Page 28 of The Summer of ’98

“You do too,” I said, my arms wrapped behind his neck. “Maybe we could just drift and drift and drift until we got around the corner over there and we’ll . . . I don’t know . . . never mind, I was thinking we’d find somewhere private but it’s kind of open around here.”

“I like where your mind is at, though.”

“We need a little boat filled with pillows and blankets and we could go way out. Total privacy.”

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip and he groaned, tipping his head back. “That sounds so good.”

“We could . . . rock the boat.”

Leroy burst out laughing at my terrible pun as we dipped and bopped, the water soaking and flattening the ends of my curls. We spent a good hour swimming, splashing at each other, and using a rope swing that extended from a tree not far from our spot. Noah had a swim, too, but he kept to himself despite my offer for him to join us. I couldn’t blame him—I wouldn’t want to third wheel either—but I still felt bad that he didn’t have someone here with him.

When the sun started to set, Leroy volunteered for us to man the barbecue so that his mom and dad could relax. They settled into their beach chairs, facing the sun with a drink each, and Noah lounged on his towel. It wasn’t long before the scent of sizzling meat and seafood was floating through the air.

“You wanna skewer that chicken for me, babe?” Leroy asked, still standing shirtless with a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped steaks. Meanwhile, I’d slipped a pair of overalls over my bikini. He pointed at the container of raw chicken strips that were coated with seasoning. I nodded and got started.

“What’s your favorite food?” I asked, sliding chicken onto the skewers.

Leroy watched the grill while he thought about his answer. “Burritos.”

“Can I cook those for you while I’m here?”

He looked at me. “You want to cook burritos for me?”

“Yeah. I can’t cook at all. But I want to do that, for you. Like as a date-night idea or something. We might need a backup pizza or something.”

“How about this,” he said, grabbing me at the waist and pulling me in front of him so that my back was to his chest and his chin rested on my shoulder. “Tomorrow night, I’ll get mom and dad tickets to a movie, send them off for the evening, and I’ll get rid of Noah and we’ll have the house to ourselves for a couple of hours?”

“You’ll get rid of Noah?” I laughed, taking the tongs from him so that he could wrap his arms around my middle. I flipped the patties. “That sounds menacing.”

“Force will be used if necessary.”

“I’ll leave that to you. Can I put the chicken on now?”

“Yeah,” he said, still not moving from his position behind me. “You taking over the grill?”

“I guess I am. Don’t leave me, though; I don’t want to be responsible for burning and ruining dinner.”

He kissed the line of my jaw. “I’m right here.”

When the meat was done, we laid out the cold salads and sides and sat around the picnic table—Leroy beside me, Jacob at the head, and Eleanor next to Noah. The food was exquisite and everyone complimented Leroy for it. “Els cooked the skewers,” he said.

“Very nice,” Eleanor said.

“Oh,” I covered my mouth and swallowed before I answered. “I mean, you seasoned them. I just cooked them. Actually, I’m kind of surprised I managed that, though. I can’t cook at all.”

Eleanor seemed a bit surprised at that. “Your mom never taught you?”

“She tried when I was a kid. But she didn’t really have the patience for it. She’d end up doing it herself or getting annoyed if I did something wrong. She’s just like that, you know?”

I laughed it off, not all that bothered about the fact that Momma was far too impatient to give lessons in anything practical. She’d explained that some parents were better equipped to teach than others and I understood that, but Eleanor gave me a sad smile, as if I’d been dealt a bad hand and she felt awful for me.

“What about school?” Noah gave me a flat stare. “You didn’t think to take cooking as an elective?”

“No, I took chem. I want to develop a skincare line. That felt more practical to me.”

“Leroy mentioned something about that,” Eleanor said.

“Because starving is practical,” Noah quietly muttered.

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