Our Song (6 page)

Chapter Seven

Becca

I stretch my arms out, and roll over a bit, not wanting to open my eyes yet. I lay there listening, but I’m confused. I swear I hear David Tennant talking, which would mean that
Doctor Who
has been playing for at least nine hours since I fell asleep last night. But why didn’t Asher turn it off? Did he fall asleep out here too?

My eyes shoot open, trying to assess the situation. I’m still wearing the clothes I was in yesterday, which means I still stink like the bonfire. But there’s a blanket draped over me now. I look over my shoulder at the TV, and sure as shootin’ there’s the tenth Doctor on the screen. It’s obvious that Asher isn’t on the love seat with me anymore, as I’m laying all the way down, so where is he?

I roll all the way over, and there he is, perched in a chair, watching the television. There are bags under his eyes, and his hair is all mussed up, but he otherwise seems rather entranced. “Did you stay up all night?”

He practically jumps out of his skin when I speak, turning to look at me, and I start to laugh. “It’s not funny, Becca! You just scared the ever-loving crap out of me!”

I try to stop laughing, but I just can’t! “It is too funny! And you didn’t answer my question.”

He gives me the evil eye, but I can tell he’s holding in a smile. “Yes, I stayed up all night. You made me start watching this stupid show…and then I couldn’t stop! This is the first episode of season two.”

What?!
I can’t believe he’s still watching it! Asher has always given me crap for watching this show, and now he’s watched an entire season? Without me making him do it? I smile. “I know what episode it is. I’m the one who’s addicted to this show, remember?”

“How come you didn’t tell me it was so addicting?”

“Well, you see, I have told you it was addicting. Lots of times. Just like I tell
everyone
that it’s addicting. It’s just that most people don’t listen to me.”

“Umm…I guess you’re right. I promise to never doubt your choice of television show ever again,” he says, crossing his heart with his right index finger.

“You know, you could have woken me up when I fell asleep, and I would have gone to bed.”

“I know. But you looked so peaceful when you fell asleep, I just couldn’t wake you up. So after the third episode was over, I threw the blanket from the back of the love seat over you, and moved out from under you as smoothly as I could so I wouldn’t wake you up.”

It’s moments like these that I wonder what I
ever
saw in Trip. I mean, yeah, he was easy on the eyes, with his blonde hair, green eyes, and a body built by hard work. And he seemed to have lots of friends, and played sports. But I’m having a hard time remembering him even once doing something for me without having some ulterior motive behind it. And Asher, who I’m not even dating, brought nacho cheese for my popcorn, on the off chance that we
might
watch a movie while we were up here, and he sang one of my favorite songs with me last night, and he let me sleep here on the love seat while he sat on a not-so-comfy chair the rest of the night and watched a show that I made him watch. He is being way too nice to me. Maybe it’s time I do something for him.

“I need to change into something that doesn’t smell like smoke first, but what would you say to an omelet and some hash browns? My treat.”

Asher’s eyes pop wide open, but then a huge grin splits his face. “You know I can never say no to your cooking. While you’re working on breakfast, I’ll clean up our mess down here from last night.” I wish I could make Asher smile like that all the time. It feels good.

-----

Asher

After I clean up all of our trash from last night, I grab the dirty dishes and carry them back up the stairs. I know Becca’s sister is already awake somewhere, because she went upstairs about an hour before Becca finally woke up. But when I get to the top of the stairs, I realize I hadn’t once thought about our parents being around since Becca and I left the campfire last night.

Now, all four of our parents are sitting at the big dining room table, reading the newspaper or checking their phones, while eating various breakfast foods—muffins, bagels, fruit, toast, cereal—and they each have a cup of coffee. But none of them are eating anything that actually had to be cooked. Becca is already over in the kitchen chopping a green pepper, while keeping an eye on the bacon that’s sizzling in a pan on the stove. It smells heavenly. As I walk by the table to bring our dishes from last night to the sink, my mom looks over at me with her eyebrows raised and a smile on her face. I quirk my eyebrows back up at her, not willing to say anything. She continues to smile, but shakes her head, and goes back to reading the newspaper.

