The Season of You & Me Page 3

  “This is the first year we’re offering that as a special elective. It’s been a popular pick, so Tori definitely needs help. I thought I’d offer you the position, let you make the choice if you’d rather stay in one place, help Tori and have the kids come to you, or if you want to stick with the plan. I’ve hired a replacement for Liv, but I wasn’t specific with her assignment so there’s still time to switch things around, if you’re interested.”

  The one thing I’d loved about being a counselor was that no two days were alike. I was a rock star with the kids—at least I had been, at fifteen. Keeping them safe had never been an issue—I was always alert and did head counts, and a lot of the time we were in the building anyway. But hearing that people had concerns made me second-guess myself. Fuck that.

  “Stick to the plan.”

  He smiled. “I had a feeling that’s what you’d say.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Nah. Hey, remind your dad if he wants to go fishing tomorrow, the boat’s pulling out at four thirty a.m.”

  “You guys are nuts,” I said, turning my chair to leave.

  “Have a good weekend; rest up—you’re gonna need it!”

  As I wheeled down the hallway my phone started blowing up in my backpack. I waited until I was out by the Charger before taking a look. Tori. The girl next door. Friend. Meddler extraordinaire.

  Where ru?

  Liv’s last nite!!

  Do NOT bail!! We need u!

  No, actually, they didn’t need me. Liv would be leaving whether I showed up or not. We didn’t need an awkward good-bye with buffalo wings and forced smiles, although I didn’t think it was her doing. Much ado about nothing was classic Tori, wanting us all to get along. I replied.

  Me: Tired.

  Tori: Huh? From sitting all day ;)

  Me: Yeah. :p

  Tori: Wimp

  Me: Later

  Setting the phone to silent, I tucked it away into the zipper pouch of my backpack; then I opened the car door and transferred to the driver’s seat. After my accident, the Dodge Charger had been my incentive, my reason to get out of bed. I’d been working on my probationary driver’s license and had my eye on it before I got hurt, but when the full impact of how my life had changed hit me, it hadn’t been the first thing on my mind.

  After a particularly rough day in physical therapy, my father told me about the car—that the fish fry at the VFW hall had helped pay for the adaptive controls and some of the paperwork. When I was ready for instruction, the lessons were waiting for me. The car was an extension of me now as much as my wheelchair. I loved it and the freedom that came with it. Learning how to transfer into the seat and adjust everything so I could break down my chair had taken a lot of practice, but now it was second nature.

  I popped off one wheel from my chair, then the other, before folding it up and stowing it away, over my shoulder and into the backseat. I pulled the front door closed and revved up the engine with the hand control, turning up Neck Deep on the stereo to obnoxious.

  I peeled out of the lot, nose toward home, grinning at the guy I’d cut off as I made my right turn. The population of Crest Haven had tripled since Memorial Day. Tourists.

  To him I was just a douche in a car.

  I loved it.

  The closer I got to home, the more I ignored the burning feeling in my gut that I was, in fact, wimping out. It was too late to turn around, and going there, well, what would it prove? I was tired—that was a fact, not an excuse. But if I was being honest with myself, it had more to do with self-preservation. Was it awful to admit I was relieved Liv would be gone for two months? That maybe the time apart would give our friendship a reboot.

  Liv had been Liv, always there in our group of friends, hanging out, catching air from a wave or joking in the halls at school with the rest of the guys. She was hot in a tough, take-no-shit kind of way and had a great smile, and when she asked me to prom I said yes. Mercy date or not, it was nice to go. Normal.

  We hung out for the month after. Nothing serious, hooking up a few times. Things got weird between us when she invited me over to watch a movie. Going over to people’s houses was always a challenge because of stairs and space and carpet. Although I was more practiced at getting around, not every place was prepped to have me as a visitor. Liv had a finished basement right off the garage complete with a forty-two-inch screen and leather recliner couch. It was kind of cool to have a place to chill and watch a movie. With a girl. Alone.

