“What is this?” I ask, talking about the two of us sharing a shower. I hold my hand up to his chest but stop short of actually touching him. He catches it in his own as I drop it to my side.
“I don’t know.” His eyes drop to my lips and then my chest and back up. I can see a hint of playfulness but something else, too. Confusion? Possibly, but then again, maybe that’s just what I’m feeling.
He drops my hand and turns around, getting a face full of water. With a glance backward and a smile he says, “You better turn around if you don’t want to get flashed. I gotta get rid of all this sand.”
I’m not sure what his game is, but he never really makes a move. Instead of hanging around for things to get complicated, I grab my towel and clean clothes off the hook. I dart out the squeaky door, but not before I hear him say, “Thanks for the shower.”
Fireworksover the ocean are the highlight of my summer vacation. The local business association puts on a display from the end of the pier, and although they aren’t as grand as other shows I’ve seen back home, overall, it is a perfect night.
Strangely, the shower broke the ice between me and Justin. We relaxed back into the easy relationship we’d had before things heated up between us. We eat dinner side by side, laughing at the stories Bobby tells about past Fourth of Julys. Apparently when he was fifteen, Justin singed his eyebrows on a roman candle.
“I still have a scar,” he says, leaning over for everyone to see.
He shares his non-crappy beer with me. He and the others tell stories about how afraid of the water I am, about how skittish I was when I got here and a million other tales about Summer that pulls me in and makes me one of their own.
There seems to be an unspoken agreement between the guys to give Justin the night to work through his emotions. They don’t ignore me but they’ve given us space to reconnect. From the outside it would look like I was here with him, and when thefireworks start he doesn’t hesitate to pull me into his lap and share his blanket.
I don’t know what’s louder. The fireworks or my heart.
Once it’s time to leave, my mother finds me at the car. “I’ll meet you at the Waffle Hut at nine,” my mom says, giving me a hug and a kiss. She’s going to Richard’s for the night. She doesn’t say so and really, I’d rather not hear it out loud. We’re close, but that’s closer than I want to be.
“Alright, Mom, see you in the morning.”
Mom gives Justin a hug also and then it’s just the two of us standing by my SUV in the driveway.
“Thank you for sharing the night with me,” I say. “That’s the best Fourth I’ve ever had.” A sort of wistful smile appears and he pulls me into a hug. He smells clean but salty, like the ocean never fully washes away. His fingers are still linked in mine and I hope he kisses me. I want him to kiss me. For a tiny beat, when he stares at my mouth, I think he may do it, but he steps back and shoves his hands in his pockets. I’m rocked by disappointment.
When I get home, I find the campground is having fireworks of their own, small ones, down on the water’s edge. I change into my pajamas and turn off the lights. From my bed, I watch the colorful shadows through tiny windows.
I had just enough beer at the party to get spacey, so I jump when I hear a knock on the door. My mother’s story and the encounter with Mason feels fresh enough for me to peek out the window before even considering opening the door. All I can see is a shadow in the decorative lights strung around the canopy. No way I’m opening the door. I’m searching for a weapon when I hear, “Summer, open up, it’s me.”
I freeze on the bed; well, everything except my heart. It’s pounding like a drum.
Justin knocks again and calls my name.
“Hold on,” I tell him, momentarily pacing around the trailer trying to calm my nerves. Ultimately, when I open the door, I’m more pissed from being scared to death than anything else. “What the hell, Justin? You scared the shit out of me.”
“Can I come in?”
“Haven’t we done this already?” I jerk my thumb toward the bathroom. “I don’t think we’ll both fit in there.”
I can tell he’s about to argue when I hear laughter from the boardwalk. Lucky for him, I don’t want anyone to see him hanging around outside. Not with the way these people gossip. “Get in here.”
He squeezes through the door, too big for the space. Too big to avoid. When we’re both inside I ask, “It’s been a long day, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“You already said that once tonight. Try something new.” There’s only one small lamp on in the camper and it’s hard to make out his expression.
“I don’t, Summer. I don’t know what to do.” He grimaces. “I promised myself I’d never do this—get involved with someone who broke the rules. My rules about violence and cheating. That’s the reason I agreed to the Pact with the guys in the first place.”
“Are you really here to remind me of all the horrible things I’ve done? If so, I’m not really into that. I’d rather go back to bed than hear about why I ruined our relationship. Again.”
“Just,” he starts, resting his hands on both my shoulders, “listen. I need you to listen to me. You broke my cardinal rule, but you’re everything I ever wanted, right here, dropped in my small-ass town like a miracle. But…”
“I’m not perfect.”
He looks at the floor. “No one is…”
