“I’m telling you now.” I breathe in the salty smell of her hair as her head rests heavy on my shoulder. There’s something about Sam pressed against me that floods me with relief, like I was about to fade away but I’ve been restored to my full strength. I want to run my hands under her T-shirt and rest them on the small of her back. I want to kiss that spot on her neck and hear her catch her breath the way I’ve always remembered.
“What are you doing here?” She peels her head off my shoulder and looks me in the eye. She has a little bit of sand in her eyebrow and I wonder if it’s been there all day. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I think so,” I say.
“What does that mean?” She takes my hands and examines my fingers. She runs her hands over the back of them and then the front. This is the first time we’ve been together as two single adults, and there’s no reason to tell her to stop touching me. I could stand here all day just feeling the feather touch of her hands skimming mine, but I have to say what I came to say.
“I ran away from Los Angeles.”
“Like you quit your job?”
“I quit Carlyle, and I quit Missy.”
“This sounds like a long story.” I search her eyes for any sign that she’s disappointed that I’ve given that up. But all I see there is happiness, as if anything I tell her is going to be okay. The way Sam is looking at me reminds me of how I felt that last summer—that I was good enough in my own right because I was good enough for her. She leads me over to the futon. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
There’s a sheet and a blanket on the futon, a lit candle on the little table, and a pair of white slippers on the floor. I smile because it feels like Sam’s been waiting for me. This may have been what I imagined as a kid, living in this treehouse with Sam, her slippers on the floor. “Looks like you’ve moved in,” I say.
“I like it here,” she says, and we both sit down. She drapes her legs over mine in a way that is so familiar to both of us that I can’t help but put my arm around her. She rests her head in the crook of my neck and I’m trying to remember where I was going to start with this story.
61
I can’t believe he’s here.
He rests his hand on my knee. I run my fingers along the back of that hand. I run them along his neck to his collarbone, slowly, like I’ve just fashioned him out of clay. I can’t believe he’s here. He touches the side of my thigh. I’m not looking at him, I’m just watching the various places where our skin meets. I am in a bit of a dream state. I didn’t realize it until now, but while I have been getting myself together, I have also been waiting for this. On some level, I hoped that if I came back to myself, Wyatt would come back to me too. Sam I am, and vice versa.
He pulls me into a hug. “Sam, I—”
“Not yet,” I say. We’ve done a lot of talking, and whatever it is he has to say isn’t going to feel better than Wyatt’s being right here next to me. I lie back on the futon and pull him down on top of me. His face hovers above mine, and he’s taking me in. He sweeps the hair out of my eyes and runs his thumbs along my cheekbones. There’s nearly no space between our lips, but I wait. I’m waiting for Wyatt to return to me, to choose this, choose us. He finally kisses me, and the warmth of his lips on mine sends a current throughout my body. It is still true—there are no two people who are more right together. There was a time when it felt like Wyatt and I could kiss for hours, when kissing him and feeling his chest pressed against mine was enough of a thrill. This is no longer the case, and I need to get out of my clothes. I pull off my shirt and then pull off his so that I can feel our skin together, like I am peeling off layers to get us back to our most natural state.
“Sam,” he breathes into my shoulder. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes,” I say.
“I really did have a thing I was going to tell you,” he says into my neck. But he’s breathless, and I don’t know how we could possibly have a conversation anyway.
“Please,” I say, and put my fingers on his lips to quiet him, just the way he put his fingers on mine so many years ago.
He kisses my fingers. “Okay.” My legs remember exactly how to wrap themselves around his, and my senses are whispering about a time long past—he tastes the same, feels the same. But he’s surer now, and so am I. The feel of his body tied up in mine makes me go completely liquid, as if I have dissolved into him. I do not remember that happening fourteen years ago.
* * *
“I totally planned for this,” I say. We’re lying on the futon under my blanket, and I reach for a bottle of water I left on the table.
“Clearly you moved in here, desperately waiting for me.” I rest my head on his chest, feeling the rumble of his chuckle, and he runs his fingers along my spine. I’m trying to remember if he used to do this, but it doesn’t matter. None of this feels like it’s for old times’ sake. This is new.