  We sat side by side on the couch, the movie on, but my mind was on her tight purple tank top. The way it hugged her. The space between her breasts that I imagined pressing my lips against. Not that I expected much to happen. I never knew if my body would be up to speed. I could get a hard-on in chemistry if my pants brushed against me, but with a girl next to me, when it would actually be useful, I couldn’t count on it.

  “I always liked you,” she whispered, nipping my earlobe.

  And . . . lift-off.

  Liv straddled me, her tank top off and perfect breasts there, right in front of me, the way I’d imagined. Soft. Her skin smelled sweet, like vanilla. She rocked her hips against me. My fingers fumbled with the button on her cutoffs, when she reached down and undid them herself. It was happening.

  And then it wasn’t.

  “Am I doing something wrong?” she asked.

  “No,” I said. We kissed some more, but the heat was gone. For me anyway. I stopped, pressed my lips together to turn away, but Liv didn’t take the hint. She ran her tongue across my mouth, pecked at my lips.

  “Stop.”

  “Bry, it’s okay,” she whispered.

  “No, Shay, it’s not.” I turned my face away from her, then realized what I’d said.

  That stopped her.

  She leaned back, folded her arms across her bare chest. “I’m not Shay, is that it?”

  “No,” I said, but was it? That had popped out of my mouth so unintentionally.

  “Tori told me—”

  “Tori should shut her mouth,” I said.

  “Look, she didn’t mean—”

  “Is that what all of this is? Prom, hooking up—do you want this, or did Tori ask you to do it?” I couldn’t even hook up without help. Anger at Tori replaced humiliation. That I could handle. The other stuff—the fact that Liv wouldn’t look me in the eye, me fucking calling her Shay after all this time, the inability to get out of there quickly—it sucked.

  She buttoned her shorts and slid off me, searching for her bra. I handed her the tank top, then moved to the edge of the couch, ready to transfer back to my chair. The leather was slippery and I face-planted on the floor. Liv shrieked, and was on her knees, ready to help me up.

  “I got this,” I said, pushing myself to sitting. My wheels were in reach. I hoisted myself up onto the chair. Liv took my hand in hers and sat down on the end of the couch. Minutes passed. There was a shootout on the television. Liv ran her thumb across the back of my hand. She looked at me then. Her eyes gutted me.

  “I don’t think I’m ready to handle this,” she said.

  “I’m not asking you to,” I said.

  I wrenched my hand from hers.

  “Can you open the garage?” I asked. She nodded. We didn’t speak again.

  That.

  That had been enough for good-bye.

  When I got home, Mom was perched on the couch, book in one hand, coffee mug in the other. During the year, she taught language arts to freshmen at Crest Haven High. Before my accident, she used to teach at least one summer-school class or tutor, but she’d decided to take that summer off because she claimed she needed a break. I thought it was a load of horseshit and what she really wanted was to keep an eye on me. She looked up as I came through the front door.

  “Hey, how was your swim?”

  “Good; feeling pretty strong.”

  “Hungry? I’ve got some leftover chicken parm.” She placed the mug down on a coaster and slid a bookmark into her paperback.

/>   “Perfect.”

  I went to my room, hung my backpack on the hook near the door. One unexpected side effect of being para was becoming a neat freak. I wanted everything within reach. Simplified. No junk on the floor either. When I was in rehab, my parents converted their office into a new bedroom. It was bigger than my old one, but I missed being upstairs, closer to Matt, our late-night chats across our shared bathroom. But, #wheelchairperk—I didn’t have to share a shower.

  “Don’t forget your wet bathing suit,” my mother called from the kitchen. I dug into my bag and pulled out my trunks, then met her in the kitchen. She took the suit out of my hands.

  “I can do that,” I said.

  She waved me off as she headed onto the deck. “No, eat before it gets cold.”

  The chicken parm and a can of Coke were on the table, waiting. Comfort food. I dug in, not realizing how hungry I’d been until dinner was in front of me. There wouldn’t have been anything that good at Liv’s get-together, more reason to feel better about not going, I told myself. Mom came back in, sliding the screen door shut behind her.