I quietly say to Becca, “This smells amazing already. Is there anything I can help you with? I'm more than happy to chip in.”

She smiles at me, and I swear my heart stops for a minute. The longer we are here, the more the old Becca seems to be making her way up to the surface. And maybe I can help continue to make that happen.

“Well, if you could grate some of that cheese there into a bowl for me, that would be awesome.”

“I can handle shredding some cheese. Your wish is my command. Where can I find a cheese grater?”

“Right there in the drawer directly in front of you. Could you grab me the second grater in there too?”

“I’m on it. But what do you need it for if I’m already shredding the cheese?” I ask, handing her a grater.

“We didn’t bring any frozen hash browns with us yesterday, so I’m going to shred a couple of our potatoes.”

“I don’t
need
hash browns Becca. That’s a lot of work.”

She smiles at me again, and I can’t help but smile back. “That’s okay. I want to do it.”

Well how can I say no to that?

After shredding the cheese, I start a sink of dishwater, and start to do the dishes we’ve already dirtied. As I sink the first few dishes into the water, my dad walks up and sets his plate and coffee mug next to the sink. Practically whispering, he asks, “Washing the dishes? Without being told to?”

I glance over at him, and he’s wearing a mischievous look on his face. I don’t say anything to him, but I stick my tongue out at him. I know it’s a childish thing to do, but just because I’m eighteen doesn’t mean I’m done being my father’s son. He just smiles and nods, turning back toward the dining table.

“Well, ladies and gents, seeing as my son has so graciously volunteered to wash the breakfast dishes, and Becca is taking care of their breakfast, why don’t the rest of us head out onto the water and see if we can’t catch something for our supper tonight?”

Before anyone can answer, Becca asks, “Where’s Olivia?”

Amy looks up at Becca, like she’s surprised she asked. “She’s already laying out on the beach. But she’ll be coming with us when we go out on the water, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I look back over at Becca, who has the most adorable blush creeping onto her cheeks. “I was just wondering, that’s all. I hadn’t seen her at all this morning.”

I don’t think her mom believes her, if the look she’s giving Becca has anything to say about it, but she leaves it alone. “Well, then, I agree with Robert, let’s head out.” All of our parents get up and bring their dishes over to me, with great big smiles on their faces. Amy is the last one to come over. She leans in, and whispers in my ear, “Take care of my baby girl.” I turn my face toward hers, shocked at the words she’s just spoken to me. She has a sad smile on her face, which confuses me even more. Then I realize she must be as worried about Becca as I am, after what happened with Trip. I wonder if her mom knows more about why Becca finally broke it off with him. I close my mouth, and look at her seriously, then nod once, to show I understand. Her smile grows a little less sad, and she mouths
thank you
to me.

Well, if her own mother is willing to trust me with caring for Becca, then maybe I should make a point to take care of her. I mean, here she is, taking care of me, making me a delicious, hearty breakfast, when I could have just had a bowl of cereal, or a bagel, like everyone else. And I can start right now.

“What else can I do to help you, Becca?”

She’s moving back and forth between watching the omelets in their pans, and turning over the hash browns. “Nothing really. Unless you want to take out the plates, forks, ketchup, and pour us each a glass of orange juice.”

“I can do that.” I start opening cupboards and drawers, looking for everything we need so I don’t need to bother her again. I quickly set up our plates, forks, and glasses on the breakfast bar, then head to the fridge for the ketchup and orange juice. I look back over at Becca, but she’s in her own little cooking world. Right before I open the door, I see the cheese, milk, and eggs are all still on the counter. Without asking, I just grab all of them up, and put them back in the fridge, hoping she doesn’t need them anymore, then take the juice and ketchup to the breakfast bar as well.

