I Swear

16. JAKE

Brad and I were pulling into a parking place at Scarecrow Video when I realized I felt happy—but I wasn’t sure why. Of course, the minute I was aware that I was happy again, I realized that it was because I’d forgotten that Leslie didn’t work here anymore. She wouldn’t be standing behind the counter when I went up to rent the next zombie movie Brad and I were going to watch. She wouldn’t have a suggestion or try to trick me into taking home a “classic.”

I sat in Brad’s truck wondering where the tears had gone. I wasn’t sure when they ran out, only that there weren’t any left, and that felt sadder than knowing she was dead: knowing that my feelings were changing already—like with each day, the memory of what Leslie had meant to me faded a little more.

Brad must have sensed it.

“You just remembered, huh?”

I was quiet and looked out the window at the building.

Brad started to laugh. I spun around and glared at him. “What the hell, man?”

He raised both his hands in defense and giggled harder. “No—no, dude. Wait. I’m—I’m sorry. I . . . damn. I was thinking about that first day I met Leslie and Beth. Remember? At the Frosh Bash?”

He dissolved into laughter and it was infectious. I smiled and shook my head. Brad was wiping his eyes. “Holy shit.” He laughed. “Macie didn’t know what hit her.”

There was a surge in my chest when he said it, and the picture of Leslie snapped into sharp focus in my head. The feelings were back—all of them this time. Not only the sadness but the warmth of the sun on my neck at the pool and the cold splash of the water as I climbed out of the pool that day at Brad’s three years ago and saw Leslie slip out of her T-shirt and kick off her sandals.

• • •

Macie and Jillian arrived a good half hour before everybody else. And by “everybody else” I mean the who’s who of the cool kids at Westport. Derek delivered. Anyone who was on a sports team or pretty or popular was there.

There were plenty of girls who were all cute enough, but Leslie was the real star.

“Holy cow,” murmured Derek when he walked out onto the deck. She was wearing a new suit I hadn’t seen in Cape Cod: a bright-red two-piece—not a bikini really; it had boy trunks and a cute top that showed just enough. Her hair was slung back in a ponytail. No bows. No makeup. No fuss.

As the pool started to fill up with people, Derek and a couple of other guys fired up the grill. Leslie and I were telling Brad about the surf instructor at the Chatham Bars Inn.

“Yeah.” Leslie laughed. “When I asked him what his name was, he said, ‘Diego, duuuuuuude.’”

I smiled. “So I was like, ‘C’mon, man. What’s your real name?’ And he was like, ‘My friend’s call me Diego, duuuuuuuuude.’”

Leslie jumped in: “So then Jillian was all business and said really slowly: ‘What . . . did your mother . . . name you?’”

At that moment, I felt Jillian’s arm around my neck as she peeked over Leslie’s shoulder. In her best Diego impersonation, she said, “Umm . . . Charleston.”

We all laughed and Leslie hugged Jillian. “Oh my God! Hi! That was so hilarious. You know he’s from this total WASPy blue-blood family. His dad is probably a professor at Harvard.”

“Yeah, but you’d never know it from the shaggy blond highlights and the dirty fingernails,” I said.

Brad laughed. “Didn’t you say he went around barefoot everywhere?”

“Yeah.” Jillian snorted. “And after that day he talked us all into surf lessons, he tried to ask Leslie out on a date.”

“And who wouldn’t, with a rack like that?”

The voice was a guy’s and came from behind me. I spun around ready to lay down the law and came nose to nose with Josh Phillips.

“’Sup, bros?” He dropped his voice to a butch Neanderthal’s, then handed me and Brad beers.

“Josh!” Jillian jumped across me to Josh for a hug. Brad held up a hand for a high five, but Josh just crossed his arms. “Dude. We’re in high school now. High fives are for children.”

I laughed as Brad locked an arm around Josh’s neck and rubbed his knuckles against Josh’s scalp, beer sloshing everywhere.

