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“I don’t know anymore. I used to think I wanted the same life my Mama had. A decent job, a husband, and a couple of kids. Live in a small town, so life stays simple, but when Mama died, everything changed. I want to do something that matters to me. I don’t want to just follow the path that was laid for me, following the motions of what makes a good life. I want to make my own choices and mistakes and build a good life that way. I want to live a life that is wholly mine.” My thoughts are scattered, but I think Will gets what I mean because he nods.
“And how will you make it yours?” Will asks softly, one of his hands brushing lightly up and down my spine as the other hooks under my leg, holding me to him. It is the smallest of gestures, but it soothes every trouble inside me. When he holds me like this, I feel loved and comforted, whether that is his intention or not.
“By not letting my dad, or my Mama’s memory, or quarterbacks, or silly writers from the city tell me what I’m supposed to be or want.” I tease, but it is true. I’m tired of people telling me what I should want because of who they think I am. I don’t know what I want. How could they possibly know?
“That is my STG.” Will presses a kiss to my forehead and I smile. I love being his STG and I hate that I won’t get to be that much longer. I blink away tears as I think about it.
“What do you want, Will?” I recycle his question because I want to know everything about him.
“So many things. Some I can have, some I can’t.” Will sighs and he looks a little lost as he stares out into the darkness. I sense a sadness in his eyes and I wonder if he too loves something he shouldn’t.
“Well, tell me about them.” I prod.
“I want to write stories that people enjoy. I want to make my parents proud.” He pauses for a second and then, with a chuckle, he adds, “I want all the typical things, too.”
“All of the typical things?” I waggle my eyebrows, curious if his statement included a typical someone.
“Yes.” Then with the same passion that had driven us from his bedroom, he kisses me, one hand gripping my thigh and the other tangled in my wet hair. I’m not really sure why I thought a swim would cool us down because skin pressed against skin in the pale glow of the moonlight all those feelings return. It seems we both realize this though, because we pull away to catch our breath.
“I think it is time we go back.” I don’t want to go back, but I know the more time I spend with Will, the more I’m likely to give in, and as tempting as it may be, I don’t want that. I can’t afford to give him any more parts of me or I run the risk of having nothing left of myself at the end of summer.
Will nods in agreement and unwraps my legs from around his waist so he can pick me up bridal style. Will carries me all the way back across the beach to the house and up the stairs to my room. After pressing a kiss to my temple, he sets me down at the door to my bedroom.
“Thanks for coming to me tonight.” Will grabs my hand and gives it a squeeze.
“I’m always happy to fulfill your dreams, CB.” I tease.
“If only you knew, STG.” Will gives me a devilish smile before backing away down the hall.
I go to bed that night thinking about what I want out of life. What I told Will was true. I want a life that is wholly mine, born of my choices. At the beginning of this summer, I wasn’t quite sure what that looked like, but after this trip, after meeting Will, I feel like I’m closer to knowing what that looks like than ever before.
Chapter 26
Leaving the beach house is harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I’m leaving a relationship rather than a vacation rental. Maybe I feel so attached because this is where Will and I made memories that melt me inside, or maybe it is because I know leaving here is the beginning of the end.
Not just for my summer fling, either. This is the end of the road for Dad, too. We only have two more Susans to meet. Two more chances for Dad to apologize and finally let go of all that guilt. One is here in Texas, in a suburb of Houston, and the other is in Louisiana. From there, it is straight through Mississippi to home in Alabama.
My nerves both for Dad and myself keep me anxious as we head to the next Susan’s house. The house is in a quiet neighborhood, where the houses were spaced well apart, and trees were plentiful. The driveway is long and as we rumble down it; I see someone pull back the curtain. They quickly let it fall back into place.
We are climbing out of the car when the front door opens, and a woman steps out. She has her sandy blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail, her sharp blue eyes assess us warily. In her loose button-up shirt and worn jeans, she looks the part of a country woman. My heart pangs as I realize she looks like my mom.
“Susan?” Dad asks, and though his tone holds a question, it wasn’t a question of who this woman is. This woman is my dad’s Susan Smith. It is written in every shocked line on his face and apparent in the weight of her glare.
“I figured I wouldn’t be lucky enough to hide from you forever, David.” The woman, Susan, mutters, her voice as cold as the uninviting glare she levels at us.
“I’m so sorry Susan.” Dad says, and both his voice and face testify to the disbelief he must be experiencing.
“You are about twenty-five years too late with that apology.” Susan replies flatly.
“I know. Can we talk?” My dad pleads, and it is evident in his voice how much this means to him. This is his chance to apologize and explain. This is what he drove across the country to do.
“So, you can tell me about how you didn’t want to marry me, but didn’t have the balls to tell me to my face? Or so you can ask me to forgive you for humiliating me? Or maybe just for some good video content.” She accuses, gesturing to Will and his camera.
“I can turn off the camera, Susan. We want to talk to you, but you control this situation. If you don’t want this recorded, I will respect that.” Will explains and though it would provide an anticlimactic end to his blog, I know he means it. Susan must hear the sincerity too, because she nods.
“No, go ahead and record. I wouldn’t want the masses to be deprived of their happy ending.” She gripes, and it isn’t hard to tell that she doesn’t think this will have a happy ending.
“Thank you, Susan.” Will thanks with a genuine smile, but unlike most other Susans, Will’s charming smile does nothing to soften the hard planes of her face.
