Summer Sunsets

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  “So?” she prompts, folding her hands in her lap.

  “You’re so impatient,” I respond, pulling away from the curb. “Maybe I should blindfold you.”

  “So not happening,” she says, brushing the hair from her eyes. With the windows slightly rolled down, that isn’t going to do much good. It’s too pretty a night to run the AC. Tapping my fingers against the steering wheel, I turn onto Main Street but drive past Portman’s Steak House, the only good restaurant in town. As I expect, Skye arches her eyebrows and points at the steak place as though she can’t believe I passed it.

  “But….”

  “I’ve got something better. Don’t worry.”

  “Now I’m scared,” she retorts, shaking her head.

  Five minutes later, I pull into the parking lot of Lucy Park and take the keys from the ignition before I get out.

  “Okay, I give. What are we doing here?” she asks, also getting out.

  “Having dinner,” I tell her, grabbing a picnic basket from the back of my Jeep. “I told you I had everything under control. Oh ye of little faith.”

  “Did you bring the antidote?”

  “It’s in there somewhere.” I reach for her hand, and she suddenly seems to freeze. Part of me stiffens, wondering if I’m taking things just a little too fast for her. Then I start walking and shove my hand into my pocket so she won’t feel so obligated. That’s when she starts walking again, a little slower than I am, probably because she feels awkward next to me.

  Although there are a few families out, it’s pretty quiet, considering how beautiful the weather is, and I’m pretty sure all the high school kids won’t be out here for another couple of hours. They like to wait until it’s dark. Glancing around, I pick the first picnic table that isn’t in close proximity to anyone else and nod to the round stone bench.

  “Have a seat.”

  “As you wish.” She slips one leg over the bench and then the other so she can sit. Watching me, she smiles, and I think again about how beautiful she is—how beautiful she’s always been. The smile that’s on her face suddenly shifts into overdrive as I pull out the fried chicken I picked up from the store just a few minutes earlier and put it on a plate. I give it to her.

  “Oh, wow,” she gushes, shaking her head. “This is really awesome.”

  “I promised you a wonderful dinner, didn’t I?” I put a couple of pieces on my plate and hand her a can of soda. “You might want to eat while it’s warm.” I give her a napkin.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice.” She takes the napkin and tucks it under her plate to keep the breeze from blowing it away. She takes a bite.

  As we eat, we watch a dad and his four-year-old daughter fly a kite—or try to, anyway, the wind isn’t cooperating enough to get it off the ground. I turn back to Skye and see an odd expression on her face as she looks at the girl whose blonde ringlets fall around her face. The girl laughs and begs for her father to swing her through the air, and he does, probably because he knows the kite will never leave the ground.

  Skye’s expression seems neutral, but I’ve learned there’re a million things buried in her head. She could be thinking about the father who abandoned her or the child she aborted. She could be wondering whether she’ll ever have kids. No matter what it is that now rattles around in her mind, I don’t have an answer to make it easier. Besides, she’ll talk when she’s ready.

  “Is the food okay?” I ask, wishing I could read her better. It was so much easier when we were kids and she trusted me with everything.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” she says, suddenly looking down as if I’ve caught her in the middle of something embarrassing.

  “Then why aren’t you eating?” I see a fly buzzing close by and wave it away.

  “I am,” she says, grabbing a piece of chicken and taking a bite. “See?” She waves the drumstick in front of me for effect, yet even as she eats, I see her watching the little girl, and it worries me. A lot of things worry me with Skye, but right now I see something pressing troubling in her dark eyes. I just can’t pinpoint what it is.

  “Skye, look,” I say, unable to focus on the food, either. “I know maybe it’s been a while since we’ve been inseparable, but I’m the same guy, really.”

  She frowns and brushes a hair from her face. “No, actually neither of us is the same. We haven’t been since…that day.”

  I start to argue and stop, knowing she’s probably got a point, even if I don’t want to admit it. I don’t think anything has been the same since that day, so I try another way.

