Summer Sunsets (6 page)

I grab her arm and pull her
to the surface, where I prop her still body against my chest and
backstroke to the shore on which the other girl, sobbing
hysterically, waits. I’m out of breath when I carry the girl to the
beach. I set her down amid the other girl’s screams, asking me if
her friend is okay.

“
I don’t know,” I tell her,
gritting my teeth as I wave her to silence so I can hear if her
friend is breathing. She’s not. “Damn it,” I mutter, lightly
tapping her face. “Hey, can you hear me?”

Nothing.

“
What’s her name?” I ask,
turning her friend on her side so I can thump her back to dislodge
anything blocking her airway.

“
Sam. She’s my best friend.
You gotta help her!”

I turn Sam back over. “Sam,
can you hear me?” I ask, lightly tapping her face.

Nothing. She’s still not
breathing.

In my peripheral vision, I
see Skye on the phone, calling for help as I begin compressions.
Water drips from my hair onto the girl’s soaked face. I count to
myself and breathe for her. No matter how much I don’t want to
think about this, it reminds me of Skye and that day. This girl is
probably right around the same age. No, she hadn’t made the same
choice, but does that matter? She’s here. She’s not breathing, and
I’m the only one tethering her spirit to this body.

I check to see if she’s
breathing. Stillness. I hear Skye tell the other girl, “He’s doing
everything he can. I promise.”

I begin another round of
compressions, counting in my head. My arms are starting to feel the
brunt of swimming and now this, but I won’t give up. I can’t. I
don’t know how many sets I complete before the sirens scream toward
us, telling me help is on the way. Skye embraces the blonde girl,
who never meant for any of this to happen, and I want is this girl
to be okay. I want it so badly, but things don’t always work the
way we want them to, no matter how desperately we try to make them
that way.

Another breath for her.
“Come on,” I gasp. “Don’t do this.” I can see the EMTs running this
way, but I keep going, hoping it will be enough. My eyes are
playing tricks on me and I keep thinking it’s Skye, even though I
know it isn’t. This is the beach, not the bedroom. The girl’s lying
in wet sand, not Skye’s bed. Yet no matter what I tell myself, my
mind sees what it wants, and I force myself to keep moving until an
EMT takes my place. I crumble onto the sand and try to catch my
breath. My arms are on fire, and for all I’ve done, the girl’s as
still as a stone.

“
Come on,” I whisper.
“Please.”

Suddenly she starts
coughing, and I feel my whole body collapsing into itself as she
starts coming around. It’s then I notice Skye walking up to me. She
sets her hands on my shoulder and gently squeezes. There are tears
in her eyes, and I know what she’s thinking, not that I have the
strength to talk about it. There are moments I wish I could forget,
but I know we’re all damned to remember things that hurt so much
and leave scars that never heal.

Ocean water drips from my
hair, and I close my eyes, wanting to slow the gallop of my heart.
I slowly get to my feet and walk toward Skye, my hand reaching for
hers as I lead her back to the pier to collect our poles and
whatnot. Neither of us says much, leaving the soft breeze across
the ocean to carry the conversation. More than once, I look down at
the two girls and feel a tightness in my chest as my mind skitters
among the possibilities. I used to be the optimist, but not
anymore.

More than once, Skye’s
fingers fumble, and she drops things I bend to retrieve. Her face
is flushed, and I can tell the gears in there are spinning on
overtime. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know where her
thoughts are—they’re with the elephant both of us are pretending we
can’t see.

“
You okay?” I ask softly,
staring at her, even though the sun is in my eyes, casting a golden
halo of light around her head.

“
Yeah,” she says carefully,
unwilling to look into my eyes. “Why?”

“
How long have I known you,
Skye?”