“This is Josh Phillips,” I said, introducing him to Beth and Leslie. “He’s got the fastest time for the two hundred butterfly in the state.”

Josh was lean but solid. At six foot three he was an inch taller than Brad and I, but weighed twenty pounds less and could outstretch any guy in the Northwest.

“Lovely ladies of the freshman class,” he said, tipping his red Wayfarer Ray-Bans and peering over the frames. “Anything to drink?”

“Dry martini, up,” said Macie as she slunk into the circle between Brad and me. “You can be the drink boy today, but let’s remember it’s a service role.”

“What the f*ck, Macie—?” I started.

Josh held up a hand. “Easy there, Walker. This one doesn’t mean any harm; she’s just worried I look better in my swimsuit than she does.”

Macie smiled. “Or maybe I do mean some harm, Josh. And where are those little Speedos you race in? I was so hoping we’d see them on you today.”

“Board shorts today, Ms. Merrick. Didn’t want to frighten you, sweetheart,” said Josh. “Beth? Jillian? Leslie? To drink?”

“I’ll just take a Diet Coke,” said Leslie, eager to change the subject.

Jillian glared at Macie. “I’ll come with you, Josh.”

“Excellent.” He smiled. “Macie, I’m afraid we’re fresh out of gin, but I’ll make some lemonade and see if we can’t sweeten up that sour puss of yours.”

Bradley howled with laughter as Macie blushed.

“C’mon, Jills,” said Josh as he grabbed her hand. “You’ve just been promoted to assistant mixologist.” Then he dragged her over toward the grill and the outdoor kitchen area, where Derek had set up the bar.

“Not cool,” I said to Macie when Josh was out of earshot.

“Oh, come now, Jake.” Macie fake pouted. “Just reminding everyone of the natural order of things. Can’t have the swim boys running amok.”

“I see you’ve met our new gymnast?” I asked.

“Yes indeed,” said Macie. “She’s cute as a button. Came running right over to introduce herself.”

Beth smiled nervously. She seemed to be looking at everyone but Leslie.

“And this is Leslie,” I said.

Leslie smiled and extended her hand.

“Oh, I know who you are,” said Macie, ignoring her hand and reaching toward her bikini top for the chain around her neck. “Jake! How cute. You and Leslie are wearing your little friendship necklaces. Jillian told me about those.”

Leslie fingered the charm around her neck, and I felt my cheeks burn as Macie continued her act.

“I made Jillian take hers off. Can’t have the poor girl getting an ugly white blotch in the middle of her chest from that charm.”

I saw Leslie’s face cloud, and then she composed herself and tried again.

“We had a really great time in Cape Cod,” she said to Macie. “It’s so beautiful there. We were just talking about the day we took surf lessons and—”

“Oh—huh,” Macie said, interrupting her.

“What?” asked Leslie, confused.

Macie reached over and ran a finger along my collarbone, under the silver chain, and suggestively down between my pecs, where the sailboat pendant hung.

“Jake’s is a boat and yours is an anchor,” she said, looking at Leslie. Then she let out a little chuckle. “How appropriate.”

She dropped the sailboat against my chest. “Well, I need to go and say hello to some sophomores. Beth, join us?”

Beth nodded eagerly.

“Nice meeting you, Leslie,” Macie said coolly.

She took a few steps and turned back to me, adjusting the sarong that hung from her hips, under her white strapless top.

“Careful of that anchor, Jake. Wouldn’t want it tying you down.”

• • •

“You two never really got along after that,” Brad said, staring into the window of Scarecrow Video from his truck.

“We never really got along before that,” I said, sliding out of the truck. Brad followed and we walked toward the front door of the store. I saw Andy standing behind the counter. He nodded at me and raised a hand. I waved back.

“Macie felt like you were supposed to be with her. You were always her pick for high school boyfriend. I was second choice.”

“I never made Macie any promises, Brad.”

“Didn’t have to,” said Brad. “Macie promised herself that you’d be hers. You’re the first thing she ever wanted that she couldn’t have.”

I reached for the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t be the last.”