by Jen Malone
I think I need to tell him. Everything.
Well, I need to tell someone. . . .
I can’t believe I’m considering unloading on him when I haven’t even told my best friends in the world. But Jonah hasn’t known my mother his whole life the way my friends have. He doesn’t even know me that well, nor will he probably want to after I unburden myself on him like a freak. In some ways, it feels more removed from reality this way. Safer.
Before I can second-guess myself, I say it:
“My mom cheated on my dad.”
I have never—literally never—uttered those words out loud, and they suck the breath out of me.
Jonah flinches, but he doesn’t take his eyes from mine. “God, Cassie, I’m so sorry. Was it—was it a long-term thing, or—”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know any details and I don’t think I want to.”
“Right, yeah. No, I get that. And why you’re so upset with her.”
I shake my head again, vehemently this time. “I’m not upset with her. I hate her.”
I wish that were true. I wish like hell that were true, because all of this would be so much easier if it were.
Jonah nods. “Okay. I mean, I’m not trying to say I understand it all because I’ve never been in that particular situation, but I can imagine how I might feel.”
I stare at him for a long pause.
“Do you always say and do the exact perfect thing?”
He blinks. “Um . . . what?”
I huff in frustration. “It’s just, you’re always so self-assured and in control of your emotions and, like, even when you talk about your parents, you’re so levelheaded about things, and I was just wondering if you’re always that way or if you have, like, maybe one or two flaws. It kind of makes me feel like a basket case compared to you, just so you know.”
Jonah’s silent for a couple of beats, then he hangs his head with a rueful laugh. “Yeah, okay, I guess I can see that I come across that way. Probably because I was literally groomed to be like this.” His shoulders rise with a silent laugh and he closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “If you knew what my schools were like—those pressure cooker, elite private school clichés exist for a reason. You show even the slightest sign of weakness and—” Jonah slices a finger across his neck and I manage a small smile. “Confidence—or maybe I should call it bravado—is currency in those places.”
I give him a tiny smile through my drying tears. “You must have been very rich, then.”
“Very,” he answers, with a small head shake that seems sad. “But, trust me, I have plenty of flaws.”
“Besides not being able to snap your fingers?”
“Hey, I said that was a defect, not a flaw!”
I smile again, then duck my head to wipe my nose with the back of my hand. “Well. You should try dropping the bravado and being completely exposed sometime. It’s freaking awesome, lemme tell ya. You get to feel like a total idiot and look like a total mess.”
“Sprite.” He waits for me to steal a peek at him before saying, “You don’t look like a total mess, and I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. Seriously. At all.”
I shrug.
There’s a long silence after that while I study the thread pattern on his quilt, and then, finally, Jonah says, “Thanks for . . .”
I glance up at him, confused, as he trails off and his hands flutter to his sides. After a second he continues, “Uh, just . . . I know you probably didn’t plan to wind up here or anything, but I—it means a lot that you trusted me enough to confide in me. Really.”
Teasing Jonah is gone. His expression is intent, and the weight of his words settles in my chest. I nod slowly and lower my chin.
“And I swear I’ll take everything to my grave.”
I whip my head up, my eyes wild. “Oh god, you have to. I’m the only person who knows about the cheating, outside of my parents, and they have no clue I do. No one else knows. Like, no one. Drew would—I can’t let Drew find out.”
Jonah leans back and makes an X on his chest with his finger. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
He stares at me without smiling until I relax a little, believing in his sincerity. I’m fairly certain I can trust him with this secret.
The quiet descends again, and to cover any awkwardness, I pick up a framed picture from amid the clutter on his nightstand. It’s a shot of him and an older man leaning over the railing of a boat. The man’s smile is more restrained, but Jonah’s laughing at the person taking the photo.
“Your dad?”
Jonah nods. “Last summer.”
I nod too, before replacing it and moving my gaze to the wall above, where a sheet of notebook paper is taped. The handwriting is hard to make out, so I have to stand and move in front of it to read:
Something to do
Someone to love
Something to hope for
“What’s this? Grocery list?” I ask.
