagoodday.”Helingeredforasecondbutthenshutthedoorandcrossedthestreet.
Twodayslater,hesentmeaTwittermessageinvitingmeoutforsushi.ItwasaTuesdayandhearrivedattherestaurantwithslightlywethair.Inowknowthiswouldhavebeenaresultofhispost-tennisshower.
Iwantthis,Ithought.
WyattplaysasongI’veneverheardstraightthroughwithoutstopping.It’sgoodandIwonderwhatwordshe’dputwithit.Hestartsonanothersong,effortlessandunhalting,andIthinkIknowthisone.Iwonderifhe’ssingingquietlyalongorifhe’sgivenupsingingaltogether.Inmyhead,Icanhearhisslightlytentativevoice.
Isortofhopehesettlesdownwithsomeone.Itwouldbeniceforbothofustohaveendedupwithreal,stablepartners.WhenIthinkofalltheshatteredpiecesofhislife,allshatteredatonce,Isortofunderstandwhyhewalkedaway.Plus,IgotGracieoutofthiswholething.Hegotnothing.
“You’reupearly,”mymomsays,joiningmewithGrannyandthreecupsofcoffee.Shetiltsherheadtowardthemusic.“Nicethingtowakeupto.”Itwasthewrongthingtosay.Ifeeltheinnuendoinmygut;shemustseeitonmyface.“Ijustmeanthemusic.”Grannystiflesalaugh.
“Iknow.It’sjustsodisorienting.IfeellikeI’vewalkedintoanoldphotoalbum.Howisitpossiblethathe’shereandhe’sexactlythesame,doingallthesamethings?”
“He’snotexactlythesame.Justbecausehe’swearingthesameclothesandplayingthesameguitardoesn’tmeanhehasn’tgrownup,”mymomsays.
“Iguess.”
“Anditreallyhasbeenalongtime.Maybeyoutwocouldbefriends.”
“Nochance,”saysGranny.
Igiveheraneye-roll.“Ofcoursewecouldbefriends.”
“Sowhatarewegoingtodoaboutthissingerhe’sseeing?”Grannyasks.
“Nothing.BecauseI’mgettingmarried,remember?”
“That’sright,”saysGranny,likeI’vejoggedhermemory.“ThatJackisawfullyhandsome,mightgetonmynervesafterawhile.”MymomandIlaughbecausethat’sjustsoGranny.She’ssuspiciousofshinythings.
Wyattstopsplaying,andwelookoutatthewater.“IadoreJack,”mymomsays.Herewego.“ButIthinkyoushouldtrytotalkthingsthroughwithWyattbeforeyougetmarried,putthewholethingbehindyousohe’snotsomekindoffantasylurkinginyourhead.JackisthesortofmanI’vedreamedofyoumarrying,butyoudon’twanttostartamarriagewithanydoubts.”
“Didyou?”
“No,notasingleone.Fromourthirddate,IthoughtI’ddieifIdidn’tmarryyourdad.”
Grannyleansin.“Shewasobsessed.”
“Iwas,”mymomsays.“Andthat’snotalwaysahealthykindoflove.”
“Isayit’stheonlykind,”saysGranny.
MymomsmilesatGranny.“Maybe,”shesays.Whatshedoesn’tsayisthatit’sdangerousandcancompletelydestroyyou.Whatshedoesn’tsayisthatshewouldthrowherbodyintoaragingfirebeforeeverseeingmehurtagain.
“NeverforgetthatIcanseeinsideyourhead,”shesays,andactuallypokesmynoselikeI’msix.“There’salittleflickertherethatIfindmildlydisturbing.ForsureyoushouldmarryJack,butcleartheairwithWyattfirst.”
“There’snoflicker.”
“Oh,there’saflickerallright,”Grannylaughs.Ireallycan’tstandthesetworightnow.THEN
29
Sam
“Anybodywanttoswimdowntothecoveforsunset?”askedSam.Thereweretenofthemonthebeach,includingTravisandMichael.
“It’stoofar,”saidTravis.“I’mwornoutalready.”
“We’lltakebreaks,”Samsaid.
“Don’tbelieveher,”saidWyatt.“Shedoesn’ttakebreaks.”
Samlookedupatthesky.“Weonlyhaveabouttwentyminutes.Who’sin?”Samwasonherfeetandcouldalreadyfeelthepulloftheocean.Shecouldfeelthecoolwateronherskinandhearthemuffledsoundofherownstrokes.Wyattwastheonlyonewhostoodup.
“Allright,Sam,butwe’rewalkingback.Iswearyou’regoingtobreakme.”
Samsmiledandranintotheocean.Asshestartedtoswim,shelosttrackofWyatt.Shedidn’tknowifhewasaheadofherorbehindher,butsheknewhewasthere.Shetriedtopushtherecurringthoughtaway—inafewweekshewouldbebackinIllinoisforhissenioryear.She’dbebackinthecitywithfriendswhocouldneverappreciatehowcompletelyshe’dbeentransformed.She’dtaketheACT,she’dfinishjunioryear.Anditwouldbesummeragain.Shecoulddothis,shethought,armscuttingthroughthewater.Wyatthadsaidforever.
Whentheygottothecove,Wyatttookherhandandledheruptheshore.Sheshookoutherhairandtieditinaknotontopofherhead.
“Seriously,Sam,you’regoingtokillme.”Wyattwasstillcatchinghisbreathastheywalkedhandinhandtowardthelindentree.
Samsurveyedheroldcollectionofshells.Somewerehalfcoveredinsand,andshedustedthemoff.ThesunwassettingandshecouldfeelWyattwatchingher.
Shelookedup.“What?”
Wyattshrugged.“Iwasjustthinkingthiswouldbeaniceplacetogetmarried.”
Samlookedoutonthebeachinfrontofthetree.Thesunwasstartingtoset,justthebeginningyellow-to-orangestage.“Towho?”sheasked,steppingtowardhim.
“Idon’tknow.I’llfindsomebody.”Heputhisarmsaroundherstill-wetbackandkissedher.Beforesheknewittheirbathingsuitswereinthesandandtheywerewrappedupineachotherrightunderthattree.ShelookedupatthedarkgreenleavesandhadtwothoughtsbeforeshegaveintotheblissofWyatttouchingeverypartofherbody:SummerisalmostoverandThisisexactlywhereI’mgoingtogetmarried30
Wyatt
Mostnights,allthekidswouldmeetonthebeachassoonasitwasdark.Sometimestheywenttosomeone’shouse,butinlateAugusttimewasrunningout,andnoonewantedtowasteitbeinginside.Wheneveryonewasseatedaroundthefire,Wyattsawtheirfacesateveryage.They’dbeenlittlekidssneakingovertotheolderkids’bonfire,they’dbeenthirteen,fourteen,andhe’dbeenfallinginlovewithSamallalong.HefeltlikeheandSamhadalwaysbeenonthisstretchofsand,andhelovedthatthey’dbethereagainatthesametimenextsummer.
Wyattwishedhehadhisguitar,asthesoundofeveryonetalking,mixedwiththebreezecomingofftheoceanandthecracklingofthefire,broughtatuneintohismind.Therewasasoundtosummermusic,hethought.Itsoundedlikewarmair.
Hewantedtobeapersonwhocouldjustpickupaguitarandplayforpeoplewithoutworryingthatitwasnogood.Thestakeswereprettylowwiththiscrew,andwithSamsittingnexttohim,herlegsdrapedoverhis,hefeltmoreconfidentthanheeverhad.Buthismusicwassuchabig,achingdreamthathewasn’treadytoriskhavinganaudienceofmorethanone.
“Ihatetheendofsummer,”Samsaidtoeveryone.
“Idon’tknowhowyoutwoaregoingtosurvivewithouteachother,”saidTravis.Everyonekindoflaughed,andWyatttriedtokeepthepainoffhisface.Thiswassomethingtheyweretryingnottotalkabout,howtheyweregoingtomanageanentireninemonthsapart.They’dspendnextsummeratthebeach,thenhe’dheadouttoLA.SamwouldbeaseniorthenandwouldapplytoUSCandUCLA.Theyneverreallycoveredmorethanthebroadstrokesofhowthatlifewasgoingtofallintoplace.Instead,theytalkedaboutwhattheirviewwouldlooklike,howstrangethebeachwouldlookfacingthewrongway.
“It’sgoingtosuck,”saidSam,becausethetimeapartwasgoingtosuck.Heputhisarmaroundherandpulledherintight.Holdingherclose,hecouldfeeltheacheofnotbeingabletotouchherforsolong.Everythinghadaflipside.
Samunwrappedherselffromhisarmsandstoodup.“AnyonewanttoplayCapturetheFlag?Justonelasttime?”31
Sam
ItwasalmostLaborDay,andsummerfeltlikethelastinchofwaterdrainingfromthebathtub.WyattmetSamatthelibraryandtookherouttolunchatthediner.“It’spayday,m’lady,”hesaid.
Whenthey’dorderedturkeysandwichesandfriestoshare,Samsaid,“So,Ihadthetalkwithmydadlastnight.”
Wyatt’seyeswenthuge.“Whatdoyoumean‘talk’?”
Samsmiled.“Likeaboutyouandme.”
“OhmyGod,ishegoingtokillme?I’lltotallymarryyourightnowifyouwant.”
Samlaughed.“No,hewasreallycuteaboutit.Hejustcameinandsatonmybedandwaslike,‘Sammy,seemslikeyou’rehavingaprettybigloveaffairthissummer.’AndIwaslike,‘Yeah.’?”
“Ishegoingtokillmeornot?”
“No,itwasnothinglikethat.Hesaidhewashappyforme.Thatthere’snothingmoreexcitinginlifethanthatpulltowardanotherperson.Itwasreallynice.Anditmademefeelhappyformyparents,thathefeelsthatway.”
Wyatt’swholebodyrelaxed.“He’ssocool.Yourwholefamilyissocool.Everythingjustrightoutintheopensotherearenolandminestostepon.”
“Isitanybetterwithyourparents?”
“It’sworse,Ithink.Michael’swastedmostofthetimeandtheydon’tsayawordaboutit.TheyknowforsurethatI’mnotgoingtocollege,butwedon’ttalkaboutwhatIamdoing.It’sjustthisbig,thicksilenceinthehouse.”WyattpeeledthelabeloffhisbottleofCoke.“Iwishmydadwouldbelike,‘Ohhey,son,Iseeyou’reinlove.’Oreven‘Ohhey,Iseeyou’re’anything.”
Samsaid,“Yeah,Iguesswe’retalkers.”
“It’sawesome,”hesaid.“Yourfamilyisthebest.”32
Wyatt
OntheSaturdaynightbeforeLaborDay,theHollowaysandthePopeswerehostingapartyonthebeach.EveryfamilyonSaltaireLanewasinvited.Theyhadtablessetinthesandandabuffetofshrimp,friedchicken,andpotatosalad.Therewerebigbucketswithicedwineandbeer,andSamworeashortwhitesundress.ThosearethepartsWyattwouldrememberthemostclearlybeforeitallhappened.Thecrunchoftheshrimp,thedillinthepotatosalad,thefeelofSam’sdresswhenhishandrestedonherwaist.
Laurelwasgatheringuptheemptyglasswaterbottles,strugglingwithfouroftheminherhands.Theywereoutofwater,andshemusthavenoticedthatpeopleweregettingabittipsy.Wyattmadehiswayovertoherandtookthebottles.“Letme,”hesaid.“Needanythingelsefrominside?”
Laurelsmiledhergratitude.“No,butthankyou.I’mexhausted.”
Wyattmadehiswayupthebeach,tothepathinthedunes,twoemptybottlesineachhand.He’dfullyintendedtofillthebottlesattheHolloways’house—theyhadawatercoolerinthekitchen—buthewashotandheknewthewaterfromthedispenserinthedoorofhisrefrigeratorwouldbeice-cold.Theonlythingthat’sbetteratmyhouse,he’drememberthinking.Ifithadn’tbeensohot,heprobablywouldhavefilledupthebottlesatSam’shouse.Itwasfaster,andtheywereSam’sbottles.Ifithadn’tbeensohot,maybenothingwouldhavechanged.
Hepassedthepool,openedtheslidingglassdoor,andheardit,amuffledgasp.HeswitchedonthelightandtriedtomakesenseofhismothersittingonthekitchencounterwithherarmsaroundBillHolloway’sneck.
“Mom?”heheardhimselfsay.
“Wyatt.Oh,wewerejust…”Hedidn’tstayfortherest.
HeranouttothetreehouseandtextedSamthathewasn’tfeelingwellandwasgoingtobed.Thenhesatinhisbeachchair,motionless,watchingtherestoftheparty.Hesawhismotherwalkbackouttothebeach,rejoiningthegroup.HewonderedifthiswouldbejustonemorethingthatthePopesdidn’ttalkabout.Michael’sdrunk,Wyatt’snotgoingtocollege,Mom’sanadulterer.HewatchedBillwalkoutmomentslater,lookingaround,presumablyforhim.WyattwouldhavetotellSam,buthedidn’tevenknowwhattosay.
HewokeuponthefloorofthetreehousetofindSamclimbingundertheblanketsnexttohim.Shecurvedherbodyrightintohis,thewayshealwaysdid,andrestedherheadonhischest.“Thisisaweirdplacetosleepifyou’renotfeelingwell,”shewhispered.
“I’mokay,”hesaid.
“Doyouloveme?”sheasked,likeshedidsooften.Itwasrhetoricalatthispoint,agame.
“Ido,”hesaid,andpulledhercloser.Heranthewordsthroughhishead:Ihavesomethingtotellyou.Or,Isawsomething.Shewouldbecrushed,andhonestly,hewastoo.Itwasn’tevensomuchhismother’sdoingsomethinglikethattohisfather.Forallheknew,shecouldn’tstandhim.HefeltmoreletdownbyBill,liketheonethingintheworldthathe’dthoughtwasperfectwasnot.AndthethoughtofSam’sknowingwhatheknewwastoomuchforhim.
“You’requiet,”shesaid,runningherhandoverhischest.
“I’masleep,”hesaid.“Staywithme.”Andshedid.
Whenthesuncameup,Samsnuckdowntheropeladderandbacktoherhouse.WyattwokehourslaterandfoundhisdadandBillsittingbythepool.Frankwasleaningback,armsfoldedoverhischest.Billhadhisheadinhishands.Therewasnowayintothehousewithoutwalkingbythem.“I’msorry,son,”saidBill,whosesonhewasnot.
Wyattjuststoodthere.
“Ididn’tknowifyou’dtellyourdad,butIdidn’twantthatburdenonyou.Thisismyfault,mineandyourmom’s,Iguess,andit’sformetocarry,notyou.”Sogoddamnperfect,thoughtWyatt.Thisguywasflawless,exceptfortheobvious.
“Gladyoufeelbetter,then,”saidWyatt,andwalkedintothehouse.
Hismotherwasinthekitchen,wipingupspillsthatweren’tthere.“Idideverythingwrong,”shesaid,notlookingup.
Yes,hethought.Everything
Bynoon,FrankwasheadedtotheairporttoflybacktoFlorida.Samwouldbeatworkatthelibrary,gettingoffinanhour.Wyatttookthetruckandwaitedoutfront.Whenshesawhim,herfaceopenedupinasmile.Shehoppedinthecarandkissedhim.Hekissedherextra,incasethiswasthelasttime.
“You’llbehappytoknowmyparentsareinafight,”shejoked.“IheardthemarguingwhenIleftthismorning,justlikeregularpeople.”
“Sam.”
“I’mjoking,maybeit’snotfunny.ButIsortofthought,Wow,isthiswhatregularparentsdo?”
“Sam.Ineedtotellyou.Something’shappened.”
TheywerestillparkedinfrontofthelibraryonMainStreet;thecarwashotandthewindowsweredown.Samturnedtohimandtookhishand.
“You’rescaringmealittle.What?”
Wyattlookeddownatherhandinhis,soangryatBillforcreatingthismoment.
“LastnightIsawyourdadandmymom,kindofmakingout.There’sbeensomekindofanaffairandmydadwentbacktoFlorida.”
Samjustlookedathim.“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Iknow,thisisreallyhardtohear,anditwasreallyhardtosee.”
Samturnedawayfromhimandstaredstraightoutthewindshield.Thesilencethatfollowedputnewspacebetweenthem.Finally,Samsaid,“Takemehome.”
WhenWyattpulledintohisdriveway,Samwentrightintoherhousewithoutsayingaword.Hetriedtoimaginewhatshe’dfindinthere.WouldTravisbehome?Wouldtheyalljusttalkaboutit?Wyattwasovercomewithjealousyatthethought.Hisdadhadjustgottenupandleft,andtheHollowayswereprobablyalreadyingrouptherapy.Thanks,Bill,forblowingupmyfamily.
Apparently,Laurelcouldn’tspendanothernightnextdoortoMarion.But,ofcourse,shewasn’tgoingtoleaveBillalonelivingnexttoher.Fromhiskitchenwindow,WyattcouldseeBillandTravispackingupthecartogobacktoManhattan.
HetextedSam:What’shappening?Areyouleaving?
Sam:Lookslikeit.CanIcomesaygoodbye?
Wyatt:Meetmeatthebeach
Theyhadtenminutestosayeverythingthatwashopefullygoingtomakethisthingokay.WyattsatwithhisarmaroundSamandfelttheweightofherlegsdrapedoverhis.Hefeltherheadonhisshoulder,exactlywhereitwasmeanttobe,andranhisfingersoverthetangleofherhair.Hewasn’tsurethathe’dprocessedwhathe’dseenlastnightorthathehadanyideaofwhatwasgoingtohappen,buthedidknowthatrightinhisarmswaseverythingthatmattered.“Iloveyouandthishasnothingtodowithus,okay?”hekeptsaying
Samcriedandlethimholdher.“Idon’tunderstandhowthiscanbehappening.”
“Ican’tbelieveI’mnotgoingtoseeyoutomorrow.”Wyattfeltemptiedoutashesaidthesewords,asheimaginedhisbodyalonewithoutSam.Hefeltthehappinessthathe’dbeensoacutelyawareofallsummerstarttomeltaway,andangerfilledtheemptyspace.33
Sam
Samwouldn’thavebeenreadytosaygoodbyetoWyattonLaborDayundernormalcircumstances,butnow,sayinggoodbyelikethis,shefeltlikeshe’dhadsomethingrippedfromherbody.Somethingthatwascriticaltoherfunctioning.Herfamilywassilentinthecar,andastheygotclosertoManhattan,Samfeltthepanicyoufeelwhenyou’vebecomedisorientedinthewaterandyoudon’trememberwhichwayisup.Shefeltlikeeverythingshe’dthoughtsheknewabouttheworldhadbeenwrong.
“Myparentshavestartedtherapy,”shetoldWyattonthephoneinlateSeptember.
“Icannotimagineyourdadintherapy.”
“Meneither.It’sweirdhere,thisthicktensionintheapartmentandmydadsortofwalkingoneggshells.I’mprettysuremymomcouldgethimtodoanythingshewantedrightnow.”Itwasalmostasifhermotherwasinanewlyrestructuredmarriage,andshewasenjoyingthepositionofpower.Itwasunnerving.
“WellIhopeshemakeshimsufferforalittlewhilelonger,hedeservesit.”
“Wyatt.”
“Imeanit.Hebrokemyfamily;hecansweatitoutforalittlewhilebeforehegetshishappyending.”SamwantedtosaythatBillhadn’tbrokentheirfamily,thatWyatthimselfhadtoldheramilliontimeshowbrokenitalreadywas.ButtherewasangerinhisvoicethatSamhadneverheardbefore.Shewasscaredtopushback.
“How’syourdaddoing?”sheasked.
“Idon’tknow.Lookslikehe’sgoingtostayinFloridaandmymom’sgoingtokeepthebeachhouse.He’sangryandquiet.SoIguessnothing’snew.”
Theseconversationswentonthroughoutthefall.Somedaystheycaughtuplikeoldfriendsandthentalkedabouthowmuchtheymissedoneanother.OnthosedaystheytalkedaboutmovingouttoLosAngeles.SamhadapackedjunioryearcourseloadandwasstudyingfortheACT,hertickettoeitherUCLAorUSC.Wyattjustwantedtograduateandgethislifestarted.Onotherdaysitwastense,especiallyifWyattaskedaboutherparents.
“Theyseemalittlebetter,”Samsaid.ItwasNovemberandtheairintheapartmentdidfeellighter.
“Sotheygotoashrinkafewtimesandsuddenlyyourdad’snotchasingwomen?”
Sam’schestwenttight.SheknewthatmakingexcusesforherdadjustmadeWyattangrier,butshewascomingaroundtoacceptingthewholething,andifWyattcouldtoo,everythingcouldgobacktonormal.“Hesaysitwasabouthisart,aboutbeingsodesperateforanewideathathelosthisgriponreality.”
Wyattletoutahardbreath.“Remindmenevertousemymusicasanexcusetoactlikeanasshole.”
Theseexchangeswereusuallypunctuatedwith“sorry”or“let’snotdothis,”buttheirrelationshipwaspoisoned.ItwasimpossibleforWyatttothinkofhismomaloneinthatcoldhousewithoutblamingBill.HewasconstantlyreactingtoallthewaysSamwaslikeherdad,eventhethingsheusedtosayhelovedabouther,likeherimaginationandherdirectness.SamcouldfeelWyattclosingoff.EventhesoundofhisIloveyoulostitstenderness.Hesaiditthewayyou’dsaygoodbye.34
Wyatt
Wyattcouldn’thaveimaginedhowhisfamilycouldpossiblybemorescrewedupuntilhismothervisitedhimatschooltotellhimthatMichaelhadbeenthrownoutofcollegeforrepeateddrunkanddisorderlyconduct.Hewasrelievedwhensheleft.Hisdormroomwastoosmalltoholdhisfamily’spain.
Hesatonhisbed,holdinghisguitarbutnotplaying.HethoughtaboutSamandhowmuchhewishedsheweretherewithhim.Hewishedthetwoofthemcouldrunawayfromtheirfamiliesandjustgobacktowhatthey’dhad.Thiswasapeacefulthought,andhedecidedtocallSamwhilehehadit,tomakeupforbeingsoangrythesepastfewweeks.
“Hey,Sam-I-am,”hesaidwhenshepickedup.
“Youhaven’tcalledmethatinawhile.IsthistheWyattIusedtoknow?”
“I’msorry,I’vebeensuchajerk.Iloveyoumorethananything.”
Heheardherletoutabreath.“Iloveyoutoo.”
Wyattwalkedovertohiswindowandpusheditopeninhopesthatabreezeorthesoundofkidsonthequadmightwashawaytheuglinessthathadenvelopedhisfamily.“SoMichaelgotkickedoutofschool.Basicallyforbeingadrunk.”Hisvoicecaughtashesaidit,andhesqueezedhiseyesshut.“Mymomwasjustheretotellme.”
“That’sawful.I’msorry.”
“Yeah,nokidding.Iguessit’sjustthelaststepinthetotaldestructionofmyfamily.”Hecouldheartheangercreepbackintohisvoice.Hefeltincapableofcontrollingit.
“How’syourmom?”
“Sheapologizedalot,likeeverything’sherfault.Mostlyfornevertalkingaboutanythingandforlettingthingsgetthisbad.Sheseemsbroken.”HestoppedhimselffromsayingYourdadbrokeus35
Sam
When,inApril,Laurelannouncedshewaspregnant,Samknewherparentsweregoingtostaytogether.Everythingwasdifferentintheirapartment.Itwasasifsomeonehadthrownopenthewindowsandreliefhadwashedthroughtheplace.Withouthavingtakenherfirstbreath,Graciestartedtoworkhermagic.Herparentswerefine,andnowtherewasgoingtobeababy.
SamcalledWyatttotellhim.“That’sdisgusting,”hesaid.
“Well,yes,they’reold,butit’skindofnice.Startingover.”
“Yep.Yourdad’sarealladies’man.”
SamwasquietonthephonewhileWyatt’sangersimmered.ShehatedhearingFrank’ssharpsarcasminhisvoice.Sheknewhejustmeantthatitwasn’tfairthatherfamilywasgrowingwhenhiswasslippingaway.Butshecouldn’tkeeptakingthis.
“Thatwasn’tfair,whatyousaidaboutmydad.”
“Nothing’sreallyfair,Sam.”
“Ifwe’regoingtobeokay,ifwe’regoingtogoouttoLA,betogether,weneedtogetpastthis.”
“?‘Getpastthis,’?”herepeated.“Foryouitwasakissinthekitchen,withanewbabytomakeitallbetter.Forme,itwasdivorce,adadIdon’tsee,amotherlivingalone,andabrotherwho’stotallyscreweduphislife.EverythingisjustsodamneasyfortheHolloways.”
“Wyatt.Please.”Samwastryingnottocry.
“Youknowwhat,maybeI’llheadouttoLAearly,skipthesummerinthathellhole.Youcancomewhenever.”
“Youmeanlikeinayear?LikeIwon’tseeyouforayear?”
“Yeah,thatsoundsgood.Enjoythenewbabyandyourhappyfamily.”
“Wyatt.Stop.”Shewascryingnow.“Pleasecomeforthesummer.You’vegottogetpastit.”
“Oh,okay,letmegetonthat.”ThecalldisconnectedandSamfeltherselfslipaway.
SamsatonabenchinWashingtonSquareParkstaringatherphone.Shehadn’theardfromWyattinelevendays.Ithadbeenyearssinceshe’dgoneadaywithoutatleastgettingatext.Shewenttoschoolmostdaysbutoccasionallyfoundherselfderailedbyherownfeetandsittingonthisbenchuntilthreep.m.Shereplayedthesummerandthesummerbeforethatinhermind.Shetriedtorememberwhatitfeltliketolaughuntilyourbodyshookortofollowawhimwhereverittookyou.Shewascurrentlyhavingahardtimefindingtheenergytogetupoffthisbench.
Duringtheseelevendaysshehadsenttwotextsthatshewasstartingtohateherselffor:Wyattplease,andThiscan’tbehappening.Sippinghercoffeeandwatchinghisreplynotpopup,shefeltsmallandrigid,likeoneoftheflatgrayrocksonthebeachthatjustwashedoutwiththetide.Shefeltatotallackofagency,likeherlegsandherspirithadstoppedcollaboratingtomoveherforward.Herbodynolongerknewwhattodo.
Shefoundreliefinthewater.SheswamattheYMCAintheevenings,lettingtheice-coldwatershockherskinintofeelingadifferentkindofpain.ShewantedtotellWyattthatherstaminahadimproved,thattherewouldbenomorebreakswhentheyswamtothecove.Sheimaginedhisdramaticgroanoverthisfact,andsheachedalloveragain.Witheachpushoffthewall,shewelcomedthethrobbingofhermuscles.Ifshecouldswimafullmile,Wyattwouldcall.IfWyattwouldcall,shewouldsleepafullnight.Ifshesleptafullnight,shewouldbeSamagain.
Shereturnedtotheapartmentdeliberatelytoolatefordinner.Theswimmingservedthedualpurposeofwearingheroutandkeepingherfromfacingherhappy-ish,healingparentsacrossthetable.ShetookaplateintoherroomeachnightandcontinuedtomakedealswithGod.Ifshefinishedherarthistorypaperinlessthanninetyminutes,Wyattwouldcall.AsshetypedandfocusedontheRenaissance,shefeltthebriefreliefoffeelingincontrol.ShewasgoingtomakeWyattappear.Whenshecompletedhertaskandherphonewasquieterthanever,shelayinherbed,numb.Shehadtostopplayingthisgame.Actually,ifshecouldstopplayingthisgameforafullweek,thenWyattwouldcall.ShewasinaloopofdealswithGod.
Ifshegotafewhoursofsleep,she’ddigherselfoutofthedarknessandleantowardhappierthoughts.SheclungtothefactthatWyattwouldn’tbeabletokeepthisupiftheysaweachotherinperson.Helovedher,shedidn’thaveanydoubtaboutthat.Eventhoughshenolongerknewwhoherfatherwas,sheknewexactlywhatwasinWyatt’sheart.He’ddecidetocometothebeachforthesummerandeverythingwouldgobacktonormal.Senioryear,USCacceptance,VeniceBeach.Allasplanned.
SamwastellingherselfthisstoryonaThursdayafternoonassheletherselfintotheapartment.Laurelwasonthephoneinthekitchenandhurriedtohangupwhenshesawher.
“What?”Samasked.
“ThatwasTravis.HeheardfromMichaelthatWyatt’snotcomingtothebeachaftergraduation.”
SamploppeddownontothecouchandLaurelsatnexttoher,wrappinganarmaroundhershoulder.“Becauseofme?”Samasked.
“Becauseofallofit.They’rerentingoutthehouse,andhe’sgoingstraighttoLosAngeles.”
“Idon’tmeantobedramatic,”Samsaid,“butIdon’tthinkIcanhandlethis.”
“Honey,I’msurehe’sgoingtocomearound.Hislifehasbeenturnedupsidedown;maybehejustneedssometime.”Theseweretherightwordstosay,butSamcouldseethefearonhermother’sface.Laurel,recoveringfromherownheartbreak,couldn’tbearseeingSamsufferherown.
