All the Wild Ways

by Caroline Tate

  With his next plunge into me, I cry out into the crash of his lips. Wave after wave of intense release leaves every inch of my body quivering beneath him. I swear I can take no more, the feeling of him still deep within me, but he doesn’t stop.

  Clinging to me for support, he drops his head beside mine, and I hear every pull of his heavy breath. I want to help him, but I’m pinned. So I lift my head and grasp at the tender base of his earlobe and tug at it with the subtle graze of my teeth.

  It is just the push he needs as the cadence of his breath changes and the forward slam of his hips grows lengthier and needier. Suddenly, with a low growl and a collapse of his limbs, I feel the warmth of his release deep within me.

  For a long while we lie there, our skin slick with sweat and our breath slowing minute after minute. I can’t help but smile into the darkness knowing that I still satisfy him, that he still finds me distance. But I’m afraid for the moment to end. I’m terrified that I’ll find Garrett retreating back into himself now that he has what he wants.

  Instead, he lifts himself off of me with a heaving breath. Reaching over, he kisses me on the cheek— a very non-Garrett thing to do. “Well. That was…” His silence lingers in the air, followed by another deep breath.

  “Intense?”

  He scoffs. “Was gonna say amazing.”

  I purr out at him with a giggle, my head now light and floating in pure ecstasy.

  “But yeah, intense,” he says, planting a kiss on my collarbone. He links his clammy fingers through mine. “We’re probably gonna need to hose this thing off.”

  Laughing there beside him, I can’t remember a time when he’s been so needy for my touch. I reciprocate by rolling over to my side and draping my arm over his bare stomach. We lie there in silence together, the night air cooling us down, edging us toward sleep. But after a few minutes, the seeping feeling between my legs is too much.

  “I’ll be right back, okay?” I whisper, climbing from the trampoline, suddenly aware of how naked I am. “Bathroom.”

  He responds with a lazy lift of his hand. I can’t blame him. I’m tired myself, and I hadn’t even done the work.

  Still barefoot, I gather my clothes from the trampoline and grass and drag them with me into his house. It doesn’t take me long to wash up and put my clothes back on, but on my way back outside, something in the living room catches my curious eye.

  A navy photo album, plain on its exterior and one I’d never noticed before. It’s sitting on the coffee table on top of a stack of Men’s Health magazines. I know I shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity gets the better of me. Keeping an eye on the back door, I begin flipping through the pages, finding it to be an old family photo album of the Andersons, the corners all worn from time.

  The first few pages highlight Garrett when he was tiny— his first steps, a face full of spaghetti in his high chair, what looks like his first trip to Florida. With each flip further into the album, he grows older with birthday cakes and bright smiles at his parent’s side, a grin while covered in chicken pox, being gifted his very first bike, action figures at Christmas. There’s even a photo of his eleventh birthday party at the city pool, me in the background wearing my sailor stripe bathingsuit and throwing a silly face at the camera. Oddly though, a handful of the clear windowed frames are devoid of photos, and I don’t find a single picture of Lydia. I flip through quicker, the photos progressing through the ages. Garrett throwing up deuces at his middle school graduation and dressing out for his Friday night football games. Through all of the photos, every single space that I expect to see Lydia, she isn’t there.

  Toward the end of the album, I keep flipping in search of her, closer and closer to the year she died, to the summer she drowned at Lake Carson. But there’s nothing. When I reach that summer, the difference in Garrett’s demeanor before and after the accident at Lake Carson is like watching a light bulb suddenly flicker out in the dark of night.

  Chapter Eight

  When I wake the next morning, my face is pressed into Garrett’s bare shoulder as he lays there snoring beside me. The dawn is hazy from the warm fog, but I can tell by the pinks and orange in the sky that it’s almost daylight. Garrett and I may have slept together a handful of times before, but never did we have sex and wake up next to one another. The thought sobers me and pulls me from the trampoline in a hurry.

