The Secret History of Us

by Jessi Kirby

  He gives a half smile and a wave back, then looks over his shoulder to back up. Part of me wants to wave him down and tell him to come back, wants to try to figure out what I’m missing so I can fix it. Another part feels like I should apologize for being distant, or different, or whatever I must seem to him. For not being the girlfriend he knew and had. She probably would’ve known what to say to him, but I don’t. And so I don’t wave him down, and I don’t tell him to come back. I stand there on my porch trying to ignore a whole other part of me that feels relief when he puts his truck in drive and rolls slowly down the street.

  NINETEEN

  SAM PUTS HIS big, heavy hand on my seat and looks over his shoulder as we back up. “Okay, you gotta admit. That moment, when Darth Vader says he’s Luke’s father, is EVERYTHING. Am I right? You didn’t see that comin’, did ya?”

  I yawn. “Sam. We’ve been over this. I remember Star Wars.”

  “Yeah, but it has way more impact watching it the old way. We may have done it wrong the first time, but you got a second chance to see the greatest story ever told—in the right order. Tonight we can start on the new ones, but there’s a lot we need to talk about first.”

  “Sam. I’ve seen them.”

  “Years ago,” he scoffs. He reaches for the pack of gum in the center console, pops a piece in his mouth, and then offers me one.

  I take it. “Thanks.”

  “How’d your top secret mission go yesterday? Can I know about it today? Now that it’s over?”

  “It was kind of a disaster. I don’t want to talk about it, but I’m sure you’ll find out about it soon enough.”

  “Intriguing,” Sam says, “but I’m patient. I’ll wait. Plus, this is a good song. Listen. You probably haven’t heard it before.” He turns up the music, and we don’t say anything else the rest of the way. We don’t have to, and I appreciate this about my brother. When we get down to the Embarcadero, he parks in the back of the Fuel Dock and shuts off the car. Then he turns to me, his face serious.

  “Okay. The moment we step out of this car, and into the restaurant . . .” He makes his voice go as deep as it can. “Liv . . . I am your boss.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “Seriously,” he says. “You have to do what I tell you to do. And it’s going to be GREAT.” He pounds the steering wheel for emphasis.

  “Perfect,” I say. “Can’t wait.”

  We get out of the car, and he unlocks the back door of the Fuel Dock. “Now that’s the can-do attitude I’m talkin’ about.”

  He walks in ahead of me, flipping on all the light switches, and I look around the place, which is about the size of a small trailer or a food truck.

  “I don’t know why, but I always thought this place was bigger inside.”

  Now Sam gives me a look. “You’ve seen the outside, right? Where’d you think we kept all that space?”

  “Never mind,” I say. “Show me what to do. Boss.”

  Sam rolls up his sleeves. “Heh. Gladly.”

  He takes me through the morning-shift prep work—slicing tomatoes and onions, shredding lettuce, filling ice.

  “When do I get to learn how to use the milk shake machine?” I ask, eyeing the old-fashioned, three-pronged machine.

  He steps in front of it. “Not so fast. That’s an advanced skill. You’ll be starting with delivery to the docks, like you’ve done before. You get the food there fast, fresh, and with a smile.” He pauses. “And you actually like that job because you get to walk around outside like a princess for a few hours and get paid for it while the rest of us slave away here, breathing in burger grease.”

  I think about the crazy line yesterday and delivery girl sounds good to me. “Fine,” I say. “But if it’s so much better to be out delivering, why don’t you do it?”

  “I’m not cute enough. Charlie likes to have you girls in your Fuel Dock T-shirts and shorts and deck shoes out there delivering. He thinks it’s good advertising.”

  “That’s kinda gross.”

  “It’s not like you’re in a bikini or anything. Besides, your FACE is kinda gross.”

  I laugh. “I forgot all about that joke until yesterday.”

  “You forgot about a lot of things, sister.”

  “No, I mean there were these kids—the Wagners? Who I took the food to yesterday?”

  “Yeah, they’ve been coming here for the last few years. Customer number eighty-seven. Great family. Even better tippers.”