Samwentintoherroomandcrieduntilshe’dcompletelyexhaustedherself.Shelongedforcryingyourselftosleeptobearealthing.Sleepwouldhavebeenabreak.Butshefeltlikeshewasonhighalert,abandonedinthisweirdspacewithaheartfullofterrifyingfeelings.
Itwasdarkwhenherdadcameinwithacookieandacupoftea.“Iheard,”hesaid,sittingdownonthesideofherbed.“Idon’tknowhowI’mevergoingtomakethisuptoyou.”
“Idon’teither,”Samsaid,andturnedover.
“Iwasdesperate,Sam.Itwassoselfish.”
“Itreallywas.”
“You’regoingtohavetoforgivemesometime.”
Samturnedtofacehim.“Actually,that’sonethingIdon’thavetodo.”36
Wyatt
WyattflewwithhismombacktoNewYorkimmediatelyafterhishighschoolgraduation.ItwastooearlyfortheHollowaystobethere,asSamwouldstillbeinschool.Hestayedonenightbeforegettinginhisdad’soldtruckanddrivingacrossthecountry.Ashemadehiswaywest,sleepinginthebedofthetruckandoccasionallysplurgingonamotel,hetriedtothinkofanythingbutSam.Itwaspainfultoknowhoweasyitshouldhavebeentopickupthephoneandbridgethishugegaphe’dputbetweenthem.Buthedidn’thaveanywordsthatdidn’tcomeoutangry.
Forthreethousandmiles,hethoughtaboutthetimebombthatwashisfamilyandhowBillhadspedthingsalong.Hisangerwasahuge,ever-growingpainthatfilledeverypartofhisbody.Hetriedtorememberfeelingashappyashehadlastsummer,andthelossofthatfeelingjustmadehimangrier.HehadtoprotectSamfromtheuglinessinsideofhim.Sohedidn’tcall.
Hehadtwothousanddollarssavedupfromsummerjobsthatwouldbuyhimalittletimetofindwork.Hisplanwastobartendatamusicvenuewhilehefoundawaytobreakintothebusiness.Hehadacatalogofexactlythreefinishedsongsthathewantedtorecord.
Lookingback,itwasmadness.Itwasthespecifickindofdreamingthatbelongstoapersonwhodoesn’tknowanybetter.Likeaten-year-oldwho’ssurehe’llplayintheNBAsomeday.AllhehadwasaduffelbagandDr.Nick’sguitar,onhiswaytobecomingarockstar.Evenifsomeonehadreasonedwithhim,hewouldn’thavechangedcourse.Heknewthathisfuturewasinmusicthewayheknewthesunwascominguptomorrow.Butthenagain,hehadthoughthisfuturewasSamtoo.
HefoundanapartmentonMarketStreetinVeniceBeachonCraigslistforfourhundreddollarspermonth.Itturnedoutitwasjustastudioapartment,onelargeroomwithhisroommate’sbedandakitchenetteinthecorner.Whatpassedforhisbedroomwasthewalk-incloset,whichhaditsownwindowandenoughspaceforatwinmattress.
Thebuildingwasonanalleythatledtothebusiestdrug-traffickingstreetinLosAngeles.Oneitherendofthisalleywerespectacularficustreeswithintricatetrunksandrootsystemsthattoreupthesidewalks.WyattcametoseeLosAngelesinthislight:beautifulandinvasive,naturalandviolent.
Hisdreamofbartendinghiswaytosuccesswasaninstantfailure.Therewerenojobsinmusicvenuesforbartenders.Therewerenojobsanywhereforbartenders.HeeventuallytookajobataShellstationtwoblocksfromhisapartmentandmademinimumwagepumpinggas,andmoreforminorcarrepairs.Ashewalkedtoworkeachday,hefelttheflowofhislife:playingguitarandfixingcars.Nearlyallhe’deverwanted.ExceptSam.
HelikedtodriveuptoMalibutosurfatPointDumeandhearthemusicrolloffthebeach.Thewarmair,thegulls,andthecoldwaterbroughthimbacktoLongIsland.HethoughtaboutSamandhowhe’ddestroyedthatlastgoodthinginhislife.Itwasasifeveryonearoundhimhadlethimdown,sohefiguredhe’djustfinishthejob.Wyattstayedoutonthewateraslongashecould,becausetherehecouldn’thelpbutbehonestwithhimself.Andwhenhewashonestwithhimself,thesongscame.37
Sam
Asherjunioryearwrappedupandthesummerloomed,Samdreadedgoingouttothebeach.She’dneverbeentherewithoutWyatt,andthethoughtoflookingdownthebeachandnotseeinghimwalkingtowardherwithhissurfboard,nothearinghisguitarfromthetreehouse—itwasenoughtotakeherdownforgood.Shedaydreamedaboutpickingupherphoneandseeingatext:Meetmeatthebeach.Andthatdaydreammadeherwholebodyache.Herparentsagreedtoletherstayinthecityforthesummer,andhermothercamebackeveryfewweekstocheckonher.SamworkedasahostessinaMexicanrestaurantandsawherselfandWyattineverycouplethatwalkedinandsharednachos.Shetriedtodivinefromtheirbodylanguagewhatitwasthattheyweredoingright.
WhenSamstartedhersenioryeartherewasnodoubtthatsheneededhelp,andsheagreedtoseeatherapist.Dr.Judylethertalkforthefirstthreesessionswithoutsayingmuchatall.Samtoldherthewholestoryoftheirrelationshipandtheirfamiliesandtheblowup.Sheconfessedthatshesometimesspentthehoursbetweenthreeandfivea.m.staringatherphone,willingsomethingtohappen.
“Sometimeswhenmybodyisexhaustedinthepool,Iforcemyselftoswimonemorelapsohe’llcall.OrItellmyselfthatifIgettoFourteenthStreetandthelightisgreenitmeanshe’sgoingtocall.Iholdmybreathalot.”Samlaughedatinylaughandpulledathrowpillowontoherlap.Thepipingwascomingunraveledandshewantedtopullitrightoff.“I’vegonecrazy,haven’tI?”
“Alittlebit,”saidDr.Judy,leaningforwardinherchairforthefirsttime.“It’snotyourfault.You’readdicted.”
“ToWyatt?”
“Yes.Tohimandmainlytheideaofhim.Youareaddictedtothedopaminereactionyoufeelwhenyougetahitofhim.Thisistypicalofauserwhobecamehookedonasubstanceduringacriticaltimeofdevelopment,andnowthataddictioniswovenintoyournervoussystem.You’rewellintoyourdetox,andIamrecommendingnocontact,whichshouldbeeasy.”Dr.Judylaughedatthatlastcomment,whichstung.
“You’reputtingmeinatwelve-stepprogramforheartbreak?”
“Kindof.Youhaveanopenwound,let’sletitscabandthenheal.”
Samstaredatherhands.Therewasarawcuticleonherrightindexfingerthatgaveheradeliciousspurtofpainwhensheworrieditwithherthumb.“ButIlovehim.That’sthewholepoint.Youcan’tjustmakeyourselfstoplovingsomeone.”
“You’reeighteenyearsold.You’renotinlovewiththisboy.It’syouthandsexandexcitement,allmixedupintoanobsession.Technically,I’dcallthisanadjustmentdisorder.Wehavetogetyouadjustedtolifewithouthimandfocusedonsomethingelse.”
Samjuststaredather.
“Trustmeonthis,andIcanhelpyou.”
ItseemedtoSamthatshewasprobablyright.Shemusthavebeenaddictedifthethoughtofnevertouchinghimagainmadeherphysicallysick.Dr.JudyevenwentsofarastotellherparentstogetheranewphonetobreakthevisualandtactileassociationwithWyatt.Samhadtopromisenottolookhimup.NoMyspace,noFacebook.Samlikedthebasicideaofthis.Shelikedtheideathatshehadadiseasethatcouldbecured.ShelikedtheimplicationthatmaybeWyattwasbadforher.ShefeltabitofreliefinthewayDr.Judyminimizedthewholething,likeshe’dflickedthelightsoninahorrormovietorevealthatthebloodybitswerejustketchup.
WhenGraciewasborninDecember,Samdutifullyvisitedhermotheratthehospital.BillplacedGracieinherarmswithoutevenasking.Samhandedherrightback.Traviswashomefortheholidays,andtheapartmentwastoosmallforafamilyoffourplusacryingbaby.Graciesleptinabassinetinherparents’room,buttheevery-three-hourswailingseepedrightintoSamandTravis’sroomandworkedSam’salreadyagitatednerves.Itwasherfatherwhohadcausedthebreakup,butintruthitwasGraciewhowasthelaststraw.Samwasn’tabouttoadmittoDr.Judythatsheresentedababy,butthereitwas.
SambabysatforthefirsttimewhenGraciewassixweeksold.Shewokeupfromhernapscreaming,andSamfoundherinhercribsweatyandred-eyed.“Youstink,”Samsaid,liftingherupandplacingheronherparents’bedtochangeher.GracielookedSamrightintheeye,likeshewantedtotellhersomething.
SamgrabbedthebottlehermotherhadleftherandploppedontothesofawithGracieinherarms.ShereachedovertograbtheTVremoteandstartledGracieintoasmile.GracielookedupatSamwiththebottlebetweenhergumsandabiggrinonherface,andSamfeltthehardnessinhersoftenabit.SheleanedbackandletherselffeeltheweightofGracieinherarms,awholehumanbeingwithawholefutureaheadofher.ShewonderedwhowasgoingtobreakGracie’sheart.
SamstartedjumpingintohelpwithGraciewhenevershecould.Shelikedtowearthebabycarrieronherchestwhileshewalkedaroundthecity.Sheworeherdad’sparkabecauseitwasbigenoughtoclosearoundthetwoofthem,andshewarmedherlipsontherimofGracie’stinypinkhat.TheweightofherandthesmellofhermadeSamfeellikeshewasconnectedtosomethingpermanent.
WhenGraciewasthreemonthsold,Samofferedtotakethebassinetintoherroomforafewnights.“Youlookexhausted,Mom.AndI’mupanyway.”
LaurelplacedherhandsonSam’scheeks.“I’msoworriedaboutyou.Youneedtostartsleeping.You’regoingtofallapart.”
“Ha.Toolate.Justletmehaveherforafewnights.Leavemethethreea.m.bottle.”
Thefirstnighttheysharedaroom,Graciewokeupattwo.Samhadbeenlyingawakelisteningtoherbreathe.TherewasarhythmtoGracie’sbreathingthatwentwellwiththehumoftheFirstAvenuetraffic.AnotherthingshewouldhavelikedtohavetoldWyatt.SamchangedGracie’sdiaperandsettledbackintoherbedtogiveherabottle.Gracie
GraciebecameapermanentresidentofSam’sroomandtheywerebothsleepingeighthoursatastretch.SamandDr.JudystartedtalkingaboutthingsthatwerenotnecessarilyWyattrelated—hercollegeplans,hercareerplans,hermixedfeelingsaboutnotgoingtotheprom.
OnaregularTuesdaysession,Samwalkedinwithalargeenvelope.“IgotintoUSC.”Thefirstthingshe’dthoughtwhensheopenedthemailboxwasthatshecouldn’twaittotellWyatt.Shewincedatthefreshpain.
“Oh,”saidDr.Judy.“Whatdoesthatbringupforyou?”
Samtriednottorollhereyes,butitwasn’teasy.SheassumedDr.Judyenduredalotofeyerollingwithcommentslikethat.“Ononehanditmakesmeexcited.LikeIcouldgotowhereheisandmayberunintohim.Orhe’dhearIwasthereandwanttostartover?”Samranherhandovertheenvelopelikeitwasapet.
“Ontheotherhand?”
SamlookedoverDr.Judy’sshoulderattheframedbeachscenethatwassupposedtorelaxherbutneverdid.“Ontheotherhand,Iknowthat’safantasyandthatifhewantedtoseemehewouldhavecalledmebynow.”
“Exactly.”
SamreallydidhateDr.Judyjustalittlebit.“AndwhenIthinkaboutit,goingoutthereandnotbeingwithWyattwouldbealotmorepainfulthanstayinghere.AndbeingwithGracie.”
Samdecidedtogiveituptotheuniverse.IfshegotintoNYU,she’dstay.Ifshedidn’t,she’dgotoLosAngeles.AstheendofMarchapproachedandtheNYUdecisionwasgettingnearer,shestartedtorealizethatshe’dgonefromlongingtoseeWyatttobeingterrifiedtoseehim.Shewasfinallysleepingandspringwascoming.38
Wyatt
AftertenmonthsinLosAngeles,Wyatt’sangerbecamemoremanageable.Heknewhe’dbeenharshwithSam,andheknewheneededtoapologize.Hewokeupinthemorningsandimaginedwhatitwouldfeelliketohavehertherewithhim.He’djustwrittenhisfirstgoodsong,andhewantedtoplayitforher.Itshouldhavebeeneasytoreachouttoherandtellherhelovedher,butwhenhetrieditoutinhishead,thewayhefeltaboutherstillgotallmixedupwithhowhefeltaboutwhathappened.Hedidn’twanttohearabouthowwellherfamilywasdoing.Hedidn’twanttotellherthathewasstilljustsurfingandpumpinggas.
ItwasatthistimethatWyattsawaflyeratamusicstoreforanopenmicnightatabarintheValley.He’dseenlotsofadslikethisbefore,buttheywereinHollywood,inbigvenuesthatseemedimpossiblydaunting.TheValleyfeltanonymous,withalowriskoffailure.Whocarediftheydidn’tlikehimintheValley?Whatdidtheyknow?ItoccurredtoWyatt,ashedroveoverthehill,thathe’dbeenafraidthiswholetime.Workingoncarswhilehewaitedtobearockstarwasonething,butactuallytryingandgettingrejectedwasanother.Hewasn’tsurehewaspreparedtofindoutthathewasjustaguywhoworksoncars.HeknewthatifSamwerehereshewouldhaveforcedhimtotrymonthsago.Samwasbravelikethatandunafraidtojumpintoanything.Ofcourse,hedidn’thaveSamwithhim,butshewasinhissongs,andhehopedthatwouldgivehimthecourageheneeded.
HearrivedatElRocaateightp.m.,guitarinhandandsweatingthroughhisT-shirt.Therewereonlyabouttenpeopleseatedatthetablesinfrontofasmallstage,halfofthemwithguitarswaitingtoplay.
“It’slikethisonMondays,”saidthebartender.“That’swhywedotheopenmic,togetmusiciansinhere,hopefullythirsty.”
“Somuchformybigbreak,”hesaid.“I’llhaveabeer.”HesatatthebarandlistenedtotheothermusiciansandwonderedwhathewasdoinginLA.
Hewasworkingonhissecondbeerandhadmostlyforgottenhisguitarwhenthebartendersaid,“Holyshit.”WyattlookeduptoseeCarlyleTrickett,indarkglasses,findhimselfatable.Atsixfootfivehewasimpossiblenottonotice,andwithhisperfectlycutsilverhairhewasimpossiblenottorecognize.
“Whatthehellishedoinghere?”Wyattasked.
“Hesometimescomesonhiswayhome.HelivesonMulholland,Ithink.It’stimeyoumanupandtakeyourturnthere,buddy.Thisisn’tgoingtohappentoyoutwice.”
Wyattdrainedtherestofhisbeerandwalkedovertothesideofthestage,whereawomanwithaperfectcountryvoicewasfinishinghersong.Themusiciansandafewofherfriendsclapped.Carlylestaredatthestage,disinterested.
Wyatttookthestageandsatonthestoolbehindthemicandstartedtoplaythenewsonghe’dwrittenonthewater.ItwasaboutSamandthewayhefeltlikehe’dtakenherintohisbeing.Atthesoundofthefirstfewnotes,herelaxed.Heavoidedtheaudienceashesang,singingforhimselfandseeingthenotesastheycamefromhisguitar.HecouldfeelSameverywherearoundhim,asifthesonghadtakenhimbacktothehappiesttimeofhislife.Youcatchyourbreath,andIcatchyourbreath.We’relockedintogether.Sam,Iam.
Asheplayedthelastnote,hefeltcertainthatthatsongwasgoingtochangehislife.HelookedupattheapplaudingaudienceandriskedaglanceatCarlyle,whowaswavinghimover.Thisisit.Thiswasthemomentwherehewasseenforwhathewassupposedtobe,andtherestwouldbehistory.
WyattmadehiswayovertoCarlyle.“I’mWyattPope,”hesaid,extendinghishand.Hewaitedtobeinvitedtosit.
Carlyleremovedhisglassesanddidnotinvitehimtosit.“Themusicsoundsgood,butyou’renotgoingtomakeit.”ItwasnowclearthatCarlylehadbeenservedsomeplaceelsebeforehemadehiswayhere.“Themusicisgood—hell,thesongisgreat—butyourvoice.It’sjustnotenoughtocarryaband,notenoughforasolocareer.It’sjustnotstrongenough.”
“Myvoice?”Wyattwasalittlestunned.
“Yeah,Ifeelbadforaguylikeyou.ProbablycameouttoLAtomakeit.I’vebeendoingthisforthirtyyears,Iknowavoicethatwillrecord.Yoursisn’tit.Ithoughtyoushouldknow.”
Wyatthadtheoddsensationofbeingabletofeelhisheart.Hestoodthere,nodding.“Well,ifanyonewouldknow,it’syou.Thanksfortellingme.”39
Sam
SamwasacceptedatNYUonadaywhenshewastheonetocollectthemailfromthelobby.Sheranupthetwoflightsofstairstofindnoonewashome.Sheopenedtheenvelopeandlaidallofthepagesoutonthekitchencounter.WELCOMETONYU!Shefeltsomethinglikereliefwithachaserofexcitement;somethingwasbubblingupinheranditfeltlikeitmightbethefuture.WelcometoNYU!
Shecouldn’twaittotellherparents.They’dbehappyshewasstayinglocalandthrilledtotakeadvantageofthetuitionbreakthatherdadgotasaprofessor.Sheshouldcallthem.Herphoneranginherbackpack,asiftoanswerherquestion.
ItwasWyatt.
God’smessingwithme.ThatwasthefirstthoughtshehadwhenshesawWyatt’snamenexttoayears-oldheartemojipopuponherphone.Shehadn’tgottenthegreenatFourteenthStreetonherwayhome.Shehadn’tdoneanextralapinthepool.Ofcoursehewouldcalltheexactsecondshefeltlikeitwaspossibletomoveon.Itrangthreetimesbeforesheacceptedthecall.
“Wyatt?”
“Hey.”
Shewassilentforasecond,justlettingthesoundofhisvoicelandandfillherhead.
“Sam?”
“I’mhere.Haveyoubeenstuckintrafficorsomething?”
Wyattletoutalittlelaugh,butitwasn’tthehappylaughsheremembered.Therewaspaintoit.“Yeah,it’sbeenalongtime.”
“It’sbeentwelvemonths,ifyouhaven’tbeenkeepingtrack.”
“Yeah.I’msorryaboutthat.”
ThissoundedtoSamlikesomethingyou’dsaywhenyoubumpedsomeone’sshoulderinthehall.Notafteryou’dtotallyabandonedapersonwhowasinlovewithyou.
“How’sLA?”
“Fine,”hesaid.“Imean,notfine.Iguessthat’swhyI’mcalling.”
Samfeltherheartopenup,rightbacktothatplacewhereshewoulddoanythingforhim,whereshelovedhimsomuchthatthethoughtofhisnotbeingfineactuallyhurt.“Why?Whathappened?”
Wyattletoutabreath.“Itried.Iguessthat’swhathappened.I’vejustbeensurfingandwritingsongsandpumpinggassinceIgothere,kindofimaginingmyselfasarockstar.”
ThiswasexactlywhatSamhadbeenimagininghimdoing,thoughalsowaitingtables.Shewaslyingonthecouchnowwithhereyesclosed,takinginthesoundofhisvoice.“Sowhatdidyoutry?”
“LastnightIwenttoanopenmicthingintheValley.Therewereabunchofshittybandsperforming,andIgotupandsangasongIwrote.”
“That’sgood,right?”
“Welljustmyluck,thisbigrecordproducerwasthere,andhewentoutofhiswaytotellmethatmyvoicesucks.”
“Hedidnotsaythat,there’snoway.”
“Okay,well,hesaidmyvoicecouldnevercarryabandandwasn’tstrongenoughtorecordwell,whichisanicewayofsayingIsuck.”
“I’msorry,”shesaid.SamlovedWyatt’ssingingvoice,butsheknewenoughnottosaysobecauseitwouldsoundlikesomethingyourmomsaidtotrytomakeyoufeelbetter.
“Yeah.SoIguessnowI’maguywhosurfsandworksatagasstation.Notanaspiringrockstar.IfeellikeIhavenothingleft.”
“Iknowthefeeling,”Samsaid,lookingupatacrackthatranhalfwaydownthelivingroomceiling.Itremindedherofthecrackinherbedroomceilingthatshe’dspentthepastyearstaringat,willingittospontaneouslycloseandhealher.Dr.Judywastryingtogethertostopallthismagicalthinking.Shesatstraightuponthecouch.“Wait.Whyareyoucallingmenow?”
“IguessIjustwokeupsad,”hesaid.“Ineededsomeonetotalkto.”
Samheardthestrangestsoundcomefromdeepinherthroat.Itwasalaugh,butahardlaugh;ifagoosecouldlaugh,itwouldhavesoundedlikethis.“Youneededsomeonetotalkto?You?”
“Yeah.”Wyattsoundedsmallandclueless.Andselfish.Samcouldfeelherheartconstricting.Shedidnotwanttocomforthim.
“Idon’tknowhowtobreakittoyou,Wyatt,butI’vealsoneededsomeonetotalkto.Yousee,myboyfriend,whosaidhelovedme,whowasmywholefuckinglife,justkindofdroppedoffthefaceoftheearth.NotreallysurewhoIwassupposedtocalltogetthroughthat.It’snotlikeyouwerepickingupthephonewhenIneededyou.”
“Iknow,Sam.Itwasahardtimeformetoo.I’msorry.”
“You’resorry.”Samrememberedhowineffectivethesewordswerewhenherdadwasapologizingtohermom.Shefeltthesloppinessofthesewords,acasualnodtotherubbleafteryou’vetotallydestroyedsomething.Sampacedthelengthofthelivingroomandfelttheangerspreadthroughoutherbody.
“Iam.AndIwantyoutoforgivemebecauseIreallyneedyourightnow.”
Fireworks.Cataclysmicexplosions.Samcouldfeelallofthisangererupting.Shefeltitburningthroughanylastbitsofdepressionorlonging,andshewasstartledtodiscoverthatshewassmiling.
“Ineededyouthen.Soyoudon’tgettocomebackformenow.”Sheheardthefrontdooropen,andherparentsrolledGracie’sstrollerintothelivingroom.“Andinothernews,”shesaid,smilingatherparents,“IgotintoNYUtoday.Sothat’swhatI’mdoing.Don’tcallmeagain.”Andshehungup.
“Darling!That’sfantastic!”Laurelsaid,takingherinherarms.
Billdroppedhisbackpackandjoinedinthehug.“I’msoproudofyou,Sam.”WhenLaurelwasinthekitcheninspectingtheproofofheradmission,Billasked,“Sowhowasthatonthephone?”
“Nobody.Absolutelynobody,”saidSamPART2NOW40
Mymotherservesmargaritasbeforedinner,andIonlyhavehalfofone.Theyarethatdeadlykindofmargaritathattastessosweetthatitleavesyouwantingtortillachipsandanothermargarita.I’velearnedthislesson,soIswitchtowater.Jack,asitturnsout,hasnotlearnedthislesson.
Jackhasastricttwo-drinkmaximum,buthehasthreemargaritasthatIsee,maybemore.“Thesearedelicious,”hesaysatfirst.“Thesearedelicith,”hesayslater.JackrestshishandonmyshoulderasGrampsgrillsmydadabouthisartsales.
“Sohow’stheartworld?Youstillmakingthosebigswirlythings?”Grampshasneverunderstoodmydad’sworkandcandoubleoverlaughingwhenhetalksabouthowpeoplewereconnedintopayinggoodmoneyforit.Thishasneverbotheredmydadabit.
“Notlately,”hesays.“Peoplewantstraightlinesandearthtones,theytellme.It’stakingmesometimetoconnecttothat.”Helooksoutattheviewhisswirlypaintingspaidfor.IfeelmyselfsoftenasIwatchhim.ForalongtimeIfeltlikehisdryspellwasanappropriatepunishment.Butlookingattheearnestwayhesearchesthehorizonforanidea,Imissseeinghimthrive.“Takestime,”hesays.
“Mustbenice,”Jacksays.
“Itisnice,”Hughsays,measured.“Doingsomethingyoulove.Youmustfeelthatwayaboutbeingadoctor.”
“Iguess.Butdiggingskincanceroutofgoddamnsunworshippersallday,Iwouldn’tdoitforfree.”
Thisfeelsoverlynegativeforasunsetbarbecue.Isay,“Well,Ilikemyjob.”
“Bossingpeoplearound?”Travissays.“It’sliketheyinventedawholeindustryforyou.”Ilaugh,rememberingallofthesummersIorchestratedadventuresonthebeach.Aracetothejetty,thesandcastlecontest.AmilliongamesofCapturetheFlag.Ofcourse,backthenIjustmadeupgamesbecauseIwantedtoplaythem.NowIorganizepeopletokeeptheminline.
“Ahyes,Samandherflashmob.”Jackgivesmeasleepysmile,andIhopetoGodhe’snotgoingtosayanymoreaboutthis.“I’mgoingin,”hesays,andkissesthesideofmyhead.
Ishouldgowithhimandmakesurehegetstobedokay.ButtheweatherisperfectandGranny’smadepesto.
Byeleveno’clockTravisandHughhavegonehome,andeveryoneisinbed.ItrytoreadWetlandsofWesterleighandfindmyselfreadingthesamesexscenesixtimes.Ican’tunderstandwherethebodypartsareinrelationshiptoeachother.Hehasbothhandsonthebackofherneckandispullingherhipstowardhim.Howmanyhandsdoesthisguyhave?IrealizeIammissingthepointandshouldgowiththefeelofthewholething.IwonderwhetherifIreadthistoJackhe’dthinkitwasfunnyorifhe’djustsay,“Someoneshouldhavecaughtthat.”
WhenIthinkofJackwithhisperfectlyshavedfaceandaquablueeyes,Iwonderattheimprobabilityofthetwoofusendinguptogether.SometimesIfollowthistrainofthoughtinthemiddleofthenight,watchinghimsleepthesleepofamanwho’sworkedafulldayandexercisedtwice.ForsurewearetogetherbecauseofJessLandry,asecretaryatHumanCorps.TheofficethrewherababyshoweronaMondayintheconferenceroom.They’dover-cateredandIwasmildlybroke,soIwrappeduptwoextrasandwichesandlefttheminthesharedrefrigeratorformyTuesdayandWednesdaylunches,whichiswhyIshowedupatmyThursdayhaircutwiththirtyextradollarsfortheextravagantblowout.Which(I’mpositive)istheonlyreasonJackeverforonesecondconsideredmetobeapersonhemightdatewhenIgotintothatcab.
ThemilliontimesI’vetracedbackwhatbroughtWyattandmetogether,Igetasfarasmydad’spaintingCurrentandmakingallthatmoneysohecouldbuythishouse.IfCurrentwasactuallyinspiredbythatoldsky-blueVWBug,thenIguessitwasthemomentheboughtthatcar.SomethingastinyasaBugorJessLandry’sfertilizedeggcouldchangethecourseofaperson’slife.OrsomethingashugeasashiftintheweatherpatternthatheatsuptheEastCoastenoughtomakeaboyfillthewaterbottlesatthehousewiththeice-coldwater.Iamoverwhelmedthinkingofallthefactorsbeyondmycontrolthathaveconspiredtochangethecourseofmylife.Ireallyhopethey’llletmekeepmyjob.
Wyatt’sinthetreehouse.He’sjuststartedwithaslowmelody,anditremindsmeoftheocean.I’mputtingonsweatpantsandasweatshirtovermynightshirtandamwalkingoutthebackdoorbeforeI’vereallythoughtitthrough.Mymomisright:weneedtogetitalloutintheopenandthenburyitsafely.AndwithJackonaonce-in-a-lifetimebender,thismaybemyonlychance.ImakemywayintothePopes’yardandseehisfeetdanglingoverthesideofthetreehouse.Iamupthreerungsoftheropeladderwhenhestopsplaying.
“Sam?”hesays,beforeI’mallthewayup.
“Hi,”Isay.“IheardyouplayingandIcouldn’tsleep.Ijustwantedto…”MyeyesfocusinthedarkandItakeinthetreehouse.Thesplinteryfloorhasbeensweptclean.There’sablueandgreenstripedruginthecenterandafutonfoldedupinthecouchpositionontheleft-handwall.Nexttoitisasmalltable,likeaTVtray,withalitcandleonit.Totheright,therearethreeacousticguitarsmountedonthewall,nexttoawell-usedbroom.“Idon’tunderstand.”
