Since You've Been Gone (46 page)

I just looked at her for a moment. Suddenly, it was like I didn’t even recognize the person sitting next to me, the person
I’d thought I’d known better than anyone. While I’d been sharing all my secrets with her, she’d been keeping huge ones from me.

“So you lied,” I said, and I could feel my anger start to come back again, and my voice begin to rise. I thought about how dazzled I’d been by Sloane since the first day, how much I’d wanted to be like her—and it hadn’t even been real. None of it had. “Why would you—”

“Because it’s embarrassing!” Sloane’s voice broke on the last word, and I could see her hands were shaking. “You have this perfect family. And I’ve got Milly and Anderson.” She let out a short, unhappy laugh. “You were always telling me how great you thought my parents were, how glamorous our lives were, how wonderful the house was. . . .” She shook her head. “You know it wasn’t even our house? The heirs were fighting over it, and Milly’s a second cousin or something, so she talked them into letting us be the ‘caretakers.’ And when the will was settled, of course, we were out of there.” She looked at me, then back down at her hands again. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just . . . wanted you to like me.”

I sat back against the step, trying to process all this.  And I thought, for some reason, of the spec house—the structure that was perfect only from the outside. I looked at Sloane, and saw the hunch in her shoulders, and suddenly understood how hard it must have been for her, not letting anyone—even me—know any of this. And I realized it didn’t matter.

“I don’t care,” I said. She looked up at me, and I shook my
head. “I mean, I wish you would have told me. But the house? None of that stuff’s important.”

Sloane looked at me, and I saw her eyes were wet. “Really?” she said. It was more like a whisper than a question. I nodded, and she wiped her fingers beneath her eyes.

We sat in silence for a minute, and it felt a little bit like the start of something. She was telling me the truth, and I had refused to just go along with her. It felt new. It felt like maybe now we could start the next chapter of our friendship—whatever that ended up looking like.

Sloane leaned against me, and I leaned back, until, after a few moments, you couldn’t tell who was holding up who.

“So,” Sloane said after a long moment. I saw, to my surprise, that she was looking down at the list and smiling. “Skinny-dipping,” she said, sitting up and turning to face me. “Spill.”

I laughed. “It was your idea,” I said, thinking back to the night on the beach, how I knew it was a great story, one she’d never believe.

“Emily,” she said, “
I’ve
never even gone skinny-dipping!”

“I can give you some pointers, if you want,” I said, with a grin. “Like . . . always keep an eye on your towels.”

She was still just looking at me like she wasn’t entirely sure who I was. “And you really used Penelope? And you kissed someone? Oh my god. Who?”

“I tried to steal your sign from the drive-in,” I said. “But it fell and I almost got caught. Frank bailed me out.” Sloane
looked at me, alarmed, and I added, “Not literally. He just covered for me.”

“I really can’t believe you did all these,” she said, still sounding a little awed. “You actually rode a horse?”

“I guess I thought they would lead me to you,” I said, “somehow.”

Sloane looked at the list for a long moment, then smiled. “Maybe they did.”

I thought of how I’d gotten here—and how I probably wouldn’t have spent the summer with Frank if I hadn’t gone to the Orchard that first night. Or become friends with Dawn on my quest to hug a Jamie. I thought about all the things her list had given me over the course of the summer, and everything that had happened because of it. “Maybe you’re right.”

When the mosquitos started attacking us, we went inside to find Frank waking up from his nap. Sloane heated up a frozen pizza, bemoaning the lack of delivery options in River Port. We ate standing around her kitchen counter, and after Frank polished off three slices, he headed to bed in the guest room that Sloane had made up for him. We discussed—but I was trying not to think about—the fact that we were going to have to be on the road again by seven. I needed to get back before my parents, so they wouldn’t realize I’d left to travel over many state lines with a boy.

Sloane lent me sleep clothes and a toothbrush, and when I unfolded the T-shirt, I realized it was actually mine—the
Bug Juice
movie shirt.

We were sleeping on the screened-in porch, where she’d set up an ad hoc bedroom during the heat wave that River Port was currently going through. Sloane was on the porch’s couch, and she dragged in a foldaway bed for me, and we pushed them close enough so that we wouldn’t have to raise our voices to hear each other when we talked.