“Don’t poke fun, Sprite. That there is the official formula for happiness, according to author George Washington Burnap, although I’ve taken it upon myself to use Alexander Chalmers’s version.”
I study the words more closely before declaring, “I like it. I’m having a really hard time trusting in the idea of a happiness that lasts right now, but if it exists, this seems like as good a formula as any.”
Jonah’s smile is bittersweet. “It exists, Cass. I’ve seen it.”
I shrug and turn my eyes to the small porthole, where the lightening sky above the waterline reminds me that, although it’s still early, people will be up and about soon. Jonah must have the same train of thought because he says, “I’m guessing no one knows about your little outing and there’ll be hell to pay if they wake up and find you missing. Yes?”
I nod. I didn’t even leave a note this time.
“C’mon, I’ll drop you back.”
It’s still quiet in the harbor, and I don’t want to announce my return by pulling up with the Zodiac’s engine roaring, so I help Jonah paddle us over instead.
“It is a very good thing I’d already roped you into being my friend,” I say, glancing up just in time to see something pass across Jonah’s face before he relaxes it into a smile.
“Yeah, why’s that?” he asks.
I pick up a piece of hair that the dried salt has clumped into something resembling a rat’s tail and let it fall. “Between this and my outfit, I’m afraid I’d never have been able to hitchhike a ride back on my own.”
Jonah leans in. “I don’t know. I think you look pretty cute in my pajamas. At least I don’t have to wonder whether you have that purple polka-dotted thong on today.”
I blink rapidly.
He snickers at my obvious shock, and I’m ridiculously grateful that we’re mere feet away from Sunny-Side Up. The second we touch the platform, I slip off the boat before he can tease me about my flushed cheeks. When I’m safely in the cockpit, I lean over and mouth “thank you” alongside my small wave.
He grins and salutes before turning his attention to paddling.
All is quiet on the boat as I slip into my berth. I change out of Jonah’s clothes before I have to answer any questions about them, but I can’t resist a last inhale of his sweatshirt. Not exactly the best way to stifle feelings, Cass. I climb under the covers and stare at my bonsai tree’s delicate branches, waiting to drift back to sleep and thinking about Jonah’s happiness formula.
Something to do: that one’s a bit outside my control at the moment, although I at least have something, even if it’s not my first choice in activities.
Someone to love: Drew. Dad. Tara. Jess. Do I count my mother if I won’t allow myself to show it? I can’t objectively answer that at the moment.
Something to hope for.
I picture Jonah’s genuine concern when we talked this morning and remember the comfort of his arms around me as he held me. I take a deep breath and finally admit it to myself: I think I want Jonah to be my somethin
g to hope for.
It’s not practical. It has an expiration date. I’ve said good-bye to too many things and people I care about this year, and I’m not sure I can handle another one. Keeping things light and platonic between us was supposed to have been the one thing under my control this trip.
But I’m pretty sure my heart might be laughing at me for believing I had any real say in the matter.
24
When I wake a few hours later, the sun is bright and the cabin is thankfully empty. I grab coffee and drink deeply before preparing to head above. I’m determined not to let my mother guess I overheard them this morning. Except there’s no one on the deck, and I peer over the side to check on the dinghy. It’s gone, but Drew is crouched on the platform, casting a fishing rod into the water.
“Hey, Cass, I caught a goddamn mako shark!” he yells when he glances up and spots me.
Did he say shark? I start to back away, but he looks so eager that I force myself to stop. It is his birthday, after all.
“I’m not touching a shark,” I insist, climbing down to join him. “I don’t want to go pissing off any of its brothers and sisters who might seek me out as a revengeful snack.” I lean over and give him a quick hug. “Speaking of brothers, happy birthday to my favorite one.”
Drew snorts. “I’m your only one.”
I grin and shrug. He rolls his eyes and holds up a slimy body. “Check it. Makos are not terrifying.”