“Comeonin,”Wyattsays,standingup,andwebothstarttolaugh.
“Seriously,doyoulivehere?”
“Idonot.Imostlystayinthehouse.”
“Thenwhyallthis?”
“Idon’tknow.It’smyfavoriteplace.Ifixeditupalittle.Ididn’twanttoleaveitbehind.”Thesewordslandheavyonmychest.Heleftmebehind
Isitdownonthefuton.It’ssimple,andIcanseehowthiscanallbedismantledwhenhegoes,butthisspacehasbeenputtogetherwithalotofcare.IflashonWyatt’swantingtoframemydrawing,wantingtokeepitnice.
“Canwetalkforasec?”
“Sure.”Hesitsdownnexttome,butnotclose.YoucouldfitafullygrownLabradorretrieverbetweenus.
“Iknowitwasalongtimeago,butIjustwantedtosayI’mreallysorryweendedinsuchabadway,atsuchabadtime.”
Wyattseemssurprised.“Metoo,”hesays.
“AndIwishI’dbeenlesshurtsoIcouldhavecomebackintoyourlife.Thathadtobereallyhardwithyourfamily.Andyourcareerandeverything.”
“Itwas,”hesays.Then,“Thisisthebestpartofyou.Thepartthatjustsayswhatneedstobesaid.”
Idon’tknowwhyhe’sbeingsocalmwhenI’mfeelingsonervous.“NowIforgetwhatIneededtosay.”
“You’resorrywe’renotfriends?”Wyattoffers.
That’snotit,really.“Itwashardforme.Losingyou,”Isay.
“TravistoldMichaelyouwerefine.”
“TravisknewIwasn’tfine.”IlookdirectlyathimandwonderifhecanseeonmyfacetheremainsofjusthownotfineIwas.
“Ididn’tknowhowtocomebackhere,”hesays.“OrhowtoreachouttoyouafterIwassoharsh.Andthenyouweresoharsh.”Helooksdownathishands,presumablyforacheatsheettogethimthroughthismoment.Hefinallylooksupatmeandsays,“Irememberexactlywhatitfeltlikewhenweweretogether,andit’sunbelievabletomethatIcouldhaveshutyououtlikethat.Iwasamess,andIknowit’snotanexcuse,really,butIwaseighteen.”Heleansbackonthecouchlikeit’sperfectlynormalforustobehavingthisconversation.Alltheseyearslater.Inhisswept-cleantreehouse.“Areyouoveritnow?”
Iletoutalittlelaugh.“Whataquestion.I’mgettingmarried.”Istareatmyhands,twistingmyengagementring.“IguessI’mreadytobeoverit.Everyonehasmovedon.Youhavealifewithyourmusicandfixingcars,aloungesinger.”
Wyattlaughs,“She’snotaloungesinger.”
“Whatever.Iwanthertobe.Shesmellslikesmokeandhereveninggownsaretired.”
“Shesometimessmellslikesmoke,andwe’renotreallyacouple.”
ThehumidityhasmademyhairunrulyandIbusymyselfbybraidingthechunkthathasfalleninmyface.IcanfeelWyattwatchingme.
“Howareyourparents?”
“They’refine.Bothremarried.”
“Michael?”
“Good.Sober.”
“Good.Andyoulikeyourlife?”Iask
“IgettodothingsIloveeveryday.Theweather’salwaysnice.”
“Wow,that’ssoZen.Self-actualized.”
“Notreally.Whataboutyou?Isyourlifewhatyouwanted?”
Iturntofacehim,crossingmylegsonthesofa.Thespacebetweenushasshrunk.“Well,I’vesortofscrewedupmyjob.ButIlovelivinginthecity.IgettoseeGracieallthetime,whichisawesome.”
“Getanewjob.”
“I’mprobablygoingtogetfired.Don’ttellmyparents.They’dloveittoomuch.”
“They’dlovethatyouweregettingfired?”
“Well,Ithinkmydadcan’tgetusedtothefactthatIhavesucha‘tight-assjob.’Hiswords.He’dlovethatIblewupmywholecareerbyblurtingouttwowordswhenmywholejobiskeepingemployeesinline.”
Wyattlaughs.“Whatwerethey,‘tight-ass’?”
“?‘Flashmob,’?”Isay,andcovermyfacewithmyhands.
“OhGod.”
“Iwasworkingwithaclientwhowastryingtogethisteamtoworkmorecooperatively.Thereareexactlythreerightsolutionstothisprobleminourcompanymanual:sendthemtoaropescourse,givethemaseriesofpuzzlestoworkthroughtogether,administeranenneagramtest.I’verecommendedthesethingsahundredtimes,andI’mjustsickofthem.”
“So?”
“SoIwassittinginthismeetingandeverythingfeltlikeanitchysweater.Iwashavingahardtimeconcentrating,andIcouldn’tsticktothescript.Therehadtobeamorefunwaytogetpeopletoworktogether.SoIsaid‘flashmob.’?”
“?‘Flashmob’?Seriously?”Wyatt’ssmileissobig,likethisisthebestthinghe’severheard.
“Itjustcameout.‘Flashmob.’Itwaslikeafartinanelevator,therewasnotakingitbackanditsortoffilledthespace.”Thishasneverbeenfunnyuntilrightnow.SeeingWyattlaughandhearingthewordscomeoutofmymouth,Ifeellaughtermoveallthewaythroughmybody.MyshouldersareshakingandIhavetowipemyeyesandnoseonmysweatshirtsleeve.
“So,”saysWyattwhenhe’scaughtsomeair.“Theydidit?”
“Yep.Mybosswashorrified,butshecouldn’tdisagreewiththeclient,wholovedtheidea.AndonceI’dsuggestedit,itwasmyproblem.Ihadtochoreographthewholething,to‘DancingQueen.’Whichwasalsomysuggestion,Ihavenoideawhy.Andthentheywantedgoldpants.Itwasatotalnightmare.Icouldhavejustsentthemonaropescourseandwatched.”
Wyattisleaningbackonthesofa,lookingatmelikeI’msixteen.Helooksamusedanddelighted,andIcan’trememberthelasttimeIwasamusingordelightfultoanyone.
“Thirtypeopleinthelobbydancingingoldpants.It’slikewithtwowordsIunwrotethefirm’sentiremissionstatement.Theclientlovedit,butofcoursemybossisoutofhermindbecauseIwentsocompletelyrogueanditcostussomuchtime.”Myheadisinmyhands,andI’mnotlaughinganymore.
“Youreallyneverthoughtanyofyourideasthroughtotheend.”
“Thathideoustreeonmywallisacaseinpoint.”Ilookupathim.“So,thenot-so-funnypartisthatthingsaren’tlookinggoodformeatwork.There’sachanceI’mgoingtolosemyjob.”
“Seemsworthittome,”hesays.
Hardly.IfIcouldgobackintimeandsnatchthosetwowordsback,Iwould.ButjusttalkingtoWyattaboutitmakesmefeelbetter,andIbrieflywonderifDr.Judywouldtellmethatthisiswhataddictionlookslike.Aquickeuphoriaafterhavingthethingyou’vebeencraving.IstarttofeellikemaybeitwasthefriendshipthatIwasmourningallthoseyears.ThereisnotonepersononearthIcanopenuptolikeIcantoWyatt.
Thelaughinghasbroughtusclosertogetheronthefuton.Imentallymeasurethespacebetweenhisthighandmyknee.
“Tellmeaboutyourgirlfriend.”
“She’sseriouslynotmygirlfriend.It’smorelikeaworkarrangement.”
“Youdon’tevenhaveajob.”Idon’tlikethewaythissounds,soIstudyhisfacetoseeifitstung.Itdidn’t.Heseemscompletelyatpeace,withhimselfandwithme.Heputshishandonhisthigh,andIresisttheurgetotouchit.It’sthesamebutnotthesame,andIwonderifthefeelofitwouldstillchangemyskinintosomethingelse.“Butyouhavehealthinsurance,right?”
Wyattlaughsabiglaugh.“Ido.”
“Good,”Isay,andIcan’tstopmyself.Ireachoverandtakehishandinmine.It’snotlikeI’mholdinghishandbutmorelikeI’mexaminingit.Irunmyfingersoverthebackofitandthentracethemoverhispalm.Iknowimmediatelythatthiswasahorriblemistake,becauseIcanfeelmyskinmeltingintohis,exactlythewayIrememberit.Icannottakemyhandaway,butIamafraid.Thisthing,thischildhoodmadness,leftmesobroken.It’stakenmeadecadetocreatealifethatfeelssafe.TouchingWyattmakesmeafraidI’mgoingtoriptheseamsoutofeverythingI’vesewn.
Hestopsmebyplacinghisotherhandovermine.“Maybeyoushouldgo,Sam-I-am.”
“Yeah,”Isay.“Doyoulikethatsong?”
“Ido,”hesays.“Nowgetoutofhere.”41
“Yousleptlate,”isallanyoneissayingtome.Idid.Isleptuntilnineo’clockandthroughasurfingdatewithGracie.EvenJack’sup.
“HowwasyourtriptoMargaritaville?”Iask,givinghimahug.
“Idon’tknowhowthathappened,”hesays.“I’msorry.Ifeellikecrap.”
“WantmetomakeyouaBloodyMary?”asksGranny.
“No,thankyou,”hesays.
“I’msosorry,”Isay.“Mom’smargaritasaredeadly.Ishouldhavewarnedyou.Wanttojumpintheoceanrealquick?Itmighthelp.”
“Ineedtogetoutofthissun.”Jackmakeshiswaybackoutthefrontdooranduptothegarageapartment.
SinceGracieandImissedthewaves,wetakeoursurfboardsouttojustfloataround.IfeelasmalltiltintheEarth’saxis,acombinationofmildanxietyandglee.I’dreallyliketotalktomymother.IneedtotellsomeonethatImadeaquicktripbacktomyselfandfelteasyforawhile.ButifItoldherexactlyhowopenWyattandIwereandhowmuchwelaughed,I’mafraidshe’dpanic.Tomymom,Jackismorethanafiancé,heisthebubblewrapthatshe’dlikemetowear.
GracieandIarefloatingaroundwhenshesitsuponherboardandwavesherarmsattheshore.Hereyesarebetterthanmine,butIcantellfromthemotionwe’regettinginreturnthatshe’swavingatWyatt.Inminuteshe’spaddlingouttomeetus.
“Hey,”Isay,androllontomybacksoIdon’thavetolookathim.
“Jack’shungover,”Gracietellshim.
“Goodforhim,”saysWyatt.
“Hedoesn’treallylikebeingadoctor.”
“That’stoobad.”
“Hedoesn’tlikethesunortheocean.”
“Whatdoeshelike?”
“Margaritas,Ithink.”
Theylaugh.
Iamhypnotizedbythefeelofthesaltwaterandthesoundofitslappingagainstmyboard.Thesunispricklywarmonmyface,mychest,mylegs.AsIletmyfeetdangleinthewater,Iamawareofeveryinchofmybody,everybreezethatcoolswherethesunhasgottentoohot.Itryathoughtoutinmymind:WyattandIaregoingtobefriends.Hewasthemostimportantpersoninmylife,andIhavegrievedoveritforever.Itookallofmypainanddisillusionmentfrommydad’saffairandwrappeditupinthatoneloss.Nowheisresurrectedintheformofareallyniceguywhoisalsofriendswithmylittlesister.Ijusthavetonotwanttotouchhim.Itwouldbelikedrinkingnonalcoholicbeer,allofthetastewithoutthebuzz.Takethat,Dr.Judy
Ilistenasshetellshimaboutvolunteeringattheanimalshelterafterschoolsoshecangetajobhandlingdogsatthevet’soffice.Thosearethefirstfewstepsinhertwenty-stepplantobecomingalarge-animalveterinarian.Wyatt’ssayingthatsoundslikealotmoreworkthanmakingupsongs.
I’veheardallaboutbothoftheirdreamjobs,butthere’ssomethingabouthearingthemtelleachother.GraciewasthelaststrawforWyatt;thefactofmymom’spregnancypushedourfragilerelationshipovertheedge.Wyattisbefore,andGraceiswhatcameafter.Andiftheycoexistonthesameplane,maybealltherereallyisisthenow.It’spossibleI’vehadtoomuchsun.
“Iwanttobeanartteacher,”Isayinmyquietestvoice.Isayitalmosttomyself.
“What?”asksGracie.“Didshesaysomething?”
Wyattsays,“Shesaidshewantstobeanartteacher.Sam,that’ssuchano-brainer.”
Ifeeltooexposedlyingonmybackandturnover.“I’mnotqualifiedatall,butI’dreallyliketoworkwithkidsandhelpthemmakestuff.IalwaysthinkaboutthatwhenIcomeouthereandthenforgetaboutitwhenI’mbackinthecity.”
“You’dbegoodatthat,”saysGracie
“Youshouldtotallydothis.Likenow.”Wyattsitsup,straddlinghisboard.
“It’snotthateasy.I’dhavetogobacktoschool.”
“Youdon’tseemthatbusy,”Wyattsays.
Ihatemyselfforbringingthisup.Ihavenoideawhatwouldhavepossessedmetotellthemthis.Thesun,thewater.Imusthavegoneintosomekindoffuguestate.Andthenwithamercyonlytheoceancouldprovide,thewavesstarttopickup.
“Something’shappenedtoyou,”mymothersays.
“Lotsofthingshavehappenedtome,”Isay.“I’mthirty.”
“Okay,wedon’thavetotalkaboutit.”
We’reunloadingthedishwasher,wipingtheplatesandglassesdrybecausethisparticularforty-year-olddishwashernolongerprovidesthatservice.“Ifeelbetter,”Isay.“ItalkedtoWyatt.”
Sheclutchesthemugshe’sdryingtoherchestandleansbackagainstthecounter.“Tellme.”
“Iwenttoseehimlastnight.Inthetreehouse.”Isaythislastbittothewornwoodenfloor.“Andwetalked.”
“Aboutwhat?”
“Notsomuchaboutwhathappened.Ithinkwe’rejustchalkingthatuptobeingyoungandnotknowinghowtodeal.Butaboutourlivesnow,Iguess.Sortofthewayweusedtobeabletotalkforhoursaboutnothing.IthinkImissedthat.”
“Oh.Sothat’snice?”She’sre-dryingthedrymug.ItoccurstomethatmymommayhavemorethanalittlebitofPTSDaboutmypriorWyattmeltdown.Herlifewasinafreefall,andIkindlypiledonthewayonlyateenagercan.
“Itwas.Butit’snothingtoworryabout.Wearegoingtobefriends,Ithink.AndIthinkIforgavehim.Andheforgaveme.IfeellikeI’veputdownsomethingheavyIwascarrying.”
“Andthat’sit?Thewholestory?”
“Mostly,”Isay.42
It’sSaturdayandit’sourlastdayonLongIsland.Forme,thismeansthattomorrowI’mgoingbacktothecitytofigureoutmylife.Itmakesmealittlepanickythinkingofthepossibilityoftherestofthesummerwithoutajob,wanderingaroundthathotcityalonewithabsolutelynoplan,whileJackkeepscrushinghislegday,pushday,andsuccessful-doctorroutine.I’malsounsettledaboutWyatt.We’veopenedthedoorforsomekindofafriendship,butit’smaybetoonewtoworklong-distance.
Formymother,itmeansthattonightisthelaststoponheralreadysuccessfulmissiontomakeJackloveLongIsland.AtnoonshecallstheOldSloopInntotellthemwe’llbeninefordinner.Theyinformherthatthey’vebeenbookedforamonthbecausethemusicfestivalisstartingtonight.
Sheisentirelythrownoffbythis.It’snotjustthatherdinnerplanshavebeencrushed,it’smorelikeallofherplanshavebeencrushed.Iwondernowifthispushforustogetmarriedouthereisaboutmuchmorethanthewedding.Maybe,shethinks,ifJacklikesitenough,thenI’llstartcomingbackmoreduringthesummer.OurweddingisthemagicpotionthatwillbringmebacktoLongIslandforgood.
IhearmymomonthephonewithTravis:“Thisisadisaster.Wehavetoeattheretonightsotheycanseeitalllitup.CanHughdosomething?”IknowthisbugsTravis,Mom’ssuggestionthatHughismorepluggedinthanheis.“Wyatt?Whatcouldhedo?”sheasks.
Andthat’showitcametobethatmymomaskedWyatttohelpusgetadinnerreservation,notjustforthenineofusbutforten.Wyatthadtoassurethemhewascoming.
“What,didhefixthema?tred’scarorsomething?”asksJack.
“Itmusthavesomethingtodowithhishelpinggetthemusicfestivalhere.Thewholetownoweshim,”mydadsays.ThewholetowndoesseemtooweWyatt;it’sahugethingtohavethefestivalhere.IwonderhowWyattevercametoknowthepeoplewhoareorganizingitorwhytheylistenedtohissuggestionforavenue.Itseemslikeifhehasthosekindsofconnections,someonewouldbeabletohelphimbreakintothebusiness.
“Idon’tknow,”mymomsays,“butIamsorelieved.Youguyswillreallygettoseewhattheplacelookslikefullofpeople,alldoneup.”
“You’vemasteredthehardsell,hon,”mydadsays.
“Incaseyoumissedit,I’malreadysold,”saysJack.He’sinaPanamahatandlongsleevesintheshadeofthebackporch.Hehasn’toncesetfootintheocean.Itrytoreconcilethesefacts—Jacklovesithereandhasnotengagedatallwiththebeach.Iwonderifit’spossibletostaybuttonedupatthebeach—whetherIcouldcomebackherefreelyfortherestofmylifewithoutregressingbackintoanimpulsivekid.
IncaseanyoneforgetsI’mthebride,Iwearalongwhitelinendress.I’vegottenalittlesunthisweekandthecolorremindsmeofsomeoneIusedtobe.Ilookhealthier,morevital.Jackjustshakeshisheadwhenheseesme.
TravisandHugharewaitingoutsidewhenwearrive.“It’spackedinthere,”Travissays.“Granny’snotgoingtobeabletohearanything.”
“Sometimesthosearethebestnights,”Grannysays.
Wewalkinandmydadgreetsthema?tred’.“Hello,Maurice.Youcouldn’ttakenineofus,butnowweareten.Popeparty.”
“Ofcourse,wehaveyoutuckedalongthebackwallthere.IsMr.Popehere?”
Asweallstoptoponderwhohecouldpossiblybetalkingabout—FrankisinFlorida,afterall—Wyattwalksin.Wyatt’sinapinkbutton-downshirtmadeofthethinnestpossiblematerial.IimagineIcanseethroughitandmymindgoesquiet.
WyattgreetsMauricewarmly.Atallmanwithafullheadofsilverhairwalksoverandshakeshishand.We’reallintroduced;hisnameisCarlyle.WyattintroducesmeasSamantharatherthanSam,whichisstrangeandoddlyformal.
“Well,youwereright,”he’ssayingtoWyatt.“ThisisbetterthanNewport.Itfeelsfreshandwe’llseethefirstbandstonightatthatoldbarn,whichislesshorriblethanI’dimagined.”
“See?You’vegottolistentomemoreoften,”saysWyatt.
“Iwouldifyoudidn’thavesuchashittysingingvoice,”saysCarlyle,and,inexplicably,theybothstarttolaugh.
Wemakeourwaytoalongtableinthebackandfindourseatsinahaphazardway,butwhenwe’reseated,Irealizethatwe’vefallenintoouroldhabitofsittingwithallofthekidsatoneendofthetable.Wyattisdirectlyacrossfromme.ThefirsttimeIlookupandcatchhiseye,heisgivingmealookthatsays,See?Isn’tthiseasy?Wemadeup,we’refriends.Goaheadandgetmarried.Irealizethat’salottotakefromalook.
“Sowhatdoyoutwothink?”Hughisasking.“Cocktailsoutsideinthegarden?Dinneranddancinginhere?Orcocktailsupstairsinthebar?”
“I’ddothewholethingonthebeach,”saysWyatt.
Jackignoreshim.“Ilovethisplace.”
“Whataboutyou,Sam?”asksTravis.
Ilookaroundtheroomandamsuddenlyhot,likeheatiscomingfrommychestuptomyface.Iwanttosayit’sperfect.There’snothingtodobutgobacktothecityandplanthiswedding.I’lllearnhowtowaltz,steppingexactlyintimewithintheconfinesofabox,memorizingspecificguidelinesforhowmybodyshouldreacttomusic.IcanfeelthegentlepressureofJack’shandonmyback,tellingmewhichwaytogo.One-two-three,one-two-three,onandonforever.
“IthinkI’dlikeamartini,”Isay.43
“HowdoyouknowCarlyleTrickett?”JackasksWyattoverdessert.
“Youknowwhothatis?”Iask.
“Well,yes,”saysJack.“He’sthebiggestrecordproducerinLA,hasbeenfordecades.Hejustgaveupforty-fivemilliondollarsinadivorce.YoushouldreallyreadthePost.”Iwould,Iwanttosay,butI’msloggingthroughsomedeadearl’sfictionalmemoir
Wyattsays,“ImethiminabarintheValleywhenIwasfirstinLA.HewasprettyquicktotellmeIhadnofutureasasinger.”Hesaysthiswithalaugh,whichmakesnosense,andIcheckmymartinitoseeifI’mdrunk.No,it’sstillfull.Idon’tknowwhoIthinkI’mkidding,Ican’tdrinkamartini.
“Irememberthis,”Isay.“Somean.”
“Maybe.Butalsomaybetrue.It’skindofnicewhensomeoneinshowbusinesstellsyouthetruth.It’srareandcansaveyoualotofheartache.”
“Yeah,Iguesshe’dknow,”saysJack.“Bummer.”
Thisfeelsrude,butWyattisnonreactive.HeshrugsinaWell,whatareyougonnado?kindofway.Hehadthisconfidenceasakid,butitcamefromhisabilities.Hewasastrongsurfer,thenagreatguitarplayer.Maybethebestkisserever.ButIcan’timaginethatkidbeingokaywithhisdreamsbeingshattered.Somethingfeelsfalse.
Whenwe’vefinishedeating,acouplestopsbythetabletosayhellotoWyatt.Theywanttomakesurehe’scomingbytheOwlBarnlater.Hetellsthemhe’lltrytostopby.Iknowafewthings:Jack’shadtoomuchtodrinkagainandI’vehadthreesipsofamartiniandaglassofwhitewine,whichisgettingclosetotoomanyforme.I’minandoutofconversations.Mydadisthinkingaboutanewseriesofpaintingsinstraightlinesthatmimicthehorizon.GrannywishesmorepeoplewouldsayYou’rewelcomeratherthanNoproblem.TravisandHughmightgetadog.I’mleaningbackinmychair,armsfolded,mentallysortingthroughitall.
Thewaitercomestothetabletotellusthatourmealwasonthehouse,asmallthank-youtoMr.Popeforbringinginallthisbusiness.MydadraiseshisglasstothewaiterandthentoWyattinthanks.Andthere’snosurpriseonWyatt’sface.Iknoweveryexpressionhisfacemakes,andthere’snohintofsurprisethere.Inarrowmyeyesathimfromacrossthetable.Helooksaway.
Thefreshairfeelsgoodwhenwe’reoutintheparkinglot.Myparentsandgrandparentsgetintomymom’scar,andtherestofusarestandingaroundTravis’s.“Idon’treallywanttogohomeyet,”Isay.
“Let’sgohearthebuddingmusicians!”saysJackwithabitofaflourish.He’sdefinitelyalittledrunk.
“I’ddothat,”saysHugh.
WesaygoodbyetotheoldfolksandGracieandpileintothecar.I’minthemiddleofthebackseatwithJackandWyattoneitherside.IamgratefulwhenJackputshiswindowdown,becauseIneedair.
Wyattislookingoutthewindowatnothingbecauseit’scompletelydark.Itfeelslikehe’stryingtoputasmuchdistancebetweenusaspossibleinthistinyspace.Iturntolookathimandcatchhiseye.Hejustshakeshisheadandturnsbacktothewindow.
TheOwlBarnisanactualbarn.I’veneverbeeninsidebeforebutapparentlyit’sbeenrenovatedasamusicvenuespecificallyforthefestival.Abandisplayingcountrymusicwhenwewalkin,andthey’reprettygood.Theplacefeelscrowdedandsmokyinthebestpossibleway,likeit’swelcomingyouinandmakingthingsalittlehazy.Abartendercomesoutfrombehindthebarandgivesusallbeers.HegesturestotheroomandgivesWyattahug.
ThebandstartsanothersongandWyattislisteningintensely.Heseemstonoticemywatchinghim.HeturnstoTravisandsays,“Ilikethissong,”justlikehewouldhaveyearsagodrivingaroundinhisdad’struck.
AguyinaDefLeppardT-shirtandalittleredhatstandsatthemicrophone.“Thatwas‘Blackout.’?”Everyoneapplaudsagain.“Thisjustin—IseeWyattPopeinthecrowd.”Peoplestartclappingandlookingaroundtheroom.Wyattraiseshishandintheair,andthecrowderuptsincheers,whichmakesnosense.Ilookathimashe’stakingthisinandknowthatI’mmissingsomething.“Let’sseeifwecangethimuphere.Justonesong?”
Heturnstomeandalmostsayssomethingbeforehemakeshiswaythroughthecrowdtothestage.
PeopleareliterallyscreamingasWyattgetsonthestage.RedHatbringshimaguitarandastooltositon,andWyattexaminestheguitarlikehe’sgotallthetimeintheworld.Idon’tseeahintofthenervesIwouldfeelgettingupthereinfrontofallthosepeople.“Everybody,WyattPope.”Applause,whistles,cheers,thensilence.
Wyatttakesanothersecondtoadjusttheguitar,thenleansintothemicrophone.“Thiswasmyfirstbreak,”hesays.Andthenhestartstoplay.Afterthreenotes,thecrowderuptsagain,likeit’sadreamcometruetohearWyattplayMissyMcGee’ssong.IknowthissonglikeIknowmyownheartbeat.Youcatchyourbreath,andIcatchyourbreath.We’relockedintogether.Sam,Iam.Asheplayseachline,thesongsoundsthewayIalwayshearditinmyhead.Itfeelsmorecountrythanpop.Andit’snolongeraboutMissyMcGee’soldboyfriend.It’saboutWyattandme.Ashefinishesandthecrowdisscreaming,helooksrightatme,andIfullyunderstandthatIknowabsolutelynothingabouthim.Andthathewrotethatsong.
Mybodyispackedtightamongthestill-clappingfans,butmymindiseverywhere.WyatttoldmehewaswritingsongsinLosAngeles.I’veevenheardhimwritingsongsinthetreehouse.Whywouldhehidethefactthathewrotethatsong?IthinkofMissyMcGee’sotherbighitsandhowsimilartheyaretothisone.Wyatt’sbeenbullshittingmethiswholetimeabouthislife.I’mbothblownawaybythesongandangryatthelie.
Jackisatmyelbownow.“Prettygood,right?”
“What?”
“Wyatt.Thatwassomething,”hesays.“Hecouldgetagigsomewhere.Notinthecity,butlikeouthere?”
Ilookbackatthestage.Wyattislookingdirectlyatme,thoughIcan’ttellwhathe’stryingtoconvey.Appropriatemessageswouldinclude:Hey,sorryIforgottotellyouanythingaboutwhoIamandHopeyou’renotembarrassedaboutblabbingonandonaboutyourdumbjobwhenitturnsoutI’mamusicindustryicon.And,Yeah,Iwrotethebiggestsongofthelastdecadeanditwasaboutyou.Really,thepossiblemeaningsareendless.
Ineedair.I’minthecenterofthemobandamrelievedtofindJackisstillnexttome.“Ineedtogetoutofhere.”
“Areyoukidding?”heshouts.“Thisisunreal.Ilovethisplace.”Imusthavemissedtheplaquethatsaysskipwarrenslepthere
Iturntofightmywayoutofthecrowdandhedoesn’tnotice.ArockbandhasreplacedWyatt,andtheyarewarmingup.Youngpeoplewithplasticcupsofbeerletmepasswithouttakingtheireyesoffthestage.44
Ihatethisridiculouswhitedress.Isitdownonabarreloutsidethebarn,andI’msureI’mgettingruststainsorworseonthebackofit.IfIdisappearedrightnowontothebeach,I’dbeliketheapparitionofthedeadbrideinsomeVictoriannovel.IthinkofallthetimesinmylifeI’vebeenacliché.Tomboylittlesister.Lovesickteenager.Reluctanttwelve-stepper.RightnowI’mtherunawaybride.
Igooglehim.WyattPope.HehasaWikipediapage.Thismakesmyheadspin.Peopleshouldtellyourightaway.Howareyou?Answer:IhaveaWikipediapage.Itsaysalot.Iscrollthrough.Thewords“BillboardTop20.”Somanytimes.On-again,off-againrelationshipwithMissyMcGee.Forsevenyears.MyWyatt—andheismyfreakin’Wyatt—hasbeendatingthebiggestpopstarsinceMadonna.