  “I know you’ve got trust issues, and I understand, but—”

  “I trust you, Devin. That’s not it,” she finally says in a quiet voice that doesn’t sound like her. I’m right. There is something really eating at her.

  “Then talk to me. That’s all I’m asking.” I gently reach out and grasp her hand. “You know me, Skye--even if I have changed, there’s still nothing you can’t say to me. Period.”

  She starts fiddling with her soda can, not bothering to drink from it, just tapping the side to keep her fingers occupied—yet another Skye-ism. There’s so much in everything she doesn’t say.

  I nod toward the little girl. “Look, I’m about to start inventing some kind of back-story about that little girl being your half-sister, adopted by that guy because your father walked out on her, too. Maybe she’s even been adopted by midgets at the circus and this guy is just a weird uncle or something. Can’t you just see her with a rainbow wig and a red, bulbous nose? You want me to continue?”

  She kind of half-laughs—less than I’m hoping for but definitely more than I expect. “Yeah, well, maybe he got another cheerleader pregnant. Two four six eight, who do we insperminate? Way to go, Dad.” She shakes her head in disgust.

  I scoot around the bench until I’m sitting beside her as she folds both arms on the table and leans on them. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk, I will.” I pause, waiting for her to chime in, but no go. She’s as silent as the grave. “Okay, her real mother is a cheerleader/witch. She’s wiccan, actually. She used to read fortunes for the circus owned by the midgets, but when they saw her get knocked up by your dad, they knew she was a fake because she should’ve seen him coming, so she doesn’t have a job anymore and lets the midgets adopt her so she can practice her cursing skills. Right now, she’s even looking for a curse to saddle your father with—I’m thinking perpetual jock itch might do—“

  “Devin, stop!” That does it. Skye’s laughing so hard she’s crying.

  I nod. “Okay. It’s your turn. Tell me why you keep staring at that little girl. Yeah, I know she’s cute—adorable even. But we both know that’s not it. So tell the truth. I’ll know otherwise and make the witch curse you with a never-ending tickle spell.” I run my finger down her side, and she jumps.

  She starts to open her mouth and closes it while brushing the hair from her face. She takes a deep breath like she’s psyching herself up for whatever she’s going to say. She licks her lips, and I think, C’mon, Skye, just spit it out. Whatever it is, we can handle it together.

  She nods to the child. “She’s a beautiful girl, Devin. Perfect in every way.”

  I nod in agreement, suddenly sensing the hill we’re about to go down isn’t a medium-sized one like I thought. It’s not about the disappointment of her father leaving. Oh, no. This is the first hill of a monster roller-coaster, the big one that sets the speed for the whole ride. This is about the abortion.

  I shift slightly and say, “Yeah, she’s amazing. So?” Ahead, a flock of ducks flies overhead, honking as they pass.“I’ll never know if the child I carried was a boy or a girl.” She blinks a few times. “Sometimes I try to imagine, but it’s hard.”

  Part of me wants to ask, “Skye, why would you do that?” but I know why. That’s the hell of it. She thinks she deserves it even after all this time. “Skye, you can’t change it. There’s no point in dwelling on it.”

  She kind of looks at me funny. “It was a baby
, not an ‘it,’ Devin—a boy or a girl. I’ll just never know which.” Her back and shoulders are rigid, and I know how hard this must be for her. I’d hoped time might help her heal, but it hasn’t.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, Skye, honest to God I didn’t. It’s just that even if you knew the gender, it wouldn’t make you hurt any less.”

  I hear the child giggling, and we both look over in time to see her father chasing her around, grabbing her, and tickling her silly. Sunlight dances through her hair, and her eyes shine with happiness. He starts laughing. I wish somebody were taking pictures for him to remind him of how wonderful his life is right at this moment and how he needs to fight with everything he’s got to keep it that way, especially when that little girl grows up.

  “I’ve always thought the baby was a girl. She’s probably be five by now—dark hair, maybe blue eyes.” Her voice is breathy like she can’t take in air quickly enough.