  “Hey, got something in the mail today for you,” she said, sorting through a bunch of envelopes that were on the counter. She reached into a large, puffy white package and pulled out a black tee. She fanned it out over the chair to show me. It read “Don’t Mind Me, I’ll Take the Stairs,” and had a wheelchair symbol popping a wheelie down stairs. I smiled. The shirt thing had become a joke between me and Mom, after my therapist gave me a That’s How I Roll shirt on my last day of rehab. My dad didn’t really like the dark humor—he was still convinced I’d walk again one day, and thought we were thumbing our noses at fate. I looked at it like a small act of rebellion. A way to show people I did have a sense of humor. That it was okay to laugh.

  “Thought maybe you could wear it on Monday,” she said, taking the seat across from me. There was something in her voice. Something that made me think she knew what Mr. Beckett had said to me.

  “Let me guess, you talked to Owen,” I said, twirling spaghetti around my fork.

  “Okay, maybe I did,” she confessed. “He wasn’t sure if he was going to tell you.”

  “I wish he hadn’t,” I said, shoveling the spaghetti in my mouth.

  There was a loud thud outside, then footfalls on the deck. My kid brother, Matt, was about to step into the kitchen when my mother stood up.

  “Wait—do not come in the house with those work boots. You’ll get mud and manure everywhere.”

  Matt grumbled as he pulled off his boots, then stepped through the sliding screen door a moment later, eyes large as he saw my food. He reached over and snatched the piece of chicken parm off my plate and inhaled half of it before giving it back to me.

  “Hey,” I said, but couldn’t help laughing.

  “All this manual labor works up an appetite.” It was Matt’s first summer working with Dad in our landscaping business. It shouldn’t have jabbed at me, but it did. It was sort of unspoken that one day it would be Lakewood & Sons, and I’d always railed against it, taking the job at the rec center when I was fifteen almost out of spite. I didn’t mind helping Dad, but I’d never seen myself slinging manure for the rest of my life. There was more to it than that, but it was never anything that interested me. Until the choice was taken away. And while I could still help now, going along on a job would be challenging.

  Challenging. I hated that fucking word sometimes.

  “Where’s your father?” Mom asked.

  “He had to go back out to get gas for the mowers. We have a big job tomorrow,” he said, opening the refrigerator door and pulling out the carton of orange juice. He didn’t bother with a glass.

  “Matty, be civilized; I can fix you a plate,” Mom said.

  He closed the carton and put it back in the fridge. “No can do, Moms, got plans.”

  “Oh really?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

  “Yeah, I thought you’d be out too, Bry,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “Liv’s going-away party.”

  “Party? I thought it was a couple of people.”

  “Started out that way. Nick texted me—they’re moving it back to the house, so I’m gonna hit the shower and go over.”

  Nick was Tori’s twin brother. Our neighbor. My friend. Sort of.

  “Are you telling me there’s going to be a party next door?” Mom asked.

  Matt grinned. “Chill, Mom. Nothing to worry about, we’re just hanging out; we might come over and use the half-pipe too, if that’s okay,” he said.

  “Who’s ‘we’?” she asked.

  “A few of the guys. It’s cool, Mom, really. Bry, you should come.”

  “Not really in a half-pipe kind of mood, Matt.”

  “Ha. You know what I mean. Aren’t you and Liv, like, together?”

  I felt my mother’s eyes on me. After the circus that was prom, I’d kept tight-lipped about Liv, avoiding the subject of my nonexistent love life whenever possible. Mom really needed to go back to work.

  “No,” I said, and I swear it felt like it echoed around the kitchen.

  “Bummer,” he said. “Later.” He thundered through the house, taking the stairs two at a time. A force. So big and present, it took a few moments for the air to still. Mom sat down across from me. I finished up my plate.

  “Why don’t you want to go to the party?” she asked.

  “It’s not really a party, Mom. Anyway, I’m tired. I have a big night of Realm Wars planned.”

  “Look, Bry, it’s none of my business, but it’s summer and I think you should try and maybe . . .”

  “Maybe what?”