Iamateenager.NottheteenagerIwas,carefreeandreasonablyhappyinmyskin.IamateenagerfromTV,feelingembarrassedandlikeI’mtryingtoohard.I’vebeentryingtosneakmyoldboyfriendbackintomylife,likeIcancarryhimdowntheaislewithme,tuckedundermybouquetwithmytissue.Thatperson,asitturnsout,istoofamoustosneakanywhere.
Itextmydad:Canyoupickmeup?I’mattheOwlBarn.
MydadpullsupjustasWyattwalksoutofthebarn.Hestandsthereinhispinkshirt,lookingatmeandthenthecar,likehe’stryingtofigureouthisnextmove.
“Yougoinghome?”heasks.
Iwalktothecarandopenthepassengerdoor.Wyattwalksaroundtothedriver’sside,wheremydad’sleaningouthisopenwindow.“Needaride,son?”
“Yes,thankyou,”hesays,andgetsinthebackseat.
Mydadasks,“Sohowwasit?Musicanygood?”
“Ihopeso,”saysWyatt.
“Yeah,itwasgood,”Isay.“Andyouknowwhatelse?Wyatt’sabigstarandhedidn’ttellusbecausemaybewecouldn’thandleit.”
“OfcourseIdidn’tthinkthat,”saysWyatt.
Mydadturnstome.“Bigstar?”
“Ohyeah,Wyattwhowandersaroundstrumminghisoldguitarandtinkeringwithengines,he’sabigsecretsuccess.”Iturnaroundtothebackseat.“Youwerenevergoingtotellmeyouwrotethatsong?Andthatyou’redatingfuckingMissyMcGee?”
He’squiet.
“Ihadtogoogleyou.Whydidn’tyoutellme?”
“Ah,yougoogledme.Finally.”Hesitsbackandcrosseshisarmsinsatisfaction.
“Whogooglespeople?”Iask.
“Shewaskindofinatwelve-stepprogram,”mydadsays.“Googlingwouldhavebeenano-no.”
“Dad.”Heconcentratesontheroad.Ilookoutthewindow.
“Really,Sam,howcouldyouhaveeverheardthatsongandnotknownitwasaboutyou?”Wyattasks.
Idon’tanswer.BecauseIdon’tknowhowthat’spossible.NowthatIknow,Ican’tunknowit,likewhenyoufindthehiddentortoiseintheHighlightsmagazineandthenitjumpsoutatyoueverytime.
Wyattleansforwardsothathisheadisrightbetweenus.“Ifiguredyou’dreachouttomewhenyouheardit.Likemaybeitwouldcountasanapology.”
“Evertryreturningatext?It’smorereliablethansendingasecretmessageoutovertheradio.”
Mydadlaughs,thenturnstoWyatt.“Sorry.”Eyesbackontheroad.
“Whatabout‘Summer’sEnd’?”
“Aboutyou.They’reallaboutyou,Sam.”
“WellI’mgladtohaveprovidedyouwithmaterial.”
“WhatdidyouthinkIwasgoingtogrowupandwritesongsabout?I’velovedyoumywholelife.”
“Okay,nowI’muncomfortable.”Mydadleansforwardinhisseatlikethat’llgiveussomeprivacy.
“Ievenaskedyouaboutthatsong.Iwasholdingyourhand.Wereyoulookingforabettertimetotellme?”
“Iwasn’tgoingtolayallthatonyouwhenyou’reabouttogetmarried.”
“Wellyoudidtonight.”
“Idid,andIdon’tknowwhy.”Heleansbackintothebackseat,andmydadletsoutabreath.“Listen,Iknowitsoundscreepy,likeI’mobsessedorsomething,butit’sjustthatyouweremybiglove.Iwritelovesongs,soIgobacktothat.Butwe’reallgrownupandyou’vefoundsomeoneelse.It’sjustabeautifulmoment,likesomethingyou’ddraw.Iwritesongsaboutit.”
“Idon’tdrawanymore.‘Moonshine’?”
“Aboutyou.”
“Wow.”
Outofthecornerofmyeye,Icanseemydadsmiling.I’mnotgoingtoturnmyheadtoconfirmbecausethat’sgoingtoannoyme.
Wepullintoourdriveway,andmydadshutsoffthecar.“Okay,wellI’mgoingin,”hesays,andquicklygetsout.It’squietanddarkinthecar;noone’sputtheporchlighton.Neitherofusmakesanymovetoleave.Ihavenothingtosay,butI’mnotdone.MyheartfallswhenIhearhimopenthecardoortoleave.It’sthreesecondsofregretbeforeheopensthedriver’sdoorandsitsnexttome.
“Sam,lookatme.”
Iturntohimandfeellikethere’stherightamountofspacebetweenus.Thegearshiftandthecupholdersareabarrier.Alsothedark.
“Itwasreallybadforme,”Isay.“Iwasintherapyforalongtime.Ididn’tsleepforayear.AndIlostapartofmyself,thepartthatwastrue.”Icanfeeltearsonmycheeks.
“You’restillyou,Sam.”He’slookingmeintheeye,andIbelievethatheseeswhatusedtobethere.
“Ican’tbelieveyouwrotethatfuckingsong,”Isay,andhelaughs.
“Ican’tbelieveyoudidn’tknow.”
“Ijustfiguredallyounglovefeelsthesame.ThatatsomepointMissyMcGeefeltlikewedid.”Ishakemyheadatthesoundofhername.“Youprobablydon’tcallherMissyMcGee.”
Hedoesn’tsayanything.
“I’mhappyforyou,”Isay.“Yourdreamlifeandeverything.”
Wyattletsoutalittlelaugh,thekindoflaughthatcomesouttokeepthenextthingyousayfromseemingsad.“Wronggirl,andIdon’tgettoperform.Buttherestisprettygood.”Hetakesmyhandinbothofhis,andIcanbarelyseetheminthedark.“IknowIhurtyou,andI’msorry.I’mashamedofhowbrokenIwas.Butwe’vebothmovedon.You’regettingmarriedandIwantyoutobehappy.”
It’stherightthingtosay.He’sgentlyclosedthedoortothepast,andwearenowsittinghereinthedarkpresent.Yes,I’mgettingmarried.IwasstillonWyatt’smindallthoseyears,butasanideaofwhatlovewas,somethingtowriteabout.Likeaparticularlydeliciousdonutonacoldmorning.Yourememberfondlyjusthowittastedonyourtongue,buttodayyou’llorderanomeletbecauseyou’reagrown-up.
Heliftsahandtowipeatearoffmycheek.Ifeelmyselfleaningintowardthesmellofhimandthefeelofhisbreathrightthere,inchesfromme.“It’sridiculoushowmuchyouwanttokissme,”hesays.
AndIlaughbecause,yes.There’snopointindenyingit;Wyattknowshowtoreadeverypartofmybody.
Hesmilesatinysmileandtakesbothofmyhandsinhis.“Youmeantheworldtome,Sam,andI’mnotgoingtodothattoyourlife.”
Ilookintohiseyesandfeelthewarmthofhishandsinmine.Iknowthiswillbethelasttime,soItakeitin.“IfI’dgoogledyouandcalled,whatwouldhavehappened?”
“Itdoesn’tmatternow,Sam.”45
WehaveSundaybrunchonthebackporch,andInoticethere’snomusiccomingfromthetreehouse.JackissayinghowmuchhelikedtheOldSloopInn,howthecrabcakeswerethebestheeverhad.“Sam,IAm”isaboutme.Allthosesongsareaboutme.Ican’tquitewrapmyheadaroundthefactofitandthefactthatIdidn’tknow.IwonderifhethinksofmeeverytimeMissyperformsit,orifit’slike“TheStar-SpangledBanner”tohimnow,abunchofwordsyou’veheardtoomanytimes.
“Soit’sagothen?”Grannyasks.“Sam?”
Icometo.“Sowhat’sago?”
“Thewedding?”
“Well,ofcourse,”Isay,takingJack’shand.“We’redefinitelygettingmarried.”
“Yes,”mymothersays,“weassumedthat,dear.Shemeansouthere.IsitagotohavetheweddingonLongIsland?”
“Forsure,”Jacksaysforme.AndIdon’twanttoargue.It’sbeautifulouthere,evenifit’sfullofghosts.
“Yes,I’llcallandsetadateassoonaswe’rebackhome,”Isay.Then,“DidyouguysknowWyattwasabigdealinthemusicbusiness?Likehe’sasuccess?”
“Likehehasaband?”Grannyasks.
“No,morelikehe’swrittenabunchofreallybigsongsforapopstar,whoatsomepointwashisgirlfriend,”Isay,scoopingeggsontomyforktoavoidlookingatanyone.
Jacksays,“IhavetoadmitIneversawthatcoming.Hedoesn’tgiveoffavibethatwouldmakeyouthinkhe’sgotanythinggoingon.”
“It’snewstous,”mymomsays.“Goodforhim.”
Mydadiswatchingme.HeistheonlywitnesstotheconversationthatWyattandIhadlastnight,andIhavethefeelingthathedidn’tmentionittomymom.He’sseenbehindthecurtain,andIlikethathe’sprotectingmyprivacythisway.Ican’trememberthelasttimemydadandIsharedasecret.
“Yes,goodforWyatt,”hesays.
JackandIarequietaswedrivehomeontheLongIslandExpressway.He’sgettinginandoutoftheexpresslanelikehe’stryingtoshavefifteensecondsoffhisbesttimeinarace.IhaveanemailfromEleanorsayingthatshe’dliketoseemeinherofficeonMondaymorningatten.Allthismysteryisreallygettingonmynerves.AfterIwaspulledoffthatclient,Ispentanentireweekjustsittingatmydeskwaitingforsomeonetomakeadecisionaboutme.Iorganizedmyfiles.Icolor-codedaspreadsheetI’llprobablyneveruseagain.Andsomehowtheyneededanotherweektomullitoverwithoutmethere.ItfeelslikeEleanorwantstopunishmebeforeshefiresme.Ireply,“Seeyouthen!”andimmediatelyregretthecheeryexclamationpoint.
IsneaklooksatJackandwonderwhathe’sthinkingabout,staringaheadattheroad.IsheasgobsmackedasIamaboutWyatt?Didhelikebeingoutatthebeachwithmyfamily?Didhegetthatthatsongisaboutme?He’smillionsofmilesaway,soIasktheannoyingquestion.
“Whatareyouthinkingabout?”
Heturnstolookatme,likehe’ssurprisedI’mthere.“Elliot.”
“Elliot?”
“Yeah,heneedstomoveourTuesdayeveningtennistoWednesdays.ButWednesdayismypushdayatthegymandifIswitchittoTuesday,it’stooclosetotheFritzworkoutforproperrecovery.”
“Ah,”Isay.“Tricky.”
Hekeepsdrivingandchewingonhisdilemma.
“Eleanoremailed.Wantstomeetwithmetomorrowmorning.”
“Good,”hesays.“Thenyoushouldtakeafewweeksoffbeforeyoustartlookingforanotherjob.”
“I’mnotnecessarilygettingfired.”
Hegivesmeasympatheticsmile.“Samantha.Comeon.”
Iwanttoteachart,isonthetipofmytongue.JackandIaregettingmarried,Ishouldbeabletotellhimmydreams.Ijustdon’twanttohearhimtellmeIcan’t,thatit’simpossible.ThatI’veestablishedmyselfasaconsultantandIneedtostickitout.It’snotlikeIwanttobeatrapezeartist,Ijustwanttobedoingsomethingcreativewithkids.
“Iwanttoteachart,”Isaytothepassengerwindow.
“Didyousaysomething?”
“No,”Isay.Then,“Iwanttoteachart.”
“Thatwouldbefun,”hesays.
Iturntohim,relieved.“Right?Allthosekidsmakingthingsoutofclayandconstructionpaper.Everyonegoingintotallydifferentdirectionswiththesameassignment.”
“Youcoulduseaglueguneverydayofyourlife.”
Ilaugh.“Exactly.That’sexactlywhatIwanttodo.”
Jackreachesformyhand,andasdumbasthatconfessionis,Ifeelheard.AndifJackthinksitmakessense,maybeit’spossible.
“Butyou’reanHRconsultant.It’syourwholerésumé.Soyou’vejustgottomakethebestofthat.”
I’mquietforthenextthirtyminutes,andasweheadthroughthetunnel,Istarttofeelafraid.I’vereconnectedwithWyattandwe’vesaidgoodbye.IfeeladreadthatremindsmeofthedrivebacktothecityafterWyattandIsaidgoodbyeonthebeach,mymotherseething.IhaveanirrationalpremonitionthatIwillbeabandonedandstopsleepingagain.AndGracie’snotcomingbackforamonth.
ItextTravis:IknowyouknewaboutWyatt.It’sunbelievablethatyoudidn’ttellme.Wecanfightaboutthislater,butgivemehisnumber.
Travis:Ifiguredifitmatteredtoyouyou’dgooglehim
Me:Whofuckinggooglespeople
Travis:EveryoneSam
Hesendsit,andItextWyatt:It’sSam.Travisgavemeyournumber.Justwantedtosaygoodbyeagain.Andwow.Alsocongratulations.
Wyatt:Ha,thanks.I’mheadedbacktoLAtomorrow
Me:Socanwebeintouch?Likesayhappybirthdayandsendfunnyinternetstuff?
Wyatt:Likecatvideos?
I’msmilingatmyphoneandIchecktomakesureJackisn’tlookingatme.He’snot.
Me:Yeah,likethat46
IwakeuponMondaymorninginourbedonSixty-ThirdStreet.It’ssix,andIdon’tneedtobeanywhereuntilten,butIgetupanywaytohavecoffeeandgathermythoughts.IclosethedoortoourroomquietlysoasnottowakeJack.Hisfirstpatientisatnine,Ithinkhesaid.Butfirst,it’spushday.Orlegday.Iforget.
Iwalkthroughourlivingareaintothekitchen,andit’sallalittlestarkafterhavingbeenatmyparents’house.“Cleanlines”iswhatJacksaidonrepeataswewerelookingtofurnishthisplace.It’spretty,butit’salittleungrounding.IthinkofhowGrannycomparedittoaprison.Allthisgrayandwhiteandchromemakesmewishtherewassomethingredtorestmyeyeon.Itdoesn’thelpthatweareonthefourteenthfloor,whicheveryoneknowsisreallythethirteenthfloor.Wearehighupenoughthatthecarsdownbelowseemliketoys.IsometimesfeellikeI’mfloating,likeI’minsidesomeone’sthoughtbubble.
Imakemycoffeeandsitatthecounterwithmyphone.IemailmydadandaskifIcanseephotosofsketchesfromhisnewhorizonseries.Thisispushyandpresumptuous,asit’spossiblehestillhasn’tputanythingonpaper,butIdoitanyway.Ican’trememberthelasttimeIaskedmydadabouthiswork,butIfeelalittleopeningbetweenus.
IchecktoseeifI’vemissedatextfromWyatt,whichisdumb.Wejustagreedtostaylooselyintouch.Noonesendsdailycatvideos.
Jackcomesoutofthebedroomdressedforthegym.“Man,itfeelsgoodtobehome.”
“Yousaidthatyesterday,”Isay.
“Well,itstilldoes.Everything’ssodampatthebeach.”Hestopstokissmeontheforeheadbeforemixinghispre-workoutdrink.Hedoesn’thavecoffeebecausethatpre-workoutdrinkhasasmuchcaffeineassixcups,athoughtthatmakesmeslightlynauseated.
“I’mtryingtofigureoutwhattoweartomymeetingthismorning.DoIgocasualbecauseit’ssummerordoIdressuptobeappropriateforthegravityofthesituation?”
“Thedecision’sbeenmade;youcouldgoinyourpajamasifyouwant.”
He’sright,ofcourse.Eleanorisn’tinvitingmeintonegotiate.Jack’sgrabbinghisgymbagandheadingtothedoor.“IguessI’llcallyouafter?”Isay.
“Yes,sorry.”Rememberinghimself,Jackcomesbacktogivemeahug.“It’llbefine.There’stonsofHRinthecity.”Hepullsawayandgivesmeasmile.“You’llbebacktowhippingpeopleintoshapeinnotime.”
Heleaves,andthewords“whippingpeopleintoshape”hangintheair.I’veneverreallythoughtofmyjobthatway.IliketothinkI’msettingtherulesforagametheycanwin,usingdatatokeepscore.Ismile,rememberingthemomenteveryoneintheflashmobfinallygotthestepsright.Theyweresoexcitedaboutit,andIadmititwasalittleinfectious.
I’mhumming“DancingQueen”asIrefillmycoffeeandgetbackinbed.IhavehalfanhourbeforeIneedtogetintheshowerandputonwhateveronewearstogetfired.Iscrollthroughmyphone.EmailsfromcompanieswhothinkIshouldbuymoresweaters.Ninety-sixpeoplelikedmyInstagrampostoftheOldSloopInnlitupatnight.“Possibleweddingvenue,”Isaid.Itookthatphotorightbeforewewalkedintotherestaurant.Wyattmusthavebeenparkinghiscarthen,knowingfullwellthatourdinnerwasbeingmadepossiblebyhiscelebrity.
I’mhavingahardtimeknowingwhatisreal.IsurvivedlosingWyattbybelievingthathewasanaddiction,thatIwasjustboycrazy.Buthewroteallthosesongs,withsomanydetailsofourrelationship.HeremembersitasclearlyasIdo.Ineedtolookawayfromthepossibilitythatwhatwehadwasreal,becauseitcouldundome.Allofthatlaughingandtouchingisexactlythekindoffreedomyou’dfeelifyouthrewyourselfoffacliff.Idon’twanttobebrokenagain.
Iputdownmyphoneandpickitbackupagain.
Itexthim:Areyouup?
Immediatereply:Alittlejet-laggedsoyes.How’slifeinthebigcity?
Heusedtosaythis,Iremember,whenwewereapartduringtheschoolyear.I’dsmilewhenheaskeditbecauseitmademefeelcool,likehethoughtmaybemycitylifewasglamorous.I’mstaringatthosewordsnow,uncomfortablewiththewaymybodyisleaningofftheedgeofthatcliff.
Wyatt:Sam?
Me:Sorry,wasjustdryingmyhair.Lifeinthebigcityisprettyglamorousforanunemployedconsultant
Wyatt:Didtheyfireyou?
Me:Imeetthefiringsquadat10
Wyatt:Ihopeitgoeswell,butdon’tbegforajobyoudon’twant.That’snotwhoyouare
Me:Easyforyoutosay,you’rerich
Wyatt:Aren’tyoutheonemarryingadoctor?
Me:Haha.OkayIneedtogetmoving,I’lltextyoulater.
Idon’tknowwhythatconversationhasmademefeelbetter.“Don’tbegforajobyoudon’twant”isgreatadvice,andItakeittoheart.Thatisn’twhoIam.Iputmyphonedownandtakeinmybedroom.ThisisthespacethatJackandIshare.HelovesthegrayRomanshadesonthewindowsandthematchingclubchairsatthefootofthebed.WebothgravitatedtothemutedgraycolorschemeinthePotteryBarncatalogbecauseitfeltcalmandsophisticated.ButtodayitmakesmefeellikeI’minamilitarycafeteria.
IarriveatHumanCorpstenminutesearly.IwalkthroughthelobbylikeIhaveamilliontimes,butthistimeasIsaygoodmorningtoAlvinbehindthesecuritydesk,I’mpreemptivelyembarrassedaboutthefactthatI’llprobablybebackdowninthirtyminutescarryingatelltalecardboardbox.I’minacasualdressandsandals,mainlybecauseit’sninety-eightdegreesinmidtownManhattan,butlookingdownatmyfeetnow,IrealizeI’venevershownmytoesherebefore.
ImakemywaytoEleanor’soffice,noddinghellotocubicledpeoplewholikelyknowmyfatealready.Iknockonheropendoorandshelooksupandsmiles.Asmileisagoodsign.
“Sam,comein.”She’sinablackwoolsuit,becausemaybeshedoesn’tknowaboutitsbeingAugustoutside.Itakeaseatacrossfromherdesk,whichputsmeafullinchlowerthansheis.EverythingatHumanCorpsisbydesign,andI’msurethisisnoexception.Sheleansforwardandclangshergoldbanglesonthedesk.“Thishasbeenreallystressfulforme.”
“I’msorry,”Isay,andIdon’tknowwhy.AmIsorryabouttheflashmoborwastingcompanytimeorjusthavinginflictedworkstressonmyboss?
“Wellit’sbeenhelltryingtoexplainthistomanagement,howmybestorganizationalconsultantbroughtaboutsheerchaos.”
“Chaos”seemsabitextreme.Thewholesongislessthanfourminutes.“Theirdancewasactuallyverywellchoreographed.”Idon’tknowwherethesewordscamefrombuttheyareout,andIcannotgrabthemback.
“Isthatajoke?”Eleanorisclenchingherfoldedhands.
“No.Imean,itdoesn’tmatternow,butIwasimpressedwithhowwelltheyallworkedtogether.Whichwaswhattheclientaskedfor.”Thisisnotgoingwell.Sheisperfectlystill,staringatme.Ineedtogobacktothegeneral“I’msorry,”butI’mjustnotfeelingit.
“Doyouwantthisjobornot?”
It’sagreatquestion,andallIknowforsureisthatIdon’twanttolookforanotherjobandhavetoexplainoverandoverabouttheflashmob.“Ido,”Isay.
She’slookingatthefloorasifshe’stryingtoformulatetherightwords.She’smakingthisoverlydifficult,andIwonderifthisisthefirsttimeshe’severmadeadecisionlikethiswithoutachart.
“You’rewearingsandals,”shesaysfinally.“I’veneverseenyouinsandalsbefore.”
“Yes,Ihopethat’sokay.It’sninety-eightdegreesout,thoughit’sactuallyfreezinginhere.”
“It’sfine.”Sheshakesoffwhateverconclusionshewascomingtoaboutthestateofmyfootwearandgoeson.“PurcellandIhavedecidedwewanttogiveyouanotherchance.Iknow,wearenotaboutsecondchancesforourclients’employees,butwe’remakinganexceptionherebecauseyouhaveahistoryofbeingexceptionallydiligent.”
“Thankyou.”Ifeela“but”coming.
“Foryournextfewprojects,youwillnotbeclientfacing.You’llbeheresortingthroughthereportsanddatathatyou’resent.Thefirstoneisananalysisofemployeehealthcarecosts,soit’sallinblackandwhite.”
Ihaveafeelingofbeingletbackin,likeIwasontheoutsideandthecirclehasopenedbackuptome.IthinkofthegirlsatthebeachgoingtothatpartywithoutmeandhowitwasokaybecauseIknewIbelongedwithWyatt,sittingthereonthecovelookingatthewaterwhileheburiedmyfeettokeepthemfromburning.
“Sam,whyareyousmiling?Ifeellikeyou’renottakingthisseriously.Youcankeepyourjob,butwearecoursecorrecting.Youshouldn’tbesmiling.”Ifyourjobismicromanagingotherpeople’sbehavior,it’shardtostop.
IrealizethatIneedtoendthismeeting.Ihavebeenawayforoneweekandit’slikeIcompletelyforgotthescript.“Eleanor,IlovethisjobandIamsogratefulfortheopportunitytoworkwithyouandtomakeadifferenceforourclients.JusttellmewhenthisnextprojectstartsandI’llbealloverit.”
“That’smygirl.”
IwalkoutintothethickAugustairwonderinghowI’msupposedtofeel.Istillhaveajob.Ijustneedtokeepmyheaddownforacoupleofprojects,andthenthey’llletmeoutintheworldagain.Withlessengagingwork,maybeI’llevenstartmakingittowaltzinglessons.Ifeelnoreliefatall.Spreadsheetsandwaltzinglessonsgivemethatitchy-sweaterfeelingallover.
IreachformyphonetotextWyatt,andasIstarttotypeIrealizehowwrongthatis.ItextJackinstead,eventhoughIknowhe’swithpatients:Theydidn’tfireme,they’rejustgoingtotorturemewithboringworkforabit.
Anhourlater,I’mreadinganunsanctionedworkofwomen’sfictioninbedwhenhetextsback:Ohwow,I’mshockedbuthappy!I’llseeyoulater.
Jackcomeshomefromworkwithabouquetoflilies.“I’msohappyandrelieved,”hesays,wrappingmeinhisarms.“Iknowthiswholeweddingthinghasbeenstressful.Itwaskillingmetothinkyouweregoingtoloseyourjoboverit.”
Ihughimbackbutthenletgo.“Wait.Doyouthinktheflashmobwasaboutourwedding?”
“Well,sortof.Notdirectly,butyou’vebeendistracted.Likeforgettingappointments,doodlinginyourlittlebook.You’renotquitebuttonedup,andIsortofassumeditwasaboutthewedding.”
Ihaveinmymindtheimageofsomeoneinaverylongdresswithbuttonsthatgoallthewayuptoherneck.Shelooksregalandpolishedandshecan’tquitebreathe.Ilookdownatmysandalsandwonderifit’sokaytojustundothetopbuttoneveryonceinawhile,withoutyourwholelifefallingapart.
“I’mstillbuttonedup,”Isay.“Sometimesmymindwanders,butthat’sjustwhatmindsdo.”
“Minedoesn’t.”
Ilaughandhughimagain.“That’smyfavoritethingaboutyou,”Isayintohisneck.
“Iwanttohearallaboutyourjobdrama.LetmechangerealquickandI’lltakeyououtforsushi.”
Jackgoesintochange,andmyphonebuzzes.It’sWyatt:So?
Me:Theydidn’tfiremebutIdon’tgettohaveanyhumancontactuntiltheythinkI’velearnedmylesson
Wyatt:Ouch
Me:It’sfine.Thisiswhatyougetforfartingintheelevator
Wyattsendsastringoflaughingemojis,and,justlikethat,wehaveanewinsidejoke.47
MyparentshaveputdownadepositontheOldSloopInnforOctober28andwe’veorderedinvitations.Itfeelslikeaconcretedecisionanditfeelslikeeverythingisbackontrack.Atleastthewedding.I’vestartedmyanalysisofadepartmentstorechain’shealthcareofferings,andit’sninehoursadayofminingdata.Mycubicledoesn’tgetanynaturallight,soI’vestartedgoingtoCentralParkatlunchtimetotrytocatchabreezeandsomebirdsounds.OntheMondaythatstartsthethirdfullweekonthisproject,IsitonabenchjustoutsidetheCentralParkZoowithasoftpretzelandaCoke.Ifindmyselfunabletomove.Childrenarewalkingoutofthezoowithice-creamconesdrippingdowntheirlittlehands.Aboyinachickencostumepointsuptoabirdthat’slandingonabalconyonFifthAvenue.Amandancestomusicthat’sinhishead,andifIwatchlongenoughitseemslikethesquirrelshearittoo.IamoverwhelmedbyhowintenselyIwanttobewherepeoplearehavingideas.
Mymomcalls.“Sweetheart,amIinterruptingyou?”
“I’minameeting,”Isay,breakingoffapieceofmypretzelforapigeoncouple.
“Ihearbirds.”
“Well,yes.Sowhat’sgoingon?”
“Weneedtogetthisweddingnaileddown,”shesays.“Theinvitationsshouldbearrivingsoon,andwehavetostartpickingthingsout.Donna’scalledmetwiceaskingforthecolorscheme,andI’mnotentirelysurewhatshemeans.”
Apparently,wearecuttingthingsprettycloseforanOctober28wedding.MymomwantsustocomethisweekendforLaborDayandtomeetwiththefloristandtastethecake.
“Weren’twejustthere?”Jackaskswhenwe’rewalkingdownMadisonAvenueafterdinner.
“Thatwasthreeweeksago.”
“I’mnotsureIcandotwohippiebeachvisitsinonesummer.”
Istopwalking.“Ithoughtyouweretheonewhowantedtogetmarriedoutthere.”
“OhIdo.Iloveit.Butnotthewholethingwithyourparentsandthathouseandthestuffeverywhere.Thepaintfumesalonetookayearoffmylife.”
“Huh.”
“Ifiguredthenexttimewewentoutitwouldbeforthewedding.We’dstayattheOldSloopInnandthenheadoutonourhoneymoon.It’sclosertoJFKfromthereanyway.”
I’mspeechless,andI’mnotevensurewhy.ImayhavethoughtthatJack’swantingtogetmarriedouttherewasabuy-intothewholesummer-at-the-beachthing.Imayhaveeventhoughtitwasabuy-intothecompletepictureofwhomyfamilyis.
Jackputshisarmaroundmeaswewalk.“Listen,youknowIloveyourparents.Butthem,outthere,lettingtheirfreakflagsfly,that’saonce-a-summerthingforme.CanwemakedecisionsoverFaceTime?”
“Wecould.Butit’sourwedding.We’reonlydoingthisonce.I’dliketotastethecake,feelthenapkins,youknow?”
Jacklaughs.“Well,ifyoureallyneedtotastethecake.You’llmisstheUSOpen.”
I’veneverbeenabletoconveytoJackhowlittleIcareabouttennis.I’veprobablynevereventried,butyou’dthinkhewouldhavenoticedthatI’mtheonlypersoninthestadiumnotleaningforwardinherchairwithraptattention.
“That’sfine.YoucantakeElliot.”
