As she did this, I could feel the first hot tear hit my cheek, and then my chin was trembling, out of control again. As I looked out at the water, I realized there was nowhere to go, nowhere left to run. And I just had to stay here, facing this terrible truth. I felt, as more tears fell, just how tired I was, a tiredness that had nothing to do with the hour. I was tired of running from this, tired of not telling people, tired of not talking about it, tired of pretending that things were okay when they had never, ever been less okay. I attempted to pull my hand away, but Lucy just held it, squeezing mine hard, all the way to the end of the dock. And there was something about it—maybe the fact that she was letting me know, physically, that she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere—that made me feel like I could finally just let myself cry.
When I’d pulled myself together a bit, Lucy headed back to get her kayak, dragging it across the dock. She took out the paddle and flashlight and placed the kayak on the edge of the dock. “Can I do anything?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No,” I said, running my hand across my face. “Thanks, though.”
Lucy didn’t take the easy out, though, continuing to look at me intently. “Will you let me know if there is anything I can do?” she asked. When I nodded, she pressed, “Promise?”
“Promise,” I said. She dropped the kayak in the water and climbed in, and I handed her down the paddle and flashlight.
“Hey,” she said, looking up at me in the moonlight as she bobbed below the dock, “do you remember any of those codes we used to have?”
I felt myself smile as I thought back to all those messages we had figured out how to send each other across the water. “I think so,” I said.
“Good,” Lucy said, using the paddle to push off the dock and propel herself forward with swift, practiced strokes, the beam of her flashlight bobbing on the water. “Just stay out here for a minute, okay?”
“Okay,” I called back. She waved the paddle at me, and I sat down on the dock and watched her progress, my eyes straying only occasionally to the carving at the end of it, the inscription that joined my name with Henry’s.
When I looked back at the lake, I couldn’t see Lucy anymore, and figured she must have made it home. Just as I thought this, a beam of light flashed across the water at me. One flash, then three. Then two more, then three.
It came to me after a moment, and I felt myself smile as I translated the message she was sending me.
Good night, Taylor. I’ll see you tomorrow.
chapter twenty-three
Five summers earlier
“TAYLOR?” I LOOKED UP FROM MY LOUNGE CHAIR AND LOWERED MY dark sunglasses. Lucy was standing in front of me, wearing a bathing suit I’d never seen before, and an expression that fell somewhere between happiness and annoyance.
“Hey, Luce,” I said as I stood up and we hugged, my excitement at seeing her tempered by all the half-truths I’d been telling her about Henry, not to mention the secrets about him I’d been keeping from her. Even though I’d seen the bandanna a week and a half ago, I’d been avoiding her as much as possible. I was spending most of my time with Henry. We had carved our initials into the dock the day before. Part of me thought it was the most romantic thing that had ever happened, but another part of me kept looking across the lake, worried that Lucy would see us. She’d been calling every day, and I’d promised Warren my dessert for a month if he would make up excuses and not ask questions. “Because I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk to her without telling her everything that had happened with Henry—which meant explaining that I’d never actually talked to him about her, even though almost a month had gone by since she’d asked me.
My mother, saying that my father needed peace and quiet to work, had shooed me out of the house. Not wanting to go to the lake, I’d gone to the pool with a pair of my mother’s old sunglasses and took one of the least desirable lounge chairs, hoping to fly under the radar.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Lucy said, pulling me into another hug, and as she did, I realized with a pang just how much I’d missed her, and how she was the only person I wanted to tell about all the Henry stuff—that even my first kiss didn’t seem complete, because I hadn’t been able to discuss it with her. “We have so much to talk about,” she said, grabbing me by the hand and pulling me in the direction of the concession stand.
“Where are we going?” I asked, letting myself be pulled.
“Snacks,” Lucy said, grinning at me. She pulled a ten-dollar bill out of her pocket and waved it at me. “I think it’s guilt money. Both my parents are giving it to me. My treat.”
Lucy talked a mile a minute as we waited in line, and got Cherry Cokes and a frozen Snickers, to split. She only seemed to notice I hadn’t been saying much once we’d paid and were heading toward one of the wooden tables. “What’s been going on with you?” she asked, finally taking a breath.
I set my can down and brushed my fingers through the lines of condensation that were already starting to form on it. “Actually,” I said, a little haltingly, “there’s something I have to tell you.” Lucy smiled and leaned forward, but then she looked past me, and her smile froze, turning into something much less relaxed.
“Oh, my God,” she breathed, sitting up a little straighter, a faint blush coming into her cheeks, “he’s here. Do I look okay?”