Tack & Jibe

by Lilah Suzanne

  Mid-life crisis, Bodhi mouths. Willa gives her a look.

  Despite Willa’s worry that Lane might not live through this, she relents. “Fine, but you’re wearing the helmet.” Willa secures it on Lane’s head, as if it will make a difference when she goes hurtling twenty feet through the air and into the ocean.

  “Now it’s usually night, and we’re usually drunk…” Bodhi says, a statement that should probably go without saying. “But since it’s only nine o’clock in the morning, a blindfold will have to do. It’s more fun if you can’t see the water coming.”

  Fun for whom, Willa wants to ask. She settles for crossing her arms disapprovingly.

  “All right Wills, we’re gonna push on three. One…Two…”

  Ch. 36

  No one dies skateboarding off the pier. It doesn’t work as well as Bodhi promised, since most attempts involved them literally shoving Lane through the railing and into the water below. Lane seems satisfied, though, and Willa has to admit seeing her run back up the beach and down the pier, soaking wet and laughing, is well worth the risk. Hunter joins them after a while, and she, Bodhi, and Lane climb over the railing, stand on the edge holding hands and free fall into the water together. Willa leaves them to it and takes her board to a hotdog stand a little way from the pier.

  “Four, please.” The guy working the stand is the son of the woman who owns it. Willa remembers seeing him as a kid when she was an older kid; he’d hang out nearby while his mom worked. Willa leans against the building as she waits for the food; her face is turned up to the sun. Sometimes she wonders if it’s sad that she’s spent nearly her whole life on this little island off the coast of North Carolina, but on days like this, when the sky is cloudless and clear, and the ocean settles on her skin and lips and fills her lungs, why would she ever want to be anywhere else?

  Arms full of footlong hotdogs, Willa turns to go in the direction of Lane’s raucous laughter, then spots Lane’s parents coming out of an art boutique several doors down that sells seashell wind chimes and blown-glass fish sculptures. As she’s trying to decide what to do—Hide? Wave? Skate off as quickly as she can in the opposite direction?—Mr. and Mrs. Cordova come her way.

  “Yo!” The kid at the hot dog stand calls. “You forgot your change.”

  Dammit. Willa shifts the hotdogs into the crook of one arm and against her chest to collect her change, which the kid counts out slowly into her hand, “Seven sixty… seven sixty-five… seven sixty-six…and seven sixty-seven. Have a blessed day!”

  Willa spits out a thank you and hops back onto her board and— “Oh. Mr. and Mrs. Cordova. Hello.” She all but skates right into them.

  Chip is on his phone; he gives Willa a nod. Marie lifts her chin and squints. “Oh, yes. Hello. Ella, was it?”

  “Willa.”

  Marie’s lips purse. “Mmm.” She’s dressed as if she just came from an art gallery in the big city instead of a kitschy, beach-themed souvenir shop; she’s wearing layered designer clothes that are inappropriate for the weather and oversized sunglasses.

  Willa wants to say something like, “You have no idea how amazing and brave and beautiful your daughter is, and it’s your loss.” Or, “Why would you make your child spend her whole life chasing your love and approval? What will it take? Shouldn’t you just love her? Isn’t that what a parent does?” Or maybe just, “You suck; I hope you know that.” Instead Willa stutters and finally comes up with, “Uh. Nice here, huh?”

  “Maybe so,” Marie says. “If it weren’t for the heat and humidity and the mosquitoes and the hurricanes. I don’t know anyone can stand to be here year round.”

  And it isn’t anything Willa hasn’t complained about herself—hell, she probably would have added tourists and sandflies and lack of a decent grocery store—but Porter Island is her home. She’s allowed to complain about it. Marie Cordova, who buys and sells vacation property here, who owns a huge, gorgeous home right by the water that she barely lives in, whose most persistent personality trait is her absence, does not get to. Anger bubbles in Willa’s chest, and she knows, rationally, that she isn’t entirely angry about Marie’s complaints. Luckily for Willa, thanks to her grandparents, she speaks fluent passive-aggressive.

  “Well, good thing you’ll be gone soon. You usually are, aren’t you?.”

