I kick my feet in the cold ocean water and open my eyes for a fraction of a second before the sunlight blinds me, and I shut them again. The glare is still strong and heating my skin, deepening the tan that has built from my hours outside. The dock presses against my back, but the wood is smooth and soft from age, so I meld into it. My hand moves over the slats, and I trace the familiar texture. I will never tire of this dock. So much has happened here, been revealed here.
Pain and truth, yes, but it’s also a place where friendship and love have been solidified.
Maine has become my place of healing and stability.
A breeze rushes across my body, and I inhale deeply, taking in the strong salty air. Late August here on Frenchman Bay in Bar Harbor, Maine, has brought ideal weather with sunny days tinged by a crispness that tells me fall will be here soon.
I kick the water harder. For a moment, a sense of melancholy washes over me. Fall means that Chris’s brother Eric and their sister, Estelle, will return to Matthews College for their senior year, and my brother, James, will go back to Colorado for his. The twins should have graduated last spring, but both changed majors and had to register for additional required courses. I hate that they’re leaving soon because this summer has been a dream. The Shepherd siblings, my brother, and I have been under one roof, all safe, all finding peace.
So, I brush my brief sadness away. I really can’t complain about anything.
My calm reflections on peace, however, are short-lived when I am suddenly doused in icy water.
“Sabin!” I scream, throwing my hands in front of my face way too late to stop the deluge of water that soaks me. When I wipe my eyes enough to see, I sit and look up. “You’re a prick!”
But I can’t help laughing, even while shivering from the shock of the chill. Also, the swim trunks he’s wearing are covered in sock-monkey prints, and that does nothing to lessen my laughter.
“You’re a prick!” I scream again.
“But you love me anyway.” Setting down a large plastic bucket, Sabin smiles broadly with a bit more pride at his stealthy attack than I’d like to see.
I do my best to glare at him.
“Say you love me anyway!” he demands. “Say it!”
I stick out my tongue and reach for my nearby towel.
Sabin gets to it before I do and holds it above his head. “Lady Blythe McGuire,” he says all too seriously, “I suggest you say that you love me anyway, or this towel is going to sleep with the fishes!” He waves it around in the air. “Like a tragic victim of a mafioso vendetta!”
I stand and start to jump up and down in a desperate attempt to grab it, but I’m no match for Sabin’s height or his incessant giggling. “Fine. I give up. I cave! I’ll say it! I love you anyway.”
He cups a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry. What? Once more—with feeling.”
“Sabin! I’m freezing!” I say, laughing. “I love you anyway! Sincerely! With as much feeling as a very cold person can muster!”
“Victory!” he hollers, lowering the towel.
I go to take hold of it, but he lands it on my head, covering my face, and then he wraps a big arm around me so that I can’t move. I feel him furiously rubbing the top of my head while I giggle and try to squirm free.
“I’m going to kill you,” I mutter through my laughter.
“You poor thing,” he says. “Sopping wet! Bitterly cold! Your moment of sunny solitude interrupted so callously! Who would do such a thing? Let’s dry you off.”
He starts rubbing the towel over my face and then drops it to my back so that I’m pinned between it and him as he wildly yanks it back and forth, spinning me from side to side. These days, he’s much too strong for me to even think about getting free, so I accept that I’m basically putty in his hands until he’s had his fill of goofiness.
Finally, he stops, and I dizzily look at him.
“Sabin?”
“Yes, my lady?”
“I see two of you.”
“Lucky girl!” He leans his forehead down against mine. “Oh, whatever shall you do with two Sabins?”
“I can barely handle one.”
Sabin wipes the towel over my cheek. “Missed a spot.”