  My jaw clenches, and I want to shake her from all this pain. I could tell her it’s not her fault. Then again, I’ve said that before, and I don’t know think she listened then, either, so I do the only think I know to do: I slip closer and gently ease my arm around her. “I know you never meant to hurt anyone. Things happen. We all make mistakes.”

  “No,” she whispers, staring at the child. “This was no mistake. It was a choice. My choice. I could’ve done things differently, but I didn’t.”

  I set my palm on her back as I see she’s actually trembling. At first, she jumps from the sudden feel of touching me. Then, as I start lightly tracing patterns on her back, she gradually relaxes. “I know you’d take this back if you could, but you can’t. I’m sure when you have kids, you’ll be a great mother because this hurts so much.”

  “Why would God ever give me another child after this?” She closes her eyes, and her shoulders slump as though she’s carrying the weight of the world and it’s starting to bury her. “I don’t see any kids for me. I don’t even see any boyfriends in my future, let alone a husband—not after what Tyler did.”

  At those words, part of me freezes. Deep down, I know Skye is meant to be with me, but even if I didn’t believe that, I’d still want her to have a wonderful husband and as many kids as her heart desires. “What you’re feeling isn’t unusual. There’re lots of women who have abortions, and emotions like what you’re feeling kick into overdrive years after.”

  She crinkles her nose at me. “You talk like a shrink, Devin. Have you been reading Psychology Today or something?” she jokes, and in another situation, it would have been funny. This just isn’t that situation.

  “Actually, I’ve been keeping up with the studies and articles on the subject.”

  Her eyes grow wider. “Why? Why would you even want to read about it? I don’t.”

  The fact she can’t bring herself to say the A-word isn’t lost on me. Somehow Skye thinks she’s like Hester Prynne that the mark is there for everyone to see. That’s the way she thinks it should be, and from what I’ve read, that’s not uncommon, either—not uncommon but wrong.

  Why, indeed, would I keep up with the readings? I could lie and tell her it was a topic for a research paper. Yes, I have used it for that, but that’s not why I read about it. I could lie, but I’m pretty horrible at it. Skye would know immediately. I might as well just tell the truth and get it over with.

  “Well, I started reading about it because of you and the pills.” I rake my fingers through my hair, suddenly feeling nervous, wondering if it’s going to make her mad. The last thing I want is for her to think I’m meddling.

  “I don’t understand.” She’s whispering again, and now she looks like she’s about to cry. Her eyes are brimming with tears, yet another thing I was trying to avoid. Me and my big mouth.

  “I’m your best friend, Skye.” I watch her face carefully. “Yeah, I’m a guy and talking about…it…it might never happen for that reason, especially considering what a jerk I was right after. I wouldn’t have blamed you for shutting me out because I deserved it. But I wanted to find anything I could to help you. I know you’re tight with your mom, but I didn’t know if you’d be open enough to talk with her about it.” I lick my lips. “I didn’t want to take a chance and be stupid when you needed me.”

  She shakes her head. “You’ve never been stupid, Devin. That’s my job.”

  I snort and pat her head. She bats at my hand. “What?” I ask innocently. “I was just seeing where you bumped your head. I know there has to be a knot around here somewhere because I’ve been stupid plenty of times, and we both know it.”

  When I say that, I’m smiling, but deep inside, I’m always thinking back to that conversation when I pretty much told her she had ruined my life and I never wanted to see her again. See? Stupid, I’m telling you.

  “So what does your research say?” She swallows hard, and I can tell the tension is back.

  “That for whatever reason there’s an emotional spike years after the…event.” I don’t say the word because if she’s not going to use it, I’m definitely not about to.

  “And?” She suddenly looks up at me, her eyes wider and more luminous in the gathering dusk.

  “And you’re not alone. There are lots of women sharing the same feelings. It’s just that nobody wants to talk about it unless it’s to fight over whether it’s right or wrong. It doesn’t seem to matter to anyone what happens after the choice has been made.”

  For a moment, we just sit in silence, and while it seems everything is calm, I know Skye is still going over what I’ve said just as surely as I’m going over her words. Finally, I ask, “Do you trust me, Skye?”

