by Kelley York
Ash opens her mouth like she might say something further. I give her leg a nudge under the table, and she stops, frowns, and turns her attention to her food. We struck a nerve, obviously. Pushing Chance to talk about it will backfire. He isn’t even looking at us anymore. As far as he’s concerned, the subject is closed. His eyes are glued to the old television mounted in the corner; it’s too low for us to hear, but the subtitles scroll along the bottom, disjointed and not entirely coherent.
Ash and I twist in our seats to watch, too. Better than staring down at the table while we eat in awkward silence. The newscaster is talking about a family in New Jersey, murdered by their daughter in cold blood. Her parents and two younger siblings were all poisoned at dinner.
“How could any kid do that?” Ash mutters. “I mean, I kind of want to punch my mom in the mouth sometimes, but—”
“Drastic measures.” Chance sets the crust aside. He never eats it. “Maybe she and her parents didn’t get along.”
“She was seventeen.” Ash straightens and focuses her frown on Chance. “Even if she were that miserable, it’s not like she had long to go before she could leave.”
“Sometimes that isn’t the point.” Chance licks the grease from his fingers, slowly because he’s still focused on the television. “People killing their spouses, their children, their parents… Obviously, there’s something wrong in their heads. They needed help. No one knew to give it to them.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” Ash insists.
“No, it doesn’t. I’m just saying…to that particular person, maybe she didn’t realize there are other options. Maybe, for some of them, there aren’t other options. When you feel that trapped, that smothered, like they’re breaking you… When you feel like you’re going down anyway, you might as well take them along.” Chance finally looks at us again. Whatever irritation was there moments ago is gone, replaced by a subdued, vacant shine to his eyes that makes me uncomfortable.
“Sometimes,” he says, “people get desperate, and no one is listening.”
Ashlin says nothing. I have the strongest urge to reach out and put my hand on Chance’s cheek, to try to make him smile again because I can’t stand that look on his face. Everything about it is wrong and un-Chance-like. I don’t, because I wouldn’t know how to explain it without it coming across in all the wrong ways. I already told my girlfriend I loved her when I don’t; that sort of fills my yearly quota for messing up my relationships.
We finish our late lunch, pile into the car, and head home. Rather than stop by the house, though, I follow the road until we hit the dirt of Stoneman Drive. Chance straightens up in the backseat.
“What the hell are you doing?”
At the end of his street I stop, out of view of the mobile home park. I peer at Chance in the rearview mirror. “Compromising. You know how to do that, right?”
Chance’s mouth is drawn tight, but his shoulders relax as he pushes open his door. “Yeah. See you guys tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” Ash says. We don’t work tomorrow, which means we might be off on some other adventure that Chance has come up with for us. He slides out of the car, hands shoved in his pockets as he heads down the road.
“Maybe he’s embarrassed by his house,” Ash murmurs. “Or his parents. They obviously aren’t who he said they were.”
“Maybe.” It’s the first time we’ve admitted this to each other out loud: Chance lied. About a lot. He told us about the big house and how his parents were always gone because of work. It has me rethinking everything Chance has ever told me—because the lies we’ve caught him on aren’t little things. It isn’t I didn’t take the last of the cookies. It’s My entire life isn’t what I said it was.
I think about the bruises on Chance the night he stayed over. Ash says he’s embarrassed; I hope that’s all it is. Too bad things with him are never that simple. I remember the year he broke his arm. The times he refused to go swimming because he didn’t want to take off his shirt. All the times Dad did something nice for him, and Chance would look up with the biggest eyes and say, “You’re way better than any other dad, Mr. J.” Like doing something as simple as buying him a shirt or an ice cream cone made him Super-dad.
I’m questioning everything now, searching for the hidden meanings behind it all. Wondering which parts were true and which parts weren’t.
As I pull forward to turn the car around, I catch one last glimpse of Chance stepping off the road. Moving away from his house and into the trees.