  “You alright?” Garrett grumbles, his head popping up off the bouncy surface in alarm. I notice the mat marks threaded across his cheek from where his face has been plastered all night. Apparently, he slept well.

  “Yeah, I just.” I fumble around for my phone, and finally find it in the dewy grass beside our shoes. It’s charge had run out sometime overnight, so I really have no idea what time it is. “My phone’s dead,” I say, slipping on my Keds. “I’m sure Kate’s probably worried. I should get home.”

  Clearing his throat, he rolls over onto his stomach, clearly wanting more sleep. “Alright. See yah, Gator.”

  And there it is. The name I hadn’t missed him calling me all night.

  I purse my lips and head toward the front of his house. By the time I reach the driveway, I realize I don’t have my car, having walked from the Dream Bean yesterday. And God forbid I go back to ask Garrett for a ride. I can only imagine the innuendos he’d use against me after spending the night together. Instead, I set off down the street, grateful that, at the very least, I’ll have some time to myself to work through the thoughts jumbling around my head.

  Sex last night with Garrett had been different than the times before, somehow sweeter. It was usually something clumsy and a little unfeeling. But he’d made love to me last night, hadn’t he? The way he touched me and wanted me to feel good. The way he kissed me when I wasn’t asking for it. He didn’t actually say the word, love, but I’m sure, if he was feeling any fraction for me what I’d been feeling for him, it was something close to it.

  With beads of sweat dotting the back of my neck and the worry of Kate catching me at the tail end of my walk of shame, I step inside our apartment. The wafting cool air from our window AC unit greets me as I shut the door as quietly as possible, trying not to wake Kate. There’s no hum of television, no sign of her traipsing around the place yet. Looking over at the clock on the stove, it reads 7:32. Heading down the hallway, I sigh in relief thinking I’ve made it back without getting caught until Kate thunders out from her bedroom.

  “Rachel, what the hell!” Wearing a white, baggy sleep shirt, she races toward me with a scowl. “Where have you been?”

  I don’t want to tell her I’d spent the night with Garrett, but I can’t outright lie to her either. “I’m so sorry. I went out after I left the Dream Bean yesterday. Time got away from me.”

  “Why would you not text me? You could’ve called, anything. I texted Franklin last night when your ass didn’t come home. He had no idea where you were either. I was a few hours from calling your goddamn dad. Shit, Rachel. I thought someone could’ve abducted you for murder.”

  “Jesus, that’s a little dramatic.” I unhook my bra underneath my t-shirt and slide it through my armhole. “I’m sorry, alright? My phone died, and I had no way of calling.” The thought of her having reached out to Franklin throws a knot in my stomach. But the idea that she was a few hours away from getting my dad involved? He would’ve likely killed me himself.

  “You can’t do that to me, Rachel.” She tucks her hair behind her ear and shakes her head. “Were you with David?” she whispers, implying that I’d somehow relapsed back into my ex-boyfriend’s arms.

  Scoffing at her, I head toward the kitchen in search of my phone charger. “Oh, come on. You really think I would get back with him?”

  I look for the charger cable on the counter where I remember last having used it, then over by the plug next to the refrigerator. But it’s not there.

  “Oh my God. You did, didn’t you?” she asks.

  “Have you seen the phone charger?”

  She grabs for it on the other s
ide of the bowl of fruit on the table in our small dining nook and hands it to me. Plugging it in at the backsplash of the counter, I study the blank screen of my phone knowing it’ll take a few minutes for it to revive itself. I can feel Kate’s eyes boring into the back of me like heat rocks, so I bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from grinning like a fool in front of her. But when my mind drifts to last night’s trampoline action, I can’t help but fall into a smirk.

  “Oh my God, Rachel. You are terrible!” She sidles up next to me, her disbelieving expression morphing into a catty grin.

  “Please stop. It’s not that big of a deal. He’s not the devil, alright?” I say, not sure if I’m referring to David or Garrett.

  “Yeah, but does he fuck like the devil?”