“Okay,” she said, when we’d turned out the last of the lights and I could only see her by the moonlight coming in from outside. “Frank. Start talking.”

I smiled against my pillow and filled her in on the broad outlines—our friendship, my crush, the kiss, the Lissa-breakup bombshell. And us, together, here. Now.

“Oh my god,” she said, once I’d finished. She had reacted just as I’d hoped she would throughout. She’d been responding at the right moments, making me realize how much I’d missed telling her things—her enthusiasm, her complete lack of judgment, the way that, even when you were wrong, she was on your side. “I mean,” she went on without waiting for me to answer, and though I couldn’t see it, I could hear the smile in her voice, “what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. If Frank and I tried to be something, it would be
real
, in a way that was scary—but also really exciting.

“He did just get out of a really long relationship,” Sloane pointed out. “Is this going to be a rebound thing?”

“No,” I said automatically, without even having to think
about it. And I realized as I did that Sloane didn’t know Frank. And she didn’t know the me I was with him. “It’s more than that.”

“But . . .” She propped herself up on one elbow. “Frank Porter is like the most serious guy we know. If you’re going out with him—you’re
committed
.”

“But that’s what I want,” I said, again without thinking about it.

“Really?” Sloane asked. Not skeptically, just with surprise.

“I know things might not work,” I said. “And I know it’s scary, but the things that are worth it are. It feels right.”

“What is that like?” Sloane asked, her voice quiet, genuinely curious.

I knew the answer to that immediately. It was like swimming under the stars, like sleeping outside, like climbing a tree in the dark and seeing the view. It was scary and safe and peaceful and exciting, all at the same time. It was the way I felt when I was with him. “Like a well-ordered universe.”

We were silent for a few minutes, and I realized it was okay. Maybe we didn’t have to share every single feeling we were having, and analyze it. “Em,” Sloane finally said. “I’m only asking because I don’t want you to get hurt. But what if it doesn’t work out?”

When I answered her, I could hear the hope in my voice. “But what if it does?”

I woke up when it was still dark out, and reached underneath my cot to check the time on my phone, cupping my hand
over the screen to shield the light from Sloane, who I could tell was still asleep, her breath coming slow and even. It was five-thirty in the morning, and I was amazed I was awake, considering that Sloane and I had talked for hours.

There had just been too much to cover, and every time one of us would mention that we should probably stop talking and get some rest, something else would come up that had to be addressed. As we talked, trying to fit three months’ worth of conversations into a few hours, it felt like we were fighting against the dawn that was coming, and if we just kept talking, and filling up the hours, maybe we could hold it off.

But then the pauses had gotten longer, until there was just silence between us, and I drifted off with the knowledge that if I thought of something else I needed to say to Sloane, she would be right there to hear it.

But as I climbed out of bed now, I was trying my best not to wake her as I walked onto the back porch. It was still dark out, but the stars were fading, and I had a feeling the sun was going to be up before too long. I looked over and saw my list, folded up, where we’d anchored it under one of the candles. I picked it up, planning on putting it back in my purse for safekeeping, when I had an idea. I ducked back into the screened porch, retrieved my purse, and brought it back outside with me. I found a pen and my schedule for next week at Paradise in my bag. I turned it over to the blank sheet on the back, lit one of the candles so that my handwriting wouldn’t be too illegible, and started to write.

1. Call your best friend twice a week.

2. When your phone rings, answer it.

3. If you meet someone you like, wait two weeks before kissing him.

3a. (Okay, one week.)

4. Date someone who’ll wait to make sure you get inside before driving away.

5. If you’re mad at someone,
tell them.
I promise nothing bad will happen.

6. Get your license. (This way, you can drive me when I come and visit.)

7. Hug a Carl.

I kept on writing, filling the list out, trying to do for Sloane what she’d done for me. When I’d finished, I added at the bottom,
When you finish this list, find me and tell me all about it.

I heard the door from the screened porch slam, and I turned around to see Sloane, in her vintage silk pajama set—I’d been with her when she bought it—crossing the porch and sitting next to me on the top step.