…
We went to the beach all the time growing up, but never directly to Harper’s Beach. To be fair, it isn’t a swimming-friendly sort of beach—more rocks than sand, and the tide can be a little vicious at times. But besides that, Dad probably didn’t want us asking questions about Hollow Island, which is perfectly visible from Harper’s Beach, and not so much from the one we went to on the other side of Hollow Point. He was probably worried we’d get ideas about visiting the island.
Which is true. We would have gotten all sorts of ideas.
Which is why we snuck out there once with Chance instead.
As we stood on Harper’s shore with the ocean lapping at our feet, Chance, at thirteen, told us the history of the island while we stared, transfixed.
“They had plans to build a bridge to connect the island to the mainland,” he said. “There are buildings over there. Kinda hard to see, huh? But they’re out there. Some houses and stuff. Weird, creepy problems and accidents kept happening while they were plotting the construction of the bridge, though, so they finally gave up and abandoned the island all together. Some say it’s haunted.”
I didn’t think to ask who they were. City officials, I guess. I never researched it online then, and I don’t plan to, because it would take away some of the magic Chance has built around it. The island really did look like a piece of land humanity forgot.
“I swam there once,” Chance announced.
Ash marveled at him, as she always did at his stories, but I frowned. “You did not.”
“Did, too!”
“It’s, like, miles out there. No one could swim that unless you’re in the Olympics or something.”
“Not miles.” Chance sniffed indignantly, chucking a rock as far into the water as he could. “I could do it again, too, if I wanted.”
I crossed my arms. “Do it, then.”
The two of us were always like that. Daring each other. More often than not, I was the one who backed down because the things Chance dared me to do were way too out there. Like stealing the huge cardboard cutout of the donut on the roof of Happy Donut, or going to the mall wearing Ash’s clothes—which never would have fit me anyway. Chance, though, was up for anything. There wasn’t much he’d skip out on.
That was one of the rare times he did. Of course, it wasn’t backing down to Chance. He wrinkled his nose, eyes unreadable behind the huge sunglasses perched on his freckled face. He turned away.
“That’s stupid. Why would I swim all that way while you cowards stay here?”
…
Chance knows all the best vantage points to see Hollow Island and where we can more or less safely scale down the cliffs to little coves below. Trees lining the cliffs are half bare, their bony arms stretching to the moody gray sky. The waves crashing against the shore seem angrier than I remember, more urgent, and the wind whips at my hair and pulls at my coat. Chance stands right at the ledge, overlooking Hollow Island and the beach, so close the tips of his shoes peek over the rocks. I grab his arm out of reflex, and he looks at me and laughs.
It isn’t that I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid of Chance-and-heights.
Climbing isn’t much fun. Chance goes down first, careful to watch his footholds and handholds but moving with such ease it’s obvious how often he does this. I follow, slower, making sure not to risk looking down. I don’t understand why we don’t drive the mile and a half up the road to Harper’s where we can reach the water not twenty feet off the side of the r
oad, but there’s no talking sense into Chance. This is the place he likes.
Ashlin doesn’t budge from the cliff above. Not until Chance and I are safely at the bottom, staring up and beckoning her to follow. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Stop worrying. It’s fine!”
“We’ll catch you!” Chance calls. Our voices are dulled by the waves.
Ash looks like she has half a mind to flip us off and go back to the car, but she finally starts her descent down the jagged cliff-face for the beach below. When she has about six feet left, she drops the rest of the way, wincing on impact and falling on her ass. I help her up, but I can’t stop laughing.
“See?” Chance says. “Not so bad.”
We cross the rocks to where the water rushes in to meet our feet. It’s too cold to take off my shoes, so instead the ocean soaks through the canvas of my sneakers and the socks beneath, instantly numbing my toes.
From here, we have—what Chance would say is, and I’m inclined to agree—the best view of Hollow Island.
I take a breath and spread my arms wide. The salty winter air here is delicious. Revitalizing. “So…we’re here. Now what?”
Chance crouches, unbothered by the tide licking at his jeans. “I’ve decided.”
“Decided what?” Ash asks.
“We’re going to get onto that island.”