  I cringe at her awful wording and turn to stare at her. Pausing there, my skin starts to tingle as I remember the weight of Garrett on top of me. I can’t help but smile.

  Kate gawks at me and gasps. “No! Really?” Her voice is the most animated it’s been all morning as she pushes her glasses further up her nose.

  Not being able to stop smiling, I shrug.

  “Look,” Kate says, heading over to the kitchen counter. She pulls a mixing bowl from a cabinet she can hardly reach. “I’m not saying something happened. I’m just saying, if it did, you deserve some pancakes. How many you want?”

  Laughing at her ridiculousness, I flop down into the nearest chair at the table while I wait for my phone to gain a charge. I’m just glad she’s dropped the topic. “Two, please. I’m starving.”

  “I’ll bet you are, you little hussy,” Kate snorts while mixing up batter. Waiting patiently for the skillet to heat up on the stovetop, she turns to me, her mood having dropped a few notches. “About yesterday,” she says, running a hand through her hair, and my stomach immediately knots itself thinking that she’s picked up on where I went after I left the Dream Bean, that it was not to see David. “You think our planning went alright?”

  Letting out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, I nod and pick at my cuticles. How do you tell someone that honoring your deceased best friend by throwing a house party ten years later is an awful idea? Can she not see the torture of it herself?

  “What are you worried about,” I ask, pushing my hurtful thoughts aside.

  “I’m just not sure if anyone will actually come. I mean, we made the list of invites and everything. But people could be over it by now. They could be over Lydia.” Her shoulders slump as I hear the first sizzle of pancake batter being poured into the skillet. “Like do they even remember who she is?”

  The question throws me. “Of course they remember her. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. People will show up regardless. Plus, free food and alcohol, right? Everyone will be there.”

  “Even the Andersons?” she asks, her voice now sounding nearly innocent. “It might not quite be their scene.”

  I’m stunned by the question and hadn’t honestly even considered whether Kate was going to invite the Andersons or not. The thought hadn’t even registered. Wouldn’t that be too painful for them? Shrugging, I fight my instinct to be honest. “I’m sure they’ll stop by if they’re in town. It’ll all work out.”

  In minutes, Kate has a stack of pancakes ready. I slide into a chair further down the table to give her a place to sit. With a couple of pancakes on my plate, I drop a pat of softened butter on top and drown them in maple syrup.

  “You think Garrett will be there?”

  “What?” I nearly choke on my first bite of pancake. All I’d heard was his name.

  Garrett.

  “To the party.” Kate gives me an odd look and shakes her head. “Do you think he’ll come?”

  “I don’t know.” I want to fill my face with food so I can’t answer anymore of her questions, but I know that won’t stop her from posing them. “I can ask if I see him sometime.”

  She beams and lets out a sigh of relief as she digs into her own stack of pancakes.

  And then I remember Garrett’s photo album. The empty spots on the pages devoid of all photos of his sister. The years Lydia used to fill in his life where she’s no longer found. As of last night, it’s obvious to me that he can’t handle memories of Lydia— no matter how happy those moments had been at the time.

  “Kate.” I clear my throat and push the food around on my plate. “If Garrett decides to come, we can probably forego the pictures of Lydia, okay?” It comes out as less of a question and more of a statement.

  “But it’s a memorial… for her.”

  “I know. I’m just thinking it’s been so long. Having photos of her plastered around may open up old wounds for some people. We just don’t want to cause anyone pain, you know?”

  “Rachel, that’s ridiculous.” She drops her fork on her plate and takes a gulp of orange juice. “It’s been ten years.”

  I fight the urge to tell her that time has nothing to do with it and that the entire party is the stupidest idea she’s had all summer. Instead, I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “Promise me. If Garrett says he’ll come, you can’t have pictures of her at the house. It’ll be too painful.”

  She scoffs and stabs at her pancakes. “Too painful for who? You or Garrett?”

  Shaking my head, I push my plate away, not able to eat the rest of my breakfast. “Whatever,” I say more under my breath.

