The Rest of the Story

by Sarah Dessen

  “I fill in as needed,” he said. “Like everyone else.”

  There was a loud crackle, followed by a squeak. Then a girl’s voice said, “Breaker breaker. Who’s got their ears on?”

  Roo reached to his back pocket, pulling out a beat-up walkie-talkie. He pushed a button as he put it to his mouth, then said, “You’ve got Rubber Duck and Saylor, go ahead.”

  I just looked at him. “Rubber Duck?”

  He grinned. “That’s my handle.”

  “Your—”

  “Roo and who?” the girl’s voice crackled over the handset again.

  There was another buzz, followed by a different girl’s voice. “Taylor, it’s the girl you were so awful to yesterday. Did you already forget?”

  I must have looked as confused as I felt, because Roo explained, “April and Taylor. They work at the mini-golf places down the block.”

  That explained why I’d seen them that morning. “And you guys communicate?”

  “The power of the walkie. Works all the way up at the Station.” He grinned, then pushed the button again. “So, yeah, Daffodil. You want to apologize to Saylor now or do it in person later?”

  No reply. Finally April said, “Taylor. We can hear you breathing.”

  “I’m thinking!” Taylor said.

  “I thought they worked at the same place?” I whispered to Roo.

  He shook his head. “Nope. Both mini golf, but two different places, right across the street from each other.”

  There was another beep, and then I heard a voice say, flatly, “I am sorry for my behavior yesterday. I am working on my jealousy and anger issues and I hope you can accept my apology.”

  Roo looked at me, his eyebrows raised. Then, slowly, he pushed the handset’s button, holding it out to me. I leaned toward it, clearing my throat. “I do. Thank you.”

  “See?” April said. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now we’re one big, happy family again!”

  “Which should last for about five seconds,” Roo added into the walkie. “Okay, everyone. Catch you later.”

  “Bye, y’all!” Taylor said. She sounded different when she wasn’t so angry.

  Roo shoved the handset back into his pocket and glanced around the room. “I should get back to the Station—they’re short-staffed today too. You want me to come back when I’m off? Or you guys got this?”

  “You should ask Trinity, but I think we’re okay,” I said as he bent down, picking up a crumpled piece of paper and chucking it in the trash can. “So you guys are all really close, huh?”

  He shrugged. “Guess so. Sort of inevitable when there aren’t that many of you.”

  “You’re all the same age?”

  “Nope,” he replied, picking up the trash bag and shaking it. “Trinity’s the oldest: she’s five years ahead of me. Jack graduated two years ago, and April’s a sophomore at East U. Me, Taylor, Vincent, and Bailey are all seniors this year.”

  “Is Jack in school, too?”

  He looked at me, surprised. “No. He’s running the Station with his dad. Family business, remember?”

  I did. But in Lakeview, everyone at least tried to go to college. Once again, I’d assumed it was the same here. Just like a rich cousin would.

  “Okay, so I’m going,” he said. “See you later?”

  I had no plans to cross paths with him again that day, as far as I knew. But I still said, “Yeah. See you later.”

  Now, it was four thirty, and Trinity and I were on the last room of the day. By my count, we’d been at it six and a half hours, with only a thirty-minute lunch break, when we made and ate quesadillas in Mimi’s kitchen. My arms ached from reaching up to polish mirrors, the smell of bleach was seemingly lodged permanently in my nose, and I understood for the first time the expression “bone tired.” I knew hanging with her to the end would surprise Trinity. What I didn’t expect was that I’d be so proud of myself. Putting things in order, even other people’s things, felt familiar and soothing. Like my anxiety had found a good place to land, too.

  “Go all the way out the door,” Trinity instructed me as I cleaned the carpet to the threshold, stepping myself onto the sidewalk outside. “Then unplug and we’re done.”

  I yanked out the cord, pulling the vacuum over to my side, and shut the door. “Now what?” I said to Trinity, who was wiping a smudge off the outside of the window.

