Secondary Colors (5 page)

“Today isn’t a day to rehash the past.” He flings an arm about my shoulder and shakes me gently. “Let’s have fun.”

Even though things between us need resolving, it would be nice to pretend, for the day at least, that everything’s as it used to be.

“Lead the way.”

Once the boats are packed, we drive to the island in the center of the lake and set up our day camp on the soft sandy shores, coolers crammed with food and beers, a couple grills, chairs, a radio, and an awning for shade. The other girls promptly lay out towels and begin sunbathing and gossiping. The boys are going wakeboarding, and Tay and I want some of that action.

Aidan captains. I play first mate, holding up the orange flag when riders eat water, waiting patiently for them to tire. One by one, they drop like flies. It’s finally my turn. I excitedly strip off my shorts and tee. Aidan assists me into a life vest, snapping the buckles together. I realize his gaze—blue as the hydrangeas outside my house—is idle on my sexy one-piece. Most girls my age sport two pieces. I’m not comfortable in them. This shows enough with the cutout sides for me not to constantly cover myself up.

After a few respectable rides, I wipe out for the final time, ready for something yummy in my tummy. Boarding can really work up an appetite. We drive back to shore to grill fish, burgers, and bratwursts, to accompany our frosty beers. It’s exactly what the doctor ordered after the week I’ve had, actual interaction.

Unfortunately, during the course of the day, Holt keeps polluting my thoughts. I suppose that’s bound to happen when he refuses to acknowledge me. It’s a want what you can’t have thing. To keep him in the recesses of my brain, I fish, lounge in the June sun, and play in the sanctuary the water provides from the blazing summer heat. While I actively focus on not focusing on Holt throughout the day, I catch Aidan ogling me or finding subtle ways to touch me. I usually glimpse away after an elongated pause.

When everyone’s had enough fun in the sun, we pack up and return to Aidan’s house as it dips behind the tree line in the west. Aidan and the boys get the bonfire roaring (men and fire) while the ladies change into warmer clothes. I throw on dark jeans and a faded chambray shirt then rejoin the group on the shoreline around the raging fire, the embers rising above the tall flames like fireflies flickering in the night.

Tay hands me a red plastic cup of golden foamy deliciousness. The party has a laidback vibe, people drinking, laughing, and retelling once mortifying (now hilarious) stories of high school, music playing lowly in the background. It’s the perfect welcome home.

I stand between Taylor and Aidan, his knuckles grazing my hand every now and then. When I risk a glance, he smiles into his red cup.

We’re having a great time when—

“Hey, bitches!” I turn around and let out a disgusted groan. “The party has arrived.”

Makayla.

Beautiful outwardly, she’s equally as ugly on the inside. She made most of our lives hell. Well, unless you had a penis. She’s also Aidan’s on again and off again high school girlfriend, which I’m suddenly back in. I only hope these years changed her the way they’ve seemed to change most of us. One fact is painfully clear, she’s twice as pretty now as she was then. I wonder if she’s twice as mean.

Her cherry cola hair bounces and illuminates in the firelight, emanating a sinister glow around her. Her brown eyes glint with a hint of mischief when she sets her predatory sights on the boys gawking shamelessly. With curves that scream sex, she’s God’s gift to men. She’s the complete opposite of me.

Since they’re the only ones happy to see her, Makayla approaches the guys first, licking her enviable lips.

One girl whispers to another, “They
would
like her. She slept with all of them.”

When she finally acknowledges the girls, it’s with a weak nod and a sneer. A few guys clamber over her, asking if they can get her a drink. I shoot a glance at Taylor, her eyeballs dramatically rolling around in their sockets. I nudge her with my shoulder, trying to shrug off the sudden shift in mood.

Sadly, the wicked bitch’s presence illicit thoughts of Holt—threatening to spoil my night. I unwillingly picture him flirting with her in the hardware store. Yes, even Mr. Silent and Brooding isn’t immune to her slutty charms. If he wants to date the succubus, it’s no business of mine. He’s no business of mine.

Since that’s the case, why can’t I get him out of my head?

a loose rendering of a subject

Around one a.m., I’m ready to leave. It’s been a fun, exhausting day. And I’d love nothing more than to crawl into bed and pass out for the rest of the weekend.

“Hey,” I whisper to Tay. “Are you ready to head home?”

Judging by the pout, she isn’t.

“I’ll take you home,” Aidan ventures.

“Do you mind?” she asks me.

“Not at all.”

