“No. You didn’t. You just decided it would be better for me not to know something I confided in you.”
“I honestly didn’t think it was that important.” He sits down on the stool next to me. Rubs his forehead. “I’m sorry. It was just—Matt’s a good guy, and you two were good together, and . . .” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Liv. I was just trying to make it easier for you because whatever else you were doing—and trying to hide—was making things hard for you.”
“Did I say who?” I ask quietly.
“No.”
“Do Mom and Dad know about this too? Or Matt? Or Paige? Is everyone in on this?” The thought of them all keeping a secret like this from me makes me want to throw something, break something, anything.
“No,” Sam says firmly. “They’re not. You told me, and I kept my mouth shut because that’s what I do.”
“Apparently. You kept my own secret from me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? Myself?”
“No,” Sam says so calmly I want to punch him. “From everything you would’ve screwed up if you’d let it go anywhere. You and Matt are serious. You have plans. You’re even going to the same freakin’ college.”
“Am I? I don’t see how that’s possible, seeing as I don’t remember high school.” It’s not until I say it that I realize something I can’t believe I haven’t thought of until now. I didn’t just lose my past. I’ve lost my future too. Or whatever future it was that past me had all planned out.
Sam waves a dismissive hand. “It’ll come back.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
He thinks for a moment. “Then you’ll figure out something else. Honestly? I was surprised you were gonna do the whole volleyball, business major thing to begin with. You stopped liking volleyball years ago, and I never figured you for business school. You were never into that. Not the way you were into other stuff.”
“Like what?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t know, artsy stuff. Taking pictures.”
I reach for my pocket and pull out the three pictures. Lay them on the counter between us. He looks at them, then at me for some sort of explanation.
“These were on my camera,” I say. “I think I was taking pictures again and not telling anyone, but I don’t know why, and I don’t know where or when these were taken.”
Sam picks up the one of the pool, in the rocky cove. “Well, this is on Vista Island, but it’s hard to access. You’d have to take a kayak or a boat there. Maybe you and Matt went out there? He was asking me about it last time I was home.”
We’re both quiet a moment, then Sam clears his throat. Points at the one of me. “That’s a nice one of you.”
I look at him, surprised.
“What? It is. You look really happy.”
I’m still mad at him, I am. But I look at my brother then, and I feel like I want to hug him. For knowing me probably better than anyone else, and for being here now.
“Here,” he says, “have some bacon. It’ll give you clarity. Offer a whole new perspective on life.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I think you mean ridiculously awesome.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.”
“It will be after you taste this. Come on. Take the bacon.”
I laugh and look at the now-cold strip of bacon he holds between us like an olive branch. And even though I’m still mad at him for not telling me the truth about me, I take it. And when I bite into it, it’s worth it. It really is the best bacon he’s ever made, though I don’t give him the satisfaction of me saying that out loud.
We eat the rest in silent appreciation, and when it’s all gone, I help Sam clean up the kitchen.
“So are we cool?” he asks as he closes the dishwasher. “Because you’re on the schedule for Monday, and I need to know that you’re going to take me seriously as your boss. Like, super seriously.”
I look at him standing there in his bacon apron, his morning hair still sticking up in every direction.
“Of course. I just need to you cover with me for Mom and Dad tomorrow afternoon.”
“For what?”
I shake my head. “Just something I need to do, that I know they’d say no to.”
“Well, that narrows it down. Sure. Yeah. No questions asked.”
I cross the kitchen and give him a big hug. “Thank you, you weirdo.”
He puts his arms around me for an awkward half a second, then steps back. “That’s boss weirdo to you.”
SEVENTEEN
THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Matt picks me up because my car is still at the bottom of the bay—and because I don’t know how to drive. He opens the passenger door and helps me up into the truck. This time, I remember about the seat belt, and pull it slowly across my lap until I can click it. This makes him smile, but I can tell he’s nervous. I am too. Dana Whitmore had been happy to take my call, and even happier to schedule an interview ASAP, before I had to go back to work.
I don’t mention to Matt that I didn’t ask my parents if I could do this or tell them where we’re headed. I know what their answer would’ve been, and by the time they see it, it’ll be too late. I’ll face the consequences then. I don’t know if this is something I would’ve ever done before, but it’s something I feel like I need to do now—for Matt, and, if I’m being honest, for me too. Dana Whitmore had said she’d do her best to get Walker to show, and if there’s any chance he does, I want to be there.
I look over at Matt as he drives. He’s dressed in a striped collared shirt and a dark tie, his blond hair combed neatly, face freshly shaven. He’s definitely good-looking in that classic, clean-cut kind of way. And it’s kind of endearing how he keeps glancing over and smiling nervously. I try to embrace these thoughts, try to remind myself that he’s my boyfriend, and we love each other, and whatever I’d said to my brother had probably blown over, like he said. So now, if I just keep playing the part, the rest will come naturally. I hope, anyway.
“You look nice,” I say, reaching across the seat and brushing his shoulder with my hand.
He glances down at my touch and smiles. “Thanks. First time Homecoming clothes are good for more than one night.”
“So we don’t dress up much?”
He looks at me. “Not really. For special occasions, mostly.”
“I assume we went to all the dances? Danced? Had fun?” I run my eyes over his shirt and tie again, trying to summon even a flash of this.
He smiles. “Yeah.” It’s quiet for a few seconds, then he looks at me again. “We’re good, dancing together. People watch when we do.”
This makes me laugh. “That’s probably because I can’t dance. I do remember that much.” And I do. In seventh grade, I hit a growth spurt that rendered me tall, gangly, and comically uncoordinated.
“That’s not true,” Matt says. Then he laughs. “I mean, it’s taken years of practice, but you’ve gotten a lot better.”
“So you’re saying I can dance now?”
He nods. “Oh yeah.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Then I’ll just have to show you one of these days,” he says with a smile.
“Okay,” I say. “Deal.”