  “Get out a little more. That online game was fine in the beginning, but I hate to think—”

  “Look, if I wanted to go I would. I just don’t feel like being around anyone right now. Don’t read more into it.”

  She nodded. I felt like shit.

  “About before, what do you think about what Owen said? Do you think I can’t handle the kids in case of emergency?” I asked.

  “Bry, I worry about a lot of things. Every time you get into your car, or I know you’re swimming, I say a prayer. It’s automatic. A mom thing. You, being a camp counselor? No worries at all.”

  “Not even a Hail Mary?”

  She smiled. “Okay, one. That’s it. You’re going to be great.”

  It sounded so easy when she said it.

  THREE

  CASSIDY

  I WOKE WITH A START, A NECK SPASM SENDING A jolt of pain down my right shoulder. There was a breeze in the car, fresh air carrying the salty scent of the ocean. I sat upright, still disoriented. Mom had the windows down, which must have meant we were off the parkway, close to my father’s. I kneaded my neck, rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and blinked a few times.

  “How long was I out?” I asked.

  “A good two hours—lucky; this ride always feels about an hour too long.” Nan fanned her face with a stack of advertising mailers from every casino in Atlantic City. This was a multitasking journey. After they dropped me off at my father’s, Mom and Nana were hitting the casinos on the way home.

  It was a gorgeous blue-sky day. We were about fifteen minutes away from the causeway that crossed over into Crest Haven. Fifteen minutes to sun, fun, and adventures that would wipe Gavin out of my memory. Kind of like a lobotomy, with sunscreen.

  But I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread.

  Sometime in the middle of the night I’d realized I was making a huge mistake. Spending the summer with my father? All I’d thought about was getting away from Gavin, but being faced with the reality of the trade-off made me want to barf. Why hadn’t I listened to Emma?

  We saw my father about three times a year. There were never set days; it was more like whenever my mother had a feeling too much time had passed between visits, we’d jump in our car and take the three-and-a-half-hour trek to Crest Haven.

  It hadn’t always been this way. />
  I had sketchy, almost dreamlike memories of what life was like when my parents were actually married. Some good, like pancake breakfasts at the diner, walks in the park where they each held my hand and swung me every few steps, even one Christmas Eve when we strung our small tree with decorations we’d made out of photos and construction paper, then sat in the dim glow of the lights. Some terrible: Mom and me waiting and waiting at a restaurant for Dad to arrive, epic yelling matches where my father would storm out and Mom would end up crying.

  One Saturday morning, about a month after first grade started, I woke up and my father was gone. Saturday had been our jam. Cartoon Network and scrambled eggs, the one meal he claimed he could make really well. I would whisk as he broke the eggs into the measuring bowl. That morning I’d taken out the bowl and whisk, but when I went to wake him up, my mother told me he was gone. “We’ll be fine, Cass,” she’d said, as if that was enough of an explanation. At the time I hadn’t really understood it was permanent.

  After that, we moved in with Nana Shirl, and she became my afterschool companion. She taught me to play gin while we sipped weak tea and ate dollar-store hot-pink sugar wafers. My mother went from job to job: waitress, retail sales, checkout person at the grocery store . . . nothing seemed to stick. If I thought the fights between my mother and father were epic, the throwdowns between Mom and Nana made them seem like casual conversation.

  During those fights, I’d hide in my room to block it out, since I didn’t really understand how my mother had ruined her life, which is what Nana would inevitably say. I’d imagine calling my father, asking him why no one had asked me where I wanted to stay. And while I saw my father at least twice a month on Saturdays, I never had the nerve to ask him why he left. I just enjoyed being his pal in the moment.

  It wasn’t until Dad married Leslie that I spent weekends with them in Hoboken. And even then it was only a handful of times. Leslie had a job in public relations, which sounded important and glamorous, and we got to see a lot of movies for free before they even came out. Mom never seemed jealous or angry, never made me feel like I needed to choose sides. After Dad remarried she went back to school to train as a dental hygienist, and then found a steady job with regular hours. The fights between her and Nan died down. We settled into normal.