  “Well, I didn’t remember them, or that. But the kids were using that joke on each other.”

  “As well they should. It’s a good joke.”

  “They said I taught it to them.”

  “Well, you are their favorite delivery girl, and they order from us almost daily while they’re here.”

  I’m quiet a moment, thinking about our conversation the other day. “They also said they’re taking sailing lessons from Walker. Did you know he works down here?”

  Sam goes to the big industrial fridge and grabs out a giant block of cheese. “Yeah. He’s like Charlie’s go-to guy for whatever needs to be done in the harbor. He works the fleet when the fish are running, teaches sailing when they’re not. Sometimes even does maintenance.”

  “Do you ever talk to him?”

  Sam unwraps the cheese and puts it on the slicer. He turns it on. “No more than anybody else,” he says. “Guy keeps to himself.” He glances at me, then focuses on catching the slices of cheese as they come out on the other side of the blade. “I think he likes it that way.”

  “Why?”

  Sam shrugs. “I don’t know. It was awesome, what he did for you—I’ll give him that. And he’s good with his sailing customers, but he doesn’t seem interested in making friends with anyone here.”

  I nod. That seems accurate, based on the interview yesterday. “Do you think he doesn’t like us? Because of that whole thing that happened with Mom reporting his parents?”

  “I don’t know. That’d be a long grudge to hold.” Sam looks at me. “Why all the questions about Walker? Got a little crush on your hero?”

  “No,” I say quickly. “Geez, I was just curious what he’s like, that’s all.”

  “Uh-huh,” Sam says.

  We finish the last of the prep work just as the rest of the crew arrives and clocks in. Sam greets them all with a smile, introduces me as his delivery girl, and just like he said, we start to get busy around eleven. By eleven thirty, we’re slammed with orders, so I put on my new sunglasses and head out to the docks with the first few deliveries. The docks and their slips are all clearly marked, and this time I have a cheat sheet with all the codes, which makes things easier.

  I quickly discover that the people on their boats are generally happy because they’re here on vacation, and even happier when they see their food arrive. It doesn’t take me long to realize that a smile and a little small talk go a long way toward a good tip. I try to keep it short and light, and let them do most of the talking just in case I should know them, and it works. There are a few who I gather are returners from small things they mention, and I go along with it when they seem like they know me.

  I drop off an order of burgers with a family who’s visiting for the first time, and after telling them about a special beach where they can go hunting for sand dollars, I decide I’m not quite ready to go grab another order, so I take the long way back. I walk the boardwalk like part of the crowd, until I find a place to lean on the railing and look out over the bay. Most of the fishing and larger sailboats are already out for the day, but there are stand-up paddlers out for their morning lap, and farther out, Lasers and Sabots zigzag around each other as they learn how to tack and turn. They’re too far away for me to see if Walker and the Wagner kids are in any of them, but I look for them anyway. Mostly, I look for him.

  I think about Sam asking why I was asking about Walker, and it’s hard to put my finger on. It’s not a crush, like he said. Walker was cold and guarded—definitely not interested in making fri
ends. But I do want to see him again. I want to talk to him, because I don’t like the way things were left after the interview. Because I didn’t get to tell him how much it means to me, what he did. And because of the way it felt when he actually looked at me. Maybe I just want to believe what that reporter said about a connection after something like that. I feel guilty at the thought, but I know I felt something, and a tiny part of me thinks that he maybe he did too.

  My phone buzzes with a text. Sam, asking if I got lost. I text him back that I’ll be right there, but I do go out of my way one more time to pass by the Sailboat Rentals and Lessons hut. There’s a guy behind the counter, but it’s not Walker, so I just pass by without stopping.

  When I get back, Sam gives me a look. “What’d you do, go home or something?”

  “Sorry. I . . .”

  “Here,” he says, handing me three bags. “Daily Wagner kid order. They’re not at their boat, though, they’re over at the little swimming beach. And they don’t have any cash. Jackson said to put it on his tab. Because we do that now, and they’re starting one.”