“That’sagreatidea,”hesays.“Seehowgoodweareatgettingmarried?”
ItakethetrainouttoLongIslandonThursdaynighttoavoidtheLaborDayrush.JackhasparkingpassestotheUSOpen,sohedidn’twantmetakinghiscar.IlikethefeelingofboardingthetrainbymyselfwitheverythingIneedstashedinmybackpack.There’salittlekidsittingbehindmesingingChristmascarols,andIknowWyattwouldhavesomething
Itexthim:Ithinkit’sgoodthatwe’refriends
There’snoresponse.Thetrainstartsmovingandsoonwe’reoutofthecity,chuggingalongpastneighborhoodscontainingfamilieswithdramasalltheirown.Iknowthereisawaytomakemylifesomethinglighter.Myparentsarefreespirits,andthey’vebuiltalifethatsupportseverythingtheywanttodoandbe.Travisseemstobedoingthesame.Iwonderwhatitwouldbeliketobeanadultwhofollowedherspiritaround,whojustupandquitherwell-payingjobtostartoverasanartteacher.WhatifIcouldspendmytimeshowingkidshowtomakethings,howtoaccessthatpartofyourbrainthatisuniquelyyouandthenuseittocreatesomethingthatpeoplecansee?Creatingartisaboutbeingvulnerableenoughtoinvitepeopletospendtimeinyourskin.Ican’tthinkofabetterskilltoteach.
ItoccurstomethatJackisapersonwhoseskinIcan’tquitewear.Itrytoimaginehissatisfactionatworkinghismusclessohard.Itrytoimaginehiscaringforpatientshekindofresents.Itrytofeelhowhefeelsaboutme,andIsettleonhopeful.Helovesme,andheseemshopefulthatI’llfigureoutawaytogetfocusedagain.Myphone
Wyatt:We’refriends?Thisseemssosudden
Me:Haha.Iknow,we’veonlyknowneachother25years
Wyatt:Okay,wellaslongasyou’resureyou’renotinlovewithmeanymore
Me:I’mgood.
There’snoreply.Idon’treallylikewhatI’vesaid.Itfeelsshortandwrong.Butthenagain,IamonmywaytopickoutweddingcakeforwhenImarrysomeoneelse.Idecidetodoubledown.
Me:I’monthetrainheadedtoLongIsland.Goingtospendtheweekendwithmyparentspickingouttableclothsandtastingweddingcake
Wyatt:Didyoudecidetogetmarriedoutside?
Me:Jackdoesn’tliketheidea.Itcouldrain
Wyatt:Let’shopehepicksagoodcake
Me:He’snotcoming.Hehadstufftodo,soI’mgoingtodecide
There’snoreply,notthatthatwasanythingimportanttoreplyto.Iamalittledisappointed,havingthoughtmaybeIwasgoingtospendthiswholetrainrideshootingthebreezewithWyatt.I’dreallyliketolaugh.It’sfiveo’clockintheafternooninLA;maybehe’sworking?Orsurfing?Aftertwentyminutes,Igetatext:
Wyatt:Well,I’llseeyouthere.Comingforthelongweekendtocheckonafewthingsformymom.I’mtakingtheredeye,getintomorrowmorning
Me:Wow,okay.Meetmeatthebeach
Thatwasaloadedthingtosay.AssoonasIsendit,Ifeelembarrassed.Wearetryingtohaveanadultfriendship,andhereIamdraggingupthepast.Hedoesn’treply.MyheartisracingalittleandItrytobreathemywaythroughit.MyfriendWyattisgoingtobetherethisweekend.Whatanicecoincidence.Mymindimmediatelygoestowhatit’sgoingtofeellikewhenIhughimhello,burrowingmyfaceintohisneck.Maybehe’llwriteasongaboutit.Thesethoughtsterrifymeastheymovethroughoutmybody.Whatanicecoincidence.48
Travispicksmeupatthetrain.“DidyouknowWyatt’scomingoutfortheweekend?”Iask,likeI’mjustmakingconversation.
Travissmilesatthesteeringwheel.“Ididnotknowthat.”
“Hegetsintomorrowmorning.”
“Ah,”hesays.
“What?”There’sreallynooneintheworldwhocanusesilencetoconveyasmuchironicdisapprovalasasibling.Allthatunspokenhistoryfillsthespace.
“Nothing.Justinterestingthathe’sturninguphere.Andyou’vesomehowmanagedtoleaveJackbehind.”
“Ohcomeon.Jackdidn’twanttocome.Hehatesitouthere.”I’veexaggerated,ofcourse,butsomehowIfeellikeIneedtodefendmyself.It’snotlikeIplannedaweekendwithWyatt.
“Hedoes?”Travishasdroppedhisedge.“What’stheretohate?”
“?‘Hate’isthewrongword.HejustprefersMomandDadinthecity,wherethey’realittlemorestandard.Outhere,thewackyhouseandallthestuffisalittlemuchforhim.”
“That’swhotheyare,Sam.That’slikethebest,happiestpartofthem.Jack’sgoingtohavetoembraceit.Andasmuchasyouactlikeatight-ass,it’sabigpartofwhoyouaretoo.”
We’reonWestMainStreetnow.FlagsleftoverfromFourthofJulyaregettingasecondchanceforLaborDay.AcouplestumblesoutoftheOldSloopInn.WeturnontoSaltaireLaneandpassWyatt’shouse;nolightsareon.Everythingfeelsdifferentthanitdidafewweeksago,likewithoutJackasabufferit’sanactualstepbackintime.
Weletourselvesinthroughthefrontdoor,andIallowmyselftofeel,maybeallthewaydowntoacellularlevel,howgooditfeelstobehome.Everyone’sasleep,andIsmellgarlicroastedpotatoesthatwerelikelyburnedafewhoursago.Onthetablebythefrontdooristheusualassortmentofmasonjars,nowwithonefullofrubberbandsindifferentcolors.Ismiletomyself,wonderingifthey’reforatie-dyeexperimentorforsecuringbraids.Withthiscrew,itcouldreallybeanything.
Mymom’smovedthediningroomtablebackintothediningroom,butit’sstillcoveredwithdriftwoodandlargepiecesofpeeled-offbark.There’sabasketwithacollectionofsticksperchedonawingbackchair.Travisfindsmestandingthere,staring.
“Younewaroundhere?”heasks.
Ilaugh.“ItlookedlikesomuchcrazygarbagelasttimeIwashere.Nowitjustlookssohappy.”
Travisfindsanopenbottleofredwineonthecounternexttoabowlofnutsandwetakeitalloutontotheporch.
“Hughcan’tstanditeither,ifthatmakesyoufeelbetter,”hesays.
“Thehouse?”
“Thestuff.Hewantstokidnapthemandtakeeverylastrandompieceofgarbageandthrowitout.HethinksthatifDadlivedinaminimalisthouse,he’dbepaintingagain.Hedaydreamsaboutit.”
“Cleanlines?”Iask.
“OhmyGod,it’sallhetalksabout.”Welaugh.
“Ilikehowtheyknowwhatmakesthemhappy,”Isay.
We’requietforabit,listeningtothewavesbreak.I’veneverbeenabletodecideifthewavessounddifferentatnightorifthere’sjustlessnoisetocompetewiththem.
Travissays,“IfeellikeIshouldapologizefornottellingyouaboutWyatt,butI’mnotreallysorry.Itwashardforme,thethingwithMomandDadandthenseeingyoutotallyfallapart.Itwassuchanightmare,andIwasawayatschool,totallyuselesstoyou.BythetimethatsongcameoutandWyatt’slifehadchangedcourse,youwerefinallyokay.”
“SoyouthoughtI’dfallapartagainifIknew.”
“Iwasafraid.AndIwaitedtwoextrayearstocomeout,waitingforyoutofeelnormalagain.Thatwasareallyhardtimeforme,andIfiguredtellingyouwouldstartallthedramaagain.Maybeselfishinretrospect.”
“I’msorry.”IneverreallythoughtmuchabouthowmyfallingapartaffectedTravis.Ialwayspicturedhimhavingabigtimeincollege,havingescapedattheexactrightmoment.ButIdorememberallthecallstoMomtocheckin,thetextstomeaboutabsolutelynothing.Hewastakingourfamily’stemperatureandbidinghistime.
“Butit’sokayseeinghimnow,right?Like,it’sgoodthatyouknowallthatbeforeyoumarryJackandmoveonwithyourmostlyfunctionallife.”
“Mostlyfunctional.”Iraisemyglasstothat.“DoyouthinkMissyMcGeeknowsshe’ssingingaboutWyatt’soldgirlfriendallthetime?”
“I’mguessingno.”
Icomedownstairsinthemorningfeelinglikeit’sChristmas.Idon’tknowwhatitis,thefactthatIhaveafreedayatthebeach,orthefactthatI’mgoingtoseeWyatt.Thefactthatmychildhoodhomefeelslikehomeagain.Iwanttograbafrozenpeanutbutterandjellysandwichandrunthroughthedunes.Mymom’satthekitchentablewatercoloringandsmileswhensheseesme.
“IsGracieup?”Iask.
“She’sstartedsleepinguntilten.Yourememberhowthatwas.”
Ismileatthememoryofbeingtwelve,almostthirteen.Iwantedtosleeplatetoo,butnotasmuchasIwantedtogetupandseeWyatt.“Oh,Iremember.”
“Something’sloosenedupinyou.Nicetosee.”
“Maybeit’stheseaair.”Ipourmyselfacoffee.
Shegivesmealonglook.“That,yes.Andalsomaybespendingmoretimeoutherethissummer.Makingpeace.FinallygettingoverWyatt.”
Itakeasip.“Ithinkwe’regoingtobefriends.It’sfinebetweenus.Didyouknowhe’scomingherethisweekend?Liketoday?”
“Ididn’t.Isthatokayforyou?Seeinghimagainsosoon.”
“Ithink?”
Shegivesmealook.
“Imeanyes,itwillbegoodtoseehimagain.Andmaybewecanhaveafriendshipofsomesort.”Ithinkofawaiterwarningmethattheplateishot.He’stoldmeflat-outthatifItouchitI’llgetburned.AndItouchiteverysingletime.
Mymomkeepspainting,makingwideribbonsofcoloracrossastackofcards.
“Whatarethose?”
“Thesecameintheboxwithyourweddinginvitations,justextracardstock.Ican’tbelieveyouorderedinvitationsonwatercolorpaper,it’ssoromantic.”
“Myinvitationsarehere?”Igetupandsheindicatesthethreeboxesunderthediningroomtable.Igrababoxandopenitatthetable.“Ican’tbelieveit.”
They’rebeautiful.Whitecardswithsilverlettering.“Mr.andMrs.BillingsHollowayrequestthepleasure.”JackandIpickedtheseoutatthestationeronMadisonandEighty-SixthStreet.Igravitatedtowardaninvitationwithanengravedbeachmotifatthebottom.“Babe,it’sawedding,notapicnic,”hesaid.So,wewentwiththese,cleanlinesalltheway.Andhewasright,theyaregorgeous,andthelittlebitoftextureinthepapersavesthemfrombeingplain.Wehadthemshippedtomymom,because,ofcourse,sheknowscalligraphy.
“Wehavemorethanweneed.CanIjustshowyousomething?”Mymomtakesone,dipsherbrushinthepinkpaint,andgivesitaswooshacrossthemiddle,accentingournames.It’sbreathtaking.“Whatifwedidthistoeachone?Alldifferentcolors.”
“Itissopretty.”Iholditinmyhandanditfeelslikeasummerbreezehasmovedthroughmywedding.“ButJackwouldthinkitwasmessy.”
“Oh,okay.Let’sskipitthen.MaybeI’lljustkeepthisoneformyself.They’realsoveryprettywithoutanycolor.”Mymomhasnoegoaboutherideasorherart.Shecreatesforherself,forthedelightshefeelsinseeingsomethinginacertainwayorhearingtherhythmoftherightwordsstrungtogether.
Asthepinkisdryingacrossournames,Ithink,ThisishowIwantmyweddingtofeel.Iwanttheretobeabreezesweepingacrossit,forittofeelfreshandlikeit’sgoingsomewhere.Irealize,asIamthinkingthis,thatIamimaginingmyweddingonthebeach.ButevenattheOldSloopInn,wecanbeindoorsandoutdoors.Itdoesn’thavetofeelsostuffy.IstareatthatwatercolorswooshandsuddenlyitrepresentseverythingIwantmyweddingtobe.
“Doonemore.I’llseewhatJacksays.”49
Wyatt’staxipullsintohisdrivewayanhourlater,andI’minmyfrontyardcuttinghydrangeasforthekitchen.Hisdriverpullsaway,andwestandtherelookingatoneanotherfromoneyardtothenext.I’minshortsandanNYUsweatshirt.Myhairistiedintoanoff-centerbunonthetopofmyhead.Notexactlymybestlook,andI’mpleasedwithmyselfforforgettingtocare.
“Well,getoverhere,”Isay,droppingmyflowersandwalkingovertogivehimahug.Iburymyfaceinhisneck,justthewayIimagined.Itakeinthefeelofhim,socasuallypressedagainstme.
Hesays,“Youalreadysmelllikethebeach.”
Myarmsarearoundhisneck,andhishandsareonmywaistashesaysthis.Wenoticeatthesametimeandtakeanappropriatestepapart.
“Howwasyourflight?”It’sthethingpeopleask.
“Iwasupallnight.”
“Nobedonyourplane?”
“Idon’thaveaplane.”
“IbetMissyhasaplane.”
“Carlylehasaplane,that’sit.”
“Ah,”Isay.Iwanthimtotellmewhatcomesnext.
“Whatcomesnext?”heasks.“Imean,whatarealltheweddingdetailsyouneedtodealwith?”
Itakeinaquickbreath.“Okay,yes.Thereareabunchofthings.”
“Howmuchworkcouldaweddingbe?Doyouhaveadress?”
“It’sinthecity,”Isay,andscrunchupmyface.
“What’sthatface?”Helaughs.“Isityucky?Smelly?”
“It’sfine,it’ssortofbigandstiff.”Idon’tknowwhyI’mtellinghimthis.“It’ssofunthatyou’rehere.WanttogotoChippy’s?”
“Sure.Butdon’tyouhaveamillionthingstodo?”
“Notreally.ImeanIdo,butalltheappointmentsaretomorrow.Ithinkmymomjustwantedmehereearlyforfun.Whatdoyouhavetodoforyourmom?”
“Itcanwait,”hesays.“Let’sgetsomethingtoeatandthengolookforwaves.”
“Youwanttogosurfing?”Iask.Ifeelacurrentofexcitementmovethroughme.AwholefreedayontheoceanwithabsolutelynothingIhavetodo.AwholefreedaywithWyatt.
“Grabyourstuff,”hesays.“Whatelsearewegoingtodoallday?”
Whenwe’reseatedatChippy’sDinerwithpancakesandasharedorderofbacon,acomfortabledistancefromourusualtable,Iask,“Soareyougoingtowritesongsforthatmovie?”
“Haveyoubeengooglingme?”Wyattlooksupfromhisplateandlockseyeswithme,likehe’scaughtme.Ihavetolookaway.
“Alittle.It’skindofaddictive.Varietysaystheywantyoutowritethewholescore.”
Wyattlaughs.“You’refinallygooglingme,whenwe’reintouchandyoucanjustask.”
“IfeellikeIhavetogobacktothebeginningandrethinkwhoyouare.It’slikeifIfoundoutyouwereinacult.Oravegan.”
“IswearI’mnotsodifferent.”
“Sodoyouownahouse?”
“Wow,thisreallygotpersonal.”
“Seriously.”
“Yes,IhaveahouseinMalibu.”
“Swimmingpool?”
“No.ButIcanseetheocean.”
“Nice.”I’mpicturingWyattathishouse,lookingoutovertheocean.Iimaginestandingnexttohimthere,lookingatabeachthatfacesthewrongway.
“Michaelliveswithme,andthere’senoughroomsowedon’tdriveeachothertoocrazy.Didyouknowhe’sbecomingatherapist?”
“No.That’sgreat.”
“Andhehasagirlfriendhemetinschool.Soshe’stherealottoo,whichisfinebecauseI’matMissy’salot.”
“Oh.”Itakeatoo-bigforkfulofpancakes.
“Notlikethat,”hesays.
“Whatdoyoumean‘notlikethat’?We’regrown-ups,Wyatt.”Iholdhisgazebecauseit’sfunthathe’sembarrassed.
Wyattlaughs.“Ithinkthere’ssometeenageversionofmethatdoesn’twantyoutoknowI’vecheatedonyou.”
“Ihatetosayit,butI’vebeencheatingonyoutoo.”
“You.You’regettingmarried!Ishouldtotallybreakupwithyou.Oratleaststopwritingsappysongsaboutyou.”
MyinsidesgowarmatthethoughtofWyatt’swritingsongsaboutmewhenIwasinsomuchpain.Asifthatfactisretroactivelyhealing.“Whycan’tMissywriteherownsappysongs?”
“Shedoesn’twrite.WhenIplayedattheopenmicforCarlyleandhetoldmemyvoicewouldn’trecordwell,Iwascrushed.ButI’dplayed‘Sam,IAm’andayearlaterhecontactedmetobuyitforMissy.That’showwemetandmywholecareerstarted.”
“Areyougoingtomarryher?”
“I’mnotevendatingher.”
“Comeon.”
“We’vespentalotoftimetogetherobviously.Andsometimeswe’vebeentogether.”Heisvisiblyuncomfortabletalkingabouthislovelife.“Thebasicproblemiswedon’tagreeaboutanything,especiallythemusic.FromthebeginningshewasmakingmysongsmorepopthanIlikeandnowshe’stryingtorecordonewithsynthesizers,which,Imean,comeon.”Herunshishandsthroughhishairlikehe’stryingtowipeanannoyingthoughtfromhisbrain.Hetakesadeepbreath.“She’sabrilliantartistandallthat,justnotthekindofpersonI’mlookingfor.”
“Whatkindofpersonareyoulookingfor?”
“Idon’tknow,Sam,justsomeoneIlikehangingoutwith.I’mnotthatcomplicated.”Hestudieshispancakes.“Thisisyourcuetochangethesubject.”
“Okay,whataboutthecars?Yousaidyoustillfixcars.AreyoulikeJayLenowithafleetofFerraris?”
“IdriveaToyota.”
“Sothatwasafull-onlie.”
“No,whenIwasfirstinLAIworkedatagasstationinVenice,pumpinggasandfixingcars.ThisoldguyMannyownedtheshopandIkeptcheckinginonhimafterIdidn’tworkthereanymore.”
“That’snotfixingcars.”
“AfewyearsagohewasinfinancialtroublesoIboughttheplaceandhiredhimtorunit.AndIdogobysometimestohelp.”
Ileanbackinthebooth,takinghimin.Wyatt.ThegoodestofallthegoodpeopleI’veeverknown.
“Sowheredoyouwanttolookforwaves?”heasks.50
WesecureoursurfboardstothetopofMarion’sstationwagonandmakeourwayalongthecoast.WyattdrivestoGarnetBay,tothesamespotwherehetoldmehelovedmeforthefirsttime.IwonderifheremembersthisasclearlyasIdo.
Attheshore,wetakeoffourshortsandT-shirtsandavoidlookingatoneanother.WecarryourboardsintotheoceanandpaddleouttowavesthatarebiggerthanIexpected.MostofthesurfingthatI’vedoneinthepastdecadehasbeenthissummer,andcurrentlymywholelifeisoff-balance,soI’mrelyingonmusclememoryandgoodluck.
Wyatttakesthefirstwavehelikes,andIwait.Hepaddlesbacktome.“Whatareyouwaitingfor?Aninvitation?”Hesplashesmyboard.
“Thewavesarekindofintimidating,”Isay.
“You’vegotthis,Sam.Comeon.”Heturnsawayfrommeandpaddlesout,likehe’snotgoingtoentertainmynonsense.HethinksI’mstillthatgirlwho’sgreatatCapturetheFlag.
Itakethenextonethatcomesalongandfallprettyquickly.Butitfeelsgood,andwhenIcomeupforair,Iamsmiling.
“See?”hesays.Andwepaddlebackout.
Ifallabunchoftimes,butIdon’treallycare.Ilikethefeelofthewateronmyskin.IlikethefeelofthesunwarmingmejustenoughthatthewaterfeelscoldwhenIgounderagain.Thesoundtrackoftheoceanisinmyhead,anditreplacesmyto-dolistandmynaggingfearofwaltzinginabox.IcanmovehoweverIwantintheocean.I’mcompletelyfree.
Wyattpaddlesovertome.“Yougettingtired?”
“Alittle.”We’reonourstomachs,andhe’sholdingontomyboardthewayheusedto,keepingustogether.Outhereonthewater,itfeelslikewe’reoutsideoftime.Welockeyes,andintheactualworld,thiswouldhavefeltuncomfortableafterawhile.Butoutonthewater,WyattandIareboththepastandthepresent.Iamthegirlwhowasn’tafraidofanything,allgrownupwithouthavingbeenbroken.IcanfeelthestrengthofthatgirlandIthinkheseesher.Idon’twanttolookaway.
“I’mgoingtotakeonemore,”hesaysfinally,andletsgoofmyboard.Awavecomesandheglidesrightin.Heseemstobeabletofeeltheoceanbeneathhimandmovealongwithitsrhythm.Itmakesmethinkofourbodiestogether,andIpushthisthoughtaway.
He’sgettingoutoftheoceanandIwanttofollowhim.Mybodyistired,butItakethenextwaveanyway.I’mnotsteadyasIpopup,andthenIamunderwater,andI’mtumbling.MyforeheadscrapessomethingsharpinthesandandIwinceinpain.See?Thisiswhathappens.Mysurfboardtugsattheleashonmyankle,andI’mtooconfusedtostandup.
Wyattgrabsmyarmandpullsmetostanding.Hequicklyunleashesmefrommyboardandputshisarmsaroundme.I’mcatchingmybreathasIleanintohim,myheadonhisshoulder.
“Youokay?”heasks,gatheringmyhairintoaponytailandwringingitout.
“Ithinkso,”Isay.Idon’twanttogetoutoftheocean.
Hepullsawayandlooksatme.“You’rebleeding.”
Myhandfliesuptomyforehead,whereIfeltsomethingsharp.
“Don’ttouchit.It’snotthatbad.Letmejustrinseitwithsomesaltwaterandcoveritup.Youokaytowalk?”
“I’mfine,justdisorientedfromthewater.Orreoriented.Idon’tknow.”
Wyattgrabsmyboardandtakesmyhandtoleadme.“Pleasedon’tstarttalkingcrazy.”
Ilaugh.IwalkslowlybecauseI’malittledizzy,butalsobecauseIwanttomemorizethismoment—thefeelofWyatt’shandinmine,thewateratmyankles.Theoceanfloorissoftbeneathmyfeetandthesunwarmsmyback.Mysensesrecordeverysecondofit.
WyattlaysoutourtowelsandshakesouthisgrayT-shirt.Isitdownandhekneelsoverme,carefullyfoldingtheT-shirtandpressingitonmywound.Hisfaceisabovemineandhisbarechestfillsmylineofsight.Iwonderwhyit’ssociallyappropriateforpeopletowearsolittlewhentheyareonthebeach.
“IhavenoideawhatI’mdoing,bytheway,”hesays.
“Thisallseemsveryprofessionaltome.”
HepullstheT-shirtaway.“It’snottoobad,thebleedingstopped.”Hesitsbackdownonhistowel,puttingsomespacebetweenus.Weleanbackonourelbowsatthesametime,stretchingourlegsoutinfrontofus.Itisshockinghowundressedweare.
Isay,“Haveyoueverthoughtabouthowmuchtimewespentsittingtogetherinourbathingsuitsgrowingup?”
“Welivedatthebeach.”
“Andwewerehalf-nakedallday.Thetwoofusalonedownatthecoveallthetime.I’msurpriseditdidn’thappenalotsooner.”
Wyattsmilesatme.“Ithappenedalotsoonerforme.Iwasjustwaitingforyoutogivemeasign.”
“Igaveyouamillionsigns.”
Helooksbackatthewater.“Iwantedtobesure.Ihadalottolose.”
“Iknow.”IhavenoideawhyIbroughtthisup.We’requietnow;allthelightnesshasbeensuckedbackintotheocean.
“I’mreallysorryIhurtyou,”hesaysfinally.
Idon’tsayanything.
“IthinkyoucanimaginewhatamessI’dhavetohavebeentowalkawayfromwhatwehad.”
IsitallthewayupsothatIcanfoldintomyknees.“Icouldhavehelpedyou.”
“Iwouldhavepushedyouaway.Iwasreeling,andsoangrywithyourfamily.Icouldn’tcontrolit.Theonlythingworsethanlosingyouwouldhavebeenunleashingthatonyou.”
I’mlookingatmyfeet,whicharegettingsunburned.Iscoopsomesandoverthem.
“Bythetimemyheadcleared,youweresoangryatme.Anditwastoolate.Seemslikesuchawaste.”
“Idon’tknowwhattosay.”
“Sayyouforgiveme.”
“OfcourseIforgiveyou.Itwasforeverago.Itdoesn’tmatter.”
Wyattsitsupandrunshishandsthroughhishair.Helooksawayandthenbackatme.“Itmattered,Sam.Itmaybeover,butitmattered.Sostopwiththat.”
“Iknow.”OfcourseIknow.
He’squietforawhile.Helooksatmeandlooksbackatthewater.“Thewaywefeltthatsummer,itchangedme.Likeknowingthatlovecouldmakeapersonthathappyopenedupsomethinginme.It’swhyIcanwritesongs.Itgivesmealotofhope,thatit’spossibletofeelthatway.Ifwhatwehaddidn’tmatter,thenmywholelifeisbasedonnothing.”
Ilowermyforeheadontomykneesandlaughasmalllaugh.Ifitwasreal,thennothinginmylifesincethenmakessense.
“What?”
“Thinkingitwasn’treal,sortofactinglikeitwasadumbteenageobsession,wastheonlywayIcouldgetthroughit,”Isay.
He’squietforawhile.“Webothturnedoutokay,right?”
IsmileatWyatt,whohasturnedoutbetterthaneitherofuseverimagined.Ithinkofthetrajectorieswewereonthatsummer,Wyattwithhislaserfocusonhismusic,andmejustwantingtotryeverything.Wyatt’sworkedreallyhardtomakehisdreamhappen,andI’veworkedreallyhardtocreatealifethatrequiresItrynothing.
“Imightneedtoquitmyjob.”
“Forsure,”hesays.Andwebothliedownandtakeinthesun.51
Ican’tsleep.Idon’thaveanyfeelingofanxietyatall,morelikeexcitement.Ifeelreallygood.It’sthatkindofgoodyoufeelwhenyou’vehadthestomachfluandyouwakeupthenextdayandit’sover.Youforgethowgooditfeelstobewell.Ispentpracticallythewholedayoutside.Mymusclesaretherightkindofsore,andmyskinfeelsalivefromthesun.ItrytothinkofhowIcanbringthisfeelingintomyreallife.Iwanttomakeroomforsurfing.Iwanttotrythings,wobbleandfalldown.
Ilookupatmytreeoflife,litslightlybythemoonlight.Idon’tliketocritiquemynine-year-oldself,butit’sabitchildish.Oneshadeofbrownforthetrunkandallthosebranches.Mydadwasright,itneedstexture.Irubmyforefingerandthumbtogethertoconjurethefeelingofwoodandrememberthedead-treemuseuminthediningroom.
Igetoutofbedandknockonmyparents’bedroomdoor.Whenthere’snoreply,Igoinandtiptoetomymom’ssideofthebed.Ikneeldownandputmyhandonherarm.“Mom?Everything’sokay.”
“Whyareyoutalkingtome?”
“Dowehaveagluegun?”
“Ofcourse.Overthemicrowave.”
“CanIhavethesticksinthatbasket?”
“Ofcourse,”shesays,andturnsover
Ismilelookingdownatthetwoofthemsleeping.Theonlytwopeopleintheworldwhowouldhaveabsolutelynofollow-upquestionsaboutwhyyoumightneedagluegunandsticksinthemiddleofthenight.
Bysixa.m.Iamoutofsticks,butmostofthetreeanditsbranchesarecovered.Atfirst,Iwasgluingthemtothewallinuniformlines,butasIwentonIstartedplacingtheminamoreorganicway.IusedtodothingslikethiswhenIwasakid.Iusedtojustfollowmyselfintothenight,intoanideathatwasgoingtoeitherworkornot.AsIlookatthewallnow,IknowthatwhatI’vecreatedisnotbeautiful.Itmayevenbeamess.Butit’ssomething.
Isleepforafewhoursandfindmymomatthekitchentabledoodlingandnursingacupofcoffee.“Wildnight?”sheasksme.
“Idon’tknowwhatgotintome.Ijusthadtocoverthattreeinmyroomwithtexture.Andyourstickcollectionwasexactlythething.”
“Ican’twaittoseeit.”
“Youmayneedtoburnthehousedown.”
Shelaughs.“Idon’twanttohearthatyou’retiredtoday,becausethere’salottodo.Iwasgoingtostartaddressingtheseenvelopes.YouhaveanappointmentatGinnie’stotastethecakeatoneandthenattheOldSloopInntolookatlinensattwo.”
