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But I’m here at the bonfire now, the cool night air calming me a little. I even managed to play some beach volleyball and frisbee.
Sebastian gives his speech, ninety seconds long. He only did it because Britta told him he had to. The food is brought out and gobbled up. Our chef, Lionel, the only guy we trust to execute our resort restaurant openings, has provided some casual food, like deep-fat-fried cauliflower (which is delicious and tastes nothing like cauliflower) and pigs in a blanket with a smokey fry sauce dip. Perfect bonfire food.
Except Sophie doesn’t come. I’m trying to regroup. I stare into the flames, and roll up the sleeves of my green, flannel shirt. A couple of the groundskeeping staff members have their guitars out and the air smells like smoke and water.
Nine o’clock rolls around, and people are starting to leave. I ache to see Sophie.
I pull my phone out of my pocket to see if I can manage texting her without coming off as a hoverer.
“You’re on your phone on a night like this?” It’s Sophie, standing in front of me, her back to the fire and silhouetted by the glow behind her. As she moves closer to me and sits on one of the logs next to mine, I see she’s wearing flip flops, cut-off jeans, and an oversized, Longdale High sweatshirt with a hood.
“I was texting you to see if you needed a ride over here.”
“Well, I’m here.” She gazes into the fire. I do a double take at the way the glow from the flames highlights and shadows the curves of her face.
“You missed Sebastian’s speech, but there’s some food left.” I stand to walk over to the food table, my heart pounding. She made it.
She follows me and I hand her a paper plate. She grabs some pigs in a blanket and squirts mustard on her plate.
We sit back down on the stumpy logs, but she only takes a couple of bites. She sets her plate on the sand. “I’m not that hungry right now.”
Most of the employees and their guests have already left, and I introduce her to those sitting near us. Unsurprisingly, she already knows half of them—the half who are local to Longdale. I turn back to her. “Did you eat before you came?”
She shakes her head and pulls a piece of hair away from her face. The wind has picked up a little, so maybe it’s a good thing the bonfire is starting to die down. We sit in silence. I wait until the rest of the people leave.
When it’s just Sophie and me left, I ask her what I’ve been wanting to ask her ever since she got here. “Are you alright, Soph?”
“Claire and I went to Mom’s grave.”
Her mom died before I knew Sophie, so I don’t know a lot about her. Sophie’s been tight lipped about her, and I haven’t wanted to push.
Until now. I mean, I don’t want to push her to say more than she wants to. But I want to know. I want to know everything.
“That must have been hard,” I offer.
She pins me with a look, but her voice comes out soft. “No, it wasn’t hard. She’s been gone for twenty-four years.” The shake of her head dismisses me. “I barely remember her.”
Except there’s sadness cloaking Sophie and if it had been the old days, when we were just friends, I would have shoulder bumped her and then tried to make her laugh.
But now, things have changed. And I’m not sure what to do. Seeing the pain in her eyes makes my chest thrum. I have to help somehow. I know I can’t fix this, but I have to try.
“Is Claire doing okay?”
She nods, pulling her sleeves over her wrists to cover her hands. I wait a long time before speaking again.
“My parents spent six straight months away from home once,” I say. “I think they came back for a couple of days. But even then, they weren’t at the house much, just sort of in the vicinity. Work was everything to my dad. And my dad was everything to my mom.” I stare into the fire. “My stomach hurt the entire six months. Stella came out to Denver to be with us for part of the time, but she was teaching and couldn’t be there long. We had supervision, our former nanny came and stayed with us. But it was like my parents didn’t exist anymore. Or that we didn’t exist to our parents.”
I reach for her, pulling her into a side hug.
“I guess what I’m trying to say by telling you this is I know how it feels, on a much smaller scale, to be abandoned by your parents,” I say. “It’s not the same as what you’ve been through, not even close. But I’m here if you ever want to talk about it. I’d love to just listen.”
Even though she’s wearing a sweatshirt, her back and the back part of her arms must be cold. Because as hot as a spring campfire in Colorado is on your front, the cold night air can slice like a frozen blade in back.
“I’m sorry about your parents being gone so much.” She glances at me, sniffing again.
“And I’m sorry you lost your mom.” I bring my other arm around and envelop her more deeply in my arms. At first, she stiffens, and I wonder if it’s because of me, or because she just went to her mom’s grave and has her walls up.
After several seconds, I decide to end the hug. I won’t be that guy who makes everything uncomfortable or doesn’t read the signals she’s laying down. But just as I start to pull away, her log wobbles and pitches her forward in my arms.
