“Do you have somewhere you want to go?”
He shrugged. “Anywhere, I guess.”
He closed his eyes and lifted his chin like a dog stretching into the sun while I took more pictures. I liked the way the sun glittered on the water and made it look like a lit sparkler. The way Petey sliced his feet through the air like he was on ice skates as he plummeted to the water. The way the tips of Laurel’s hair floated on the surface and surrounded her like she wore a crown. If there weren’t people around, it might’ve made for more aesthetic photos, but the messy scenes most accurately captured thefeelingof it. The start of summer and all the endless potential in the lengthening days.
With the camera, I felt outside of myself. Like I could exist in the present and still know I was making memories. The camera filtered the afternoon in sepia tones. It was one of those rare, perfect instances when I knew I was living in a moment I’d always remember while it was still happening.
The timer was running on our life here. Dad would leave, and then so would we. Maybe we’d follow him a little while, but eventually school and money would get in the way and we’d have to stay behind someplace that he’d promise to visit and then never would. I wouldn’t have lazy Saturdays by the lake much longer, but with pictures, I could take it with me.
I was playing with the zoom when Ethan’s shoulder nudged its way into the frame.
“How many freckles do you have on your arms?” I asked, zooming in and out. “Some of your moles aren’t even moles. They’re, like, clusters of freckles.”
“Dunno.” Without warning, he collapsed to the ground like a rag doll. “Count them. I’ll wait.”
The goofiness of this boy belly-flopping to the ground caught me so off guard that the spit-laugh I tried to hide from new people sputtered out from between my teeth. Ethan smiled like it pleased him to elicit something so embarrassing from me. I always figured there were only so many kinds of smiles, but I’d never seen a smile exactly like Ethan’s. I wanted to take a picture of it again.
“I’m not sure I could count them if I tried. It’s destined to be one of the great mysteries of the universe.”
“I hope there’s more out there to discover than my freckles.” He sat back up. “I like that you’re a girl Charley. The only one I know is the guy who owns the hardware store, but he mostly goes by Chuck.”
“My dad says I was named after portrait artist Chuck Close, but I don’t think that’s actually true. No one’s ever called me that at least.”
“Okay, now Ionlywanna call you Chuck.”
It was hard to explain what happened next. It was as though the air shifted. Something passed between us that seemed real enough to hold in my hands, like I’d look back later and identify it as the exact second Ethan Powell became my friend.
I lifted the camera and took a picture. I wanted to be sure I could take this feeling with me to the next place.
Chapter 5
Don’t Be. Do.
Saturday, Now
The minute wegot off the phone with Laurel, I jammed everything within arm’s reach into a weekender bag and shoved Ethan back into his van. Ethan didn’t need to pack anything, of course, as we were traveling in his dwelling.
We’ve been on the road only forty minutes, but after an inconveniently timed bathroom emergency—I had to pee the moment we left my driveway and tried to will away the building pressure in my bladder with the power of thought—we’re already off the rails and parked in front of a combination Kwik Trip / Dairy Queen Grill and Chill.
While taking off on a whim is simply a Tuesday for Ethan, it iscompletelyout of character for me. My last vacation was my honeymoon. Rich and I spent five months planning every detail down to the service station stops on the way to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, and I still ended it two days early, because I couldn’t relax so far out of my comfort zone.
I was imagining every possible worst-case scenario occurring back at the office, in our house, or with Laurel. What if Pamela finally handed me one of the software startups I’d been begging her to put me on and I wasn’t around to jump on it?What if the ants made a comeback in the downstairs laundry room and established a new society in front of the dryer by the time we returned? What if Laurel got in another fight with her roommate and the treehouse Airbnb she booked wasn’t the architectural wonder superhost Satchel promised but a literal children’s treehouse of the Fisher-Price variety? Why hadn’t Ethan texted me anything in days?
But here I was, my arms overflowing with everything Kwik Trip has to offer, stomping through the convenience store parking lot in the direction of Ethan’s van home, feeling that same honeymoon anxiety starting to spike.
“Have you ever heard of a more Laurel-and-Petey thing in your life?” I ask, maneuvering my feet around a suspiciously hued Aquafina bottle lying in the parking lot like a live grenade.
“You mean besides the time they almost got married on a dare?” Ethan’s question is rhetorical, and kind of rude, considering I’m mid-freakout. But he doesn’t seem to register that from the driver’s seat.
“Why couldn’t they just keep their chaotic dynamic platonic like we did?” I parry through gritted teeth. Two can play the infuriating rhetorical questions game.
When I try to open the passenger door with the only two fingertips I can spare, the handle snaps back down. I try again, but there’s no movement.
Ethan eyes my haul. “Oh good. You’re still weird about hydration,” he says dryly, stretching his arms through the window to take a couple of the water bottles from me, freeing up the hand that isn’t cradling four extra-large Fiji waters and two lemon-lime Gatorades like a newborn baby.
I fling open the door and drop my goods onto the beigeleather captain’s seat. The front control panel is oversized and spotless. Everything about it screams “new” and “luxurious,” which are words I’ve never associated with camper vans. The buttons and knobs yell at me with all-caps abbreviations I don’t recognize. I’d sooner assume I’ve been thrown into the cockpit of a small plane than inside Ethan’s motorized house.
I push my sunglasses into my hair, and the sharp stab above my eye is instantaneous. “I’m still hungover, Powell, and I doubt the woods have a clean tap.” I hunch in front of the passenger seat to tuck my bottles in every corner of available storage. My hip knocks a knob that kicks on a Minnesota Public Radio station, and Ethan switches it off.