  “We put the cart back, deal with laundry, and fill bleach bottles for tomorrow. Then we get the hell out of here before anyone asks for anything else.”

  She led the way back to the door that said STAFF ONLY, opening it. The room inside was narrow, with a row of washers and dryers tumbling the sheets and towels we’d collected earlier. I followed her to a small countertop, lined with spray bottles. All of them were labeled with names, some in recent marker, others faded almost to the point of being unreadable. ESTHER. DAWN. MARIKA. CARMEN. It made me aware, suddenly, that the one she’d given me off the cart said nothing.

  “We’re possessive about our bottles,” she said, clearly having noticed this. She pulled a huge container of bleach off a shelf. “If you find one you really like, you have to claim it.”

  “Aren’t they all the same?”

  She screwed off the top of her own. “At a glance, yes. But there are subtle differences. Tautness of handle, for example. And some have an adjustable spray, but others don’t.”

  Again, I looked at my own bottle, which I was still holding, and gave it a quick squirt. It did feel a little loose.

  “You don’t get your own for just one day,” she told me, filling up her TRINITY-marked one with water. “They’re earned, not given.”

  “It’s a spray bottle,” I pointed out.

  “Not here,” she replied. “Here, it’s a badge of honor. Now hand that over so I can refill it.”

  I did, then watched as she filled it up with the same mix of water and bleach. Then she put it on the shelf with all the others before placing her TRINITY one beside it.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I asked.

  “Officially? Since June. But I started helping clean when I was Gordon’s age,” she replied. “Bailey and Jack, too. We didn’t have a choice, same as with the Station.”

  Family business, again. My dad had his own practice, not that I’d ever worked a day there. I’d spent my summers at various camps and traveling with my father or Nana. None of my friends worked real jobs yet. But things were clearly different here.

  “A lot of people have passed through, huh?” I said, again scanning the names.

  “It’s a lake town,” she replied. “Nobody stays for long unless they have roots here.”

  We put in some more sheets, then folded a load of towels before she pronounced us finished for the day. As we walked down the sidewalk toward Mimi’s, we passed a family of guests heading up from the dock. The dad was pulling a cooler stacked with beach toys, the mom carrying a beer in one of those foam insulated holders. Their kids trailed along behind them, bickering and smelling of sunscreen.

  As they all disappeared into room six, which we’d left pristine, I wondered how long it would take for them to mess it up again. Already I was tired. But thinking about this made me exhausted.

  I was too wiped out to go out to the raft that afternoon, even if someone had invited me. Which they didn’t.

  “Lake North Pavilion at eight, then over to Colin and Blake’s,” Bailey reported as she came down below the house with her plate, joining Trinity and me at the picnic table there. Mimi, also worn-out, had asked Oxford to pick up two buckets of fried chicken for dinner and was eating hers in front of the TV. There was no sign of Jack anywhere, at least not so far.

  “That’s the plan?” Trinity asked.

  “It’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  “Sounds more like your plan,” her sister replied. “Lake North and yacht club boys.”

  “Anyone who doesn’t like it doesn’t have to come,” Bailey said, putting her glass of milk down with a thun
k. “Nobody’s got a damn gun to their head.”

  “Let me guess,” Trinity said. “You’re snapping at me because I’m not the only one who expressed a lack of enthusiasm.”

  “I’m not snapping at you,” Bailey replied. “I’m just tired of putting things together every night only to have people bitch and moan.”

  “Summer just started, Bay.”

  “Exactly. Too early to be so damn picky.”

  They were both silent for a moment, during which I took a bite off my own plate, wondering if it was possible to have any meal in this house without some sort of friction. Finally I asked, “Did I meet Colin and Blake?”

  “Not unless you’re taking sailing lessons at the yacht club,” Trinity said.

  Bailey shot her a look. “Colin was out at the raft yesterday. He gave me a ride in. Blake’s his roommate.”

  “Oh, right,” I said.

  “And they’ve been over here every night this week,” Bailey said. “So it only seems fair that we reciprocate and go there for once.”

