Page 31 of Told You So
Sam shrugs. “What if they’re here?” she finally says. Her gaze shifts from me to Mac, and then to the fire on the beach. “Mike and Bethany—together—is thelastthing I want to see tonight.” She looks down at her feet, trying not to stumble in the sand.
I don’t want to see Mike—or Bethany, for that matter—any more than Sam does. Looking back into the throng of partiers, I search for familiar faces in the dying sunlight. There are some, but none unwanted, that I can see.
“I doubt Mike will be here,” Mac finally says, and we stop at the outskirts of the party. “At least, he better not be.” She grumbles the last part.
“And if he is?” There’s a plea in Sam’s voice, one I’ve grown familiar with over the past five months, even if I’ll never get used to it. It’s the tone she uses when she’s not ready for us to leave her with her thoughts; the desperate side of her that can’t understand why Mike would treat her the way he did when they were so happy. It’s a different Sam, a broken Sam.
“Then, we’ll leave,” I promise.
“At least I don’t have to worry about Reilly,” she grinds out. I’m still getting used to the brittleness in her tone when she speaks about our best friend. She might think Reilly is to blame now, in all her rage and broken heartedness, but I don’t blame him for stepping in and breaking them up, especially not after learning Mike was cheating on Sam with Bethany. Sam distanced herself from all of us while she was with Mike, so I might not have been completely in the loop, but even I could see he was bad news. The chaos Mike created in his wake will haunt all of us for the rest of our lives, and the son of a bitch could care less about all of it.What asshole doesn’t return your calls after you almost die in a car accident—after your fatherdoes?
Mac peers around at the crowd. “This town is getting too big, I don’t think I know everyone here anymore.” She’s only partially joking. “So many people came this year.”
Sam groans. “I already feel sick.”
“Deep breath, Sam,” Mac says.
“Here. I have just the remedy,” I say happily. I pull a beer out of my ice chest and hand it to her. She just needs a little something to loosen her up, we all do after the year we’ve had.
“Hold the bottle tight,” I tell her and pop the cap off with the butt of my lighter. Sam’s face scrunches and my smile widens. “Pretend it’s a wine cooler. Go on, take a big swig.”
Her grimace is very Sam-like, and it makes me happy that there’s still part of her in there somewhere.
“Yo, Turner!” Slinsky shouts. I nod at him and second baseman, Chet Tompkins, as they make their way over from the other side of the bonfire. Although I have nothing against either of them, I don’t want to reminisce with them about baseball tonight, especially when half the team went on to play minor league or coach, one of them was even drafted to the Dodgers. Me, on the other hand, I stayed behind to go back to school, the farthest thing from living my dream, even if I do like architecture.
I meet up with the guys closer to the bonfire, knowing Slinsky is one of Mac’s least favorite people, so I try to spare her. The guys are grinning, their eyes enlivened by firelight and they seem almost giddy to be here tonight.
“Dude, what’s it been—a couple years since I saw you?” Tompkins says as I grab a beer from my handheld ice chest.
“Something like that,” I say and situate my Igloo in the sand. Save for a few waves around town, we haven’t seen each other in a while. It’s definitely not like it used to be.
Tompkins comes in for a side clap on the shoulder.
Then Slinsky. “What’s new man?” he asks.
“Not much. Same shit, different day.” I nod to Slinsky. “You still painting with your dad?”
“Yeah, it’s temporary,” he says and takes a gulp from his plastic cup.
I glance over at Mac and Sam as they wade further and further into the group. Mac is all smiles and flirty laughter as familiar faces surround them, but Sam’s eyes dart around the party, and she really does look like she might puke.
“And you’re at your dad’s firm now, huh?” Tompkins says. “That’s cool.”
I shake my head, taking a swig of my beer. “No, not yet. I’m still working on my degree. What about you? Still coaching?”
He nods. “And getting married this winter,” he adds. “But I have to say, I thought I’d hate it, but surprisingly I don’t.”
“What, getting married?” Slinsky says. “I could’ve told you that.”
“No,” Tompkins chides. “Coaching little league. I actually like coaching the little shits. They remind me of us, only they’re half the size, and I’m pretty sure they’re bigger assholes than we ever were.”
We all laugh, but it feels forced and a little awkward, like time has stolen our comradery, which used to be the most dependable part of our lives.
“So,” Slinsky says, “What’s up with Reilly, is he still deployed?”
I nod and take another swig of my beer. “Yep, I’m not sure where, but I got an email from him a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, I bet he’s somewhere miserable,” Tompkins mutters. “Does he at least like the Army?”