“Great,”Isay.“Wyattsaidhe’dcomewithme.”
“How’syourhead?”sheasks,andImisunderstandthequestion.I’mabouttosayit’sclearingup,thatIcaughtaglimpseofmyselfandIwanttoseemoreofher.IwanttosaythatI’mafraidifIletheroutshewillfallmadlyinlovewithWyattandruinmylife.Butshe’slookingattheBand-Aidonmyforehead.
“Oh,it’sfine,”Isay.Shegoesbacktoherdoodling.Iopenthefreezerandfindafrozenpeanutbutterandjellysandwich.Iunwrapitandholdit,coldinmyhand.Ilovethatshe’sstillbuyingthese,waitingforherlittlegirltoshowupandeatthem.“Mom,I’msorryI’vestayedawayfromthebeachforsolong.”
Shelooksupatmeandputsdownherpen.“Metoo.ButIfeelyoucomingback.”
“Same,”Isay,andkissthetopofherhead.52
ItfeelsfunnywalkingdownMainStreetwithWyatt.Infourteenyears,storeshaveturnedoverandlotsoffacesarenew,butIcan’tshakethefeelingthatthetownitselfremembersus.Thestreetlightsandthegarbagecans,theredbrickpostofficeonwhosestepswesattowatchtheFourthofJulyparade.Ifeellikewestilllooklikeacouple.
ThebelloverthedoordingsaswewalkintoGinnie’sBakery.Ginnie’shusband,Raoul,looksupfromthecashregisterandputshishandoverhisheartwhenheseesus.“Iknewit!”hebooms,steppingoutfrombehindthecounter.HehugsmeandshakesWyatt’shand.Iknowwhat’scoming,andIknowWyattknowstoo.Heputshisarmaroundmetomakesureit’scoming.Ithinkhethinksit’sfunny.Ijustcan’t.
“Hello,”Isay.“IseeyourememberWyatt.He’sheretohelpwiththetasting.I’mmarryingsomeoneelse.”
Raoul’sfacefalls.“Oh.”
“ImaginehowIfeel,”saysWyatt,andIgivehimashove.
Raoulquicklycorrectshimself.“I’msorry,Ijustthought…Youtwowalkinginherethesamewayaswhenyouwerekids,theleaning.Ginniealwaysremarkedabouthowyoutwowalkedtogether,sortofleaningintooneanother.Wewerelikethattoo.”
Iam,Irealize,sortofleaningtowardWyatt.Ilookatthespacebetweenourshouldersaswestandsidebysideandit’snotnormal.Wyattiswatchingmenoticethisandgivesmeashoveback.“Solet’stalkcake,”hesaystoRaoul.
“Thecake.Yes,comesitdown.”Wesitatacornertablewheretwoslicesofcakearewaitingforus.Raoulintroducesthefirstone.“Thisisavanillacakewithabuttercreamfrostingwithhintsoflemon.Justhints.”
Weeachtakeabite.“It’sdelicious,”Isay.
“I’mnotsosure,”saysWyatt.“Itastenohintsatall.Whatelsehaveyougot?”
“Thisisanoutlandishlylemonycakewithalemonbuttercreamfrosting.It’sabridalfavorite.”
WeeachtakeabiteandWyattnods.“It’soutlandishallright.”
Iknockmykneeintohis.“Arethereanymorechoices?”
“There’sanotheroneIlike.”Raoulgoesbacktothekitchen.
Wyatt’slaughingashereachesovertowipefrostingoffmymouthwithhisnapkin.Hehasn’tgottenitall,sohebrushesthelastbitsofsugarwithhisfingers.Ifeelhisfingersonmylipseverywhereinmybody.“You’reamess,”hesays.
Raoulbringsuschocolatecakewithvanillafrosting,layeredwithchocolatechipbuttercreamfrosting.ImusthavemadeasoundwhenItastedit.
“Shelikesthisone,”saysWyatt.
“Youdon’tknowthat,”Isay.
“Iknowyoursounds,Sam.She’lltakethisone.”
“Youcan’thaveachocolatecakeforawedding,right?”IaskRaoul,takingathirdbite.
“Youcandowhateveryouwant,butno,traditionallyit’swhitecake.Thefunthingaboutthisoneisthewhitefrostinglookstraditional,andnooneknowsit’schocolateuntilit’scut.”
“Let’sgobacktothefirsttwo,”Isay.
“Sam,ifyouwantachocolatecake,getone.Peoplelovechocolatecake,it’ssomethingnoonecanarguewith.”
“Jackwon’tlikeit,”Isay,andmopupthelastchocolatecrumbswithmyfinger.
“Youshouldhavewhatyouwant.”He’snotjokingaroundanymore.
“I’lltakethefirstone,”Isay.
WewalkbackupMainStreettowardtheOldSloopInn,wherewearesupposedtobelookingatlinensforthetables.Ihaven’tsleptandnowI’veeatentoomuch.“I’mtired,”Isay.“Let’sskipthelinensandtakenaps.”
“You’reprobablyjustgoingtopickwhiteanyway,”Wyattsays.53
Inaphard.It’sthatnarcotickindofnapwhereyouwakeupsweatyandyoudon’tknowwhattimeofdayitis.Myroomisaforestnow,andIlieflatonmybacktotakeitin.Icheckmyphone,andJack’ssentaphotofromtheUSOpen.Ireply:Looksfun!Ijusthadalongnap.
Jack:Howwasthecake?
Me:Delicious
Jack:Whatflavordidyouchoose?
Me:Vanilla
Jack:Whataboutthelinens?
Me:Ihaven’tdecided,Isortoflikedtheyellow
Jack:Whatweretheotherchoices?
Me:Allthecolors,I’mgoingbacktomorrow
Jack:Really,yellow?
Me:Probablywhite
Ifindmydadonthebackporch,drawingstraightlinesinhissketchbook.Itaketheloungechairnexttohisandsortofwishitwastimeforcocktails.
“There’snolifeinastraightline,”hesays.
“AreyouConfuciusnow?”
“Soundslike.Myagent,whoisveryclosetogivinguponme,keepstellingmestraightlinesareselling.Horizontalgradationsofcolor.”Heholdsuphissketchbooktoshowme.“Doesnothingforme.”Heturnstoanewpageanddrawsastraightlineacrossthemiddle.
“Doyouknowmuchaboutweddinglinens?”Iaskhim.
Hedoesn’tlookup.“Notonething.”
“IkindofskippedgoingtotheOldSloopInntodayandliedtoJackaboutit.Icanjustgobacktomorrow,right?Theydon’trunoutofthemoranything?”
“It’saweirdthingtolieabout,”hesays.“Especiallyforapersonwho’ssostraightabouteverything.”I’mlookingatthewater,butIcanfeelhimlookingrightatme.He’sbeenwatchingmeeversincehedroveWyattandmehomethatnight.Likehe’swaitingtoseewhathappensnext.
Hiscommenthangsintheair,invitingalltheuglinessin.Wellyou’dsureknowaboutlying,Dad.We’requietforaminute.
“Cheating’sjustlying,butwithyourbody,”hesays.Iturntohim,andhe’sputdownhissketchpad.Iguesswe’rereallygoingtodothis.
“I’mnotcheating.Iliedaboutlookingatlinens.”
“Ithinkyoulietoyourselfalot.”
“Nottrue.”Icrossmyarmsovermychesttoprotectmyselffromthisaccusation.
“WhenIwashavingthatthingwithMarion,Iwaslyingtoyourmom,butmostlyjusttosupportthelieIwastellingmyself.”Hemeetsmyeye,asiftoaskpermissiontocontinue.“People’sinterest,asyouknow,inmyworkwaswaning.AllIwascreatingwereflatversionsofsomethingthatonceworked.AndonenightMarionshoweduphereinthisrainbow-stripeddressandtwirledinawaythatsparkedmyimagination.ForasecondIstoppedfeelingoldandwashedup,likemaybeIwasn’tdisappearing.Itwasn’treallyaboutmywork.”
We’requiet.“Wasitworthit?”Iask.
“Absolutelynot.IwasusingMarionasabridgetosomeplaceelse,someplacewhereIwouldfeellikeadifferentman.IwasterrifiedthatIwasn’tgoodenough,butMarionwasn’tgoingtofixme.Ididn’tbecomeanewman,IjusthurteveryoneIloved.”
I’mhuggingmyarmsaroundmykneesnow,bracingfortherest.Ihaveneverwantedtohavethisconversationbefore,butI’mreadyforitnow.IturnedmybackonthewholemesswithWyatt,andIturnedmybackonmyself,buteversincemydadsatinthatcarandwitnessedWyattandmediggingupwhatwaslost,Ifeellikesomething’scrackedopenbetweenus.Ifeellikeheseesme,andI’mreadytoseehim.
“Youcheatbecauseyouthinkit’sgoingtomakeyousomeoneelse,thatit’sgoingtosaveyoufromyourowndamnmisery.Andthat’sthelieyou’retellingyourself.Iguessthat’sthepoint,Sam.Anotherpersonisnotgoingtoturnyouintoanythingbutwhoyoualreadyare.Makesureyou’renottryingtoturnyourselfintosomeoneelseforJack.”
“I’mnot,”Isay.“ImeanIlikehavingmyacttogether.”
“Aslongasit’snotactuallyanact.”
GuitarmusiccomesfromthetreehouseanditoccurstomethatIhaveneverliedtoWyatt,notonce.
“Speakingofliars,canyoubelievehowsneakyWyattwasaboutbeingabigshot?”
“Iwasn’tcompletelysurprised.”
AndthenIjustaskit,becausewhythehecknot.“Doyoueverstillthinkaboutherthatway?Marion?”
“That’stheweirdestpart,Sam.Absolutelynever.Ican’tevenconjureupamemoryofwhatIwasfeelingatthetime,likeitwastemporaryinsanity.GettingcaughtwassuchashocktomysystemthatIhadtotakeahardlookatmylife.Idon’tlietomyselfanymore.Oryourmom.”
“Ireallydowanttolivelikethat,”Isay.Then,inapracticingvoice,Isay,“IblewofflookingatthenapkinsbecauseIstayedupallnightandthenhadasugarcrash.”
“Wasthatsohard?”54
“Mygoodness!Thebounty!”mymothersaysthatnightasWyattwalksupthebackporch,clutchingthreebottlesofwinetohischest.Mydad,Travis,andHughareallsittingaroundabigplatterofcheesesandmeatsoutside.Ismileatthesightofthemalltogether.Maybethisispossible,thiswholeimpossiblegroup.It’smylifeplusWyatt,whichIhavetoadmitfeelsmorelikemyactuallife.JustseeingWyattstandingtherepracticallywithinreachingdistancemakesmefeellikeeverythingisgoingtobeokay.
“Maybestickthisinthefridge,”hesays,handingmeabottleofChablis.
Ilookatthelabelandbackathim.“Thisfeelsawfullygrown-up.Isthissomethingwedonow?”
“Yes.Ialsofileataxreturn.”HelooksovermyshoulderandsayshellotoTravis.
“Didyounap?”Iask.
“Likethedead,”hesays.
“Canwegosurfingtomorrow?”Iask.
“Idon’tknow.Wassurfingonyourweddingchecklistforthisweekend?”
“Right,”Isay.“Linensandflowers.”
WeturntoseeGraciewalkinghomethroughtheduneswithAndyBryantfromtwodoorsdown.They’rebothcarryingsurfboardssoit’satightsqueeze.Hesayssomethingtoherandshelowersherheadandlooksawaysohedoesn’tseehersmile.
“Didyouseethat?”Iask.
“Idid,”Wyattsays.“Thatkidshouldrunforhislife.”
Iwanttolaugh,butitdoesn’tfeellikeWyatt’skiddingaroundanymore.Itfeelslikehe’spullingaway.It’ssubtle,butWyatt’spullingawayisimprintedinallofmycells,likemybodyremembers.
Whenchickenandcornareserved,mydadmakesatoast.“Tooldfriends,”hesays.“Andtosummer’send.”
Graciemoans.“SchoolstartsTuesday.Twomoredaysatthebeachandthenit’sover.”
“Ugh,”Isay,andeveryonelooksatmeforanexplanation.“It’sjustthatI’monthismind-numbingassignmentwhereI’mtrappedinmycubiclealldaymakingchartsthatprovethere’sreallynothingwecandotoimprovetheclient’ssituation.”
“Thatsoundslikehell,”mydadsays.
“Yourlifeismyworstnightmare,”saysTravis,gesturingwithanearofcorn.
“Maybeyoucanuseyourextrabrainpowertofocusonthewedding,”saysHugh.“Wouldn’tbetheworstthingintheworldforyoutohavealittleextratimeoverthenextmonth.”
“True,”saysmymom.
Wyatt’squiet,andhewon’tmeetmyeye.Heasksmymom,“Istherealottodo?”
Shelaughs.“Toputaweddingtogetherineightweeks?I’dsay.”
“IswearI’llactuallygotothefloristtomorrow,”Isay.
Wyattstillwon’tlookatme.Mymomsays,“Andwe’regoingtohavetogettheseinvitationsinthemailnextweek.MaybeyoucancomeoverTuesdaynightandwecangetthemallassembledandstamped.”
“Ilikethepaintedones,”saysGracie.“Ithinkweshouldgluelittleshellstothebottomcorner.”
“Andmaybeevenalittlesand,”mymomsays.
“Mom,”Isay.
“Iknow,sorry.Ican’thelpmyself,”mymomsays.Shepourseveryonesomemorewine.
Graciegetsupfromthetableandrunsinsidetogetafewofthepaintedinvitationstopassaround.IgetonewithapaleyellowswooshofcolorandIfingerthecornerwheretherereallyshouldbeseashells.IpassitacrossthetabletoWyatt.
Hetakesthecardfrommeandholdsitwithbothhands.Herunshisthumbalongtheyellow,overournames.I’mtryingtoreadhisface,becauseinawayheseemssurprised,likemaybehedidn’texpectJack’sandmynamestobethere.Iwanthimtolookupatme,buthe’sjuststaringatthatcard.
Graciesays,“Whatdoyouthink?Betterwiththecolor,right?”
Hesays,“Much.”
“I’mtellingyouJackwouldnevergoforit,”Isay.“Sodon’tgettooattached.”
Wyattfinallymeetsmyeyeandshakeshishead.Hegetsupfromthetableandanswershisphone,whichIdidnothearring.Whenhe’sback,hedoesn’tlookright.
“Ihavetogetgoing.LikebacktoLA,”hesays.
“Didsomethinghappen?”mymomasks.
“Yes.It’sfine,butMissy’sonatighterdeadlinethanwethoughttorecordhernewalbum.”Wyattlooksatme,andthenatmyengagementring.Ihaven’tnoticedhimdothatbefore.“Anyway,I’mgoingtoseeaboutaflightandallthat.Thankyoufordinner.”Everyoneisontheirfeettosaygoodbye.HehugsGracieandtellshertoknocktheirsocksoffineighthgrade.HehugsHughandthenTravis.
Mydadhugshimtoo.“Well,son,nowthatweknowyou’rerichandfamous,we’regoingtohavetocomeseeyouinCalifornia.MaybedoalittleRollerblading.”
“Oh,Godhelpus,”saysmymom.
“Thatwouldbegreat.Michaelwouldlovethattoo.”
HeturnstomeandIgrabbothofhishands.“Iwishyouwerestaying,”Isay.“Thisreallyfeelslikethelastnightofsummernow,andIhatethelastnightofsummer.”
“Iknow,”hesays.“Seeyou,Sam.”Hewalksdowntheporchstepsintothedunes,andeveryonesitsbackdownandcarriesonwiththeirconversations.Thisisn’tright.Hoursagowewerelaughingandtastingcake.Hoursagotherewasnospacebetweenus.
I’monmyfeetandrunningdownthestepstothedunes.Ihavenotthoughtthroughhowmyfamilyisgoingtoperceivethis,butIdon’treallycare.Ican’tletWyattleavethisway.
Icatchuptohimashe’sabouttowalkthroughtheslidingglassdoorintohishouse.
“Hey,what’sgoingon?”Isay.
HeturnsandseesmeandactuallylooksannoyedthatI’mthere.Wyatthasbeenhappytoseememyentirelife.
“I’vegottogetoutofhere,”hesays.
“Why?Ithoughtyouwerestayingtheweekendandweweregoingtodostufftomorrow.”
Heseemsagitatedandislookingovermyshoulderatthedunes.“Youknowwhatitis,Sam?Ihateyourcake.Yourcakesucks.”
Ismilebecausethismustbeajoke.“Mycakesucks?”
It’snojoke.“Yes,it’sboringandyoudon’tlikeitthatmuch.Butyou’regoingtochooseitbecauseyouthinkit’stherightcakeforthislifeyou’veburiedyourselfin.AndJackjustletsyoudisappear,maybebecausehedoesn’tcareormaybebecausehedoesn’tevenknowwhoyouare.Ifitwereme—anditwasme,soIknow—I’dwantyoutobeeverythingyoucouldbe.Iwouldn’tbeputtingrulesandconstraintsaroundyou,I’djustloveyouandletyoumovethroughtheworldthewayyouwantedto.You’vejustgivenup,Sam.You’rehiding,andit’spathetic.”
“That’ssomean.”Thewordsaresoquietcomingoutofmymouth,likeit’smylastbreath.
“Wellit’strue.AndIcan’tbelievenooneelsehascalledyououtonit.Whatthehelliswrongwithyourfamily?Ican’tbelieveyourdadthinksyou’rebeinghonestwithyourselfhere.”
Hedoesn’t,Idon’tsay.
“You’rethecakethatlooksnormaluntilpeoplediginandfindoutit’sspectacular.You’rethechocolatefuckingcake,Sam,andyouwon’tevenchooseit.”
I’mlookingupathisface,andIseesomethingthatlookslikedisgust.Ireachouttotakehishandsinmine,andheputstheminhisbackpockets.“You’reangryatmebecauseIdidn’tpickthechocolatecake.”
“You’rethemostimportantpersonthat’severbeeninmylife,andyou’renoteventhemostimportantpersoninyourown.”
“That’snottrue,”Isay.Ireachoutandrestmyhandonhisforearm.
Hegrabsthathand.“Andthis,Sam.You’retouchingmeallthetime.Doyourunyourhandsoverallyourotherfriendsthisway?Youdon’tknowwhatyouwantorwhoyouare.You’regaspingforair.”
Ihavenothingtosay.I’membarrassedaboutmyroguehands.Iamhurtthathethinksmylifeissuchafakejoke.Iwanttobeangry,becauseangerwouldhelpmestormoffbacktothesafetyofmyownhouse.Mykingdomforalittlerighteousindignationrightnow.Ijustlookstraightaheadathischest.
“I’mgoingtobed,”hesays.“AndI’mleavingtomorrow.Getyourshittogether,Sam.”55
Myshittogether.Mine?I’minbedwhentheangerfinallyshowsup.I’mtheonewho’sinahealthyrelationship.Wyatt’sjustbeenoccasionallysleepingwithapopstar.AndmaybeI’mnotshowingmyfullcolorsandchasingmydreams,butit’snotlikehe’suponastageperformingeither.IfhethinksI’mhidingbehindJack,whatdoeshecallfeedingMissysongsandlettingherwreckthem?Ha!Who’sreallylosttheirvoicehere?
IhaveatextfromJackatmidnight:Missyou!!!
Istareatitinthedark.Whyalltheexclamationpoints?Iholdmyfingeroverthemtoreaditassimply:Missyou.Thequiet“missyou”issomuchmoreromantic,likehe’sgothisheadonthepillow,textingmebecausehemissesme.Theshoutingtextmakesmefeellikehe’sinabarandjustrememberedheowedmeahighfive.
AmInowsuchatight-ass,Iwonder,thatIameditingmyfiancé’stexts?Iwriteback:Missyoutoo.
Isleepuntileight,presumablybecauseIhaveasleepdebt,andfindmymomatthediningroomtable,deepintoherwatercolors.Shedoesn’tlookupwhenshesays,“WhathappenedwithWyatt?”
Ipourmyselfacoffeeandexaminetherowofinvitationsonthecounter.
“Webrokeupagain.”
“Sam.”Sheputsdownherpaintbrush.
“Helaidintomeaboutallthisstuff.Itstartedwithmyweddingcake,hethinksheknowswhichoneIlikebest.Andthenitspunoutofcontroltohisaccusingmeoflivingatotallie.”
“Oh.”
“What?DoyouthinkI’mlivingalie?”
“Ithinkyou’veconstructedareallynicelifethatyoufeelsafein.”
“What’swrongwithsafe?”
“Nothingatall.Safeisgreat.There’sjustabalancebetweensafeandfree,andIthinkyou’reapersonwhomightliketobealittlemorefreeinyourlifethanyouare.”
“I’mtoooldtorunaroundplayingCapturetheFlag,Mom.”
“Notnecessarily.Butyoucouldspeakupalittlemoreinyourrelationship.Jacklovesyou,andIbethe’dloveyouevenmoreifhesawmoreofyou.”
IpickupaninvitationthathasapalebluebrushstrokeacrossournamesandthelightestorangedotsatthecornersHappy,Ithink.Iliketheideaofaweddingthatbeginswithaninvitationthatdoesn’tmindapopofcolor.Theyaresuchsmalltouchesbuttheyputmeinourwedding,oratleastsomethingthatfeelslikeme.
“They’rebeautiful,Mom.Theygivethiswholethingaburstofhappyenergy.”
Shelooksupandsmilesatme.“Good.That’swhatweneeded.”Shegoesbacktoherworkandadds,“HowcouldJackturndownaburstofhappyenergy?”56
Thewavesareokayinfrontofourhouse,andGracieandIsurfuntillunchtime.I’mhappytobespendingthemorningwithGraciedoingsomethingwherewedon’thavetotalk.ThelightsareoutinWyatt’shouse,soIassumehe’sleft.I’mruminatingonourlastconversationinawaythat’sprobablynothealthy.Ican’tbelieveWyattcalledmealiarandafraud,orwhatever.ButmostlyIcan’tbelievehecalledmeoutonwantingtotouchhimallthetime.I’membarrassedthinkingaboutit,likethedisconnectbetweenwhatmybodywantsandwhatmymindknowstobeappropriateisevidenttoeveryonearoundme
GraciecomeswithmetotheOldSloopInnandweactuallychoosetheyellownapkins.Shetellsmemywholeweddingisgoingtolooklikesunshine.Ithinkofthewatercoloredinvitationsandimagineayellowribbonaroundmywaist.Ibreathealittleeasierhavingmadethesesmalldecisions,asifforthefirsttimeIcanpicturemyselfbeingpartofthisdayandsmilingarealsmileintoacamera.
Bythetimewe’vefinisheddinner,WyattshouldhavelandedinLosAngeles.Hehasn’ttextedmeallday,whichisexpected.Hislastpieceofadvicewasformetogetmyshittogether,soIcan’treallyimaginewhathisfollow-upwouldbe.He’sdisappointedinhowI’veturnedout,whichishisproblem,notmine.
IstayatthebeachuntilMondaytohelpcloseupthehouse.Iwakeupwithananxiousheart.We’repackingtoleave,summer’sover,andthingsareoffwithWyatt.Icheckmyphone.It’ssixa.m.;notext.Thisisadecade-oldfeelingthatI’mwalkingthrough,andIneedtoshakeitoff.Igetupandputonabathingsuitandrunoutthroughthedunesintotheocean.It’scoldbutI’vebeenswimmingenoughtimesoverthepastfewdaysthatmybodyisusedtoit.Idiveunderthewavesandthenswimtowardthecovewithslow,evenstrokes.Noone’sgoingtobeupforanhour,IcanbeouthereaslongasIlike.
Mymindrelaxesinthewater,likemybodytakesoverandIcanjustenjoytherhythmofthemovement.Itremindsmeofbeingakid,whenIspentthewholedayjustsortofseekingoutwhatfeltgood.Whatfeelsgoodrightnowisaweddingwithaburstofsunshine.I’mgoingtowearmyhairlooseandfeellikemyself.IhaveanaggingfeelingaboutwhatWyattsaidaboutJack’snotreallyknowingme.IfJackdoesn’thaveacompletepictureofwhoIam,that’smyownfault.
WhenIgettothecoveIwalkstraighttothelindentree.It’slitteredwithseaweedandshellsthatactuallylookasiftheywasheduponasinglewave.Howpointlessitwastohavespentsomuchtimeandenergyorganizingmyshellstolookthewaynaturewouldhavearrangedthemanyway.Itwaspointlessandfunandsatisfying,actually.Likeaflashmob.Ichooseaparticularlyprettygreenandblueshellfromthemess,tuckitinthesideofmybathingsuit,andswimbackhome.
IridebacktothecitywithmyparentsandGracie.WepassthroughtownanddriveontoSunriseHighway,ontotheLongIslandExpressway,andthroughthetunnel.It’stransformative,thisride.Weleavethebeachbehindandwakeuptotheexcitementofthecity.
TheydropmeoffinfrontofmybuildingandIsqueezeGracieextratight.“I’llseeyoutomorrownighttostuffenvelopes,”Isay.“Goodlucktomorrow!”
JackandIdecidetogotoourfavoriteneighborhoodItalianrestaurant.He’sgottenalittlebitofsunattheUSOpenandlookshandsomerthanever,butIdon’tmentionit.
Whenwe’reseatedwithtwoglassesofredwineandtwoplatesofspaghetti,heasks,“Sodoyouthinkwe’llbeabletopullthisoffineightweeks?”
“Noproblem,”Isay.“Wejusthavetomakeafewfinaldecisionsthisweek,gettheinvitationsinthemail,andthenwe’reallset.”
“Okay,shoot.Whatarethedecisions?”Heleansbackinhischairandcrosseshisarms.IlikehowwithJackIfeellikewearerunningourlifelikeit’sasmallcompany.Wetalkthroughoptions,makesoliddecisions,andmoveon.
“Linens.GracieandIlikeyellownapkinsonwhitetablecloths.Mymomwillhavethefloristcomeupwithsomethingthatgoeswiththat.Thatlittlepopofcolormakesthewholeroomfeellikesunshine.You’llloveit.”You’llloveitisabitmuch.Itcomesoutasacommand,whichisn’tlikeme.“ImeanIthinkyouwill.Whatdoyouthink?”Ileanforwardandtakehishand,whichisawkwardforsomereason.
“Idon’tknow,Sam.Wekindoftalkedaboutwhiteforthewholewedding.Classic,right?”
“Yeah,butthecolorreallyfeelshappy.”
“It’sawedding,isn’titalreadyhappy?”
“Very,”Isay,andsqueezehishand.Idon’tknowwhyIfeellikeI’minasalessituation,likeI’mtryingtocoaxastrangerintobuyingarug.
“Well,I’mnotsure,”hesays.“Whatelse?Youdecidedonthecake?”
Itakeasipofmywineandleanbackinmychair.Thecakeisasoresubjectnowthatit’sbeenusedtolambastmyentirelife.“Yes,thevanilla.”
“Okay,good.”Jack’stwirlinghisspaghettiaroundhisfork,andIhavethefeelinghethinksthisconversationisover.It’snot.
“There’sonemorethingIwantedtotalkabout.”Ireachintomybagandpulloutoneofourinvitations.Thisonehasapaleblueswooshoverournames,anditfeelsliketheflowoftheocean.Ihandittohim.
“Ah,Iseeyourmom’sbeenbusy.Werethereextras?”
“Abouttwenty.”
“Cute.”Heputsitdownandgoesbacktohisspaghetti.
“Ireallyloveit,”Isay.
“What?”
“Theinvitationwiththepaintacrossournames.Mymomdidtheminabunchofdifferentcolors.Iactuallyloveallofthem.”
“Sam,it’sacuteideabutthere’snoway.Weagreedontheinvitationsbecausewewantedsomethingmonochrome.Whatdidthestationeryladycallit?‘Traditionaltones’?”
“Maybeweneedtomovebeyondmonochrome.”There’stoomuchweighttomywords.Iwantedtosayitlightly,likewithaquestionmarkattheend.Butitcomesoutlikeadeclaration,whichIguessishowImeanit.Ireallyneedsomecolorinmylife.
“OhGod,Sam.You’vespenttoomuchtimethissummerwithyourparents.”Helaughsatthisandgoesbacktohisspaghetti.
Ilookdownatmyplateandtrytomanagetheangerthat’screepingup.Idon’tlikehistoneaboutmyparents,andIactuallywanttospendmoretimeoutthere,notless.“Itwasgoodforme,Ithink,beingouttheremorethanoncethissummer.It’snice,howtheysortofgetloose.They’rehappy.”
“Theyprobablyare,butit’salittlenuts.Likethey’rekids.”Heholdsuptheinvitationforemphasis.
“They’reartists,notkids.”We’requietforasecond.JackeatshisspaghettiandIwatch.FinallyIsay,“WhenIwasakidinthesummerIusedtowakeupinthemorningandjustfollowthedaywhereverittookme.Ididn’twearshoes,ever.Ijustmovedinandoutoftheocean,makingupgamesanddigginginthesand.”There,that’swhoIam.