  “Or,” Trinity said, picking up a biscuit from her plate, “we could just stick with our own kind the way nature intended.”

  “That is such bullshit,” Bailey shot back. “You know as well as I do that the kids from both sides have hung out since this place was settled.”

  “I’m not saying they haven’t. I’m saying maybe they shouldn’t.”

  “Why? Because we’re not exactly alike?”

  “Because we have nothing in common with those rich kids! And even if you do find one you like, do you think it’s actually going to end up being anything that lasts? Every time some girl we know gets tangled up with one of them, she gets dumped at the end of the summer. It’s like clockwork.”

  “Not every time.”

  “Every time.”

  “My mom didn’t,” I said.

  That shut them up. Which had not been my intention, really. I was just contributing, because for once I had something to add. Now that I’d done that, though, I realized this subject was a fraught one.

  “She didn’t?” Trinity said after a moment. “They got divorced.”

  “Trinity,” her sister said, her voice like a warning shot.

  “After seven years,” I replied. “And it was a mutual decision, from what I’ve heard.”

  Again, silence. Down at the shore, some ducks quacked as they walked along the small waves breaking there.

  Trinity sighed, then looked up at the sky overhead. “Saylor. I don’t mean to insult you or your mom and dad.”

  “It’s never your intention,” Bailey grumbled. “You just do.”

  “I’m not insulted,” I told her. And I wasn’t. I just knew so little of the history around here: when something came up I could claim, I wanted it to be correct. “But for what it’s worth, my dad’s a good guy. Even if he was a yacht club boy once.”

  “Fine, they’re all probably wonderful,” Trinity said. “I still don’t want to hang out with them. Which is a moot point anyway because the Sergeant and I are doing a HiThere! tonight.”

  “We just went through all that and you’re not even going with us?” Bailey asked.

  “You know I haven’t gone out since I got huge.” Trinity swung her legs around, off the bench, then grunted as she got to her feet. “But Saylor is.”

  “I am?” I asked.

  “You have to,” she replied, starting up to the house. “Otherwise she’s going alone, and cousins don’t let cousins do that. Especially with yacht club boys.”

  With this, she started up the hill to the house. I looked at Bailey, who was angrily picking at her chicken leg again. “You don’t have to include me,” I said. “She’s just being nice.”

  She looked up at me. “Trinity? Nice? Since when?”

  “Since I worked with her today,” I said. Hardly convinced, she went back to her food. “And maybe it’s more like nice-ish. I don’t think she hates me anymore, at any rate.”

  “You cleaned rooms?” she asked. “Wow. I’m surprised.”

  This again. In a tired voice, I said, “Because you thought I was the spoiled rich cousin just here to relax and hang out?”

  She blinked, hearing this. “Well . . . that is kind of what Mimi said.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m not. At least, I don’t want to be.”

  We were both quiet a moment. Up at the house, the screen door slammed.

  I picked up my drink, taking a sip. “So tell me about these boys.”

  She smiled. The change in subject was like that in the weather, the equivalent of a sudden cool breeze. Everything just felt different. “They’re nice. Roommates at East U, just finished their freshman year.”

  “How’d you meet them?”

  She wiped her mouth with a paper towel. “Where I meet everyone: the Station.”

  “You work there every summer?”

  “Since I was fourteen. That’s how it goes with a family business. You pitch in as soon as you can,” she replied. That sounded familiar. “Trinity only ever worked the arcade and the snack bar, which is why she’s so narrow-minded about Lake North folks. But like I said, working the pumps is different. You meet everyone there.”

  I put down my fork. “When my mom used to talk about this place, she never mentioned there were basically two different lakes. I had no idea.”

  “Well, it probably wasn’t a bad thing as far as she was concerned, right? I mean, she did meet your dad that way.”

  She stopped talking then, clearly not sure whether this topic was all right to return to or still needed to be avoided. Taking out the guesswork, I said, “Do people here hate him?”

  She turned to face me. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. Why would they?”

  I shrugged. “Because he was a rich yacht club boy. And he took her from here, and then she died.”

