Page 127 of The Doctor's Truth

I take a half and take a bite. He’s not wrong. Turkey, tomato, lettuce, Havarti cheese, red onion, mayo, mustard, avocado…good stuff.

I hum contently and dig into my half. “You know me well.”

Donovan gets comfortable in the small nook, pulling up his legs. He’s wearing jeans and a soft dark T-shirt—far be it from Donovan to wear anything lightly colored, even if it is ninety-something degrees out. “What’d I miss?”

“Jason’s talking about going to South Africa for a month or two.”

“Did he try to recruit you?”

“Sure did.”

“Sounds fun. New places. New people. You did say you wanted to travel.”

“I did.” I shrug. “But…believe it or not…I think I’m staying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve gotten kinda used to this place.”

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Donovan work hard to try to hide his pleased smile. “Huh” is all he says.

I hear the sudden rush of water as Jason emerges. He climbs up the short ladder on the back of the boat and into the cockpit. He’s soaking wet, his hair matted to the back of his neck, his trunks clinging in ways that make it hard not to stare.

“Oh! Lunch!” Jason exclaims, as excited as a kid. He steps beside Donovan and helps himself to Donovan’s half, taking a bite.

Donovan narrows his eyes, edging away. “Watch it. You’re dripping. Everywhere.”

“Fuck, that’s so good.” Jason returns Donovan’s sandwich and sucks mayo off his thumb. “Can you make me one?”

“I did, and it’s downstairs—argh!” Donovan attempts to scramble back as Jason steps over him to go below deck, dripping as he goes.

I can’t help but laugh. They might be at each other’s throats more often than not, but they’re also an endless source of entertainment.

Before too long Jason pops back up, a little drier than he left, and says, “Hey, you guys wanna see something cool?”

“Always,” I tell him.

He climbs over Donovan (again) and sits down on the bench opposite me. There’s a small console between us, with wings that can be propped up to form a table. Jason puts his sandwich plate in his lap, and in his other hand, he extends a picture frame toward me.

“Happy thirteen-year anniversary,” he says.

Donovan and I exchanged confused looks. “Anniversary of what?”

“You know. The first time. The time that produced…that kid.” He tilts his head toward Otto.

“How the fuck do you remember these things?” Donovan counters.

“It was a week after they released Batman Begins in Hannsett Theatre.”

Donovan groans. “I hate that you know that fact.”

I sidle up next to Donovan and hold the frame out for him to see. “Check it out.”

Honestly, I didn’t think there was any photographic evidence of the summer the three of us spent together—this was a time before Instagram and selfies, after all.

But there we are. The three of us. Teenagers. We’re at the marina’s pool. I’m in a bathing suit with a plaid shirt thrown over top. Jason sits beside me, arm looped over my shoulders, posing for the camera in that obnoxious way boys do—he’s either throwing up the peace sign or a gang sign, it’s hard to tell. Donovan, dressed in black, black hair, black nails, black glare, looks moodily at the camera as though he’s prepared for it to take his soul.

More than anything, I’m struck by how young we look. We thought we knew everything then. But we were children. Innocent in our own way. Young, dumb, and in love with ourselves in that self-absorbed way all young adults get to be.

---