“Really?”
“Yeah. I downloaded it on my phone after my first few drinks with him.” I shrugged. “I don’t know, I was curious. And I’ve been thinking about how I used to read a lot when I was younger. I wasn’t a great student, but my library card got a lot of use. I fell out of the habit somewhere along the way.” If the next phase of my life was going to be less relentless, with its hippie folk music and its lack of punishing world tours, I intended to acquire the habit again.
“How was it?”
“It was great, actually. It really made me think, and it was just a good story—a page-turner.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“What? Why?”
She looked around as we mounted her porch and gestured me inside before saying, “Because he’s such a jerkface.”
I chuckled. “I think he’s just insecure.”
“I think you might be right. I feel bad I misjudged him.”
“Well, he does come off as a jerk, and you can’t be everyone’s psychologist. Just mine.” I winked. “But if Jack knows we’re sleeping together and hasn’t said anything yet, I think our secret is probably safe.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter who knows. I’m gone tomorrow.”
“Right.”
Right.
As I watched her disappear into her bathroom, I started to… I didn’t even know. What was this strange fluttery feeling in my stomach?
I was nervous. I’d felt like this in the early years of Concrete Temple, when we’d started leveling up from dive bars to small concert venues, and then again in a bigger way when we graduated to arenas. Stage fright.
I told myself that was ridiculous. It was just Gretchen. We were old hands at this by now. We knew each other’s bodies. There was no performance anxiety. She was, frankly, easy to get off. And she really did it for me, too.
It was going to be strange not to have her around.
“You know that song ‘Moon River’?” she asked as she emerged from the bathroom holding a hairbrush. She made a game show hostess gesture to a cascade of moonlight angling in through her window.
“Look at that, we’ve got our own moon river.”
She shimmied out of her swimsuit, and she stood and wrapped her towel around herself, securing it under one armpit. I did the same, tying my towel around my waist—and then I shocked the hell out of myself by holding my hands out and saying, “Dance with me.”
I’d shocked the hell out of her, too, judging by the face she shot me.
I moved into the moonbeam. “Come on.” I started humming “Moon River.”
“You are such a weirdo.”
She came into my arms, though, and rested her head on my chest. I switched from humming to singing as I got to the line “Wherever you’re going, I’m going your way.” Ironic, given that this was our last night.
“What do you think a ‘huckleberry friend’ is?” she asked after I was done.
“I don’t know, but it sounds good.” I ran through the lyrics in my head. “Maybe a friend you go on an adventure with? A friend you can roam free with?”
“Like a camp friend. Remember Marion talking about that?”
“Yeah.” Thoughcamp friendfelt like not a strong enough designation for us—if in fact she was implying we were camp friends.
We kept swaying even though the song was done. That was the nice thing about dancing in the moonlight to imaginary music—you could do it as long as you wanted to.
“You know,” she said, her voice muffled against my chest, “at some point I started thinking of you as my camp boyfriend.”