  “If you’re going to throw a fit about it, fine. No pictures of Lydia if Garrett agrees to come,” she says, nearly reciting what I’ve told her. With a shrug, she tilts her head to the side and stares out the window overlooking the courtyard. “He’s the reason I’m throwing the damn party anyway.”

  The comment catches me off-guard. “What do you mean? I thought it was for Lydia?”

  “Well, I want to see him. How else am I supposed to be able to spend time with him?” Her face falls, generally disappointed.

  What comes out of my mouth next is a mistake, and even as I’m saying it, I’m hating her for even considering it. “You could always text him. Ask him to hang out or something. You never know with him.”

  Kate shrugs and spears her last slab of pancake, shoveling it into her mouth. “Maybe I will. I wonder if he’s changed much since the old days. You’re right though, you never know.” She giggles. “Maybe he’s pining over me, too.”

  Pushing myself up from the chair, I force a laugh and retrieve both our plates to start the dishes. At the kitchen sink, my eyes start burning as I imagine Garrett spending a night on the trampoline with Kate by his side, sharing pizza, having honest conversation under summer stars. Sinking my hands into the hot, soapy water, I want to tell Kate that he hasn’t changed at all really, that he’s still the same unaffected asshole. Except for those few nights, the ones like last night where he accidentally bares me his soul for a split second. Those are the nights I live for with him.

  Chapter Nine

  Trudging through the overgrown woods behind my dad’s house in the rain, I hug my tank top tighter to me, the water starting to soak me through. The canopy of treetops above shield me from the majority of the storm, but the water that seeps down my back is warm against my skin from the afternoon heat. Walking through the brush, everything smells like pine and old mud flooding me with nostalgia.

  A week has passed since Garrett and I spent the night together, and I haven’t heard from him except for Tuesday morning when he wished me luck on the GRE.

  As I make my way to the old treehouse, I can’t help but wonder if maybe Kate had heeded my advice and texted him herself. Come to think of it, I had noticed her clinging to her phone more than usual lately. Was Garrett too occupied with her to reach out to me? It wouldn’t surprise me all that much, but I’m loathe to admit it would sting after the night we shared. His radio silence the past few days has me thinking back on everything we did that night, and I can’t help but wonder if maybe I was the only one that felt the spark, that fullness of fire between us. The darkness of the thought puts a heavy lump in
my throat.

  Regardless of what he does or doesn’t feel for me, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him in the wake of his loss of Dudley. More than anything, I wish I could fill the hole in him that fox had left. And after racking my brain the past few days, the only thing I can think to offer Garrett is hidden away in the treehouse. As I reach the base of the rickety structure, I pull my phone from my back pocket to text him.

  Me: Hey, just checking in. How you holding up?

  Looking up, the treehouse towers over me, and though it’s not quite as high as I remember, it’s high enough for me to reconsider my plan to climb up there. With thoughts of the entire thing collapsing and my tortured memories of the place, I stall in hesitation until I feel a tug at my heart so strong I can’t ignore it. Up the fifteen year-old rope ladder I climb, pushing the terrifying thoughts from my mind.

  Having been fashioned from green nylon rigging rope from a sailboat and reclaimed wood, the ladder isn’t the most sturdy, and I can feel the give in it with each step I take. My foot slips halfway up, causing me to nearly plummet to the ground, but I grasp the ladder tighter and heave myself up with more force. When I reach the top, I peer inside but see nothing in the dark. My anxiety peaks as I step onto the wooden platform, the entire floor creaking under my weight, and I’m frozen in my fear. Palms sweating profusely, I want to grab what I came for and go, but I can’t bring myself to move here in the dark. Truth is, last time I was up here, Lydia was still alive.

  In the murk of the treehouse, my phone chirps out into the silence causing me to jump. The sound pulls me from my paralysis, and I grab my phone out of my back pocket.

  Garrett: Been doing good, missin’ you.