  I look down at the large bag, which holds an awful lot of food for two kids.

  “They wanted to buy lunch for their sailing teacher,” he says. “I thought you might wanna bring this one.” Before I can answer, he disappears back into the kitchen to grab the next orders that are ready.

  I walk slowly. It’s one thing to think about the possibility of seeing Walker again after yesterday, but it’s another knowing that I will. I try to think of what I’ll say. I can’t exactly give a big, heartfelt speech about him saving my life in front of the kids. It might even be weird to say thank you again. But then, not acknowledging it seems strange too. I don’t know how I’m going to face him, but now I have to.

  I try to calm the butterflies as I walk, but by the time I reach the end of the sidewalk where the swimming beach is, they’re swirling all the way up my chest and into my throat. I spot him right away. He’s crouched behind a little sailboat, which is beached just outside the swimming area, holding a water gun. Jackson and Dylan creep toward him from the opposite side, communicating with a series of hand gestures, their own water guns at the ready. When Jackson gives the signal, they charge the boat, letting out wild warrior calls, and Walker jumps up to defend himself against the attack.

  It takes all of thirty seconds for them to empty their guns at each other, and at the end of it, there is no winner—or maybe they’re all winners. They’re all soaked. They stand there laughing, claiming victory over each other, and it makes me laugh too, like I’m a part of it. I step over the low seawall, and Dylan sees me and comes running over.

  “Liv, you just missed it!”

  Walker’s head snaps in my direction at the mention of my name, and the smile disappears from his face. He turns and reaches into the boat for a towel. I watch as he stands, back to me, and dries his shoulders quickly.

  “We just crushed him in a water war, and now he has to buy us ice cream later, that was the bet.”

  “That’s awesome . . .” I watch as Walker grabs a shirt and a hat out of the boat and puts them both on. “Lucky you,” I say, taking a few steps down the beach.

  Jackson comes up to meet me and takes the bags from my hand. “Oh, good, we’re starving! Walker! I got us lunch!” he calls. He looks at me. “Your brother let me start a tab, so I ordered extra. You should stay.” He reaches into one of the bags and comes back up with a handful of French fries that he stuffs into his mouth. “He even said you could.”

  “Who?” I ask, glancing at Walker.

  “Your brother.”

  I look at him. “You asked him if I could have lunch with you?”

  “Yeah,” he says, with no other explanation. “C’mon,” he says, motioning with his free hand.

  For a second I wonder who this kid thinks he is, but when he shoves another handful of French fries into his mouth, I realize he’s pretty much Sam. The mini-version.

  Dylan grabs my hand in both of hers. “Yes! Stay! Pleeaassseee!”

  I glance at Walker again, and when our eyes meet, he starts to pack abandoned squirt guns into the boat.

  “I’m not sure I . . .”

  I don’t get to finish answering because Dylan pulls me down the beach after her brother, where they already have their towels spread out as a makeshift picnic blanket. I watch Walker out of the corner of my eye as I sit. He busies himself with something in the little sailboat without any indication that he’s going to join us.

  Jackson pulls a cheeseburger and fries out of the bag and stands. “Dude, I got you lunch. Come eat.”

  Walker looks at him. “Thanks, buddy,” he answers. Then he looks at me. “But I’m gonna need to take it to go. I need to get outta here—get the boat back.”

  The butterflies in my stomach fall like leaves to the ground. He’s going because of me. I can feel it.

  “Aw, I thought you were gonna eat it here on the beach with us.” Dylan pouts.

  “Next time,” Walker answers, and he gives her a tight smile. “Promise. You guys have fun with Liv, here.”

  He turns and takes a few steps toward the boat, but then stops. His shoulders rise as he takes a deep breath, then he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. Turns and looks at me, not the kids.

  And then he comes back to where I’m standing. The butterflies take to the sky again.

  We look at each other without saying anything for a moment, and his eyes soften like they did for just a split second during the interview, and it’s the first time I’ve really gotten to look at him. His red baseball cap is turned backward, and his dark hair escapes from beneath it, curling up around the edges. I can feel myself looking too long at the way the stubble on his jawline comes up to meet it, but I can’t help it.

