Page 60 of Summer After Summer

“Did we?”

The days after our breakup are hazy. I kept expecting him to call or email, to tell me it had been a misunderstanding and I wasn’t going to have to pay for the mistakes of some other girl. But he never did. Eventually, I stopped looking for his name in my inbox. And I didn’t reach out because I shouldn’t be the one to apologize. So how could I call him? What would I say? Just wait in silence for him to say the right thing? And what if he didn’t? What if he was expecting me to be the one to put us back together?

It was too many questions, too many unknowns, so I let it fade to history. Us.

“It was a long time ago,” Fred says.

“Five years.”

“And now it’s five years later.”

What is he saying? That this is what we agreed to? That he’d reappear in my life after five years of radio silence, and we’d pick up where we left off?

“I … I can get a cab.”

“No, I’ll drive you.”

I want to refuse, but Fred looks as sad as I feel. I’m going to kill Ash. “Okay, thank you.”

I follow him out of the station to the parking lot. It’s half full of cars, and the sun is gleaming off their windshields. Trees ring the lot, and sand is swirling across the cracked tarmac.

“I’m over here.” He points to an old black pickup with rust spots on the side. He puts my bag in the back, then opens the door on the passenger side for me. I climb up into the seat, wincing as I go.

“You’re injured,” Fred says as I settle myself gingerly into the seat.

“Cracked rib.”

“I didn’t know.”

He closes the door gently after me, then circles the truck and gets into the driver’s seat. My brain is flooding with the questions I’ve been holding at bay. Where has he been all this time? How long is he going to be here? Is he single?

Did he miss me?

“Why did you agree to pick me up?” The only safe topic is transportation.

He turns on the engine. “I wanted to see you.”

Or maybe not. “How did Ash know you were here?”

“I ran into her in town the other day.”

“She didn’t tell me.”

He backs up and leaves the lot. His hands are sure on the wheel, and it’s already one new thing about him. We’ve never driven together before, but I feel safe. Secure.

That’s a false feeling that I need to quash immediately.

“Seems like she’s keeping a lot from you these days,” he says.

You’re dead, I text to Ash, hiding my screen from Fred. I killed you. “I’m sorry she asked you.”

“I’m not.”

I glance at him, but he’s staring straight ahead. The station isn’t far from Taylor House, but it feels like a million miles. “How have you been? I mean, in general.”

“Good.”

I turn away; it’s too hard to look at him. The same old houses flash past, tourists with sunburned arms and trucker hats. The brine of the ocean hugs the air. “Did you go into the Army?”

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