“I waited a long time,” I say. I don’t know if I’m talking about the week I’ve been living on Long Island or my whole adult life.
“I’m an idiot,” he says, and kisses my forehead.
“Agreed.” I roll onto him and rest my chin on my hands. I can’t stop smiling.
He moves a piece of my hair behind my ear. “So, I told Carlyle I wouldn’t write any more songs for Missy, and now he’s busy making sure no music producer ever wants to work with me again. Like, it took ten minutes for that film producer to call my manager and say they’re going in another direction.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” And I am. It breaks my heart to think that Wyatt’s career could be taken from him. I kiss his neck and rest my head there. “So what does that mean? You’re washed up? Staying here? It’s working for me, you should try it. I have so much soup.”
He laughs. “I’m self-employed, actually.”
“Congratulations?” I don’t know what this means.
“I’m going to start recording my own songs, myself. I don’t know why I let Carlyle be the authority on whether people would like my voice. And they’re my songs.”
“I like your voice,” I say, and sit up. I cover myself with the blanket, because I have the feeling I need to brace myself. “I really do. And I think everyone at the Owl Barn did too. They went nuts, right? Didn’t they? It was kind of a weird night.” The moon is lighting up the inside of the treehouse, and I can see Wyatt’s face perfectly. I want to stop time.
“I’m writing a new album, and I dropped the first song last night. I just put it online. It’s kind of a thing already. It’s called Summer Songs. I don’t need a music producer, as it turns out.” Wyatt’s hands are behind his head, and he’s watching me take this in.
He’s smiling, so I smile back. But I’m ashamed of myself. I was happier thirty seconds ago when I thought he’d blown it and was coming home. If he can make it on his own and people like his voice, I’m going to lose him again.
“Google me,” he says.
I roll my eyes. “I get it, you’re a big shot. I’m impressed.”
“No. Seriously, google me.”
I find my shorts on the floor, pull my phone out of my pocket, and type “Wyatt Pope.” What appears makes no sense to me, because I thought it existed only in my mind. It’s the drawing I did of Wyatt writing a song, complete with the hole in the top where the old nail pushed through. His eyes are looking directly at me, exactly how I remember that moment I was climbing up the ladder. Along the bottom are the words “Wyatt Pope Summer Songs.”
I look up at Wyatt. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s my album cover. I’m releasing songs as I have them. But that’s the artwork. That’s what I’m coming back to.” He’s smiling at me, and there is something I should say but I’m speechless. “You’re not going to sue me, are you? It was a gift. I have witnesses.”
“No. I mean, yes, it was a gift.” And then, because I just have to get the words out of my head, “It’s so good.”
Wyatt laughs and takes my hands. “It really is. I’ve had it up every place I’ve ever lived.” I lie back down next to him and hug him tight. I don’t know why it matters now, but I’m glad he didn’t completely leave me behind all those years ago. It’s strange to think something has disintegrated and then find out it has not.
Wyatt notices I’m crying before I do. “Sam, what’s going on? This is good news. I’m free.”
I don’t want to look at him. “God, I’m so selfish. That’s great. Of course, it’s great. But just a minute ago you were here and maybe staying and now you’ve got an album and you’re going to leave and do a big thing.”
“I’m going to stay and do a big thing.” He takes my face in his hands and wipes a tear with his thumb. “I’m going to stay here and finish the album. You’re going to help me.”
I wipe my eyes on the blanket. “Oh.”
“Sam, I got my voice back,” he says. “I can do whatever I want.”
“With me?”
“Want me to start from the beginning again?”
“No. I get it. I just . . .” I am equal parts afraid and happy. Having something like this to lose is more than I can fathom as I’m trying to start my life over again. I don’t want to spend a few months in Wyatt’s arms and then send him back to Los Angeles while I get reacquainted with Dr. Judy. I don’t know if he’s staying or if he’s staying. “I love our friendship. It feels kind of risky to do this.”