Gray braked and wound through the streets of St. Augustine. The oldest town in the United States wore its age like a classic movie star. As we neared the inlet, Gray lowered his window and warm, salty air filled the cab.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Fountain of Youth Archaeological Park and announced, “We’re here. Man, I’ll bet old Poncey wished there’d been a sign like this back in the day.”
Trent would have said the same thing. I realized Gray had been trying to fill in Trent’s gaps for a while.
Gina clinched my knee and smiled before I climbed out of the truck. The bright afternoon sunshine forced me to grab a straw hat to add to my sunglasses. I glanced in the mirror and harnessed my courage. Slipping off the long-sleeve shirt, I exposed Tennessee and the Peter and the Starcatcher T-shirt Gray had bought for my sixteenth birthday. It had been my swimsuit cover-up a year ago today. I’d found it in the hall closet this morning, where Mom and Dad had stowed the stuff they’d removed from the Yaris.
“Nice shirt,” Gray said as he walked by toward the ticket counter.
Max beamed and tugged on the short sleeve. “Good for you.”
Gina stayed close as the boys wandered toward the sign. She helped me lather special SPF into my pallid skin and said, “You’re going to get some extra vitamin D today.”
I tossed the sunscreen into the truck. “Gotta start somewhere.”
Gina spun in a loose circle, taking in as much of the park as she could see from the parking lot. “I can’t believe we’re actually here.”
Our trip had been a year in the making. We were four instead of five, but we were here. “We made it,” I said.
Gray heard me. He shook the fatigue from his legs and stretched toward the sky, rolling his thick neck in a circle. “Thank God. World’s longest trip.”
Gina came to my defense. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Both Max and Gray laser-eyed her, and she corrected. “It was long, but it wasn’t bad.”
Gray tried again. “World’s longest year?”
“Amen,” we all said at once.
Luckily, the park didn’t appear too busy. Only a handful of vehicles were in the lot. The high humidity had probably sent tourists and visiting families to the mall or the movies. At the ticket counter, each of us forked over the price of admission. Eyeing our water bottles as if they were vermin, the counter lady handed us a park map and a coupon for some genuine Fountain of Youth water.
“Have a nice day,” she told us.
Told us. She wasn’t a lady who made suggestions.
“Back at you,” Gray said jovially.
Then he turned to us and said, “That old gal needs to drink a gallon by herself.”
“That’s what people probably say about me,” I muttered.
Max’s head tilted and his eyes grew sad at my self-deprecation. “Not today.” He tapped the front of my hat. “You look great.”
I ducked my head and pocketed the receipt, unsure of what to say. Reflexively, Gina slipped her arm through mine. I wondered how much she knew about the envelopes. Did everyone know except me? Could Max and Gray have sent them together, and that’s why she nodded toward the front of the truck, rather than to one side or the other? I hadn’t considered that possibility before.
If my mind was in darkness, hers had both feet anchored to light.
“We should skip,” she said, chin up, decision already made.
“Skip?” I asked.
“It’s the Fountain of frickin’ Youth. Come on.”
Gray cut his eyes at Max. “If you want to skip, you’re shit out of luck.”
Gina didn’t wait on me to agree. She tugged my arm and body along for a ride until we skipped and smiled and were young girls again.
I could half see us ten years ago with pigtails and cotton dresses on the playground at Coastal Elementary, eating Lunchables and talking about how stupid the boys were. That was back when we said things like You’ll be my best friend forever and ever and ever and ever. No matter what.
We’d believed it then.