Everything We Didn't Say

“Well, that’s nothing new.”

It’s not like Ashley to be so tart, and that more than anything convinces me of my tenuous grip on my best friend. I watch as she starts to gather up the remains of our lunch—a couple squeeze packets of ketchup and the huge cup with an inch or two of chocolate sludge in the bottom—and wonder why she hasn’t brought up Sullivan. The memory of our kiss makes me skittish, but when I open my mouth to come clean to my friend, the words shrivel on my tongue.

It was sweet of Ashley to come, and I’m blowing it again. I make a split-second decision to offer her an olive branch in the form of juicy gossip.

“Did you know that Calvin Murphy has cancer?” The moment I’ve said it I regret it. I have no idea if Cal’s leukemia is public knowledge, and in light of how the Murphys have always been treated as outsiders by the close-knit people of Jericho, I wouldn’t be surprised if they were hoping to keep the news under wraps—at least for a while. But Ashley has already devoured this information. She spins toward me, used ketchup packets still pinched between two fingers.

“Seriously?” There’s something a bit alarming in her look. Hungry, maybe. I’ve seen it often. It’s the look of someone starved for a sense of importance and worth. Eager to live vicariously, even if—maybe especially if—the vicarious living is tragic. The look on Ashley’s face is one of the biggest reasons I’m so eager to leave Jericho behind.

“Yes,” I say, almost against my will. “But keep it under wraps, okay? I don’t think they’re telling people yet. You know how Cal and Beth like their privacy.”

“I don’t know how long you can keep something like cancer a secret, but I won’t tell anyone.” Ashley leans over and gives me a one-armed hug. “I’m sorry, June. I know they’re friends of yours. And I can totally understand why you’re out of sorts. I’m just glad to finally know what’s gotten into you lately. I thought you were hiding something from me!”

I’m winded by guilt. “Cal and I aren’t that close,” I protest.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.” Ashley fixes me with an understanding gaze. “I know you’re neighbors. I know Jonathan is over there all the time. This must be absolutely killing him.”

“He’s upset.”

“No doubt. And with the court case and all… I wonder if they’ll just settle.”

“Court case?”

“You don’t know?” Jack is starting to fuss, but instead of preparing to leave with him and Bella, Ashley rises to her haunches and unbuckles her baby brother from the stroller. She settles back down in the grass, long legs casually crossed, and perches him on her lap. He burbles at me and grins, reaching for the french fry I’ve forgotten I’m holding. I hand it over.

“No.” It’s a little white lie. I’ve heard rumors, but I want to know what she knows. “I don’t know anything about a court case.”

“The Murphys are suing the Tates. It’s ridiculous, I mean, there’s no way they’ll win, but they’re not backing down.”

“How do you know this?”

Ashley arches one eyebrow as if to say, Really?

I reframe the question. “What else do you know?”

“Everything, I suppose. At least, everything there is to know. The Murphys are suing for five million dollars in damages due to unlawful drainage resulting in property damage and water contamination.” Ashley gives me a satisfied little smile, as if this is something she has worked hard to memorize and she’s proud that she can recall it verbatim. But I’m too stunned to give her the affirmation she craves. Her smile falters and fades.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Ashley shrugs. “Not much you can say. They won’t win. Everyone knows it.”

My legal expertise wouldn’t fill a thimble, but even I know that five million dollars is a significant amount of money for a civil case. And television has taught me that lawyers’ fees aren’t cheap. I try to picture Franklin Tate, Sullivan’s dad, and wonder how he handled the news of a lawsuit. He’s not huge, but he carries himself like a tiger, all sinew and swagger and snarl. Mr. Tate’s the kind of man who makes baldness look intimidating, and his four sons surround him like a dangerous entourage. Well, not Sullivan. He’s the baby of the family and as such has always seemed a little removed from the Tates’ infamous reputation. Still, I wouldn’t want to cross them—in a dark alley or a courtroom.

“Maybe they’ll just drop it now. The lawsuit, I mean.” Ashley lifts Jack into the stroller and fusses with the straps. He shrieks at her and Bella decides to join in. “I’m sure they’ll be really busy with cancer treatments and everything.”

This strikes me as incredibly cold, even though Ashley was expressing her condolences only minutes before. I raise my voice over the complaining babies. “Maybe they shouldn’t drop it. Maybe they’re right.”

“The Tates know what they’re doing,” Ashley insists. “They’ve been farming that land for generations.”

It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. But I’m not spoiling for a fight with my best friend. I’ve been angling for reconciliation. So I keep my mouth shut and focus instead on distracting the twins while Ashley gathers up the toys they’ve tossed in the grass and shoulders the oversized diaper bag. She’s such a natural it almost makes me feel uncomfortable. Ash could be a mother at nineteen.

“Thanks again for lunch,” I say.

“Not sure fries and a shake count as lunch.” Ashley smirks. “But you’re welcome. I’ll pick you up on Friday at five. And, for the record, you’re in charge of sleeping bags, lawn chairs, and firewood. Don’t forget to check the email with food assignments. I think you’re on for breakfast on Saturday.”

I nod like I’m taking careful mental notes, but I’m thinking about the Murphys. About the battles we choose—and the ones that pick us.



* * *



It’s a bittersweet weekend, heavy with a sense of finality. The sky is so blue it hurts to look directly at it, and in the morning the horizon is studded with tufts of white clouds whipped stiff as heavy cream. It’s hot in the sun but cool in the shade, and I live in my swimming suit with a long, loose-knit sweater thrown over top. By the time Saturday evening rolls around, my skin is the color of cream soda and my hair is frothy with sun-bleached streaks to match. I smooth Ashley’s expensive body cream onto my shoulders and carry the scent of coconut and driftwood with me wherever I go.

I don’t often think about missing this little corner of Iowa, but days like this make me feel nostalgic for something I haven’t yet lost. Or maybe I never had it? I can’t quite decide why I’m so conflicted about this community and my place in it, but it might have something to do with the fact that it’s filled with so many contradictions.

Now, in the dusky haze of a couple of days spent in the sun and water, everyone is just a little short, nerves exposed. Who we are is less artfully hidden because the veneer has been buffed away by sand and a bit too much time together. Ashley’s forlorn, Jonathan is distracted. I can guess what’s troubling him, but it doesn’t make me feel any better to know the source of his sadness. Callum’s sunburnt, Phil’s hungover, Lexi’s sour all the time. There are just over twenty of us spread over six campsites in a collection of tents, tent trailers, and one Suburban where Jeff and Blake are sleeping on the benches. To a person, we’re done.

“Let’s go home,” I tell Jonathan when I catch him heading off toward the bathhouse alone.

He doesn’t even glance at me as I hurry to match his long strides. “This is our party, June.”

“Not really. It’s an excuse to get together and you know it. Has anyone said happy birthday to you?”

“My birthday is long past.”

“It’s not about that.” I snag his arm, and he finally stops to face me. “Come on. It’s been fun, but I want to go home. I think you do, too.”

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