He’s right. It’s definitely more fishlike than Jaws-like. This guy wouldn’t even merit a cameo on Shark Week. Nevertheless, he’s still icky.
“Mom got me a fishing license and gear for my birthday! Oh, and a book to identify my catches. I’m thinking we should go ashore later and buy one of those hibachi grills that screw onto the railing, like Amy and Miranda have, so we can cook this guy up.”
“Where is Mom?” I ask.
“Grocery run,” he answers.
We’re hanging here in Capitola for several days because Christian has relatives nearby he wants to spend time with on the way down, since he doesn’t know how frequently he’ll be back and forth once he settles in Mexico. These delays, Mom explained calmly when we anchored here, are the kinds of concessions you make when you’re traveling as a caravan. And, on day twenty-four of our trip, we’re back on schedule, so there’s no case to be made for pushing on.
At least Drew’s enjoying himself. “Hey, if we find a grill, I can barbecue. You don’t have to eat the shark. I’ll try to catch a tuna next, or maybe some salmon.”
He’s so earnest, it’s sweet. How is he fifteen now, when at times he still looks about six? I almost hate to burst his bubble. “I don’t think barbecue tuna is a thing.”
“You don’t know that for sure. Dad’s gonna Skype as soon as he wakes up, so I’ll get advice from him. I’ll bet he has something that would work.”
“Go for it, Roo.”
He sticks his tongue out at me. I’m positive both of us are thinking about how much it sucks that Dad isn’t here for this birthday, but neither of us says a word. I even make sure Drew doesn’t see me snap the picture of him fishing that I send to Dad later with a “today’s good one” caption.
I spend the rest of the day calling Drew “The Grillmaster” every chance I get and blasting annoying show tunes at top volume while I hose off the deck.
It’s the least a sister can do.
I also spend a fair amount of time trying not to think about how many butterflies take flight in my stomach every time I picture Jonah. Now that I’ve admitted to myself that I like him, he’s occupying half of my brain space, and I spend twice as long getting ready as I ever have for a simple dinner with everyone.
When we all gather on Tide Drifter, I try my best to not let on about my shifting feelings. Suggestive flirting aside, I don’t even know if he would want anything more than what we have. What if that thing on the dock in San Fran really was him reaching for his hat? What if I make a move and he shoots me down?
Drew’s mako—the only thing he caught, despite several more hours of trying—is not on the menu. It’s hanging out on ice in Christian’s freezer (mostly because his freezer has space for things like slimy, icky fish, and partly because no way was I sleeping with a shark underneath me. I don’t care how un-Jaws-like or dead the thing is).
Instead, Amy made her signature bacon carbonara dish since Drew went crazy over it the last time she cooked it. And when Mom snuck off earlier, it turns out she was actually using the full-sized oven on Christian’s yacht to bake Dad’s great-aunt Mariel’s upside-down pineapple cake, Drew’s absolute favorite. I definitely thought boat living would make keeping that tradition impossible, but Mom managed.
I can tell by Drew’s constant chatter and grins that he’s having a good birthday, in spite of it being the first one without Dad around, and even though it might physically pain me to do it, I have to give my mother some credit for pulling it off.
In fact, everyone is relaxed and laughing, and I try to let myself get swept up in the prevailing mood. Jonah had a questioning look for me when we first arrived, but I shrugged and smiled, and he seemed reassured that I was doing better than I was when he dropped me at Sunny’s platform this morning. We’ve caught eyes a few times since, but it’s all been very normal between us. Thank god.
Next to me, Drew squeezes his eyes shut and collects his breath before blowing out his candles. I wonder what he wishes for. I wonder what I will when it’s my turn next month.
I picture me, Dad, Mom, and Drew at the little metal café table in the center of my garden, a year ago tonight, eating this same cake. My Prairie Harvest roses were in full bloom and scenting our party, and a floppy branch from my hydrangeas was tickling my leg. Are they in bloom now? Is anyone remembering to deadhead the roses? Tara’s last spy mission had encouraging results, but still.