She doesn’t say anything as
we carry our stuff back to the house. Her gaze is fixed ahead, and
even though I could try to force her to talk, it wouldn’t do any
good, at least not until we get inside the house. So I don’t push.
I take the poles, set the hooks to the eyelets, and set them on the
porch before we slip into the house, where I unload my arms of the
tackle box and folding chair. Skye follows my lead. Once
unencumbered, she steps to the window and peers out at the beach,
her gaze drifting in the direction from which we’ve come as though
she’s still looking for the two teenagers we left
behind.

Frowning, I step up behind
her and linger there, wondering if she senses me. “So what’s up,
Skye?”

She lifts a hand and
touches the back of her neck, trying to ease the kinks there.
Without asking, I lift my hand and my fingers join hers, trying to
help. At the feel of my hand, she stiffens at first but gradually
relaxes as though accepting it’s just me. She knows that no matter
what, I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.

“
Skye?” I prompt, hoping
she’ll open up.

“
I was wondering if that was
what happened when I….” Her voice dies, and I know she can’t say
it. It’s been years, and she can’t. That’s part of the problem with
choices.
Sometimes they leave you speechless years after the event, and no
matter what you try to do to make things easier, some choices never
ease into manageable things.

I move my hand to her
shoulder and slowly turn her to face me. Her eyes are wide, her
lips parted, and the weight of the world seems to hang on me. I
have trouble speaking because I don’t want to hurt her, but with
that question, I’m not sure there’s a way around it. “Something
like that,” I manage. There’s no way to relay what those minutes
felt like when I didn’t know if she were going to live or die. How
could anyone explain that with words?

Sometimes there’s only the
sound of breath, the stutter of the heart, and the spin of the
clock’s hands. It’s the rush of emotions, the panic of knowing the
wrong things, and the emptiness of never having the right
ones.

She frowns. “I’ve tried to
recreate those moments I put you through hell because I figured it
was only fair, but I just couldn’t see it. Until today. You jumped
into the water for a stranger because you knew there was no one
else, and when you thought you were losing her, I could see the
pain on your face. But that was nothing compared to what I caused,
was it?”

“
It doesn’t matter, Skye.
The only thing that matters is you’re here. That’s all I care
about. That’s all I’ve ever cared about.” Although she struggles
for me not to embrace her, I don’t give her a chance to argue with
my arms. She’s in them, right where she belongs. Maybe it won’t
heal the past for either of us, but I believe that, given time, it
will be enough.

Chapter Six

The week seems to fly, but
I know that’s just because I don’t want it to end. I never want it
to end because of Skye, especially since we’ll both be driving back
to West Martin, Illinois, back to the town that seemed to tear us
apart in the first place. I know she’ll be glad to see her mom and
Warren, but I also know part of her won’t be able to forget the
past. I see it rising in her eyes when she gives me that distant
look. She’s been freer here, less guarded, but I sense all of that
is about to change, and I can’t blame her.

“
Are you all packed?” I ask,
looking at her car, which appears to be stuffed with all her
college belongings.

She, too, glances over at
the vehicle before nodding slowly. “Yeah. I think it’s all in
there. What about you?”

I give her a thumbs-up
gesture. “I’m ready, too.”

“
Then what are we waiting
for?” She settles her hands on her hips playfully, and I
shrug.

“
I was waiting on you,” I
tell her. I’m waiting on her in more ways than one, but I’m
definitely not going to say that.

“
Okay, I’ll follow you. Just
remember that I need to stop for some gas, okay?”

“
Sure. I’ll get us out of
traffic and find a place.” Both of us head to our vehicles, and I
give the house one last look, wondering when I’ll come back here.
It’s one of my favorite places in the world, maybe because the
memories I have of Skye here are safe and happy. Who
knows?

At any rate, I pull out and
check to make sure Skye is following. Then I start through town,
heading toward Illinois and home. I keep my cell in the seat, just
in case. My fingers touch it before moving on to the radio to break
the silence flowering in the cab of the truck. While I like
introspection, right now I really just want something to distract
me; otherwise, all I’ll do is think about the ring I want to give
Skye. I keep telling myself that it is a matter of timing feeling
all wrong. Trouble is, I’m not sure when it’s going to feel any
differently. You’d think it’d would be easy to tell my best friend
I’m so in love with her I want to spend the rest of my life with
her. Yet unless you know Skye, you have no clue just how easy that
isn’t.