My arms fall limp at my sides. We’re both staring at Chance in a way that suggests we think he’s lost his mind. Chance glances at us, nose wrinkling.
“What? Jesus, I didn’t say we were going to swim, did I? We’ll buy a raft.”
“A raft,” Ash and I say together.
“One of those big inflatable ones, yeah? Doesn’t have to be fancy. Can get one for a hundred bucks with our next paychecks. It can be my Christmas present.”
“We’d also need oars,” Ash points out. “Rafts don’t steer themselves.”
Chance shrugs. “Well, whatever.”
I ask, “What are we supposed to do on the island?”
“Look around. Take pictures. We can play hide-and-go-seek for all I care; the island is great for stuff like that.”
Ash frowns. “How do you know?”
Chance scowls. “I told you before that I’ve been there.”
Yeah, he did. He said he swam, which is a fact I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around. “Nuh uh. No way in hell.”
“Seriously?” Chance heaves a heavy sigh. “There’s a big brick building in the middle of the island where you can see all around you. Just wait. Now, are you guys going to do this with me or what? I can go by myself.”
I stare out at the island. The breeze whips the hair back from my face, and my cheeks have begun to sting from the cold. Rachael will be out in a few days to visit for Christmas and New Year’s, and she would not approve of this idea. In fact, she would disapprove so much she’d probably burst a blood vessel while lecturing me. It’s going to make things really interesting when she visits—and by interesting, I mean I might want to throw myself out of a moving vehicle by the time she leaves.
But I’ve wanted to see the island for myself since Chance brought us here years ago. How many more adventures like this will I be granted before I have to apply for college and leave this behind? Rachael says that’s what it means to grow up.
“Yeah… Yeah. All right. But we’re going to get a decent raft. If we get stranded out there, we’re screwed. Ash?”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “I’m totally in.”
Chance hops to his feet, draping an arm around Ash with a grin. “That’s my girl! This is going to be awesome.”
Ashlin
The way Hunter tells it, he and Rachael met in calculus at school when she took on the task of tutoring him to bring his C up to an A because it was the only subject he struggled in. She was the one to ask him out, in fact. Then they graduated, and Rachael picked a school all the way down in Florida with a good biochemistry program. Naturally, she begged Hunter to go with her.
He could’ve gotten in; his grades were good enough, and the college had a track program he would’ve qualified for in order to get at least a partial scholarship.
Hunter, though, wants to stay in Maine. Or at least not move so far away as Florida. He wanted to be here for Dad this year, and he wanted to spend time with Chance and me. The bullet that almost took our dad also stole a lot of my time with my brother. Even if we communicated almost daily through e-mail and text and phone, it wasn’t the same. I wanted to be able to see Hunter’s face. I wanted to come home and fight with him over stupid stuff, like chores and who was cooking dinner and what movie we were watching. Our lives could’ve been way different if we’d grown up living together. Maybe this bond we have wouldn’t be as strong and we would hate each other. I have no idea.
All I know is that Hunter doesn’t have his future figured out in the least. “I asked her to give me some time to think about it,” is all he would tell me. “She wants me to come down there and get a place together near campus.” But the way he says it suggests that those are Rachael’s plans, and not necessarily his.
I like to think Rachael understood about Hunter taking a year off to spend in Maine, but then I remember she’s only human and any girl whose boyfriend is states away isn’t going to be happy with the arrangement. I’ll bet she’s ecstatic to visit over the holidays.
I don’t understand why Hunter isn’t as excited.
He was when he first announced Rachael’s visit the week we got to Dad’s. Then that excitement slowly ebbed away. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say now he is dreading it. He dragged his feet when setting up the extra bedroom—Dad’s old room—for her to use. (Why Dad thinks they’re actually going to sleep in separate rooms, I have no clue. His own peace of mind, I guess.) And at the airport, his shoulders are a little tense, his arms folded, mouth curved down, like he’s bracing himself for this.