“Hey,” she said, around a yawn. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Yeah,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her. “That’s really awful, isn’t it?”

Sloane laughed and I saw she’d understood me. She nodded at the paper in my lap. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you,” I said, handing it to her. She unfolded it and
I watched her expression change as she read it. “I just thought I should give you something to start on,” I said. “You know, since I’ve finished all of mine.”

Sloane smiled and bumped her shoulder into mine, but then left it there, and I leaned into her as well. “You should probably get going, right?” she asked after a few minutes, her voice soft and sad.

“I should,” I said. But neither of us moved, despite the fact that across the brook I could see the first ribbon of dawn at the bottom of the horizon, and the day that had come after all.

By seven thirty, Frank and I were ready to head out. I’d showered and borrowed one of Sloane’s dresses—she’d admitted she owed me after taking the
Bug Juice
T-shirt. As I came outside with my purse, Frank and Sloane were talking, and they stopped as I approached. This worried me slightly, especially coupled with the fact that when I raised my eyebrows at her, Sloane shot me a tiny wink.

Frank was wearing a Hilton Head Golf  Tournament T-shirt that confused me until I realized that Sloane had probably taken it from Anderson and given it to him. Frank said good-bye to Sloane, and then he headed over to the truck, and I knew that he was giving Sloane and me a chance to say our farewells alone.

“So,” Sloane said as we stood together by the front steps. “We’ll talk tonight?”

I nodded. It was one of the things we’d discussed last night in the dark—we would talk twice a week at least, without fail.
She wasn’t allowed to disappear on me, nor I on her. “I’ll call you as soon as I’m back,” I promised.

Sloane looked at me and shook her head. “I can’t believe you came here,” she said. She let out a shaky breath, and her lower lip was trembling, just like I could feel mine was. “I just . . . ,” she started.

I nodded. “Me too,” I said. She hugged me tight, and I hugged her back. I was going to miss her—I knew it. But somehow, I had the feeling that we were going to be okay. I didn’t know what would happen with us. Maybe we’d find a way to attend the same college and be roommates and have the most amazingly decorated dorm room ever. Maybe we’d end up being pen pals, sending lists back and forth. Or we’d just stick to talking twice a week, or we’d video chat, or else just spend all our money traveling to hang out with each other on weekends. I somehow knew that the particulars didn’t matter. She was my heart, she was half of me, and nothing, certainly not a few measly hundred miles, was ever going to change that.

We broke apart and Sloane wiped under her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

I gave her a trembly smile back. “It’s okay,” I said.

“We’ll talk tonight,” she said. It wasn’t a question. It was the plan, and I nodded.

“Tonight,” I said. We just looked at each other for a moment longer. There was nothing to do now but leave, and we both knew it. I made myself turn and walk away from her,
back toward the truck, and Sloane stayed where she was, by the steps.

I got into the passenger seat, and looked across at Frank. “You okay?” he asked, as I buckled myself in and rolled down my window while he started the engine.

I looked back at Sloane, who was still standing by the steps, not making any move to go inside. “Yeah,” I said. “I am.”

Frank pulled the truck down the driveway, and I turned in my seat to look back. Sloane was walking behind us, holding one hand up in a wave. I waved back, and she followed behind us until we turned onto the main road. I leaned half out the window to wave back at her, and I saw her see this and smile. And she kept following the truck, like we were a very small parade, waving and waving, until Frank took the curve in the road and then she was gone.

We didn’t have the radio on this time, but I didn’t want it. Both our windows were unrolled and the warm air was blowing through the truck ruffling Frank’s hair, which had dried funny, with pieces sticking up here and there. It was all I could do not to reach over and run my hands through it.

He took his eyes off the road and looked over at me, and I didn’t blush or look away. I just looked right back at him. There was tension between us again, but it wasn’t the simmering, angry kind that had been there the day before. This felt like the way you get nervous right before something exciting happens—the moment when you’re balanced on the top of the roller coaster, the hush before the surprise party, the second after the diving
board but before the water, when you can close your eyes and imagine, for just a second, that you’re flying. The feeling that good things were coming, almost here, any moment now.