  He holds something out between us. “I found this on the boat. It’s broken—I think it came off when . . .” He glances at the kids, whose eyes I can feel as well, then brings his eyes back to mine. “I was gonna give it to you yesterday, but that was . . .” He shakes his head.

  “Kind of a mess,” I say. And then I look down.

  In his hand is a thin chain, broken, like he said. And next to it, the medallion that I recognize immediately but hadn’t even realized was missing until just now.

  “Wow,” I say. “Thank you.” I reach out and take both from his hand, hold the medal up in the sunlight. It makes me smile to see it. I look at Walker. “My friend brought this back to me from a trip she took to Italy when we were in seventh grade. She didn’t know what it was when she bought it, and it was so funny when we looked it up because it turned out to be a Saint Anthony, who’s the—”

  “Patron saint of lost things,” Walker finishes for me. “Guess it actually works.”

  I nod slowly. “I . . .” My head is swimming. “I was wearing this?” It surprises me, with the whole me-and-Jules-not-being-friends-anymore thing.

  Walker looks at me strangely. “Yeah. Anyway. I need to get back.” He turns and walks back to the boat before I can say anything else.

  Dylan waves. “Bye, Walker!”

  “See you tomorrow!” Jackson adds.

  He gives the kids a wave, then pushes the little sailboat into the water and jumps in. And then, like it’s nothing, he angles the boat away from the shore where I stand, without so much as a glance back. I watch as the wind catches and fills the small sail of the Laser, and I would keep watching until I can’t see him anymore, but Dylan comes over and tugs on my hand again.

  I look down at her and she smiles up at me.

  “You lied. You guys are totally friends.”

  TWENTY

  WHEN I GET back to the Fuel Dock, things have slowed down and Sam and a couple of guys are cleaning up the aftermath of the lunch rush.

  “Wow, nice of you to come back,” he says, as he wipes the counter. “I was starting to think you decided to take the rest of the day off.”

  “What? No, Jackson said you said I could have lunch wit
h them, so I did.”

  Sam stops what he’s doing. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. Seriously.”

  Sam laughs, and then shakes his head. “That kid. He’s funny.”

  “You didn’t tell him I could have lunch with them?”

  “Why would I do that? You’re on the clock.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, to be nice to your sister.”

  “Ha. No.” He laughs again, harder this time, so that I have to wait for him to catch his breath. “What I told him was that I’d throw in an extra burger in case he had a cute girl he wanted to offer lunch to.” He looks at me. “I guess you were it, though he could probably do better.”

  “Stop.”

  “What? It’s true. You’re way too old for him. But that was kinda smooth for a twelve-year-old, though.” He looks over his shoulder. “Anyway, you can go home now. We’re slowing down, and these guys need the hours, so they wanna stay. You feelin’ okay? I’m not off for another hour, but I can walk if you wanna take my car home.”

  “I don’t know how to drive.”

  “Balls. I forgot. We gotta fix that.”

  “I can walk. If you’re sure it’s all right for me to go.”

  He doesn’t hesitate. “Yep, you’re good. Get outta here, sport.”

  I laugh. “Okay. I’m gonna go.”

  Sam nods. “Good job today. See you at home.”

  “All right, champ.”

  I stop at his car to grab my purse and check my phone. There are multiple texts from both Paige and Matt, but I don’t feel like answering them right now. I don’t want to go home either, not yet. I don’t know what I want. I feel aimless. Lost.

  I pull the Saint Anthony from my pocket and run my thumb over the tiny medallion. I remember when Jules got home from her trip, she’d been so excited to give it to me. At first it didn’t make sense, because she was never particularly religious, and neither was I. But then she told me how she’d wanted to buy something from a cute Italian boy who was selling them on the beach, and so that was my souvenir. That, and the story of how they’d gone for a walk after that, and he’d kissed her on the sand at sunset. And then it made perfect sense. Because I’d yet to have my first kiss, and was forever living vicariously through her.