It bothers me. I have this image in my head of what their relationship is like, but Hunter’s lack of enthusiasm about his long-time girlfriend and his willingness to live so far away from her indefinitely is starting to dash my hopes and dreams. Hunter has always spoken fondly of Rachael, but I’m the first to admit he isn’t the sort of person to gush about anyone or anything. Still, I got the impression they were happy. Why would you date someone for a year if you weren’t?
Rachael’s plane is right on time. She comes through the gate in boots, leggings, and a white sweater, with her dark, wavy hair pulled into a ponytail—she doesn’t even look like she’s spent the last several hours on a plane. Jeez, when I got here, my hair had been a mess, my makeup gone, and I was carting enough baggage under my eyes they could have charged me an extra carry-on fee.
This is the Rachael I pictured, though. Put-together and pretty. She smiles wide when she spots Hunter, but there is no grand reunion like I imagined. She approaches, sets her bags on the ground, and kisses him on the cheek. The cheek. No big hug, no passionate kiss. It throws me a little, but maybe she’s being polite. Reserved. Because she’s in a public place and I’m standing right here.
I think Hunter’s expression has smoothed out, though, a small smile slipping across his face. “How was the flight?”
“Fine, just fine.” Rachael turns her pretty smile to me. “You must be Ashlin. It’s great to finally meet you.” She gives me a hug, which startles me, but I awkwardly return her squeeze.
“Yeah—it’s great. Here, let me get your stuff.”
The long drive home, Rachael and I fall into easy conversation. She tells me about school and her classes, and I tell her how Dad’s been feeling. I mention Chance, of course. It’s impossible not to when he spends nearly every waking moment at our place.
And yet, when we arrive home, and Chance is seated on the couch watching TV, Rachael looks surprised. I don’t think Chance being here is anything less than intentional. He waited because he wanted to meet Rachael.
Chance rises to his feet. The shirt and sweats he’s wearing are Hunter�
�s, so they don’t fit quite right, and his hair is wet from a shower. Making himself at home, like he always has, like we’ve always wanted him to. Before, the situation never seemed strange to me. But now, seeing the perplexed expression on Rachael’s face, I wonder how it looks through the eyes of an outsider.
“There you are. I told Mr. J I would wait up to make sure you didn’t crash and die on the way home or anything.” He grins, all easy words, but there’s a sharpness to his eyes that makes me nervous for Hunter’s sake. I know it’s going to be important to him that his girlfriend and his best friend get along.
Recovering from her surprise, Rachael smiles. “You’re Chance.”
“The one and only.” He looks pleased she knows who he is. Which, I guess, makes sense given he might not have known who she was had I not spilled the beans weeks ago. “And you are the mysterious and lovely Rachael Li.”
His compliment seems to soothe Rachael’s unease, and she tips her head, expression warming. “Oh, I don’t know about that. It was nice of you to stick around to see us home.”
Hunter catches my eye from beside Rachael, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he sank right into the floor and vanished. We both know Chance won’t go home this late. We wouldn’t want him to. Not with how cold it is outside and on an unlit road.
“Uh, Hunt, you should get Rachael to her room. I’m sure she’s exhausted,” I say, and he looks grateful for the opportunity to slip away.
“See you crazy kids in the morning,” Chance chirps, earning him a quizzical look from Rachael as she follows Hunter upstairs. The moment they’re gone, the smile slips from his face, and I’m left cringing at the uncomfortable silence settling over the room like a cold blanket. He doesn’t look at me. I flick off the TV and tableside lamp, leaving us in darkness, and then give Chance a push toward the stairs. He’s never spent a night on our couch, and I’m not going to make him start now. He grunts but goes without complaint.
Chance hasn’t shared a bed with me since the summer we met him. After that, the closest we got was all three of us crashing on the living room floor or the back porch beneath the stars. A huge difference from actually lying beside Chance. Alone. In a bed. I get changed into shorts and a sweatshirt in the bathroom, and when I come back Chance has already made himself comfortable in my bed. Dad loves Chance, but I’m not sure he’d be as pleased as I am at the idea of him and me sharing such close quarters.