I can see the omelets are almost done, so I grab both our plates and walk them over to the stove. Becca must sense me behind her, because she turns to look at me. “I thought I’d bring the plates over so you could just slide them right out of the pan onto the plate.”

She smiles as she says, “Thank you.” She reaches for the omelet on the back burner. “This one’s yours.” I hold a plate out for her, and once she moves the most perfect omelet I’ve ever seen from the pan to my plate, I set it down on the counter, holding out the other one.

“You mean they’re different?”

“Yes. Yours has one more egg than mine. And something else.”

Hmm… “What is this something else that I have in mine that you don’t have in yours?”

She doesn’t look at me as she slides her omelet onto her plate. “I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

I’m not sure what’s going on here, but I decide to leave it alone. I trust Becca, so whatever extra is in my omelet can’t be too bad.

She wipes her hands on the towel hanging from the oven, then grabs the pan of hash browns and carries it over to our plates. “Tell me when.”

When she’s put almost exactly half of them on my plate, I say, “When.”

“Smart Alec,” she responds, sticking her tongue out at me.

“Umm, that would be ‘Smart Asher’, Becca.”

“Oh, just be quiet,” she says, swatting her hand through the air. At least she’s still smiling for me.

I take my seat, and wait for Becca to put the pan back on the stove and sit down. She pours a ridiculous amount of ketchup all over her hash browns before handing the bottle to me. “Would you like a little hash browns with your ketchup, ma’am?” I smirk at her. I love stirring her up.

“You know better than to ask that question. The answer is always yes.”

As I put a little ketchup on my hash browns, I watch her dig into her omelet. She closes her eyes, and breathes deeply, and a small moan escapes her. Well, if it’s that good, I guess I don’t care what she added to mine. I dig into my own food, putting the first bite in my mouth. “Mushrooms! You added mushrooms to mine, didn’t you?”

She finishes swallowing before answering. “Yes. You and my father are the only two people in the world that I know who like mushrooms, I swear. So when I saw my parents brought some with, I snuck a few into your omelet.”

“Seriously, Becca, this is amazing. I could eat this all day, every day, and never get sick of it.” I take a bite of my hash browns and my eyes open wide. “What did you add to these? They’re fantastic!”

“That’s for me to know, and you to maybe find out. It’s a secret. Not even my family knows. They just know they like it.”

“Well, I’ll have to find a way to get it out of you. But for now, I’m too hungry, and enjoying this food far too much, to care.”

Chapter Eight

Asher

After we finish eating, we work together to finish up the rest of the dishes and clean up the kitchen.

“So, mister I-lost-two-games-in-a-row. What are we playing next?” Becca asks as she finishes rinsing the dish rag.

“Why don’t we take this outside,” I say, hoping I can win the game I am about to suggest.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking we could play a friendly game of corn hole.”

Becca sort of jumps up and down, clapping her hands. This is the most excited I’ve seen her all weekend. Even more than when we were singing around the campfire last night. “I love corn hole! Although, I have to admit, I’m not very good at it.”

“Well, all the better for me then. I’d like to win
something
this week.”

“Since you’re probably going to win this game, then I’d better hear what it is that you’re playing for.”

I have a few things in mind, but I’m thinking we should work our way up to those things. I don’t want to scare her off.

“If I win this game of corn hole, you have to answer three questions of my choosing. No matter what I ask, you must answer it.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I hold my breath.

She’s looking at me skeptically, probably weighing what she thinks I might ask her about. I wonder if she’ll agree to this, because she has no idea what I have planned to ask her.

“Alright…but if I win, I want the same thing.”

“Well, well, well. It looks like somebody is stepping up to the plate.”

“What can I say? This game playing is getting serious. And I might as well ask for what I want, just in case I do win.”

Huh?
“What are you saying? That you haven’t been asking for what you really want?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

Oh, this game is
so
on.

