We haven’t talked much about Cousin Jimmy since we got here, but my mother’s unspoken familiarity with the community is unnerving. She knows this area inside and out, taking back roads and mentioning long-gone places.
“No secret,” she says, pushing her glasses to the top of her head and rubbing her eyes. “I just grew up and grew apart from these people. When Mama and Daddy died I didn’t have a reason to visit. I had you and your father and this career…”
She trails off and she absently rubs her chest. I decide to probe a little further. “But now?”
“I remembered hearing the tales about Gaskins from the older cousins as a kid and I thought it would make an interesting story. There’s nothing sinister going on, Summer.”
“It’s weird finding out you have family I never knew about, that’s all I’m saying.”
“I know, and I just never thought it was a big deal. It wasn’t exactly a secret, just part of my life I’d moved away from.” She looks guilty enough admitting that, so I let it go.
We’re on the drive home when she says, “Speaking of secrets, when are you going to tell me what happened at the end of the school year?”
I look out the window at the passing fields and ramshackle farms. “There’s not much to tell. I just wanted a fresh start—get away from everyone after four years of same-old-same-old.”
“From France? You really expect me to believe that?” I glance at her but say nothing. “You worked so hard for that trip.”
Tears build in my eyes and I keep my face turned away. I did work hard for that trip. I had to apply for a scholarship through the school. I put together a presentation and wrote an essay. I babysat, worked weekends, and saved for the past three years. Unfortunately, even though I worked hard, I worked harder getting into a relationship with a totally-off-limits guy. I suck thetears back and say, “I know. I realized it was just too far away. I want to be here now. Maybe next year I’ll be ready.”
I barely get the words out. If my mother knew how deep I’d gotten in this relationship. If she knewwhoI’d gotten in a relationship with…
She can’t ever know. No one can.
My mother must sense my panic because she lets it go, neither of us ready to spill our secrets.
The gravelin the lot crunches beneath my tires and I pull the SUV into the empty lot. It’s early, barely after six, and I’d laid awake for an hour, unable to go back to sleep before finally changing into exercise clothes and driving over the bridge to the beach.
It’s cool out and I zip my hoodie mid-chest and walk down the path to the beach. The fresh air and isolated shore reenergize me. Not gonna lie, the cramped quarters of the camper had started to get to me and just feeling the sand between my toes and the salty breeze makes me feel better.
I set my sights on the pier, which I estimate is about a mile away and start walking, willing the thoughts that ran through my head all night to go away.
Here’s the thing, I’m eighteen, I’m allowed to make mistakes. I’m allowed to do stupid things like fall in love with the wrong guy, who I was convinced, at the time, was the perfect guy.
Mason’s smart. Wise. Talented. Handsome in a hipstery-geek kind of way. He likes good music. Good food. Artsy films. Everything every other boy in my school has zero interest in. He also has the gift of reaching out to people and making them feel good about themselves. He did this to me, and even now I don’tdoubt his genuineness. From the first time I saw him I knew there was a spark. I didn’t care if he was off limits. Or that we were playing with fire. He made me feel good and at that point, feeling good about myself was important. Because most of the time I felt like crap.
Having a famous mother is hard. Having an absentee father is worse. It was well known that Summer, the mature, responsible daughter would do the right thing. People loved to discuss my maturity. The fact I could talk to adults. That I was polite and gracious and helpful. I could cook my own dinner, do my own laundry. Pay for my own trip to France.
I was also lost. Struggling. Lonely.
But Mason? Mason made that better.
He was there for me…until he wasn’t.
He was my rock…until he slipped away like quicksand.
And I miss him. God, I miss him but there’s no way I could stay back home. No freaking way I could go on that trip and be so close to him but not be with him.
I wipe the tears off my face and step onto the boardwalk that leads to the pier. I’ve walked this whole way, wallowing in my misery. I pad down the wooden slats, passing the edge of the sandy beach until I’m walking over the crashing waves and then on to the deeper water. Out here it’s quiet, away from the waves pounding on sand, just the rolling dark water and the sun peeking over the edge of the water. I spot a cluster of surfers way out past the pier and think how nice it would be to be that free.
At the end, I lean over the railing and let the wind dry the tears on my face. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I came on this trip to forget about him. To move on. Not cry like a baby every damn day.
“Hey,” a deep voice says next to me. “You okay?”
I look over at the man next to me. He’s a mix, really, part boy and part man, his face innocent, but his body large and muscular—an athlete’s build. His nose is a golden brown and it matches the rest of his skin. He has no hair, it’s shorn close to his head. Bright green eyes watch me carefully.
“I’m fine,” I say, not wanting to talk to anyone, much less a stranger. “I’m just, you know, having a pity-party of one over here.”
I notice the camera hanging around his neck. He holds it up and takes a few shots of the sunrise, then the surfers, before lowering it again.
