Page 16 of Within These County Lines

“It’s a scary thought, isn’t it?”

I nod.

“I’ve carried that thought around for a decade,” he continues.

We lock eyes.

“I’m not trying to make you feel the same way. I’d never want that for someone else. I just think you can help me. Could you help me? Help me figure out why I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

His gaze drifts to the tree line and meets the sky. A lone crow caws.

“I guess we’ll find out together.”

9

The morning sun beats down on the health department’s parking lot unhindered by clouds. It’s Friday, and I’m wrapping up my first week as a pool inspector.

It’s less of a joke than I expected. People take their pools seriously.

One apartment manager wouldn’t let me leave until he finished a full demonstration of how he vacuums the pool floor. Another guy, who runs an assisted living facility, gave me an hour-long tour of the entire building as if I was considering moving in. The pool was part of the tour, but so were the cafeteria, nurse station, gym, and two fully furnished model apartments. It was a decent way to kill time until he led me into the men’s locker room right before water aerobics. There were too many men over the age of eighty and not enough clothing.

Whitley shimmies between two parked cars to join me on my walk toward the building. I pause an episode of Stuff You Should Know called “Magic Eye Illusions” about those ’90s pictures with hidden 3D images. It’s comforting to pretend my current problem is just my brain being retro.

“Great news!” Whitley says with a smile. “Murray texted me back. He said he could meet you after work today. Maybe you can finally get through to him and wrap this relationship up.”

I place my hand on her shoulder. “You’re gaslighting me too now? I’ve been trying to get through to him all year. He doesn’t listen.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin your last few months together.”

“He already has.”

“How? Can you tell me what he did to your head?”

My steps falter on the pavement. I can’t tell her. Not yet. Our town is too small, our futures too fragile. One bad whisper and you’re stuck in the mud on one of Penango’s unpaved roads with no way out. I don’t know if Murray deserves that. But I also don’t know why I still care after what he did to me.

“Let’s make a new pact now,” I say, changing the subject.

Whitley raises her eyebrows. “As long as it doesn’t replace our first one of moving as far away from Penango as possible.”

I gulp. “Let’s agree to never date another boy from Penango ever again.” I extend my pinky finger.

She hooks her pinky finger with mine without hesitation. “That’s easy, since I never wasted my time with one in the first place.”

I laugh. “You’ve always been smarter than me.”

Suddenly, Whitley gasps and grabs my arm, yanking me out of my spiral of destructive thoughts about Murray.

“What does he think he’s doing?” she mutters, squinting ahead.

We both have clingers to shake this summer. Hers just happens to be her dad.

He stands in front of the health department’s entrance, tapping his foot. I haven’t seen him in two years, but he looks like he aged thirty. His muscles are gone, leaving him with Whitley’s stick-figure frame. Angular cheekbones jut from beneath his eyes and cast shadows over his long, gaunt face.

He’s a shell of the man who used to haunt Whitley’s weekends.

My last run-in with him was supposed to be a quiet Friday night. I had just gotten the fire started in the pit out front of Whitley’s house. Murray collected logs from the woods nearby while Whitley slid hot dogs onto metal skewers. Bennie sniffed curiously at Murray’s gym bag full of sweaty football pads.