  She pushes off and immediately gets stuck on a raised section of sidewalk. The skateboard comes a sudden stop, and Willa stumbles off, clutching the hotdogs as she tries to stay on her feet. Ketchup oozes out from the foil wrapping on one of the hotdogs and smears onto her shirt.

  “Now, hold on a minute, young lady.”

  Willa turns, and all the fight goes out of her. Reflected in Marie’s giant rose-gold tinted sunglasses, Willa sees herself as the Cordovas must see her: some kid on a skateboard in board shorts and a dirty T-shirt, with wild hair and nothing better to do on a weekday afternoon but goof off at the beach. Just like that, all of her insecurities come rushing back. What can she offer Lane? What sort of life can she build with someone else when she’s only just beginning to discover what sort of life she wants for herself?

  “I have to go, sorry.”

  After eating and lying on the beach for a while to dry, Willa convinces Lane to go home and take a nap. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she probably didn’t sleep much—or at all—last night.

  Lane changes into a tank top and underwear and nothing else; she’s sweet-smelling and warm in bed next to Willa. “Can we fool around when we wake up?”

  “Sure,” Willa says, though she doubts she’ll sleep. Lane snuggles close, and, without meaning to, Willa stiffens. She moves away.

  “Are you okay?”

  For the first time in a long time, Willa lies. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  Bodhi texts later with an invite to a bonfire at the beach near her place, which means drinking, which means Lane is extra excited. “Will there be… marijuana?” she asks, whispering the illicit word.

  The fire is burning steadily when they arrive. The usual group plus some summertime extras are gathered around. “So, you do this all the time?”

  “Yeah,” Willa says, but doesn’t tell Lane that it’s getting old, that sometimes she wonders what the point is and who else is just going through the motions. It used to be one of the many ways she validated herself, see all these people want me around, only now it feels hollow. If she never came to one of these beach parties again, they’d continue without her all the same. Willa nurses a beer and watches Lane.

  “Your girlfriend is having fun, huh?”

  Willa slides Hunter a look. “Not my girlfriend.”

  “Oh. Well, whatever.”

  Willa is automatically irritated whenever Hunter is around and she can longer remember exactly why. The spoiled rich girl thing, sure, but lots of their friends are rich and don’t bug Willa in the same way. Maybe it’s because she just seems to always be around, inserting herself wherever Bodhi is. Maybe Willa was insecure and wanted to Bodhi all to herself. Willa looks at Hunter, clocks the way she looks at Bodhi, the way they look at each other lately, and she gets it.

  “Ugh, I’m gonna miss this,” Hunter says, randomly.

  “Why? Giving up cheap beer and bong hits for Lent or something?”

  Hunter starts to reply, then stops. The fire flickers orange across her features. Lane is now drinking beer from a funnel. “She didn’t tell you.”

  “Who didn’t tell me what?”

  Bodhi comes stumbling up the beach before Hunter can answer. “You guys, we should tie the skateboard to Colin’s truck and take it to the boat launch— What?” Hunter communicates something with her eyes and a flick of her head. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I got sidetracked today.”

  Down the beach, Lane whoops and dances and then trips, falls down into the sand, and laughs hysterically. Willa needs to take her home soon.

  “Someone want to f
ill me in?”

  “It’s just—” Bodhi looks nervous, worried even. It’s so strange. Bodhi, nervous. “I got into this program I’d been thinking about applying to. Hunter really encouraged me, cuz I, I dunno, just assumed I wasn’t good enough, I guess. Anyway, I’m gonna go to school for forestry and wildlife conservation. Be a park ranger and shit.”

  “Wow.” Willa isn’t sure why Bodhi was so afraid to tell her. She’s surprised of course, she didn’t know Bodhi had been considering going back to school, but being a park ranger, tromping around outside and sharing the joy of nature with other people, makes total sense for Bodhi. Then it dawns on Willa. There’s no college on Porter Island. “Online?”

