The Summer We Came to Life

Chapter

38





“YOU DID THAT. HOW?”

“I don’t know.”

The dock is just as before—the sun shining, the clouds still unmoving but perfect. It’s like a scrapbook picture of my childhood. Mina’s as still as the clouds, as if she’s part of the photograph, too. I touch her shoulder.

“Why did we have to leave?”

“We can only go when they’re thinking about us.”

“Mina, how many times have you seen Kendra cry? Of course she was thinking about us.”

Mina kicks her feet in the water, rippling the photograph. “She was at first. But then she was thinking about something else.” Mina hugs herself like she’s cold. “Tomorrow is her appointment.”

“For what?”

Mina looks up and frowns. “Kendra’s going to have an abortion.”

I think of Kendra’s voice in our last phone call. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“I think she’s ashamed.”

“Of getting pregnant?”

“Of being more concerned about ruining her perfect life than creating a new one.”

“Michael doesn’t know?” How could Kendra not tell him? And not tell us? She must have been going crazy.

Mina looks at the water. “It’s what he wants.”

The water suddenly appears to boil around her feet. Mina yanks her feet out of the water and looks at me curiously.

“How can she be with such an a*shole?”

Mina laughs uneasily. “Ye who live in glass houses—”

I cock my head. “Remy? You don’t like him?”

Mina’s answer is surprisingly soft. “Did you?”

I want to shoot her an angry look but it fizzles. The news about Kendra is overwhelming, but now Remy moves through my mind in countless flittering memories. “Should I go see him? Do you have to go with me?”

Mina pats my hand. “I’ll wait here. Just think about him as hard as you can. You can do it.”



Remy. Remy. Remy getting out the shower, singing a silly French song with my name in it. Remy in bed, snoring like a bear. Remy’s smile with his gleaming teeth. Remy’s hand on my waist, possessive but so reassuringly confident.



Wow, he looks great.

Remy is in front of a fancy crowd, making a toast. He is obviously drunk, but carrying it well, dressed impeccably in a tux.

Not exactly what I expected. He’s at a party? But if I’m here, he must be thinking about me—

“Merci! Merci beaucoup. Ce prix me signifie le monde.”

People applaud as Remy clutches an award in his hands and thanks them profusely. The ballroom is filled with tables covered in white linen tablecloths and towering flower arrangements. Photographers wind amongst the guests, setting off firefly blasts of light. Camera crews zoom in on Remy walking down from the stage, a trophy in hand. Beautiful women in ball gowns stand clapping and wiping fake tears, beside their cheering, handsome dates.

A busty blonde in a slinky black cocktail dress breaks off from the crowd and makes her way towards Remy, shifting her hips as she glides through the adoring spectators.

“Tu le mérites,” she croons into his ear with a disgusting familiarity. She lingers a second longer to exhale onto his neck.

Remy closes his eyes and does not respond to her passionate praise. When he opens them, he looks ill. “Excusez-moi,” he mumbles, and claws his way through the smiling people.

When he gets to the bathroom, a distinguished gentleman is just about to step inside. He stops when he catches sight of Remy and smiles. “Ah, Monsieur Badeau—”

Remy puts his hand on the doorknob and averts his eyes. “Pardonez-moi,” he says as he slips past the startled congratulator.

Inside, Remy barely makes it to the toilet in time to vomit. His face is splotchy and dripping sweat. He flushes the toilet and wipes the seat with a wad of seat covers. He clenches a fist and punches the metal wall. He smoothes back his hair as if trying to calm himself down, but then he kicks a gilded trashcan and it careens to the floor clattering like armor. The kick sends Remy staggering until he slumps down on the toilet seat in his tux. With the growl of a grizzly, he drops his head into his hands and sobs.

It’s heartrending to see. I long to touch him, comfort him. And I need to be held, feel his strong arms wrap around me and confirm my existence. But there is no me here. Here I am, a freshly completed last Chapter. And a source of pain.

Helplessly watching Remy cry is the ultimate confirmation of my death. There is nothing to separate us, none of the usual barriers between lovers. No skin, no eyes staring into another’s, no discordant heartbeats to denote the boundary between us. I am not him, I am not here. I am an observer of a world where I no longer swim. I’m a visitor to the aquarium.