  “Because she was an addict,” she replied. Immediately, she put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, shit, Emma. I can’t believe I just said that. I’m—”

  “It’s okay.” I bit my lip, then took a breath. “She was. The truth hurts, but there it is. I just wondered if everyone thought that might be Dad’s fault, too.”

  “No.” She said this so flatly, so quickly, I immediately believed her. “Look, again, I don’t mean offense or to dishonor anyone’s memory. All I’ve ever heard was how much everyone loved Waverly. But they also know she had problems long before and after he came along. I mean, that night with Chris Price, your dad wasn’t even here.”

  Chris Price. It took a minute. “Roo’s dad,” I said finally.

  She nodded. “He was her best friend. And she was with him that night, you know, when the boat crashed.”

  I didn’t know. For all the stories, she’d never told this one. “What happened?”

  Just then, though, I heard it: boys’ voices, coming from the lawn above us. When I looked up, there were Roo and Jack, climbing out of a beat-up VW that had pulled up by the back steps.

  “Yo!” Jack yelled. “I hear there’s no plan for tonight. What gives?”

  Bailey, too annoyed to even answer, just sighed and went back to her dinner. As she did, I watched the boys disappear into the house before re-emerging in the bright kitchen above, where they grabbed plates and descended on the chicken that remained. Clearly, the moment had passed to get the answer to my question and the story I’d not yet heard. Now, I turned back to the lake, looking past the church and that big white cross, over to the other side. From the way Trinity acted, it was another world. But really, how different could it be?

  Eight

  “Moment of truth,” Bailey said, tying the boat up tight. “Who are you tonight: Emma or Saylor?”

  Emma was the logical choice, of course. It was the name I knew, the one I’d always answered to as long as my mom wasn’t the one calling. And she’d been gone five years now, almost six. Maybe I could just say she took Saylor with her. At the same time, though, she had picked that name based on the summer here when she’d met my dad. So i
f I was going to go by it, this was the time and place. Emma was the rich cousin from Lakeview who organized things and worried. Saylor, well, she could be anyone.

  Even and especially this girl I was tonight, arriving at a pavilion adjacent to a yacht club in a new-to-me outfit and more makeup than I’d worn, well, ever. That was Trinity’s doing.

  “I’m huge and can’t wear anything,” she’d said as she dragged me onto the back porch that was her and Bailey’s bedroom. “Just indulge me.”

  What this meant, I discovered, was standing there in my normal, chosen outfit of cutoff shorts and a JACKSON TIGERS T-shirt while she assembled other options on the unmade bed. Apparently, she had quite the wardrobe, pre-pregnancy, as well as a signature look: just about everything she owned was short, had cutouts, or both.

  “This is really not my style,” I told her, after she’d badgered me into a silky blouse, run through with gold thread, over a tight black skirt. “I don’t think I can even sit in this.”

  “Who has to sit?” she asked, stepping back to look at me. “You’re going out, not to church.”

  Bailey, across the room brushing her hair, snorted. Sure, it was funny to her. She was wearing jeans and a tank top, of her own choosing.

  “I’m not wearing this,” I said, tugging off the skirt. “It’s cutting off my circulation.”

  “Fine.” She pushed a minidress at me in its place. “Try this one.”

  It had a deep scoop neck, plus sleeves that billowed open to reveal my wrists and upper arms. “No,” I said flatly.

  “Why? It’s perfect!”

  “If I was giving blood,” I said.

  This time, Bailey laughed out loud. “You’re funny,” she said. “Do people tell you that?”

  “More often I’m told my humor isn’t for everyone,” I told her. “Or, you know, anyone.”

  “Let’s try shoes,” Trinity said, heading over to a box by the end of the bed. There were no closets, the only storage a few suitcases and a couple of cardboard boxes. The bulk of their possessions were piled on the beds and other surfaces. I’d had to move a laptop, two bottles of shampoo, and a big hardback book called Pregnancy and You just to make enough room to sit down. “How do you feel about stilettos?”