  Bodhi and Hunter exchange a look. “Well, that’s the thing—”

  “You’re leaving.” Of course she’s leaving. Bodhi’s roots here aren’t as deep as Willa’s, and she’d mused before about leaving, though never seriously. Never for long. Willa just thought… Well, she’d hoped Bodhi didn’t mean it. Now she has to find a new roommate. She’ll have to work with some stranger at the sail shop. She’ll lose her best friend. Willa starts to tear up and she can’t blame a concussion this time. For the past five years it’s been her and Bodhi, thick as thieves, two peas in a pod, and now—

  “Aw, Willa, don’t cry. I’ll just be a ferry ride away, and then a short little drive, right down in Wilmington.” Bodhi tugs her into a hug. “Nothing will change, not really.”

  It isn’t true, and they both know it. “Yeah,” Willa says. “Sure.”

  “Willa! Will! A!” Lane yells for her again, not far enough away to warrant her current volume. “Let’s go skinny dipping!” She starts to tug off her shirt.

  “I better—”

  Bodhi releases her. “Yep. Go.”

  As she tucks an arm around Lane’s waist and talks her out of skinny dipping, Willa wonders idly if this is the last ever party she and Bodhi will attend together. It’s the inevitable and bittersweet end to something that Willa was ready to let go, yet it still hits, sharply, in the center of her chest.

  She manages to get Lane home, and thank god it isn’t far because Lane is doing very little to help them get there. Willa fishes Lane’s keys out her pocket, and Lane giggles.

  “Buy me dinner first, will ya?” She pauses, then splutters with laughter. “Oh, my god, will ya. Willa. Will ya. Get it?”

  “Yes, I get it.” Willa steers her into the condo and kicks the door closed. “Why don’t you go lay down, and I’ll get you some water and something for the headache you’ll have in the morning, okay?”

  Lane chirps, “Okay!” then collapses onto her couch.

  Willa meant the bed, but close enough. She pours a glass of water and searches Lane’s cabinets until she finds a bottle of ibuprofen and returns to find Lane snoring and draped awkwardly half-on and half-off the couch. Willa sighs and sets the water and pills down. She carefully moves Lane’s dangling leg and arm up onto the couch, and covers her with the throw blanket that always sits neatly folded on one end. Her heart aches when she thinks of all the times she’s done this for Bodhi, aches more at Lane’s serene face and the soft murmurs as Willa tucks her in. Even though she’s being kind of stupid right now, Willa is completely crazy about her.

  “Willa.” Lane’s eyes fly open.

  “Yeah, I’m here.” She’ll stay. She doesn’t want Lane to wake in a panic, not remembering what she did or how she got home.

  “Willa, Willa, hey.” Lane reaches for her, putting her palm on Willa’s cheek after some clumsy fumbling. “If you were ten years older…” Lane says and pouts. It’s cute.

  Willa answers as if Lane was telling a knock-knock joke. Maybe she is, she’s pretty drunk. “If I was ten years older… who?”

  Lane doesn’t joke back or laugh, just looks seriously into Willa’s eyes so intently and for so long that Willa starts to squirm. Lane closes her eyes. Willa straightens up from the couch. A joke with no punchline, then. Knock-knock. Who’s there? Nobody. Then Lane mumbles, so slurred and quiet that Willa barely catches it.

  “Then I could tell you the truth.”

  Ch. 37

  Willa plans to wake up early and bring Lane some greasy food to help with her hangover, but when she shuffles from Lane’s bedroom into the living room to grab her shoes and go, she finds Lane already awake dressed in workout leggings and a long tank top and eating a bowl of cereal on the couch.

  “Oh. Morning.” Willa stops in her tracks near the front door. “Feeling okay?”

  Lane wobbles her head from side to side and swallows. “I’m alive. I think.”

  “Well, that’s something.” Willa smiles, then steps into her Vans. Now she has time to go home before work and maybe catch Bodhi for a bit, since their days are officially numbered now.

  “Hey, if I—” Lane looks down at her cereal and swirls the spoon around a few times. “If I did anything last night that was, uh—”

  “It’s fine,” Willa cuts her off with a flick of her hand. “You were drunk. I’m not going to hold anything you did against you.” Or said, Willa thinks. Whatever Lane meant by “the truth,” Willa should probably let Lane keep to herself. After all, if she wanted Willa to know, she’d tell her when she was sober.

