“I’ve got something for you, too.” He smiled. I followed him to his room, trying not to think about what happened the last time we were in there.
He pulled out a stack of three somewhat worn books, tied up with white ribbon, from the top shelf of his closet: Rosemary’s Baby, Misery, and The Handmaid’s Tale. “I spent months tracking these down at yard sales and the secondhand store,” he said, sounding a bit nervous. “The Atwood isn’t really horror, it’s dystopian, but we read it in English and I think you’ll love it. And I got the other two because I thought you might want to see the words that created some of your favorite movies.”
“Wow,” I said. “Sam, these are so amazing.”
“Yeah?” He seemed unsure. “Not as fancy as a silver bracelet, though.”
I wasn’t even wearing the bracelet. Was it jealousy? I hadn’t known Sam to be insecure about money before, but maybe that was it.
“Not as fancy, but way better,” I said, and he looked relieved. I passed him the revised version of the ghost story I’d long been tinkering with.
“Reading time?” he asked, flopping onto the end of his bed. He patted the spot beside him.
“You’re going to read it in front of me?”
“Uh-huh,” he said, not looking up from the page and holding his index finger over his mouth to shush me. I settled onto the bed beside him and dug into The Handmaid’s Tale. About half an hour later, Sam put the pages down and ran his hand through his hair. He’d cut it a little shorter since I’d seen him last. He looked older.
“This is really great, Percy,” he said.
“Swear on it?” I asked, putting my book down.
“Of course.” He sounded surprised I’d asked and pulled on my bracelet absentmindedly. “I’m not sure if I’m terrified of the dead sister or if I feel sorry for her—or both.”
“Really? That’s exactly what I was going for!”
“Really. I’m going to read it again and make notes, okay?” It was more than okay. Sam was my best reader. He always had ideas to make the characters stronger or questions that pointed out a hole in the story’s logic.
“Yes, please. Delilah’s critique was very Delilah and totally useless, as always.”
“More sex?”
“Exactly,” I laughed. An awkward silence fell upon us, and I racked my brain for something not sex related to say, but Sam spoke up.
“So when did you and Buckley get serious?” he asked, squinting at me.
“Are you ever going to call him Mason?”
“Probably not,” Sam deadpanned.
“Well, I’m not sure if I’d say we’re serious,” I said.
“But he’s your boyfriend now.”
“Yeah, he is.” I played with the frayed hole in the knee of my jeans.
“So I think I know the basics: He’s Delilah’s cousin, plays hockey, went to a—shudder—private school for boys and is now at U of T, buys his girlfriend expensive-looking jewelry, has a terrible name.” I was surprised by how much he’d remembered from our emails. “But you haven’t really told me what he’s like.”
“He’s nice.” I shrugged, and studied the woman in a red robe on the cover of the book. What was she hiding?
“You’ve mentioned that.” Sam bopped my knee with his. “What does he think about your writing?” He tapped the sheets of paper on the bed.
“I don’t know, really,” I said. “I haven’t given him any of it to read. It’s kind of personal, you know?”
“Too personal for your boyfriend?” Sam asked, smirking.
“You know what I mean.” I kicked him. “I’ll share one with him at some point, but it’s scary to have other people read your work.”
“But it’s not scary when I read them?” He looked up at me from under his lashes.
“Well, when you read them in front of me, it is,” I evaded. “But no, I trust you.” Sam seemed satisfied with that answer.
“So other than the fact that he’s nice, what do you like about him?” It wasn’t a snarky question. He seemed genuinely curious. I twisted the embroidered bracelet around my wrist.
“He likes me back,” I said truthfully, and Sam didn’t ask any more questions after that.
* * *
EVERY NOW AND then I’d learn something about Charlie that threw my entire perception of him into question. He was driving around in a trusty old blue pickup truck that his grandfather had handed down to him “on account of my excellent grades,” he explained. I’d laughed, when he’d told me, assuming he was joking, but his dimples vanished. I frowned. “Full academic scholarship and everything,” he said. “Don’t look so shocked.”
He still preferred to take the Banana Boat in to work. “I like feeling the wind on me after spending the night in that hellhole,” he explained. “Besides,” he continued with a wink, “the boat is more convenient for post-shift skinny-dipping.” And that was the Charlie I knew.
Jumping in the lake butt naked after our shifts had become a ritual. I assumed Sue knew what was going on—we weren’t exactly quiet—and my parents had seen me walk into the cottage with a towel wrapped around me and my work clothes in my fist, but no one seemed to care too much. I caught bits and pieces of body parts, and that wasn’t always by accident, but mostly it was an innocent way to blow off steam.
Charlie’s latest fling, Anita, joined us on occasion. She was a bit older and had a cottage further down on the lake, but her presence did nothing to stop Charlie from crossing any and every line he could.
We were swimming after a Thursday shift. Charlie and Anita drank beers standing in the water by the end of the dock, whispering and laughing and kissing, while Sam and I floated on pool noodles further out.
“Don’t you think Percy’s a knockout?” Charlie asked loud enough for us to hear.
“I already told you that I do,” Anita giggled. I could see the tops of her small breasts peeking out from the water and felt my face heat.
“Right, I must have forgotten,” Charlie said to her with a kiss on her cheek.
“I’ll bet,” Sam laughed, but I felt uneasy. It seemed like Charlie was working up to something. I inched toward Sam and my foot kicked his leg, startling him. We were close enough now that I could see the way his chest glowed milky white under the water.
“You know, Pers,” Charlie drawled, “Anita and I both think you’re hot. Maybe you should join us sometime.”
My mouth dropped open, and I felt Sam’s foot wrap around my ankle.
“Leave her alone, Charlie,” Anita scolded. “You’re freaking her out.”
“I have a boyfriend,” I replied, trying to sound bored but bracing myself. It didn’t seem like Charlie had hit the punch line yet.
“Oh, that’s right,” Charlie replied. “Some rich guy. Sam told me. It’s too bad, though I’m not surprised. A beautiful, smart, funny girl like yourself, who not to mention grew quite the rack last year.”
“Charlie,” Sam warned.
“What? It’s true. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, Samuel,” he went on. “Seriously, Pers, I can’t imagine that any guy wouldn’t be falling over himself to be with you.” Bull’s-eye.
“Fuck you, Charlie,” Sam said, but his brother was whispering something to Anita, who was looking in my direction and making a sad awww noise.
“Oh my god.” I hadn’t realized the words had left my mouth until I noticed Sam staring at me.
“You okay?” he whispered, but I didn’t reply. Charlie and Anita were climbing out of the water, neither of them in any hurry to cover themselves with a towel.
“We’ll be in the basement,” Charlie called out as they headed up. “Offer still stands, Pers.”
“Percy?” Sam prodded me with his foot. “I’m sorry. That was far, even for Charlie.”
“You told him?” I whispered. “About last summer?” I swallowed back the lump in my throat and faced Sam, not caring about how much of me he could or couldn’t see.
“Yeah, not about all of it. But he sort of cornered me after Christmas Eve at your place, after he heard you talking about Mason and the bracelet.”