-----

Becca

I practically drag Asher down to the shed where all the lawn games, extra paddles, and life jackets are stored. I really do love playing corn hole. I remember when my parents built our corn hole games. Literally, they made them by hand, boards, saws, and all. My mom even hand sewed the corn bags. I thought my parents were spending too much time and money on some stupid game that only a two-year-old would be amused to play, but my feelings changed after the first game they forced me to play. I was totally hooked. It's been a favorite family game ever since.

The funny thing is, I'm actually pretty bad at it, which is okay by me because it is so much more than just trying to throw a bag into a hole. The social aspect of the game is my favorite part. “Alright, rules of the game.” Asher claps his hands once, then rubs his hands together. “A corn bag in the hole is worth three points. A corn bag resting on the platform is worth one point. Since we are not playing doubles, we will only use one corn hole platform, and pitch from the same direction each time. We will play cancellation scoring. Do you know what that is?”

As if I don’t know what cancellation scoring is. Does he think I’ve been living under a rock? “Duh. It means that if you score six points in a round, and I score nine, only three points are added to my score; your six points cancel out my first six points.”

“Sorry,” he says, glancing away from me, a sly smile creeping onto his face, rubbing the back of his neck. “Anyway. We alternate turns pitching the bag. We’ll alternate who pitches first each round. We play to twenty-one points. Do you agree to these rules?” Asher asks.

“All but one. Instead of alternating who pitches first, I say we follow the official rules, and the person who won the previous round pitches first.”

“Sounds good to me, I guess. But I just have one question.” He pauses for effect. “Do you really know all of the
official
rules?” he asks, grinning like a cat about to catch the mouse.

“Save your questions for after the game. If you win, that is.”

Jeeze!
I don’t know who put a quarter in me, but I feel like I am on fire with the comebacks today! Honestly, I haven’t felt this good in…well, in a very long time.

“Oh I’ll win. Don’t you worry about that. Do you want to rock paper scissors to figure out who pitches first this first round?”

“That’s ok. You pitch first, since it’s your game.”

“Well then, let’s get started!” Asher says, rubbing his hands together. He seems really keen on winning this one. I wonder what kind of questions Asher has in mind to ask me if he wins. A part of me wants to let him win, just to find out. But another part of me is terrified that he’ll win, and he’ll ask questions that I’m not sure I’m willing to answer. I guess all I can do is play my best, and see what happens.

-----

Asher

We seriously have been playing corn hole for almost an hour now. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to play cancellation scoring. I would have had 21 points a long time ago.

“I told you I was terrible at this game. If I could get my bags into the freaking hole, I would have won already!” Becca exclaims. The thing is, though, despite not being able to get her bags actually into the hole, she is excellent at knocking my corn bags off the platform…right along with her own.

However, I can’t complain too much. Becca won’t let me ask her any questions, since that’s what one of us is going to win, but we’ve been having a nice chat while we’ve been playing.

“You’re not terrible. And if you hadn’t noticed, I haven’t won yet either. If you would stop knocking my corn bags off…”

“Like I’m going to let you win so easily,” she spits back, but she has a smile on her face, so I know she’s joking. I think.

I walk over and pick up our corn bags to bring them back to the line we’re pitching from when I hear Becca scream. I whip around, trying to figure out what she’s freaked out about. Pure terror is on her face, but I don’t immediately see anything that would make her so scared.

“What is it Becca? What’s wrong?” But before she can answer me, I hear it. I look down at the ground, and finally spot it. A water snake is slithering towards Becca, and she is frozen where she is standing. “Becca! Move away from it!” But she’s not listening to me. I see the small shovel lying next to the fire pit, the one we use to put sand on top of the hot coals to make sure it is put out. I run over there, grab it, and run towards the snake, turning the shovel sideways so that the sharp edge is up and down. With two quick hacks, I have mostly severed the snake’s head from its body, and I take a deep breath. I look up at Becca, and she is still in the same spot she was when she first saw the snake.