Jacksmilesatmymemory.“Idyllic,”hesays.“Butyoucan’tkeepdoingthattherestofyourlife.”Hegestureswithhisfork.“Ourkidsaregoingtotaketennislessons.”
Tennislessons.Thereisabsolutelynothingwrongwithtennislessons.Ipicturelittlechildrenincleanwhiteclotheswithlittlewhitesneakers,doubletied,learningtohittheballwithintheconfinesofthatrectangle.Overandoveragain.ItfeelslikewaltzingasIseeitinmymind.
It’sninety-fivedegreesoutside,butI’mwearingasweaterinmycubicle.Everythingfeelsunnatural.It’sthedayafterLaborDayanditfeelslikethefirstdaybackatschool,everyoneseatedinstraightlinesandinhardshoes.Eleanorhasanewassignmentforme.I’mhopingit’sinCentralPark.
“Comein,”shesays,loweringherreadingglasses.“Howwastheweekend?”
“Good.”
“Weddingplanscomingalong?”
“Sortof.”
“Good.Now,Ihaveanewassignmentforyouonceyou’vefinishedupthathealthcarething.It’sperfectbecauseitcanallbedonefromhere,justyouandthedata.”Scoldme,punishme,butdoitonce.Idonotneedhertokeepbringingthisup.
“What’stheassignment?”
“Aninsurancecompanywantstounloadtwentypercentofitssalesforce.Theyhavesalesdataandtimelogs,youjustneedtoidentifywhoneedstogo.They’dliketofirethemonFriday,somaybegetstartedthisafternoon.”Ah,theoldFridayfiring.Shehandsmeafile.
“Areyoucoldinhere?”Iask.
“No.”
It’scrazythatwe’dhavetoopenawindowtowarmup.Crazierstillthatthewindowsdon’topen.I’mpacingthetinyspacebetweentheguestchairsandherdesk.
“Areyousick?”Eleanorasks.
It’sagreatquestion,really.Icheckinwithmybody.Mychestfeelstightandmylungsdon’tseemtobeabletotakeinafullbreath.Itrytorememberthesignsofawomanhavingaheartattack.
“I’mfine,Ithink.Ijust,Idon’tknow.Ineedsomeair.”Iturntoleave.
“Fine,getsomeair,butweneedthismiddayFriday,”shesays.AndIcan’tquiteimagineit,notonemoreminuteofsittinginthatcubiclemakingdecisionsaboutpeopleIdon’tknowbasedonrandomcriteria.Makingaspreadsheetandsortingithightolowandthensendingawreckingballintothebottomtwentypercent’slives,noquestionsasked.Thisisn’twhoIwanttobeanymore,andit’scertainlynotwhoIam.BeforeIknowit,Iaminbarefeetwithmygoodworkshoesinmyhands.Mybodyhasdecided.
“Thankyou,Eleanor,foreverythingyou’vedoneforme,butIreallyneedtogetoutofhere.I’mnotcomingback.”
IstepoutofthebuildingwitheyesclosedbecauseIwanttofeeltheheatofthedayonmyskin.Ichangedintotheflip-flopsIkeptinmydeskforlunchtimepedicuresandleftmyworkshoesintheirplace.It’sadecisionI’llprobablyregret,butwalkingawayfromthemrightnowfeelsgreat.Iwalkintothepark,andtheoldoaksonthePoet’sWalkapplaudmewiththeirdarkestgreenleaves.Iamsorelievedandjoyful,asifI’vejustgottensomegreatnews.IsitdownonabenchtotextJack.Ican’tquitegetthewordsout:Iquitmyjob.Ishouldtellhiminpersontonight.Ican’ttextWyatt.Idon’tfeellikeengagingwithmyparents.ItextTravis:Iquitmyjob.
Travis:Nervousbreakdown?
Me:Theopposite
JackcomesbackfromTuesdaynighttennisanddoesn’tnoticethatI’vemadedinneruntilafterhisshower.“What’sallthis?”Hekissesmeandgrabsaspearofasparagusoffthebakingsheet.
“I’mcelebrating,Ithink.”
“What?Didyousendouttheinvitations?Ithoughtthatwastomorrownight.”
Thatwasactuallytonight,Ithink.Itotallyforgot.“Iquitmyjob.”
Heputsdowntheendofhisasparagus.“Wait.Why?”
“Ihateit.ImeanitwastolerablewhenIgottogotodifferentcompaniesandsortofengagewithpeople,butnowthatI’mstuckinmycubiclewithreamsofpaper,Ijustcan’thandleit.”
Hewalksoutofthekitchenandstartspacinginthelivingroom,likeheneedsmorespacetoprocessthis.IhaveahorriblefeelingthatI’vemadeamistake,thatI’vepulledtherugoutfromundermyself.“Lotsofpeoplehatetheirjobssometimes,Sam.Ijusthadafulldayofadultacne.Ididn’tquit.”
I’mnotsurewhatIwasthinking.IwassoexcitedwalkingbytheFreshMarketandpickingupfoodfordinner.IthinkIsortofthoughthemightbeexcitedthatIwasgettingoutofarut.
“IfeltlikeIcouldn’tbreathe,”Isay.
“Thenyougohomesick.Oryoutakeawalk.Youdon’tquit.Andmaybewecouldhavetalkedaboutthis.”
“Let’stalkaboutitnow.”Isitdownonthecouchandwaitforhimtositnexttome.“Ithinkmaybethatwholeflashmobthingwasacryforhelp,oreventhelastgaspoftherealmebecauseshewasabouttodisappearforever.Ican’tspendtherestofmylifekeepingstrangersinline.”
JackputshisarmsaroundmeandIfallintohishug.ThisiswhatIwashopingfor,thatJackwouldunderstandandwantmetodowhateverIneedtodotobehappy.
“Okay,”hesays.“It’sgoingtobeokay.Eleanorhasinvestedalotoftimeinyou.Isayyoujustcallhertonightandcomeclean.You’vebeenunderalotofstresswiththewedding,butofcourseyouwanttokeepyourjob.”
Ipulloutofthehug.“DidyouhearwhatIsaid?I’mnotgoingbacktothatjob.”
Hetakesmyhands.“Ofcourseyouare.You’regoodatit.You’rewellpaid.You’llprobablyhateyournextjobtoosometimes,that’swhatworkis.”
IdonotcommunicatewithJack.Idon’tknowwhyI’mjustrealizingthisnow.Itossmywordsovertohimandtheyhitawallandslidetotheground.There’snogive-and-take,nodiscussion.“ItriedtotellyouIwanttoteachart.”
“Wellthat’sirrational.”
“What’sirrationalaboutteaching?”
He’sexasperatedandletsoutadramaticbreath.“Youdon’thaveadegreeineducation,youhavenoexperience,you’llmakelessmoneythanyou’remakingnow.Wantmore?”
Iamstrangelyemboldenedbyhisrigidity.LikeIwanttothrowmoreideasathimandwatchthembounceoff,justtoprovehowrigidheis.“Isthereanythingthatyou’dsupportmedoingthatisoutsideofthescopeofyourlifeplan?”
“It’sourlifeplan,Sam.Twokidsthreeyearsapart,startinginthreeyears.Allthestuffwe’vebeenover.”
“Whataboutthreekids,twoyearsapart?”
“That’stoomanykids,”hesays,likeit’safacthejustreadintheEncyclopediaofFamilyPlanning.“It’stoomuchtuition.”
“Plusallthosetennislessons,”Isay.
Herelaxes.“Yes,exactly.”
I’mrelaxedtoo.I’veloosenedmygriponthisthingI’vebeenholdingontoandI’msoclosetolettingitgo.Iconsidertossinghimonemore,maybeaskingwhathethinksaboutachocolateweddingcake,butIknow.I’veknownforalongtime.JackhasnoideawhoIam,andIdon’tthinkhewantstoknow
Jackisleaningbackonthecouch,satisfiedthathe’smadehispointandthatI’mgoingtofallinline.Fallinginlinehasbeenmysignaturemovemywholeadultlife.Iwanttoleanoverandmessuphishair.Iwanttoreplaceallofthisfurniturewith—Idon’tknowwhat;I’veneverevenpickedoutfurniture.Irunmyhandoverthegraytweedofthesofa,andIlookupathishandsomeface.Thisisn’thisfault.He’sbeenup-frontaboutwhoheisandwhathewantsfromtheveryfirstday.I’mtheonewho’sbeenlyingandwithholdingherself.
Itakeoffmyringandhandittohim.“Ican’tdothis,Jack.”57
Iarriveatmyparents’apartmentunannounced.IhugmydadwithbotharmsandstayinthathuglongerthanIhaveinyears.He’snotverysurprisedtohearthatI’vequitmyentirelifeinoneday.WesitatthediningroomtableandmymomkeepsaskingifI’mokay,hungry,thirsty,sleepy.
MydadknowsI’mfine.“Sometimesyouhavetowalkawayfromallthethingsyoudon’twanttomakeroomforthefuture.Blankcanvas.”
“Yes,”Isay,andGraciereachesoverandtakesmyhand.Shedoesn’tsayaword,butIfeelthehopethatshe’sgivenmeherentirelife.Mydadputshisarmaroundmymom.
Ididtherightthing,Iknowit.ButI’mexhausted.Breakingoutofalifethat’snotworkingisalotofwork.ItmighthavebeeneasiertohavekeptdoingwhatIwasdoingforthenextfiftyyears.
IsmileatGracie.“ShouldIgetunpacked?It’sbeenalongtimesincewe’vehadasleepoverhere.”Wewalkintoherroom,andIthrowmybagonthebottombunk.
“Oh,”shestarts.“That’swhereIsleep.”Iamfeelingjusthowsmallthisroomis.Idon’tknowhowTravisandIeverlivedheretogether.
“That’sfine,”Isay,movingmybagtothetopbunk.“Ilikeituptheretoo.”Gracie’slookingatme,likeshe’swaitingtoseewhatI’mgoingtodonext.
Herphoneispinging,andshelooksatitandlaughs.Shetypessomethinginresponseandlaughs.Shelooksupandseemssurprisedtoseemestillstandingthere.“Sorry,I’mjustgoingto…Myfriendiscalling.So.”
“OhmyGod.Sorry,”Isay.Graciedoesn’twantmehere.Gracieisgrowingupandwantsherprivacy,andhereIwashopingweweregoingtoplaysafariandeatTwizzlers.OhmyGod.Ibackoutoftheroomandfindmymominthekitchendryingdishes.
“Doyouthinkthere’sanypersononthisearthwhoismoreofaloserthanIam?”Igrabatowelandstartdrying.“Behonest,canyounameoneperson?”
“You’renotaloser,Sam.”
“Really,”Isay.“Let’sreviewthefacts.I’llbethirty-onethismonth.Ihavenojobandnorelationship.And,”Isay,holdingupthesaladtongsforemphasis,“mytwelve-year-oldsisteristoocoolforme.”
Mymomlaughs,sortof.“It’snotsobad,Sam.Youhaveyoureducationandyoucanstartagain.AndI’mprettysureyouweren’tdreamingofbeingGracie’sroommateforever.”
“Thelasttimemylifewasinfreefall,shereallyhelped.”
Mymomplacesastackofplatesonthecounter.“Areyouinfreefall?”
“Whatdoyoumean?”
“ImeanI’vebeenwatchingyou,likeforsignsthatyou’renotgoingtobeokay.Andyouseemokay,butIdon’tknow.MaybeIcan’ttellanymore.”
Itakeherinmyarms,andherheadisheavyonmyshoulder.“Mom,IquitajobIdidn’tlikeandleftamanIdidn’twanttomarry.IjustneedtoregroupandfigureoutwhatIdolike.I’llbefine.”Thisfeelsgoodtosay,likeIamcapableofbeingmyownparent.“Youdon’tneedtoworryaboutme.”
Thatnight,onthetopbunk,IgetatextfromWyatt:Iheard.Youokay?
Istareatthephoneforabit,lettinganoddcombinationofreliefandfearwashoverme.
Me:WellI’msingle,joblessandhomeless.Sonotsure
Wyatt:Didyoudotherightthing?
Me:Yes
Wyatt:I’msorryIleftlikethat.Itwasjustalltoomuch.Idon’tknowwhyIthoughtitwouldbefuntocomeoutandhelpyougetmarried
Me:Weren’tyoualreadycoming?
Wyatt:No.Iwantedtoseeyou,soIcame.Honestlydon’tknowwhatIwasthinking
MyheartratepicksupandIstrainmyeyesinthedarktomakesureI’vereadthatcorrectly.Hejustwantedtoseeme.LyinginthisbedandlookingatthatsamecrackintheceilingthatIstudiedforayearwhilewaitingforWyatttocall,Ifeelafraid.Ihavejustmadethefirststeptowardgettingreacquaintedwithmyself,andIamterrifiedofopeninguptothetidalwavethatisWyatt.Andyet.
Me:Youcouldcomeback
Iwaitaneternityforhisreply.
Wyatt:Ican’t.IhavetobehereforMissy’snewalbumandIkindofhatehowit’scomingtogether.Likethemorefamousshegets,themoresheadlibsandthesongsfeelwrong
Itfeelstooeasy,thewayhe’schangedthesubject.Likehe’sdodgedmysayingIwanthimtocome.
Me:Maybeyoushouldwriteforsomeoneelse
Wyatt:Carlylewouldprobablykillme.Anyway,gladyoumadeadecision.Letmeknowifyouneedanything?
Sam:I’mdefinitelygoingtoneedafriend
I’dratherhaveWyattasafriendthannothavehiminmylifeatall,butit’sahalf-truth.I’dsaymore,butIdon’twanthimtochangethesubjectagain.
Wyatt:Deal.Goodnight,Sam-I-am.
He’sgone,andIamsmilingatthephone.Hecouldhavejustsaidgoodnight.
IridetheelevatoruptowhatisnowJack’sapartment.There’sagravitytowhatI’mdoing,plusitalsofeelslikebreakingandentering.JackknowsI’mcoming.ItoldhimI’dusemykeyandthenleaveitwiththedoorman.He’llbehomeinninetyminutes,whichisplentyoftimeformetopackupmystuffandbegone.WhenIgettothefourteenthfloor,Iwalkmorequicklythannormaltotheapartmentdoor.Idon’twanttoseemyneighbors.Idon’twanttoexplainwhyIdecidednottomarrythisperfectman.Myfamilyseemstototallyunderstand.Butpeoplewhoknowmelesswell,theoneswhothinkI’vegotmyacttogether,willthinkI’mmakingahorriblemistake,likeI’mthegirlinthehorrormoviewhoisrunningfurtherintothehouse.
Thekeyturnseasily.I’vebroughttwoduffelbagswithmeandfillthemquicklywithmyclothes.Ifillaboxwiththestufffrommydeskandafewframedphotosofmyfamily.Iopenandclosethekitchencabinets.Jackpaidforallofthatstuff,andIwouldn’thaveanyplacetoputitanyway.Istandthereforaminutelookingatmybags.I’mdoingmentalgymnasticsthinkingofhowIcouldunpackthemintoadresserthatdoesnotexistinacornerofGracie’sroomthatisalreadyoccupied.Idon’tknowhowI’vemovedsofarbackwardinmylifethatIamsharingaroomwithGracie,andIdon’tknowhowIevergotsofarfromhavingalifethatfeelslikemine.Ilookaroundthisgray,grayroomandIstarttocry.
Idon’twantthis.Iamsureofit.Isayitoutloud.I’vebeenbowlingwiththebumpersup.Talkaboutpointless.Ineedspacetoregroup,andIneedtimeintheocean.IlugmystufftotheelevatorandcatchacabtoPennStation.58
LongIslandisagreatidea.ThefirstnightI’mthereIeatpopcornfordinnerandsitonthedeckwatchingthewavesreachtheirfoamyhandsouttomeandinvitemein.It’sstillsummer-warmbuthazy,andthemoonlightisdiffusedoverthewater.Thelimitlessnessoftheoceanbeyondthehorizonexhilaratesme.Ican’tseewhat’sjustpastthatline,andifIswamouttoit,therewouldbeanotherlineIwouldn’tbeabletoseepast.Ijustknowthatwhat’saheadofmeistherestofmylife,startingwithtonight.Andthentomorrow.
There’salight,constantbreezeoffthewaterthatticklesmyskinandmakesmethinkofWyatt.I’mconfusingthefeelofthebreezewiththefeelofhisskinonmine.Therewasatime,ofcourse,whenthesesensationswouldhappenatonce,thebreezeskimmingWyatt’shandsonmyskin.IfI’mgoingtostayouthere,Iamgoingtohavetogetusedtofeelinghimintheair,hearinghiminthesoundofthegulls.NowthatI’mlisteningtomyheart,Irealizehe’sbeenrightthereallalonganyway.
Onmysecondnight,IdecideIneedtodosomethingaboutmybedroom.Istartpickingthesticksoffmytreeoflife.Maybenowthatmylifeissuchastickyartproject,myroomdoesn’tneedtobe.WhenI’veputthemallbackinmymom’sstick-collectingbasket,Istepbacktotakeinwhatisnowapoorlypaintedtreedottedwithdriedglue.TheuglinessofitstartstocloseinonmeandIopenmywindow.Themoonislowoverthewaterandthesaltynightairblowsin.Moreofthis,Ithink.Igrabasweaterandheadoutthebackdoor,throughthedunes,anduptheropeladdertothetreehouse.Wyatt’sguitarsaregone,andhisrughasafewleavesonit,butthefutonisstilltherewithapainter’starpthrownoveritforprotection.Ipulloffthetarpandliedownonthefuton,rememberingwhatitfeltliketobetherewithWyatt,justtalking,talking,talking.ThenextnightIgobacktothetreehousewithsheets,ablanket,andcandles.
Isecureapart-timejobworkingforMrs.Bartonfifteenhoursperweekrunningareadingenrichmentprogramafterschool.It’llbeenoughtocovermyfoodbill.Ishouldbepaddingmyrésuméandmybankaccountandanglingforthenextbigthing.Butitfeelsgreatnotto.Thethingaboutmyoldjobwasthattherewasnocollaboration,noback-and-forth.Icameinwiththeplanandthatwasthat.Inthislife,workingwithkids,it’slikeI’mofferinganideaandthey’reofferingoneback.Wefollowthoseideasarounduntilit’stimetogohome.Iwonderifthiswasmydreamallalong.
WhenIhearfromWyatt,it’salwayslateatnight.IfhecallsandI’minthetreehouse,it’sanextrathrill.SometimesI’masleepandhe’sonhisdeckwatchingthesunset.Ialwayswakeuptorespond.IthinkalotaboutwhatDr.Judywouldsay.IfI’maddictedtoWyatt,there’snowaythiscountsassober.
Wyatt:Areyouup?
Me:Whyareyouup?It’sevenlatethere
Wyatt:Havingaroughday.Wonderedhowyourdaywas
Istretchoutonthefutonandtakeinthetotallyluxuriousfeelingofknowinghe’swaitingformyresponse.Dr.Judywouldflip.
Me:Itwasmaybemybestday.Wereadastoryaboutdragons,andIhadconstructionpaperandscissorsforustoallmakeourowndragon.ButthiskidMiranda,likesixyearsold,saysdragonislikedragon.Shetakesherchairanddragsitonthecarpettomakeherpoint.AndI’mlikewowthisisphonicsorsomethingsowespendthewholerestoftheafternoondraggingeachotheronchairs.AndIdidnotgetfired
Wyatt:Ithinkyou’vefoundyourcalling
Me:Whatwassoroughaboutyourday?
Wyatt:ItriedtoquitmyjobandfoundoutIcan’t
Me:Whatdoesthatmean
Wyatt:ItriedtotellCarlyleIdon’twanttowriteforMissyanymore,thatIwanttotrywritingthatmovieorjusttrysomethingelse.Ican’tstandhandingherasongandhavingherturnitintocrap.Hesaidhestandstomake$100millionoffhernextalbumandifIdon’tfinishithe’llruinme
Me:Hecan’tdothat
Wyatt:Heactuallycan.Hehasalotofpowerouthere
Me:That’shorrible
Wyatt:SoIguessI’mgoingtowakeuptomorrowandwriteMissyanothersong
Idon’tknowhowtoreply.I’mgoingtowakeuptomorrowandgoforaswim.IwanttotellWyatttowalkawayfromthatmessandmeetmeatthebeach.Whichisselfishandabsurd.I’mlyinginatreehousewithnothingtolose,andhe’sfightingtoreclaimhiscreativeindependence.I’mnotgoingtowalkoutsidetomorrowandfindhimsittingonthebackporchwaitingforme.I’mnotgoingtowakeupinthemiddleofthenightandfeelhisbreathonmyneck.AbreezecomesinfromthewaterandmovesovermelikeWyatthimself.IthinkoftheleastdesperatethingIcantype
Me:Ibetitwillbeagreatsong
Wyatt:Tellmeaboutthekidsatthelibrary
AsItexthimthehighlightsofmyday,Icanpicturehimlookingoutatthebeachthat’sfacingthewrongway.He’sinareallybadplaceagain,andI’mgladthatI’mhereforhimthistime.Whenwe’vesaidgoodnight,IclosemyeyesandpictureWyattthewayIwanttoseehim,happy,withhisguitarinhishands,andIletthewavessingmebacktosleep.59
I’vebeeninLongIslandforaweek,andI’vestartedgettinguptoswimintheoceanfirstthing,evenbeforemycoffee.I’mtryingtoswimhalfamiledownthebeachandback,andI’mgettingclose,dependingonthetides.IrememberthedaysofcountingmylapsintheYMCApool,inaconstantnegotiationwithGod.Strippeddownnow,I’mjustmeinthewater,swimmingstrokeafterstrokebecauseIwantto,becauseitfeelsgood.Whenitstopsfeelinggood,Iwillstop.
ThatnightundermyblanketonthefutonItexthim:Newbestdaytoday
Hedoesn’ttextmeback,andIlietherewonderingwhathecouldbedoingandwhohe’swith.IhaveanideaofwhathislifeinLAlookslike,whathisviewis.Iimaginehimindark-coloredsheets,andIdon’tknowwhy.IfallasleeppicturingWyattindark-coloredsheets.
Hourslateratextwakesme:Tellme
Iblinkandstretch,thenreply:It’sthemiddleofthenight,youhavenoboundaries
Wyatt:Ididn’tknowwehadany,IthinkIwroteasongaboutthis
Thismakesmesmile,andIpullthecoversupoverus.
Me:SoitwaspiratedayandIhadtheseswashbucklingcostumessothatwecouldperformaten-minuteplay.Buttheyhatedmyplayandwrotetheirown—inthreeacts—toperformforme.
Wyatt:Howwasit
Me:Nonsenseandviolent.Can’twaittilltomorrow,readingabookaboutsoup.Whoknows?
Wyatt:That’sthebestthingever.Gobacktosleep
Asexpected,thewholesoupthingdoesn’tgoasexpected.Ibroughtsoupfortasting,andinstead,thekidswantedtopeeloffthelabelsandmakeacollage.Iridemybikehomewithabasketfullofunmarkedcansthatwillgetmethroughadozensurprisedinners.Thisfeelslikemywholeliferightnow,knowinggenerallywhereI’mgoingwithoutasinglespecificspelledoutforme.Ihonestlydon’tcarewhatkindofsoupIeat.
Ipullintomydrivewayandchooseonecanofsouptobringinside.It’swarmformid-September,andthewisteriahaslostitsbloomsbutnotitsleaves.Irunonebetweenmyfingersandfeelthatdark-green-turning-to-brownfeel.
Afterdinner(chickennoodle!),Itakeabeeruptothetreehousetowatchthesunset.It’sagreatplacetosketch,andI’vefinishedthreedifferenttakesonGraciewalkingthroughtheduneswiththatBryantkid.I’mtryingtocapturethatin-betweenstagewhereshe’sjustfiguredoutwhysheshouldbealittleself-conscious.IwonderifI’minanin-betweenstagewhereI’mfiguringoutwhyIshouldn’t.
IdecidemydrawingofGracieisnearlyfinished.IturntoanewpageandstarttosketchWyatt,sittingonastool,singingattheOwlBarn.Iamconcentratingonthewaythefabricofhisshirtliesonhisshoulders.Ireachformyphonetotexthimbutdecidetowait.It’sonlyfourthirtyinLosAngeles,andI’dratherbetalkingtohimwhenhe’slyingdown.60
Wyatt
Ileavemysuitcaseandmyguitaronthefrontsteps,becauseIdon’twanttowaitanylonger.Itwasalongtrip,butthenagain,it’sbeenalongdecade.Herbike’soutfrontwithabunchofunlabeledcansinthebasket.Thisissorandom,anditmakesmesmile.Iknowthere’sastorybehindit.Iknockonherdoor,andthere’snoresponse.
Thesun’ssetting,andshecouldbeonthebeach.Iwalkaroundherporchanddownthebackstepsandthroughthedunes.There’snooneonthebeach.IhavethishorriblefeelingthatI’vemissedher,thattherewasthistinywindowoftimewhereIcouldhavehadherback,butImissedit,andshe’sgonetoEuropeormetsomeoneelse.Ishakeoffthisthought;Ijusttalkedtoheryesterday.
Icouldhavetoldheroverthephone.Iwantedto,butIalsowantedtoseeherface,toknowforsureifshewasallinwithme.Ididn’twanttolayitalloutthereandthensitonanairplanesecond-guessingherresponse.IhurtherworsethanIeverimagined,andIneedtoseehertoknowifshe’sgoingtobeabletotrustmeagain.Afterall,sheleftJack,butshedidn’tleavehimforme.
Iwalkbackthroughthedunesandintomyownyard,andIseelegsdanglingoffthesideofthetreehouse.Theyaremyfavoritelegs.Iwanttorushoverandclimbupthatladder,butIstopmyselfforasecondjusttolook.She’sdrawing,andshe’scompletelyinherhead.Herhairisamess,likeshewentforalongswimthismorningandjustlet
“Hey,Sam-I-am.”
Shelooksupandhereyesgowide.“Wyatt.”SheputsdownherpadandpencilandstandsupasI’mclimbingtheladder.Shethrowsherarmsaroundmeandhugsmetight.Ipullherevencloserandfeelthefrontofherbodytoucheverypartofmine.Mythumbsloopthemselvesintothewaistlineofherjeanshorts,justliketheyalwaysdid.Iambackintimeandalsonot;wearen’tthesamepeoplewewere.Ican’tbelieveI’vetraveledsofarinmyhuntforahappylife,andmyhappylifeisrighthere,inmytreehouse.“Wereyougoingtotellmeyouwerehere?”sheasks.
“I’mtellingyounow.”Ibreatheinthesaltysmellofherhairasherheadrestsheavyonmyshoulder.There’ssomethingaboutSampressedagainstmethatfloodsmewithrelief,likeIwasabouttofadeawaybutI’vebeenrestoredtomyfullstrength.IwanttorunmyhandsunderherT-shirtandrestthemonthesmallofherback.IwanttokissthatspotonherneckandhearhercatchherbreaththewayI’vealwaysremembered
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Shepeelsherheadoffmyshoulderandlooksmeintheeye.ShehasalittlebitofsandinhereyebrowandIwonderifit’sbeenthereallday.“Iseverythingokay?”
“Yes,Ithinkso,”Isay.
“Whatdoesthatmean?”Shetakesmyhandsandexaminesmyfingers.Sherunsherhandsoverthebackofthemandthenthefront.Thisisthefirsttimewe’vebeentogetherastwosingleadults,andthere’snoreasontotellhertostoptouchingme.Icouldstandherealldayjustfeelingthefeathertouchofherhandsskimmingmine,butIhavetosaywhatIcametosay.
“IranawayfromLosAngeles.”
“Likeyouquityourjob?”
“IquitCarlyle,andIquitMissy.”
“Thissoundslikealongstory.”Isearchhereyesforanysignthatshe’sdisappointedthatI’vegiventhatup.ButallIseethereishappiness,asifanythingItellherisgoingtobeokay.ThewaySamislookingatmeremindsmeofhowIfeltthatlastsummer—thatIwasgoodenoughinmyownrightbecauseIwasgoodenoughforher.Sheleadsmeovertothefuton.“Ican’tbelieveyou’rehere.”
There’sasheetandablanketonthefuton,alitcandleonthelittletable,andapairofwhiteslippersonthefloor.IsmilebecauseitfeelslikeSam’sbeenwaitingforme.ThismayhavebeenwhatIimaginedasakid,livinginthistreehousewithSam,herslippersonthefloor.“Lookslikeyou’vemovedin,”Isay.
“Ilikeithere,”shesays,andwebothsitdown.ShedrapesherlegsovermineinawaythatissofamiliartobothofusthatIcan’thelpbutputmyarmaroundher.SherestsherheadinthecrookofmyneckandI’mtryingtorememberwhereIwasgoingtostartwiththisstory.61
Ican’tbelievehe’shere.
