Finished at the diner for the day, I drove my big old American car down the middle of good old American Main Street, and thought about fucking my good old American farmer while holding two sparklers. Now that’s how I’d like to celebrate our country’s founding.
I pondered this while waving to familiar faces along the main drag. People I used to know and had come to know again, new people I’d met since coming home. With some I knew names; mostly I knew orders. Hey look, Scrambled with Rye Toast is coming out of the hardware store with cable ties. Wonder if he’s planning on using those on Miss Steel-Cut Oats with Nonfat Milk and Hold the Raisins. I just bet she liked her raisins held . . .
The thermometer on the bank said it was near ninety degrees, and I was glad of the breeze coming through my window. Turning on the radio, I head the strains of “Mysterious Ways” and snickered at the thought that Achtung Baby was being played on an oldies station. My mother would flip out if she knew that. Where was she right now? Brazil? Italy? Minnesota? Wherever she was, I hope she was enjoying herself.
As I drove home I saw a few teenage girls walking into the woods behind the high school, carrying towels and a beach ball. And I suddenly knew exactly where I wanted to spend my afternoon. And whom I wanted to spend it with.
I sped back to the house, stopping only to send a text to Leo.
Can you play hooky today?
He texted back right away, and I snorted out loud.
Will you be naked? I can only consider naked hooky requests.
It’s very possible. Come on, come and play with me.
Isn’t that a line from The Shining?
You should take me pretty seriously then, right? Also, don’t pay attention to that ax behind my back.
You’re lucky I like dangerous women. When?
Now. Drop your hoe and grab your swim trunks. I’ll be there in fifteen.
Swim trunks? Now I’m intrigued.
Intrigued enough to play hooky?
Make it twenty and bring snacks and you’ve got me.
Done.
Also naked. Remember the naked.
I’ll do my best.
I threw on a bikini, making sure to double knot the strings. Because, Leo. I grabbed a cooler, threw in ice, beer, the sandwiches I’d made at the diner that were originally going to be my dinner, and then grabbed my mom’s old CD boom box. It was big, square, covered in knobs and switches and dials, and exactly the kind of thing you want for playing hooky at the old swimming hole.
Every town in the Catskills either had a swimming hole or was within a few miles of one. There were so many creeks, streams, ponds, and small lakes—if there was water, we’d swim in it. It was how you survived the hot summers when you were a kid, and where you learned how to French kiss when you were a teenager.
There were multiple great places to swim around Bailey Falls, but The Tube was my favorite. Close to the edge of the Bryant Mountain House hotel property there was a small spring and pond that fed the larger lake on the hotel’s grounds. Clear cold water, rocky bottom, and lots of outcroppings if you were feeling daring and wanted to jump. It was a cool respite on a hot day, and it was exactly where I wanted to take Leo today.
When I pulled up to the big stone barn, it occurred to me that I still didn’t know where Leo lived. He’d said he didn’t use the main house, as it was used for tours and tended to be the domain of his mother when she visited. Which I gathered was rarely. So where did he sleep at night? There were guest houses that he’d converted into dormlike quarters for the summer interns in the apprentice program, but I doubted he stayed there.
But before I could think too long on it, there he was. Taller than the rest of the group, his sandy blond hair shining in the sun, getting lighter by the day.
He waved good-bye to the group he was chatting with, then jogged over to my Jeep.
“So mysterious,” he said, sidling up to the window. Looking left and right (to make sure no one was looking?), he leaned his head in to kiss me once, twice, three times. “Where are we going, Sugar Snap?”
My toes pointed involuntarily and the engine revved, a consequence of being called by my nickname. Chuckling, he backed away, hands held up in an I give gesture.
“Get in,” I said. “And buckle up.”