We cross the yard. When we’re about halfway to the house, he boldly takes my hand in his, silently guiding me to his (expensive) SUV out front. Opening my door, he helps me into my seat.

The ride home is clouded with heavy silence, an anxious energy saturating the air like static electricity, interrupted by the occasional drawn out breath.

“Are you glad you’re home?” he finally asks.

“Yeah. For the summer anyway.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you were moving again.”

“I’ve applied for a position at this gallery in New York. I’m supposed to have a face to face interview in August. The internship position will be open in September. The girl I’d be replacing said I was a top pick from the references my professor gave. I’m leaving in two months whether I get it or not. But I’m hoping for the former, not the latter.”

I don’t mean to bombard him with all this information. I’m excited about my future, and I needed to let it out.

“I hope for the latter, too.”

“Are you planning on staying here?”

“Not forever, but awhile.”

Before I know it, we’re driving up the private road that leads to my house, the back tires kicking up dust behind us, red in the glow of his taillights.

It isn’t smart to start anything when I intend to leave, but there’s a sliver of me that wants to spend time with him this summer. Even if it’s only as friends.

The lights of my house kill the endless darkness of the thicket. When we reach the garden gate, he slows and shifts the truck into park, leaving the engine running. There’s only the sporadic light on inside, and I don’t see my mother’s car anywhere. She must still be gone.

“I had a wonderful time with you today, Evie.”

“Me, too. With you.”

He regards my hand resting on the bench seat between us and covers it with his own.

“Can I see you again?” he asks, his voice gentle. “We have a lot to talk about.”

You have no idea.

I hesitate answering him.

How would his mother react if she found out?

Do I really care?

“I’d like that.” I mirror his tone.

“I’m free tomorrow.”

He doesn’t play games.

“It’s a date,” I reply.

He withdraws his hand, gets out, and walks around to my side to open my door for me. I set my hands on his shoulders as he assists me out, leaving them there once I’m steady on the ground. I rise onto the balls of my feet and kiss him on the cheek. Being a gentleman, he doesn’t attempt to turn his face to catch my lips.

“Goodnight,” I whisper.

“Goodnight.”

When I reach the top step of the porch, I gander back over my shoulder. He’s watching me. With a wave and a smirk, he gets back into his truck and drives off.

I’m about to enter the house, smiling to myself, when the crackle of wicker being manipulated with weight comes from my left. Bathed in the gentle light of the porch lamp, Holt’s golden copper eyes scrutinize me.

Is that—jealousy?

No.

He must hate me for a reason.
Well, the feelings mutual, bud.
I’ve done nothing but try to be cordial to him, yet he rebuffs all my attempts. If it wasn’t for my mother, I would ignore him so hard.

I notice a book in his hand, hanging upside down, with his fingers tucked between the pages to keep his place. I’m surprised he enjoys the company of books. I would have sworn a mongrel such as himself would be an illiterate.

I squint at the turned around title...

On The Road

By Jack Kerouac

A bit pretentious.

He’s still staring at me, waiting for me to speak, to bend over backwards. He can forget that. I’m not in the mood to play twenty unanswered questions with him tonight.

I step inside, hoping to avoid any further awkwardness with him.

There. That should do it.

He follows me into the house.

Or not.

I retreat to my room without acknowledging his entrance and drop off my bag before heading into the kitchen to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cold glass of milk. When I step through the swinging door, he’s leaning against the counter near the sink, drinking apple juice from the lip of the bottle. Suddenly, I wish I were that bottle, his lips pressed against mine.

I mentally laugh the thought away.

Why would I ever wish that?

I walk over to the fridge for the ingredients, his eyes silently studying me. He lingers while I slather the bread with peanut paste, refusing to budge. It’s very distracting to have someone watch every little move you make. Mercifully, he walks out, allowing me to finish my late night snack in peace. Nothing like a PB&J after a night of drinking. I take it into my room, devouring it like a rabid pack animal, then slip into a thin nightshirt, perfect for hot summer nights, and slide into the cool relief of my unslept in sheets.

It’s dark in my room when I wake. I make out the outline of furniture, which tells me it’s early in the morning. I’m a sweaty, sticky mess, lying in damp sheets. It’s hotter than a furnace in my room.

I climb out of bed and exit my room to a deathly still house, except for the usual creaks and cracks the old structural bones make. I fiddle with the temperature pad on the wall outside my room, but the air conditioning—only used in the direst of situations—won’t turn on.

Fantastic.

Stubbornly, I keep fiddling with it until I conclude it’s futile, surrendering to modern technology.