Herestshishandonmyknee.Irunmyfingersalongthebackofthathand.Irunthemalonghisnecktohiscollarbone,slowly,likeI’vejustfashionedhimoutofclay.Ican’tbelievehe’shere.Hetouchesthesideofmythigh.I’mnotlookingathim,I’mjustwatchingthevariousplaceswhereourskinmeets.Iaminabitofadreamstate.Ididn’trealizeituntilnow,butwhileIhavebeengettingmyselftogether,Ihavealsobeenwaitingforthis.Onsomelevel,IhopedthatifIcamebacktomyself,Wyattwouldcomebacktometoo.SamIam,andviceversa.
Hepullsmeintoahug.“Sam,I—”
“Notyet,”Isay.We’vedonealotoftalking,andwhateveritishehastosayisn’tgoingtofeelbetterthanWyatt’sbeingrightherenexttome.Iliebackonthefutonandpullhimdownontopofme.Hisfacehoversabovemine,andhe’stakingmein.Hesweepsthehairoutofmyeyesandrunshisthumbsalongmycheekbones.There’snearlynospacebetweenourlips,butIwait.I’mwaitingforWyatttoreturntome,tochoosethis,chooseus.Hefinallykissesme,andthewarmthofhislipsonminesendsacurrentthroughoutmybody.Itisstilltrue—therearenotwopeoplewhoaremorerighttogether.TherewasatimewhenitfeltlikeWyattandIcouldkissforhours,whenkissinghimandfeelinghischestpressedagainstminewasenoughofathrill.Thisisnolongerthecase,andIneedtogetoutofmyclothes.IpulloffmyshirtandthenpulloffhissothatIcanfeelourskintogether,likeIampeelingofflayerstogetusbacktoourmostnaturalstate.
“Sam,”hebreathesintomyshoulder.“Areyousureyouwanttodothis?”
“Yes,”Isay.
“IreallydidhaveathingIwasgoingtotellyou,”hesaysintomyneck.Buthe’sbreathless,andIdon’tknowhowwecouldpossiblyhaveaconversationanyway.
“Please,”Isay,andputmyfingersonhislipstoquiethim,justthewayheputhisfingersonminesomanyyearsago.
Hekissesmyfingers.“Okay.”Mylegsrememberexactlyhowtowrapthemselvesaroundhis,andmysensesarewhisperingaboutatimelongpast—hetastesthesame,feelsthesame.Buthe’ssurernow,andsoamI.Thefeelofhisbodytiedupinminemakesmegocompletelyliquid,asifIhavedissolvedintohim.Idonotrememberthathappeningfourteenyearsago.
“Itotallyplannedforthis,”Isay.We’relyingonthefutonundermyblanket,andIreachforabottleofwaterIleftonthetable.
“Clearlyyoumovedinhere,desperatelywaitingforme.”Irestmyheadonhischest,feelingtherumbleofhischuckle,andherunshisfingersalongmyspine.I’mtryingtorememberifheusedtodothis,butitdoesn’tmatter.Noneofthisfeelslikeit’sforoldtimes’sake.Thisisnew.
“Iwaitedalongtime,”Isay.Idon’tknowifI’mtalkingabouttheweekI’vebeenlivingonLongIslandormywholeadultlife.
“I’manidiot,”hesays,andkissesmyforehead.
“Agreed.”Irollontohimandrestmychinonmyhands.Ican’tstopsmiling.
Hemovesapieceofmyhairbehindmyear.“So,ItoldCarlyleIwouldn’twriteanymoresongsforMissy,andnowhe’sbusymakingsurenomusicproducereverwantstoworkwithmeagain.Like,ittooktenminutesforthatfilmproducertocallmymanagerandsaythey’regoinginanotherdirection.”
“Oh.I’msorry.”AndIam.ItbreaksmyhearttothinkthatWyatt’scareercouldbetakenfromhim.Ikisshisneckandrestmyheadthere.“Sowhatdoesthatmean?You’rewashedup?Stayinghere?It’sworkingforme,youshouldtryit.Ihavesomuchsoup.”
Helaughs.“I’mself-employed,actually.”
“Congratulations?”Idon’tknowwhatthismeans.
“I’mgoingtostartrecordingmyownsongs,myself.Idon’tknowwhyIletCarlylebetheauthorityonwhetherpeoplewouldlikemyvoice.Andthey’remysongs.”
“Ilikeyourvoice,”Isay,andsitup.Icovermyselfwiththeblanket,becauseIhavethefeelingIneedtobracemyself.“Ireallydo.AndIthinkeveryoneattheOwlBarndidtoo.Theywentnuts,right?Didn’tthey?Itwaskindofaweirdnight.”Themoonislightinguptheinsideofthetreehouse,andIcanseeWyatt’sfaceperfectly.Iwanttostoptime.
“I’mwritinganewalbum,andIdroppedthefirstsonglastnight.Ijustputitonline.It’skindofathingalready.It’scalledSummerSongs.Idon’tneedamusicproducer,asitturnsout.”Wyatt’shandsarebehindhishead,andhe’swatchingmetakethisin.
He’ssmiling,soIsmileback.ButI’mashamedofmyself.IwashappierthirtysecondsagowhenIthoughthe’dblownitandwascominghome.Ifhecanmakeitonhisownandpeoplelikehisvoice,I’mgoingtolosehimagain.
“Googleme,”hesays.
Irollmyeyes.“Igetit,you’reabigshot.I’mimpressed.”
“No.Seriously,googleme.”
Ifindmyshortsonthefloor,pullmyphoneoutofmypocket,andtype“WyattPope.”Whatappearsmakesnosensetome,becauseIthoughtitexistedonlyinmymind.It’sthedrawingIdidofWyattwritingasong,completewiththeholeinthetopwheretheoldnailpushedthrough.Hiseyesarelookingdirectlyatme,exactlyhowIrememberthatmomentIwasclimbinguptheladder.Alongthebottomarethewords“WyattPopeSummerSongs.”
IlookupatWyatt.“Idon’tunderstand.”
“It’smyalbumcover.I’mreleasingsongsasIhavethem.Butthat’stheartwork.That’swhatI’mcomingbackto.”He’ssmilingatme,andthereissomethingIshouldsaybutI’mspeechless.“You’renotgoingtosueme,areyou?Itwasagift.Ihavewitnesses.”
“No.Imean,yes,itwasagift.”Andthen,becauseIjusthavetogetthewordsoutofmyhead,“It’ssogood.”
Wyattlaughsandtakesmyhands.“Itreallyis.I’vehaditupeveryplaceI’veeverlived.”Iliebackdownnexttohimandhughimtight.Idon’tknowwhyitmattersnow,butI’mgladhedidn’tcompletelyleavemebehindallthoseyearsago.It’sstrangetothinksomethinghasdisintegratedandthenfindoutithasnot.
WyattnoticesI’mcryingbeforeIdo.“Sam,what’sgoingon?Thisisgoodnews.I’mfree.”
Idon’twanttolookathim.“God,I’msoselfish.That’sgreat.Ofcourse,it’sgreat.Butjustaminuteagoyouwerehereandmaybestayingandnowyou’vegotanalbumandyou’regoingtoleaveanddoabigthing.”
“I’mgoingtostayanddoabigthing.”Hetakesmyfaceinhishandsandwipesatearwithhisthumb.“I’mgoingtostayhereandfinishthealbum.You’regoingtohelpme.”
Iwipemyeyesontheblanket.“Oh.”
“Sam,Igotmyvoiceback,”hesays.“IcandowhateverIwant.”
“Withme?”
“Wantmetostartfromthebeginningagain?”
“No.Igetit.Ijust…”Iamequalpartsafraidandhappy.HavingsomethinglikethistoloseismorethanIcanfathomasI’mtryingtostartmylifeoveragain.Idon’twanttospendafewmonthsinWyatt’sarmsandthensendhimbacktoLosAngeleswhileIgetreacquaintedwithDr.Judy.Idon’tknowifhe’sstayingorifhe’sstaying.“Iloveourfriendship.Itfeelskindofriskytodothis.”
“Iseenorisk.”
Idon’tsayanything.Ikeepmyheadonhischestandconcentrateonthewayhisskintouchesminedownthewholelengthofmybody.Thisistoomuchtolose.
Wyatttiltsmychinsothatwe’reeyetoeye.“I’mdonewritingsongsabouthowmuchIlovedyouwhenwewerekids.Missycanhavethosesongs.MynewalbumisabouthowIfeelnow.AndwhenI’mdone,I’mgoingtowriteanotheroneabouthowayear’sgonebyandI’mevenmoreinlovewithyou.”He’slookingatmewithsuchcertaintyandconfidencethatIcanalmosthearthesesongs.“AfterthatI’llprobablywritesongsaboutbeingmarriedtoacrazyartteacher.Iloveyou,Sam.I’velovedyoumywholelife.There’snorisk.”
“Oh.”I’minthemostimprobablesituation,grownupandnakedinthistreehousewithWyatt,wholovesme.He’swrong,ofcourse;there’satonofriskinlovingsomeonelikethis.ButIknowit’sworthit,andforthefirsttimeinyears,everythingmakessense.“Iloveyoutoo.”
Hekissesmeforalongtime.Justslowly,likeit’snotgoinganywhere.Likehe’snotgoinganywhere.“Ishouldhavedonethisyearsago,”hesays.
“Ithinkyoudid.”
“No,Imeancomeheretoseeyou.IthinkIneededtogetbackedintoacorner.”
“Whobackedyouintoacorner?”
Wyattlooksawaylikehe’sembarrassed.AndIcan’timaginewhy,becausewe’rebothcompletelynakedonalotoflevels.“IbroughtthemusicfestivalherebecauseMichaeltoldmeyouweregettingmarried.”
Iamshockedandnotshocked.
“Irentedthehousefrommymom.IpaidfortherenovationattheOwlBarn.Ijustwantedtoseeyouagain,andmakesureyouwerehappyandwithsomeonegood.IthoughtI’dgetclosure.”
AndIlikethis.Ilikeknowingthatitwasn’tsomeactoffateorthedrawofawashed-uptennisplayerthatbroughtWyattbackheretome.Hechosemeandgotonaplane.“Iamhappy,andIamwithsomeonegood,”Isay.
Hepullsmeclose.“Great.ThisisactuallyjusttheclosureIneeded.”62
Theweekendofmyweddingthatisnottobe,myparentsandGraciecomeouttoLongIsland.MydadwantstochecktoseeiftheboilerisleakingthewayitdoesalmosteveryOctober.Oratleastthat’shiscover;Ithinktheywanttospyonus.GrannyandGrampsshowuptoo,becausetheyalreadywrote“LongIsland”ontheircalendarinink.Also,thespying.
“Hey-ho!”mydadboomsonFridayeveningwhenhecomesthroughthedoor.“Aretheresquattersinmyhouse?”
Wyatt’spullingglassesoutofthedishwasherand,forasplitsecond,lookslikehe’sbeencaughtdoingsomethingheshouldn’t.Heseemstorememberhimselfandwalksovertohugmydad.It’sanactualhug,notaquickie,andwhenmydadpullsawayheisalittlemisty.
“I’mjustsohappy,”hesays,puttinghisduffelbagonthetable.
“Tellmeaboutit,”saysWyatt.
MymomcomesinwithaplasticbagfullofusedMetroCards.Igiveherahugandaskwhatthey’refor.“I’mnotsure,”shesays.“God,youlookbeautiful.”Shetouchesmyfacethewayshelikesto,withbothhandssoshecantakeitinwithmultiplesenses.
“Thanks.I’mjust—It’sso—”I’mnotsurewhatI’mtryingtosay.
“Oh,Iknow,sweetie,”shesays.
GracielugsasuitcasethroughthefrontdoorandisnotthepersonIremember.It’sonlybeentwomonthsbutshe’smaybegrownaninch,andherhairisinaloosesinglebraid.Soonitwillbecompletelydownandshe’llbeusingittogesture.Maybeeventoss.She’sroundingthatcorner,andI’mnotsurehowIfeelaboutit.I’msorryforwhatshe’sleavingbehind,thatcompletelyunselfconsciousfree-formrealityofchildhood.Ihaveastrongurgetoprotecther,toshuttleherthroughtheseyearsquicklysoshecanbethirty.Or,better,forty.Butthat’snothowcaterpillarsgetthere.It’snothowanyofusdo.
“Myfriendsarelikefreakingoutabout‘SummerStill,’?”shetellsWyatt.“Imeanit’ssoperfectforrightnow,likewhenit’sgettingcolder?”She’spickedup“like”andtheup-talkattheendofasentence.Iwanttoknowwho’sresponsibleforthis.
“Thanks,”saysWyatt.“SamandIarehopingtohaveawholealbumreadybytheendofthewinter.”Heputshisarmaroundme,andInoticethey’veallpausedtoobservethis.
“Sam’shelping?”mydadasks.
“Well,shehelpsbyleavingforalotofthedaysoIcanwork.”
Igivehimasmileandnudge.“That’snottrue.Heworksallthetime.IthinkhesleepswhileI’matthelibrary.”
“Thisissoweird,”saysGracie.“IguessI’mtheonlyoneinthefamilythatneversawyoutwomadlyinlove.”
“Gracie,”mymomsays.ThoughIdon’tknowwhatshe’sadmonishingherfor.Apparently,neitherdoesshe,becauseshesmiles.“GrannyandGrampswillbehereinabit.We’vegotstufftogrill,ifit’snottoocoldoutthere.TravisandHugharerightbehindus.”
“Tonightwassupposedtobeyourrehearsaldinner,”Travissaysbecausehe’ssuchatroublemaker.“Wherewasthatgoingtobeagain?”
“Thatwashed-uptennisplayer’spark,”Isay.
“Weatherwouldhavebeenniceforit,”saysGranny,andmymomnods.Wyattgivesmyshoulderasqueeze,asifIneedtoberemindedofhowgreatitisthatwearenotcurrentlyatmyrehearsaldinner.
“Well,let’sconsiderthisarehearsaldinner,”mydadsays.“BecauseI’mstillpayingfordinnerforfiftyattheOldSloopInntomorrownight.Nevergotourdepositback,soIjustheldthereservationtopissthemoff.”
“I’msorry,Dad,”Isay.
“It’snobigdeal,”hesays,andsmilesatmymom.
“Justtellthem,”mymomsays.
Mydadputshishandsonthetableandconsidersusforafewsecondsbeforehespeaks.“There’salotofinterestinmynewseries.IhaveashowattheNufriti-GreeneGalleryinDecember.It’scalledLifeline.”
“Oh,Dad!”TravisandIareonourfeettohughim.“Thismustfeelsogood.”
“It’saboutdamntime,”saysGrampstohisglass.
“Itfeelslikeifyouwerestarvingtodeathandfoundoutyoucouldcreateacheeseburgerwithyourownhands,”mydadsays,hiseyesalittlemisty.
“What’sthenewseries?Canweseeit?”Iask.
“It’sverysimpleactually.ItcametomethenightyouleftJackandGraciegrabbedyourhandatthetable.Therearenostraightlines,justconnections,hinges,wherewereachforeachotherandpulleachotherup.Peoplewillsayitlookslikeabunchofgullsflying,butit’sreallypeopleholdinghands.”
“Honestly,”Grampssays,andwelaugh
Wyattraiseshisglass.“ToLifeline.”Wedrinktothat.
Mydad’squietforasecond.“But,seriously,ifanyofyoupeoplewanttogetmarriedtomorrow,speaknow.”
Iknowhe’skidding,butIlookatWyattandthink,Yes,Iwanttomarryhimtomorrow.Butnotthereandnotinsucharush.ThedressIwantedtobuywhenIwasmarryingJackisthedressIalwaysimaginedmarryingWyattin.I’mgoingtoseethatthrough.
Hughpipesup:“Me.”Heputshiswineglassdownonthetableandconsidersusallbeforehespeaksagain.“Iwanttogetmarriedtomorrow.”HeturnstoTravis.“Wouldyoudothat?”
“Wait,areyoutryingtosay‘Willyoumarryme’?”
Hughtakeshishand.“Yes,that’swhatI’mtryingtosay.I’vebeensoanxiousaboutabigeventandallthatnoise.Canwejustgatherfiftypeoplelast-minuteandgetitdonewithoutallthepressure?BecauseofcourseIwanttomarryyou.”
Mymotheriscryingandmydadissmiling.Graciehasherhandoverhermouth,presumablytokeepfromblurtingsomethingoutandruiningthemoment.
“Yes,”Travissays.“Let’sgetmarriedtomorrow.”
Weallcheer,andmydadputshishandsuptostopus.“Freeweddingtomorrow—goingonce.Goingtwice,”hesayswithasmiletoWyatt.
“Nothanks,we’regood,”hesays,takingmyhand.“I’vealwaysplannedtomarrySamonthebeach.”Acknowledgments
Justtosavemyhighschoolfriendssometime:thisisaworkoffiction.Allcharactersdepictedinthisnovelaremadeup.IfIdatedaguywithaguitar,youwouldhaveknownaboutit.
Aheartfullofthankstomyagent,MarlyRusoff,whohasbelievedinmefromtheveryfirstdayandhasbeenawarmandfierceadvocateformeandmywork.Myfavoriteofherheroicactswasintroducingmetomyeditor,TaraSinghCarlson.Tara,thankyouforyourpatienceincoaxingthisnoveloutofmeandthenshapingitintosomethingthatfeelsexactlyright.Whatagiftithasbeentobeguidedbyyourbigbrainandkeensenseofstory.
ThankyoutomyteamatG.P.Putnam’sSons—AshleyDiDio,KatieMcKee,NicoleBiton,AshleyMcClay,AlexisWelby,MollyPieper,EmilyMileham,MaijaBaldauf,ErinByrne,ClaireWinecoff,andthegreatSallyKim.Thekindnessyouhaveshownmeandtheeffortyouhaveputintogettingmybooksoutintotheworldhavebeenstaggering.Specialthanks
ThankyoutothebrilliantcoverdesignerSannyChiufortakingsuchcaretocreatecoversthatmakemybookspopofftheshelves;andthankyoutoAjaPollock,mywhip-smartcopyeditor,whoseunderstandingofgrammarandhowtimeworkscompletelyoutshinesmyown.ThankyoutoAshleyTucker,theinteriordesignerwhomademybookssuchalovelyvisualreadingexperience.
InthecategoryofpeoplewhoaretherewhenIneedthem—IamsogratefultopsychologistBrookPicotte,whovettedDr.JudyandSam’sstateofmind.ThankyoutoDavidWilson,whotalkedhedgesandsurfingwithmeandneveraskedwhy.Andtomysister,StefanieWilson,whotookmeinduringarevisionpanicandmademesnackswhileIwroteinher
Thankyou,always,tomywritingfriendsforstandingupandcheeringmeon.Iamsohappytobeworkinginafieldwherethebetterwealldo,thebetterwealldo.
Thebookworldisfullofsomanybigheartedandcreativepeople,andIamsothankfulfortheirkindness.Thankyoutotheindependentbooksellers,thelibrarians,theInstagrammers,theTikTokers,andthewholeworldofbookreviewersforallyoudotogetbooksintoreaders’hands.Yourworkissurelypavingthepathtoabetterworld.
Tomysons,onlyoneofwhomhasreadthisbook(yes,cashchangedhands),thankyouforallthewaysyouhavebentandgrownaroundtherecentdownturninhouseholdservices.Thankyouforaskingaboutmyworkandencouragingmealongtheway.Iambeyondproudoftheyoungmenyou’vebecome.
Tom.WhatcanIsay?Ifyouplayedtheguitar,someoneelsewouldhavescoopedyouupadecadebeforeIhadthechance.Sothankyouforbeingthebestpartofmylifeandfornotplayingtheguitar.SameTimeNextSummer
AnnabelMonaghan
AConversationwithAnnabelMonaghan
DiscussionQuestions
APlaylist
AConversationwithAnnabelMonaghan
WhatinspiredyoutowriteSameTimeNextSummer?
ThePhiladelphiaStoryhasalwaysbeenoneofmyfavoritemovies.Atthehighestlevel,it’sthestoryofTracyLord(KatharineHepburn)whocomeshometogetmarriedandfindsherex-husbandC.K.DexterHaven(CaryGrant)livingnextdoor.WhenIwasakid,Iloveditforthefunnydialogueandthescandalouswaytheadultswerealwaysmakingbadchoices.WhenIwasolder,itmademethinkabouthowwemovethroughheartbreak—bothinourownrelationshipsandwithinourfamilies—andoftenreinventourselvestokeepourheartssafeinthefuture.
Iwantedtowriteastorythatexploreshowheartbreakshapesidentity.Ifindthatwhenpeopleareaboutnineyearsold,theyknowexactlywhotheyare.But,ofcourse,lifehappens.Wegrow,werubupagainsttheworld,wegetourheartsbroken,andwemightevenbeletdownbythepeoplewetrustthemost.Andallofthatfrictionshapeswhoweareasadults.Iamfascinatedbythelengthswegotoinordertoreframeourlifestoriesandreimagineourselves.Somepeoplecandothisfortheirwholelivesandsafelyinhabitanew,falsepersona.ButIthinkthetruthusuallysurfaces,andthehappiestpeoplearelivingtheirmostauthenticlives.
Inyourdebutnovel,NoraGoesOffScript,themaincharactersfallinlovelaterinlifeasadults.WhydidyoudecidefortherelationshipinSameTimeNextSummertobeaboutfirstlove?Whatwasyourfavoritepartofwritingthisdynamic?
Thegreatthingaboutfirstloveisthatwedon’tknowenoughtoprotectourselvesfromit.Wediveinheart-first,anditfeelsendlessuntilitends.Inmymemory,youdon’tevengolookingforfirstlove,itjustsortoffindsyouand,onceitgathersmomentum,itfeelsinevitable.WhileIlovedwritingaboutadultslaterinlifebecauseofalldoesn’t.Butitinformshowweapproachloveinthefuture.
Sam’sfamilyhomeonLongIsland,NewYork,feelsliketheperfectoasistoescapetoforthesummer.Isthisbeachtownbasedonarealplace?
OakShoreisamade-upLongIslandtown.LongIslandfeltlikeaperfectplacetosetthisstorybecauseofitsnaturalbeautyanditsproximitytoManhattan.WhenIthinkofLongIslandinthesummer,Ithinkofhydrangeagrowinglikeweedsandthedunesmovingwiththebreezeonthebeach.Iimaginedalotofsensorymemoriesbeingstoredonthosebeaches,anditfeltlikeagoodplacetofallinlove.
Whenwereturntowhereourchildhoodshappened,it’shardnottoslipbackintime.IgrewupinLosAngelesandwenttothebeachmostdays.Theoceanwasnotrightoutsidemydoor—Idrovethere—buttheanticipationthatIfeltdrivingtothebeachbecamepartoftheexperience.SamwalksthroughthedunesthatgivewaytothesandandtheoceaninthesamewayIdrovedowntheCaliforniaInclineontothePacificCoastHighway.Thereissomuchsensorymemorytiedupinthisforme.WhenIamatthatbeach,thesmelloftheairandtheroughfeelofdriedsaltonmyskinwhispersatmeaboutwhoIusedtobe.
MusicplaysanimportantroleinSamandWyatt’slovestory.Doyouhaveaconnectiontomusicorthearts,andwhydidyouchoosetoincludethisaspectinSameTimeNextSummer?
Ilovemusicasalistener(andasanawkwardbutenthusiasticdancer),butIhavenotalentforitanddon’tplayaninstrument.Butstill,Ifindthatcertainsongscontainfullyearsofmylife,andotherscantakemebacktoasinglemoment.Thisisparticularlytrueofsummermusic:songsthatplayedoverandoverontheradioonlong,lazydayscanbringbackthesmellofCoppertoneandthefeelofhotsandundermyfeet.Therearestudiesthatshowthatthemusicwelistenedtoduringourteenageyearsactuallyattachesitselftoouremotionalmemoryinamuchdeeperwaythanmusicwehearforthefirsttimeasadults.IfanythingwasgoingtounlockthefortressaroundSam’sheart,itwouldbemusic.
Whowasyourfavoritecharactertowrite,andwhy?
ProbablyWyatt.He’sabitintrovertedlikeIam,andIlikedwatchinghimbidehistimewithSam,bothasakidandasanadult.Hekeepshisfeelingshiddenforalotofthenovel,butIcouldalwaystellwherehewasemotionally.Also,itwasfunwritingaboutapersonwithasecret,whoisn’texactlylyingbutisn’texactlybeingforthcomingeither
Whydidyoudecidetostructurethenovelbetweenthepastandpresent,andfromSamandWyatt’sperspectivesinthepast?Howdoyouthinkthisstorytellingtechniqueaddstothereadingexperience?
Memoryissuchasubjectivething.IfItoldyouthestoryofanoldsummerromanceofmine,I’dgiveyouthegeneralideaofwhenitwasandwherewewere,butIwouldn’tdoitjusticebecauseIcan’tquiteseethedetailsfromthisfaraway.ImighttellyouthatIreallylikedhim,butIwouldtrivializethewholethingbecauseIdon’trememberexactlythewayitfeltwhenhelookedatmeorwhatitwaslikewhenwebrokeup.ThisisespeciallytrueforthisstorybecauseofhowmuchworkSamhasdonetodismisstheimportanceofherrelationshipwithWyatt.IthoughtitwasimportantforthereadertoexperiencewhatfallinginlovewaslikeforSamandWyattinrealtimesotheycouldunderstandwhyitstillmattered.
AlthoughthisisastoryaboutSamandWyatt,SameTimeNextSummeralsofeelslikeastoryofthecomplicatednatureoffamily.Whyisitimportantthatfamilyberepresentedinthisstory?HowdoesitinformSamandWyatt’schoicesandbehaviors?
IgrewupinafamilyandI’mnowraisingone,andIcantellyouonethingforsure:afamilyisacomplexlivingorganism.Everythingthathappenstoanyfamilymemberaffectstheothers.Ourmoods,ourvictories,andourhorriblemistakesshapehoweveryoneelseinthefamilygrows.Wearelimitedbyoneanother’sbeliefsandthrustforwardbyoneanother’ssuccesses.Thisiswhyfamilystoriesintriguemesomuch.Humanbeingswhoarewoventogetherbyproximity,genetics,andlovehavealottosortout.
Withoutgivinganythingaway,didyoualwaysknowhowthestorywouldend?
No.Ineverdo.Iknewtonallyhowitwasgoingtoend,butIdidnotknowhowI’dgetthere.ButonceIgottoknowWyattalittlebetterandsawwherehewasatinybitwounded,Iknewwhathehadtodotofindhisvoice.
WhatdoyouwantreaderstotakeawayfromSameTimeNextSummer?
Weareallgreatsurvivors,andwehaveendlesswaysthatweadapttoprotectourselves.There’sabalancebetweenbeingsafeandtrulyliving,andit’sourjobtodeterminehowmuchriskourheartscantakeandhowdeeplywearewillingtolove.Thisisastoryaboutreturningtoyourtruest,bravestself.Andit’sanexplorationofwhetherthesafetythatcomeswithlovingsomeoneatarm’slengthisworthgivingupthejoyoflovingsomeonewithyourwholeheart.
What’snextforyou?
I’mwritingalovestorythatinvolvesaskateboarderwhoispretendingtobeadivorceattorney.And,no,Idon’tknowhowit’sgoingtoend.DiscussionQuestions
Didyouandyourfamilyhaveaplaceyouwouldvisitforthesummerwhenyouweregrowingup?Orpossiblyaspecialvacationyouwenton?Whatwasyourfondestmemoryfromthattime?
Whowasyourfirstlove?Howmuchofanimpactdidthatrelationshiphaveonyourlife,andwhatdidyoulearnfromit?
CompareandcontrastthefeelingsSamhasforWyattandJack.WhyisSamdrawntoeachofthem?Whatdoyouthinkisthemostimportantqualityaromanticrelationshipshouldhave?
Isthereasongthatmakesyouthinkaboutyourfirstlove,oranotherrelationship?Why?
Whatwasyourfavoritescene,andwhy?
Whenyouarestressedorneedtoclearyourhead,whatactivitydoyouturntoandwhy?
WhenSamandWyattareteenagers,theyeachreflectonhowdifferenttheirfamiliesarefromoneanother.Howdoyouthinktheirfamilydynamicsshapedwhotheyeachbecame?
WereyousurprisedtolearnthetruthbehindSamandWyatt’sbreakup?Ifyouwereintheirshoes,howwouldyouhavereacted?
IfSamhadn’tgonetotherapy,doyouthinkshewouldhavegonedownadifferentpathinlife?
Whatareyourthoughtsabouttheending?APlaylist
Idon’tlistentomusicwhileIwritebecauseIfinditverydistracting.Ican’tseemtoconcentrateonthewordsinmyheadwhenthereareotherwordsspinningaroundtheroom.ButwhenI’mnotwriting,Iamwalkingandlisteningtomusicandthinkingaboutmystory.ThereareahandfulofsongsthatalwaystookmetothebeachorthatfeltlikesomethingWyattmightwrite.And,yes,you’llfindtheselectionabiteclectic—who,besidesme,remembersLittleRiverBand?
SongsthatfeltlikeWyatt:
“Iris”byGooGooDolls
“AMurderofOne”byCountingCrows
“TakeItEasyonMe”byLittleRiverBand