The Secrets We Keep

by Kimberly Blackadar

“How is Caitlyn going to find us?” I ask, turning to look at Courtney. Our towels, inches apart, staking our spot on Daytona’s crowded beach.

  “She’ll text when they get close.”

  “Oh…okay,” I say and fall asleep, which proves to be a colossal mistake. Put it this way, falling asleep on the beach ranks up there with being the first one to fall asleep at a slumber party—especially with my circle of “friends.”

  I awake to a low chuckle and look up, finding Ricky Sampson and Brandon Edwards grinning down at me. Brandon, Caitlyn’s forever boyfriend, has a bag of fast food. “Callie, come here. I got something for you.” I start to push off the towel.

  “Don’t—don’t get up!” A familiar voice warns.

  “W-w-what?” I stammer, realizing that the voice belongs to Mike, my ex-boyfriend. I do not look at up him. Hurt squeezes my heart at the thought of seeing him again.

  “Dude, you suck!” Brandon chastises.

  Mike walks over with an explanation. “Your top is untied.”

  “Oh, that’s real nice,” I growl.

  “I can tie it for you.” Mike crouches down by my towel and ties it in a knot, maybe two or three times, and then tugs. “That should do it.”

  I push up, straightening my arms, and look to my right at an empty towel, and then in the direction of Mike, avoiding eye contact. “Where’s Courtney? And Caitlyn?”

  “They went for a walk.”

  “Great, and they left me alone with you losers?”

  He doesn’t say anything, and I collapse back on my towel, hoping it is going to be a short walk. I don’t want to be here with these three jerks, and I’m mad at Courtney for setting this up and mad at Mike for showing up. I want him out of my life, forever.

  “Cal?”

  “Don’t talk to me!”

  “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

  Yep, you are sorry—a sorry excuse for a boyfriend.

  “Callie?” He places a hand on my back.

  “Don’t!” I turn and glare at him. “Don’t ever touch me again!” I push off the ground and stand up. My hands hit my hips.

  “Ooh, man, she told you,” Brandon scoffs and then turns to Ricky. “Let’s go before the fireworks begin.” He steps back and pantomimes an explosion with his hands. “Boom!”

  “Shut up, Brandon!” I yell.

  Ricky starts to guffaw.

  I eye Ricky. “You too!”

  Ricky and Brandon saunter off with a football.

  “But you just let me tie your—” Mike defends.

  “I was half asleep.” I step in closer to him, forcing my eyes open, wide. “But I’m wide awake now.”

  “Listen,” he begins, “I’m sorry.”

  “Is that all you can say, Mike?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  I start to simmer, “Ooh, I hate it when guys say that!” I flick my head at Brandon and Ricky, who are down the beach, tossing the football now. “Go hang out with your friends. And leave me the hell alone.”

  “Can’t we—“”

  “No!” I stomp my foot into the sand, and my fists drop to my sides. I resemble a defiant toddler.

  Mike doesn’t leave. “You should know what happened, Cal. You’re jumping to conclusions. It wasn’t like I—”

  “Wasn’t like you what?” I toss back.

  “We didn’t have sex; we just—”

  I shove the palm of my hand in his face. “I don’t need the details, Mike. I don’t need to know what you and that little whore did behind my back.”

  “I’m just trying to tell you what we didn’t do.”

  “Listen, it doesn’t matter.” I start walking, quickly, toward the water.

  He follows me. “C’mon, Cal. It does matter.”

  “No, it doesn’t, Mike.” I stop walking. “You crossed the line with Amber. Think about it…” I glare over at him. “In a game, it doesn’t matter how far you step over the line—an inch, a foot, a mile, you’re still out.” I stand there, my words directed at Mike, but somehow I assume my mother’s role. I consider my father’s infractions and wonder how many close calls she ruled in his favor. It was impossible for her to think in terms of black and white, residing in the ambiguous shades of grey, always weighing his latest injunction against its effect on her children. As for me and Mike, our relationship bore no contingencies, and I could stay out of the grey area.

  Still, he pleads his case. “We were at a party. Everyone was trashed.” I huff loudly as he continues, “And as soon as I realized what was happening, I stopped. We both felt terrible.” I step toward the ocean. “If I could take it back, Cal, I would.”

  “But you can’t,” I say softly. The past is an unchangeable element of our lives, and we waste more time with the “what if’s” than with “what is” or “what will be.” It’s a sad reality, plaguing all of us. All I can manage is the truth: “You hurt me, Mike.”

  “I know, and I was wrong, Cal. And I—”

  “Just stop it.” I take another step forward, letting my feet sink into the soft sand. Then the little coquinas, or beach fleas, brought up by the waves, tickle my feet as they find their way back home.

  “Cal, I—”

  “Don’t,” I swallow back the hurt. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

  “Listen, Cal, I just wanted you to know—to know that I really miss you.”

  “Well,” I sigh, “I miss you too, but—” I stop myself: I’m not even sure what I was going to say. I pause and ingest the truth, the sad truth that I miss him. I miss the years of liking him, and the months of dating him. I miss the warmth of his presence and his half-grin. I miss playing hoops with him. I miss holding his hand and going out to the movies. I miss him and the role he played in my life—my life that is now completely gone.

  “Callie,” he says, his voice inching closer to me. And the way he says my name, soft, breathy, warm, alights my heart, and my resolve sinks into the sand like a tiny coquina.

  He stands behind me, but soon his hands rest on my arms. He pauses, waits for my reaction, and then wraps me up in his arms, my back against his chest, and it feels so right, so warm and safe, like a favorite blanket on a winter’s night.

  He finds my ear and whispers, “Callie.” He brushes my hair to one side, and then his mouth finds that delightful spot on my neck. I should stop him, but I can’t. He has the route memorized, and he knows which direction to take. And sadly, I don’t have any reason to stop him. After all, I don’t have the possibility of Ryan—not anymore.

  Mike walks slowly around me, his hands taking a provocative path across my skin as he moves in front of me. Then he presses up against me, and his lips eagerly find mine. And we kiss, soft and slow, with a gentle familiarity.

  He moans softly, his desire against my mouth, my body. He holds my vulnerability in his hands, tightly in his fists. “I love you.”

  “Don’t,” I whimper and step back. The words I craved for four months now pierce my heart.

  I look up at him. “It’s too late, Mike.”

  “No, it’s not, Cal.”

  I turn from him and swipe a silly tear from the corner of my eye.

  “I won’t ever do it again. I promise.”

  “You got that right, Mike.” I turn back and look at him, my eyes narrowing as I remember the hurt. “Because I won’t ever give you that chance again!”

  I walk toward the ocean, watching the waves crawl to the shore, stretching out to reach my feet and engulf my ankles. Then the water rushes back and returns to her original shape.

  Similar to a swell of emotions, the water surrounds me, then softly recedes, creating an endless yet predictable pattern. I wade deeper into the ocean, water encircling my legs, my waist. I arc my arms and dive into the water, completely submerged as the memory resurfaces.

  *****