Even a week ago my wish would have been a no-brainer—to go straight home, no passing Go, no collecting $200. Except now . . .
A hand waves in front of my face.
“Earth to Cassie,” Jonah says.
“Huh?” I snap out of it and return to the cramped quarters of Tide Drifter, where everyone is looking at me.
“Are you up for it?” Jonah asks.
“Up for it?” I repeat blankly.
“Wow, you were gone.” He gestures to my brother, who holds up a Frisbee. “Drew just opened his present from Abigail and Grace. It has LED lights in it, so we can play at night. We were thinking about heading to the beach after cake. You in?”
Abigail bounces onto my lap, forcing an “oomph” from me. “Please, Cassie? I’m really good at Frisbee and you can be on my team.”
I laugh at her upturned face and obvious excitement. How do you say no to that, even if I wanted to, which I definitely don’t.
“Yes!” I say, tweaking her nose and releasing her.
Jonah slides a piece of cake onto a paper plate and holds my eyes as he passes it to me. “Cool.” His accompanying smile is soft and hesitant. I know he’s probably thinking back on our talk this morning and wondering about my emotional state, but the intimacy of his expression tickles my insides.
I glance down quickly before my outsides give me away.
When we’ve sufficiently stuffed ourselves with upside-down pineapples, we leave the adults drinking their wine, and all us kids load into the Zodiac. Drew begs to captain and Jonah concedes him birthday privileges.
“Know which movie was inspired by this place, Sprite?” Jonah asks as we motor toward the shore. “Here’s a hint. Caw! Caw!”
“Caw! Caw!” Abigail and Grace jump right in, which makes me laugh.
“Um, Dumbo?” I yell over the motor and the incessant crow noises.
Jonah shakes his head. “What kind of a guess is that? No, it’s The Birds. Hitchcock was visiting this town and heard about a real-life version of a mass attack that took place here.”
“That movie was based on real events?” I shudder. I’ve never seen it, but I know t
he premise, and being pecked to death is not something I want to contemplate, especially on a day when I’ve already been three feet away from a shark.
“Yup. They figured out only a few years ago that the seabirds were all infected by some toxin produced by red algae.”
“Cool!” Drew pipes in.
“See, botany can be interesting.” I can’t help a little gloating.
Jonah smiles at us, then tells Drew, “Hey, watch out for the surf up ahead. It’s high tide and there are some decent breakers on this stretch.”
I dart a glance at Jonah. “That doesn’t sound comforting.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Drew’s already a pro with this thing.”
He reaches across the dinghy and takes my hand. I try to pretend his simple act, meant to be soothing, doesn’t send my heartbeat into the stratosphere. But I think I might gasp a little because his eyes snap to my face and he studies me for a second, his head slightly cocked.
His palm against mine is warm, despite the cold breeze off the ocean and the dropping temperatures now that the sun has set. He adjusts his thumb, and it sends tingles along my arm. Since when have I been a girl who gets tingles? I didn’t have them when we held hands in Half Moon Bay—was all this chemistry right under the surface, just waiting for me to surrender to the idea of us? Or is it nerves, thinking about what I might try to initiate?
I look up to find Jonah’s eyes still on me, perplexed. Damn. He can tell I’m acting weird. I give him a small smile and glance away.
Abigail, who has finally gotten bored with making crow noises, spots our clasped hands and giggles. She starts singing at the top of her little lungs, “Cassie and Jonah, sittin’ in a tree.”
Grace abandons her usual shyness to jump right in for the duet on the K-I-S-S-I-N-G line.
Jonah subtly untangles our fingers and I feign unnatural interest in the approaching shoreline, rimmed with pastel-colored houses and storefronts. Unfortunately, that doesn’t deter the girls. By the time Drew expertly surfs our dinghy over a cresting wave that we ride straight onto the beach, Jonah and I have first found love, then marriage, and are now the proud owners of a baby carriage. I laugh louder than anyone else in the boat, to cover my embarrassment, but am grateful when we scrape ground.
