“Geez, who are you, her father?” I smile as I reach past him for my own towel, but the dark look that crosses his face tells me it was so the wrong thing to say. “Whoa, lighten up, it was just a joke.”
Luce tugs the towel from his outstretched hand with a heavy sigh. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you wouldn’t like it. And obviously since you’re here, I’m right.” She looks from Finn to me, clearly asking for some help.
“I’m the one that offered to teach her, so please don’t be mad at Luce.” I put my hand on her shoulder and motion toward the open doors to my bedroom. “Go ahead and use my bathroom to change.”
“Thanks for the lesson, Sloane.” She grabs her bag and makes her way to my room.
When she’s safely out of earshot, I turn back to Finn. He studies me a moment. His eyes are so intense it makes me shiver, and I pull my towel tighter around myself.
“Did Luce tell you why she’s afraid of the water?” he asks.
“No. I asked, but she didn’t go into any detail.” I pause, hoping maybe he’ll fill me in, but he doesn’t say anything more. “I do know she wants to be a stronger swimmer, and I can definitely help her there. You okay with that or do I need to have you sign a permission slip?”
The corners of his mouth slowly hitch up. “Yeah, I’m okay with that. But please be careful with her, Sloane. And please don’t push her if she’s not ready.”
I hold up my hand. “Scout’s honor, or however that goes. Whatever. You have my word.” I wait until he gives me a full-blown smile before moving on. “So if we’re past that…there’s something…So about the other night.”
He pretends to itch at his nose to cover his mouth, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Yeah, talk about first impressions. But that was impressive.”
“Hey! I’m pretty sure I asked you to put me down, in case you forgot.” I poke his foot with my own.
“Yeah, you asked, but not even five seconds later, you hurled all over me. Maybe give me a little more warning next time?” Before I can respond—not that I’d even know what to say to that—Luce makes her way back over to us. “You ready to blow this joint, Lemon?”
“Lemon?” I smile as I walk them out to the front.
“Yeah, can’t remember when that started, but it just sort of stuck, huh?” He ruffles Luce’s hair, making her giggle.
I’m surprised to see a black SUV with heavily tinted windows waiting in the driveway. A driver stands near the back door and opens it as soon as he sees us. Huh, a personal chauffeur? That must be rough.
“Go ahead and hop on in, I’ll be right there,” Finn says to Luce.
I don’t miss the eye roll she gives her brother before she turns to me. “Thanks again, Sloane. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?” She shades her eyes and looks at me as if I might change my mind.
I reach out and hug her close. “Luce, you’re going to be a fantastic swimmer when we’re done here, I promise. And yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She squeezes me back, then heads toward the car.
Finn watches as she climbs up in the backseat, then turns back to me. “Thanks for helping her, really.”
“Honestly, it’s no problem. Anything to do with the water, I’m in.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I know some great spots here on the island—maybe we could go check them out sometime?”
It suddenly feels about fifteen degrees warmer outside. “Yeah, I think I’d like that.”
“Good, ’cause I’d like that, too.” He holds my gaze for just a second longer than necessary, then strides toward the car and in one swift movement swings up into the back of the SUV. And then he’s gone.
I shut the door and lean up against it. There’s a slight chance I may have just said yes to going out with Finn.
And of all things, I actually can’t stop smiling.
I’ve been in Hawaii for almost a week, and like clockwork, a text message has my phone all riled up. I don’t even need to look at the screen to know who it’s from at this hour in the morning.
Tyler. But of course.
If you added up all the texts, e-mails, and voice mails he sends, I’d have more than ten forms of communication from him every day since I got here. But the messages are always the same. I’m so sorry. I love you. I never meant to hurt you. Will you please talk to me. Yada, yada, yada. This one’s only slightly different:
I know I screwed up. I miss you. Please talk to me.
I have a funny feeling Tyler’s sleeping about as little as I am, if he’s texting me at eight thirty in the morning, his time. During summer vacation.
There are also several texts from Mick:
Remember spring break in the fifth grade when we walked to the store to buy candy? We’d scraped together as much money as we could. You even searched in the cracks of your couch!
Then, afterward, we stopped at McDonald’s on the way home to get French fries, only to realize we didn’t have enough money left as we stood at the counter.
I was so embarrassed, but you calmly dumped out your entire purse and counted out the exact change we needed, most of it in pennies and lint.
Those were the best French fries. Ever.
If you’d let me, I’d buy us a million orders of fries and we could sit and talk like we used to.
Because I could really use someone to talk to. I miss you.
I know what she’s doing. Trying to get me to think back to all the good times we’ve shared. Like I don’t remember them. Like I could forget.
But it wasn’t me that threw our friendship away. It wasn’t me that decided fifteen years of being best friends was worth destroying. So even without her reminding me of happier times, I’m stuck with it all. I get to remember everything, the good and the bad. And I have absolutely no idea what to do with any of it.
Every text, every e-mail, every voice mail makes me feel something different. It all depends on when I read them and what they say. Today I feel nothing but sad. Sad because of everything that’s happened. Sad because I actually miss Tyler and Mick. Sad because I know Mick is probably dealing with all of this by herself. And sad because I don’t know if I should talk to them or just leave it alone for the summer.
I so desperately want to type a reply as my fingers hover over the keyboard. It takes everything for me to exit out from the screen and throw my phone on the bed, then head out to the kitchen for breakfast. Because I made a promise to myself that this was my summer and neither Mick nor Tyler would suck me back into their crap. And responding to either one of them would be doing exactly that.
Not today.
It’s early and no one’s up yet, but at least it’s a more respectable hour this time. Okay, maybe five thirty in the morning isn’t really respectable, but still, it’s better than the day before.
I still haven’t slept much since I got here, but not for lack of trying. The three-hour time difference from Seattle hasn’t exactly helped, either.
I put a pot of coffee on and rummage through the fridge, but nothing looks good. It seems when sleep decided to run away, it took my appetite with it—and all I’m left with are these chaotic thoughts and a very creative imagination that likes to reenact whatever it wants, regardless of my opinion.