It’s a muggy pre-dawn morning, the air warm and damp, without a breath of wind to stir the heat. There’s only one solution to keep from succumbing to the stifling temperature when the cooling system is on the fritz, a night swim.

I tiptoe across the hardwood floor to the screen door and open it carefully so it doesn’t let out a whining squeak. Luckily, it doesn’t. I wouldn’t want to alert the watchdog upstairs. Once out of ear’s reach, I sprint toward the shore of the lake to the dock’s edge, stripping my gown and panties off. Without a second thought of the temperature, I cut through the black water like a hot knife through butter. It’s cool silk against my skin.

I come up for oxygen and float on my back, gazing up at the fading stars faintly spotting the vast sky, endless black bleeding into a steely gray. The symphony of critters sing their morning song, silenced with my ears submerged under the waterline and the muffled lapping of waves splashing against the dock. At peace drifting aimlessly on the current’s back, my body becomes one with the fluidity of the water.

It’s destroyed instantly when a disturbance near the dock startles the quiet. Flailing around until I’m upright, I search around me frantically, terrified it may be a wild animal—or worse. There’s only ripples where something disrupted the calm of the water’s surface.

I make a mad dash for the shore when a face pops out from the depths inches from mine. I scream, putting banshees to shame.

It’s Holt.

For one brief heartbeat, I’m relieved it’s him. Then relief turns to annoyance.

“What the hell are you doing sneaking up on someone like that?” I shove his shoulder. “You scared me half to death!”

When he laughs, I lunge at him, pushing him back with an irritated growl. I remember I’m stark naked and move away from him, dipping my shoulders under the surface.

I want to escape him immediately, but in my condition, I’m pretty much trapped. I need to get out of this situation before dawn breaks. Otherwise, he’ll see everything and more.

“What are you doing out here this early anyway?” I ask, expecting the same answer to every other question I’ve asked him—nothing.

“It’s hot,” he replies in a purely masculine voice.
Did he—
He dunks himself under the water. Even though it’s impossible for him to see me, I cover up with my arms and hands anyway. He comes back up, running his hands over his hair.

“You talk. I was beginning to wonder.”

“Yes, Evie, I talk.” He sticks a fingertip in his ear and shakes out water trapped inside. “I know a wide vocabulary of words.”

“What took you so long?”

“I liked making you squirm.”

“Oh, so, you’re an inconsiderate asshole,” I state.

He laughs a noiseless laugh, bobbing his head from side to side as he considers my statement.

“Some people would say you’re right.”

“People who know you, you mean.” I regret the words before I finish spewing them.

“What are you doing out here at this hour, anyway?” He avoids my snide remark, which has me wondering if I was right.

“I’ve always come out for night swims during the summer.”

“Do you always do it in the skinny?” His question makes every inch of my body still and zoom in on him, my eyes big from mortification.

I’m beginning to wish he’d kept his mouth sealed. I liked him more.

“How do you know I’m naked,” I snap, “were you watching me?”

“It’s hard not to, Evie,” he confesses, stepping toward me.

I take a step back, the sandy bottom squishing between my toes.

“What did you see?”

“Not much,” he remarks, as if saying I possess nothing worth seeing. His insult exposes me more than I already am.

“Get out of the water,” I order, pointing toward the shore with one arm shielding my breasts. Even if they are unappealing to him, he doesn’t deserve to see them.

“You’re a bundle of dynamite with a short fuse.”

I grumble out a frustrated groan, noticing the horizon to the east becoming bluer, the clouds peach. If I want to get out of this with everything unseen, I need to move this along swiftly. There’s no need to be subtle at this point.

“Call me crazy. I tend to snap at people who insult me. Now get out.”

“Just because you own the lake, doesn’t mean you can order me out of it.”

“That’s exactly what it means. Get out before I scream.”

“Wouldn’t do any good since your mother isn’t home. And even if she were, I doubt you’d want her to find you naked with me.”

He has a point. A very good point.

“I—I don’t want you to see my body.” I plead to his human decency, if he has any. “Will you please leave first?”

After a pause, he shoots me a sympathetic grin.

“Come on, Max,” he summons his dog and makes for the shore.

As he shows me his backside, I catch sight of something that takes me aback, a deforming second degree burn on his right shoulder blade. It isn’t minor, the raised pink scar prominent against the rest of his flawless skin, like a huge bubble of pink gum splattered across his upper back. While he wears his battle wounds on his skin, the badge of a survivor, I hide mine on the inside. In this moment, a strange connection forms to this stranger and a twinge of guilt wrenches my scarred heart.