  “Okay. Thank you,” Lane says, relief evident in the lift of her mouth and drop of her shoulders. “I think I may have overcorrected a little there.” Lane sets her bowl down on the coffee table and tucks her legs up and to the side. She looks so sweet, so softly lovely in the morning light, that Willa has to fight an overwhelming urge to kiss her and take her back to bed.

  “Maybe a little, yeah.”

  Lane hums. “Well, I’m gonna go do some yoga. Try to re-center myself.” She drops her legs to the floor and stretches. “I’ll, uh. I’ll call you?”

  “Sure.”

  Willa stands there a few beats too long. It’s just because of Bodhi’s imminent departure weighing on her mind, probably, but the moment seems heavier than it should. Maybe it’s the reality that things have shifted between her and Lane, and, in the sober light of a new day, neither of them knows what comes next. Or if they do, neither one is willing to say it.

  Bodhi isn’t at the cottage when Willa gets home, but there is a message on the answering machine that must be from her grandparents, because no one else uses the landline and leaves messages on the answering machine.

  “Our first booking is the second week of June,” her grandmother’s recorded voice says as Willa waits for a bagel to toast. “And I’d like for you to give all the rooms a fresh coat of paint. God knows what those walls have seen. Oh, and let me know if the exterior needs to be power-washed. I couldn’t remember how long it’s been, though I do believe I have asked you to take care of it many times, and also if you can trim…”

  “Hi, Grandma, so nice of you to call! How am I? Oh, things have been a little tough lately but you know me, I just hang in there no matter what! Thanks so much for your concern!” Willa butters her bagel and pours a glass of juice. The message drones on, and Willa continues her imaginary one-sided conversation with her grandmother, who didn’t even bother to start her message with a hello. It’s either that or start to worry about where she can crash and that for the first time ever she’ll be dealing with all of this—getting the cottage ready for vacationers, finding a place to stay for the summer— alone. She hopes the shop is busy today so she doesn’t have to think about anything at all.

  Unfortunately, she walks into a quiet store and is surprised to see both Jenn and Robin in the back, sitting at the break table with a guy who looks to be in his mid-thirties, with a ruddy complexion and blond hair swooped to one side. Willa eyes them suspiciously as she clocks in.

  “Who’s the Chad-looking dude?” Willa asks Robin when she joins Willa in the front of the store, referring to guy’s overall yacht-club, former-fraternity-president vibe.

  “That�
�s Mr. Kelley’s nephew, Max.”

  “Oh, yeah, now I recognize him.” He used to come help Mr. Kelley in the summer, scraping barnacles and fixing up old boats. It’s been years since she’s seen him. “Wasn’t he working in finance for a big corporation in Charlotte?”

  “That’s right.” Robin moves away to refold a display of T-shirts, and Willa can’t help but feel as if she’s being cagey about something.

  “So… What’s he doing here?”

  Robin pauses with a T-shirt held up to her chest. She seems to choose her next words very carefully. “With Bodhi leaving soon for school, we realized we needed a little more help around here. Jenn and I— Well, at some point in the future we’d like to take a less active role in the store and so—” She finishes folding the shirt, sets it down and pats it, as if to be completely sure it isn’t going to randomly unfold itself. “Max moved here recently and is looking for something a little more low-key than what he was doing before, and we need a manager, so.”

  That guy is going to be her boss? Someone who’s never worked at the sail shop a single day, who breezed into town after deciding he was bored raking in barrels of money in the big city? Who probably drinks vintage scotch with people like Chip Cordova, chortling at the riffraff that can’t afford to set foot in their private beachfront yacht clubs? That guy?

  She is losing everything. Just not at all in the way she thought she would. Panic claws at her chest; her mind scrambles for a way out. They can’t just turn the shop over to this guy and leave her, not Robin and Jenn too. They can’t. “What about me?”

  Robin frowns. “Willa, you’ll be fine. In fact, we’re counting on you to show Max the ropes. You probably know this store better than I do.”

  “No, I mean—” Willa steps around the counter, tries to hold herself the way Lane usually does: confident, competent, mature: shoulders squared and chin lifted. She even lowers her voice a bit. “What about me for the manager position?”