The first gas station we
come to after most of the traffic has thinned out is half gas
station and half grocery store, neither side of which is especially
clean or appealing. I look in my rear-view mirror, wondering what
Skye will say. I don’t know how low she is on gas, so I tap my turn
signal and lurch into the parking lot, figuring if she really
objects to this place we can go somewhere else.

I look at my own gas gauge.
I could probably use a little, too, since it’s going to take more
than just this tank to get us home—it’s the curse of not driving
something more gas-efficient. I pull through the line to the second
pump so Skye can get to the first one. Getting out of the truck, I
straighten my shirt and look at her as we go inside to
pay.

“
I’ve got to use the
restroom,” she says, nodding to where a “Restrooms” sign hangs from
the ceiling.

“
I’m going to get something
to drink so I’ll wait for you,” I tell her, heading to the
refrigerator section. I’m thinking bottled water because a lot of
times the soda has a dirty taste if it’s been sitting on the shelf
too long, and considering how unappealing this place looks from the
outside, I’m willing to bet a lot of customers drive right past.
The whole judging-a-book-by-its-cover thing. Now I’m inside, I can
honestly say that if this were a book, I think it would need lots
of help.

I fiddle by the drinks,
thinking that if I waste enough time Skye will emerge from the
hallway leading out from the bathroom, but the storekeeper eyes me,
worried probably because I’m so tall and he’s not sure I’m not
going to rob the place blind. On the contrary, I’m not taking
anything more from here than the bottled water in my hand. I make
it two so Skye has something to drink on the road.

Out of the corner of my
eye, I see the outline of a guy standing in the hallway. I catch a
glimpse of Skye, her back plastered against the wall as the guy
leans towards her, way too close. I start to head that direction
when I hear the guy at the register yell, “Hey, you can’t take
those back there.”

Whirling, I shoot him a
glare and smack the two bottles on the shelf. I arch an eyebrow,
daring him to say something else. Instead, he rings up a biker in
black leather. When I step into the hallway, I notice the guy is
shorter than I am and he’s rubbing Skye’s wrist. The thinning hair
on the top of his head is a clue that he’s about twice her age,
meaning he has no business even coming around her. Skye’s eyes are
closed, and her face is a pasty white. She’s breathing
fast.

“
Get your damned hand off,”
I tell him, standing so close he actually bumps his head on the
hall shelf as he whirls to face me. He’s cocky, all right, from a
distance, but when he realizes I’m taller and pissed as hell, his
hand drops, and his shoulders slump slightly.

“
I didn’t mean nothing,” he
says, averting his gaze.

“
She didn’t ask you to touch
her.” I snap and look past him to Skye. Her eyes are closed, and I
figure she’s fighting to keep her breathing normal.

“
She didn’t tell me not
to.”

I step closer, my chest and
back taut with fury. “She shouldn’t have to. I could plow my fist
into your face with the excuse you didn’t tell me not
to.”

He scoots away. I step
toward Skye and gently touch her shoulder. She jumps, and her
eyelids flutter open.

“
Hey there. You okay?” I
whisper, my free hand curled into a fist I would love to slam
across that jerk’s face—not that I believe it would help. Some
people are beyond that, really, they are.

“
I’m sorry,” she whispers,
averting her gaze.

“
For what? Attracting a jerk
who should know better? How’s that your fault, exactly?”

Without warning, she slips
forward and embraces me, resting her head against my chest. I’m
sure she can hear the rapid pounding of my heart, and I’m willing
to bet she’ll think that has to do with almost getting into a
fight, but it’s about being so furious with that jerk I can’t see
straight. Yet the moment she folds into me, all I can think about
is holding onto her for as long as I can, so I gently wrap my arms
around her and lean my head atop hers.