“I…I…I can’t believe you just did that!”

That’s what she’s choosing to focus on right now? “Becca, are you all right? It didn’t bite you or anything before I got back over here, did it?”

She shakes her head. “No. No. I’m fine. But even though it’s already dead, do you think you could get rid of it? I won’t be able to stop thinking about it until it’s out of my sight.”

Oookay. Where on earth am I going to put this thing?
“Do you think you’ll be alright if I toss it into the lake? I promise to take it all the way out to the end of the dock, and throw it as far as I can away from shore.”

I notice a silent shudder, but she quietly says, “Alright. I think that would be ok.”

I carefully pick up the snake, using the shovel. I hold it out and away from me as I walk down to the dock. When I get to the end of it, I turn back, facing the cabin, and Becca. I count to three in my head, and send that thing flying, over my right shoulder…and by that thing, I guess I mean the snake and the shovel. I’ll add that to the list of things I need to buy if Becca and I go into town tomorrow.

As I walk back toward the cabin, I keep my eyes on Becca, trying to figure out if she’s really okay, or if she needs to go inside and sit down or something. When I’m about forty feet away from her, she suddenly bursts out laughing. I stop dead. Is she losing her mind?

“Becca?”

She can hardly talk between her bursts of laughter, but she does: “I—you threw—the shovel is in the lake!”

I roll my eyes and start walking towards her again. I can hear her laughing, but I see her shaking. She's not fooling me. That shaking is not laughter shaking. It's full on fear. Something about that snake really got to her and she's using the laughter to convince herself she is okay. When I reach her, I carefully grab her by both shoulders, and point her body towards mine. She stops laughing, but I can tell she’s trying very hard to hold it in, because she’s pinching her lips in between her teeth. “Seriously. Are you going to be alright?” Her body starts shaking with the laughter still stuck inside her, but she still hasn’t answered me, so I move my hands from her shoulders to both sides of her face. She immediately stops shaking and gasps. “Becca, I need you to tell me, out loud, that you’re okay.”

She slowly moves her right hand to cover my left. When she finally speaks, it’s hardly above a whisper. “I’ll be alright. But do you think you could hold me for a minute? I know the snake is gone, but I’m having trouble convincing the rest of my body.”

My arms move around her so quickly, I’m afraid I might have scared her even more. But she just rests the side of her face against my chest, eyes closed, taking a deep breath. After a few moments, Becca cautiously moves her arms around my waist and hugs me.

I can’t help myself, even if she is awake and will know I did it this time. I lean my face toward the crown of her head, and press my lips to her hair. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t say or do anything. She just continues to hug me, and let me hold her.

I don’t know how long we stand here like this, but out of nowhere we hear a wolf whistle. Becca gasps, and lets go of me, but she doesn’t pull away. I look back toward the water, and there are our families, climbing out of the boat onto the dock. I hadn’t even heard the motor when they pulled up to the dock. Neither did Becca, if her reaction was any indication. I turn, shifting so I have one arm behind Becca’s back, and my other arm free.

Trying to make this situation seem a little less awkward, I ask, “Did you catch us some dinner? Or are we going to have to find something in the fridge?”

Our parents all laugh, “Who do you think you’re talking to?” my dad asks. “I caught enough fish for two meals!”

When Olivia jumps out of the boat, she races across the beach, up the yard, and right up to Becca. “Can I talk to you for a minute, Becca? Inside?”

“Sure, Livvie, I’ll be right in.” I remove my arm from Becca’s shoulders so she can follow her sister, but before she walks inside, she stands up on her tiptoes, her hand on my shoulder to help hold her up, and whispers in my ear, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that our game isn’t finished. I still want to win…and, thank you.”

Well, if killing snakes can’t even keep her mind from forgetting she wants me to answer some questions for her, maybe I should just let her win. I mean, how bad could they be?