My parents argue because Mom doesn’t know how to drive the vehicle well, but she also doesn’t want Dad to tell her what to do.
It makes me laugh.
I know the place we arrived at. Dad and I have walked it a million times. This crossing has put fear in my body. Two highways intersect near a curve in the road, and a grove of trees can spoil the perception as you pull out of the ditch.
We have practiced it, over and over again.
-I’m coming! -I call again.
My father’s hand rises and gives me a thumbs up.
-Pay attention. Tell us what it looks like from the other side,” is his response.
I guess now that I’m fourteen, he thinks I know what I’m doing here. Pride blooms in my chest as I climb the slope to the shoulder and carefully check both directions.
I look, I listen, and when I deem it safe, I rev the engine and head safely down the highway.
I stop and turn to the other side to see the curve in the road. A large tractor trailer approaches and I see the rest of my family on the other side. All together. Smiling and laughing, even despite the arguments.
Again, I feel proud that my father trusted me to be the first to cross. I feel able. I feel older.
We’ve been practicing safety protocol for years, so I know all the signs.
I raise my hand straight above my head, the signal we use for ‘stop’ every time we go out on the quads and, in winter, on the snowmobiles.
Except Jenny doesn’t know these hand signals, and must mistake them for a greeting, or with me accompanying her. Or maybe it’s because the sun is low and in his eyes.
In any case, I see her smiling at me from the other side of the highway as her wrist twists the accelerator.
I yell at him to stop. Dad lunges forward as if he could grab her and stop her.
But it’s too late.
And I will never stop feeling responsible.
I wake up, nauseous and restless. The same thing always happens to me. I keep my eyes closed, trying to think of something happy for four seconds. But right now everything is shit, and the only thing I can think of is the shy smile Sloane looks at me with sometimes. The one he dedicates to me just before tucking his hair behind his ears and lowering his eyes.
He’s the only person I’ve ever told about the hand sign, about me being responsible for Jenny’s death. Everyone else knows the Coles Notes 2 version of the day my life went to shit, but they have no idea that my shoulder still hurts from wishing I hadn’t raised my arm to brag that I knew those hand signals that day. .
When I open my eyes, I take a brief inventory of my body, noting the aches and pains in certain spots that become more persistent with age.
My vision focuses a little and then my eyes catch a figure on the shore of the lake. Sloane stands in her bathrobe, looking at the water. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun and the elegant lines of her neck are silhouetted against the setting sun. The once-blue water now reflects the dramatic sky, all purples and pinks and golds, dark clouds streaking over a perfectly still lake.
I bet it would be a good lake to play hockey when it freezes. But I’m the one who freezes when the robe falls from her shoulders. And then all I see is her ass in her thong, her cinched waist, her toned back, and the straps of her black bra.
His fingers curl into his palms and his shoulders hunch. It’s like I’m watching her give herself a mental chat.
I smile when I see it.
Her round buttocks bend equally as she slowly walks towards the water. He gently inserts a toe and withdraws it with a shiver that runs through his entire body.
I see how he takes a deep breath before jumping into the water. A little wild, very brave.
There is.
I swear I hear her scream as she dives into the water, completely submerging herself beneath the still surface for moments that seem to last a lifetime. Several meters from the shore his head falls and rivulets of water run down his bare face as he raises his hands to remove the moisture from his closed eyes.
He steps into the water and turns to look at the mountains, barely black silhouettes against the burning sky.
I sit and stare. It could be a painting. A photography. A beautiful woman in a beautiful lake.
It’s peaceful. Serene. So different from how I feel inside. Makes me wonder what view Beau is looking at right now.
I get up and walk out the sliding door, needing fresh air, wanting to touch this view somehow. Memorize it. As if he were running his fingers through the piles of oil paint. It almost doesn’t seem real. I need to prove to myself that it is.
My sock-clad feet get cold when walking on grass that is too firm. The evening frost is already falling on the picturesque mountain valley.
When I reach the water’s edge, I feel the finest grains of sand slide across the fabric, leaving a sandy texture on the bottoms of my feet. But I dont care. I’m still totally focused on Sloane.
My friend Sloane, who continues to step in place elegantly as if this were just another dance for her. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if she feels as broken as I do, as tattered and torn.
Almost in slow motion, he looks over his shoulder, the tip of his nose twitching just once as he turns to look at me.
-Hello.
It’s a simple word, and somehow it still makes my chest tight. I am so at peace in his presence. I always have been.
-Hello. I shove my hands in my pockets, pressing my thumbs against each fingertip to calm my nerves. I try not to think about my friend’s naked ass and everything I would do to it.
And then I give in. But only for four seconds. I allow myself four seconds of chaos before I control it and put it away, before I control myself again.
Sloane tilts her head.
-What are you doing?
Counting to four.
“Is this a silly sports joke?”
I huff a laugh.
-Very nice, Sunny.
He gives me an innocent look.
They are not famous for their brains.
He’s teasing me, but I don’t bite.
It’s something I do to help feel out of control. So when an opposing player scores a goal or something, I give myself four seconds of frustration before I get back into the game.
Our eyes move and then fixate after my explanation.
Do you feel out of control right now?
-No. My answer comes too quickly.
She nods, teeth clenching her bottom lip. His eyes shine with challenge. And then he says: Come in.
-No, thanks. I bet it’s freezing.
“I didn’t know they grew them so soft at Wishing Well Ranch,” he scoffs, moving his arms away and pushing himself further back.