  She nods without hesitation. “You know I do.”

  I think, Okay, here goes. “So can you trust me enough to try one thing?”

  She blinks a couple of times before finally nodding. “All right.”

  “Close your eyes.”

  She stiffens, and I can tell she suddenly wants to refuse. It’s safer that way. “Devin….” My name sounds like a warning, but I don’t want to hear it.

  “Please,” I whisper. “Just this once trust me.” My tone is soft and pleading. I wish I could drive away the fear in her eyes, but I can’t. Only time might be able to.

  “Okay.” She finally agrees, offering the only smile she has right now—a shy, broken thing that barely remembers joy. I’ll take it. She closes her eyes and whispers, “What now?” Her hand reaches out, and I can see her fingers trembling, so I take it and give her fingers a squeeze.

  “This,” I say and slowly lean toward her. It seems forever before my lips touch hers, and it’s a clumsy dance, almost like we’re both back in high school and unprepared for the places out hearts lead us stumbling into.

  At first contact, I feel her shudder as my other hand slides to the nape of her neck and lingers, not meaning to hold her close but just to touch her. The last thing I want to do is make her feel like she doesn’t have a way out. A soft breath comes out, and I know at any moment she could run, but I don’t believe she will. I deepen the kiss, stroking the skin behind the waterfall of her hair. That’s when I feel the line of her shoulders tart to melt as she relaxes.

  A moment later, I pull away, and in the last ebbing of light, when dusk is close to night and the yard lamps flare on, I see the glitter of tears on her cheeks, and I’m suddenly ashamed. My hand drops from her neck.

  “Skye, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “You didn’t,” she whispers, wiping the tears away with the back of one hand before gently grabbing me.

  “I don’t understand. You’re crying. Tell me what I did.” My whole body aches with tension, and I want to break something. How could I have been so wrong?

  “You kissed me so gently, Devin—the same way you talk to me, like it matters.” She closes her eyes, flinching. Her voice is hoarse with emotion and she isn’t looking me in the eye.

  I slowly lift both hands and set one on each side of her face before setting my forehead against h
ers. “Maybe you haven’t felt that before, but you needed to feel it now to understand just how wrong what Tyler did was. That’s what it’s supposed to feel like, and you never knew it.”

  She takes both of my hands in hers. “I don’t know why you just don’t give up on me. I’m a whole lot more trouble than you bargained for.”

  I kiss her forehead. “Nope, I’d say you’re just the right-sized trouble, and if I’m asking, then I deserve what I get, don’t I?”

  She starts laughing and collapses against me as the first star twinkles into the sky.

  Chapter Eight

  In the next few weeks, things seem to fall back into the old rhythm when Skye and I were inseparable. We spend most nights together, either over at her place or mine, and it works because, in Skye’s mind, it’s not exactly dating, although I’m trying to work up to that without freaking her out.

  There’s still this distance, an emotional wall Skye keeps intact, probably to make her feel secure. I’m kind of hoping if I just keep hanging around, she’ll let me slip around that wall. No, it may not work—Skye may never be able to totally trust anyone again—but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.

  I’m sitting at my desk, looking at my resume, trying to fill in blanks and coming up empty when my cell rings. Picking it up, I see it’s Skye calling—big surprise—and I smile before I even flip it open.

  “Hey, you.” I close the folder, figuring my job strategies can wait another day. I lean back in my rolling chair.

  “Hey, yourself.” Her voice is breathy, like she’s been running. “Are you busy?”

  “Not really. How come?” I glance at the clock by my bed. 10:30. “Do you have some wickedly deviant plans you want to share?”

  “Painting.”

  I smirk as an image of Skye in paint-spattered overalls comes to mind. “Okay, I give. What are you painting?”

  “My mom’s house, silly. What did you think?”

  “No clue.” I shake my head, knowing I’m in for a long day and an intimate relationship with a paintbrush, but I don’t care. It’ll be a whole day with Skye, and that’s definitely enough of a reason to be there.