The Day That Saved Us

by Mindy Hayes

  I stare longingly at the ocean. My mom and Tatum won’t let Brodee and me surf when the weather is this bad. Not that the waves would be any good. They’re too choppy. But still. I’d take anything over being cooped up for one more day.

  Around six, I’m lying on the couch with a book when Brodee finally comes traipsing down the stairs.

  He nods at the TV. “Still watching Singin’ In The Rain, I see.”

  Gene Kelly is swinging around a lamppost as we speak and twirling his umbrella. I whisper so she can’t hear me from the next room. “In some strange way, I think it’s comforting to my mom. I don’t know why.”

  “Come play in the rain with me.”

  “Seriously?” He nods. Even if it means heavy, wet clothes, I’ll take anything over staying inside for one more minute. “All right.”

  “DO YOU KNOW what my shirt is made of?” Brodee flicks his wet sleeves as he walks backward down the beach. His soaked white T-shirt is suctioned to his chest. “Boyfriend material,” he finishes.

  I roll my eyes, but he gets a good laugh out of me. “I may not be a genie, but I can make your dreams come true,” I say.

  We share a look and agree, “Yeah. Okay. You won,” I relent.

  “C’MERE, PETE. DANCE with me.” He grabs my hands and swings me around. He spins us in circles as he bounces around like a five year old with too much sugar in his system.

  I feel infinite. We’re the only ones in Hatteras. We own this cape and this rain is ours. Anything is possible.

  I chuckle until he tugs me closer. Faintly, Brodee sings in my ear as he sways us back and forth. Only a note or two is off key. He doesn’t really know the words, so he fills in the gaps with humming. I’m not sure what awful dance moves he was thinking about before because nothing about this is awful.

  All at once, I feel myself falling. Or flying. I feel feather-light—as if I could blow away, soaring high into the sky. I would be content riding his tune in the wind forever.

  Brodee whispers the end of the song, tapering off. No words, just ‘do, do, do, do.’ The moment is ending. I think I might be falling in love. How will I recover? How am I supposed to look at him the same?

  As soon as he pulls back, he peers at me with the rain dripping off the tips of his eyelashes. They bunch together into soft peaks. I brush the back of my fingers across them. I’m not sure why. My fingers are just as soaked. I want to touch him. He blinks and leans in. I meet him halfway. The tips of my fingers graze his jawline. He smiles.

  Kissing in the rain is a much better way to spend our time than singing. Maybe I’ll change the words.

  I’m kissing in the rain.

  Just kissing in the rain.

  What a glorious feelin’.

  I’m happy again.

  Yup. It works.

  He pushes away with a goofy grin. “Now you can’t say I never danced with you.” He’s jogging backward away from me. “Race you back to the house!” And then he takes off.

  Oh, no you don’t.

  I bolt after him, determined to win.

  THE RAIN DECIDES to give us a break after three days. Finally. We’d be flooded here if it hadn’t stopped. Brodee and his parents needed to get out of the house, so they take the night to go out as a family and grab dinner. My mom and I stay at the beach house for a girls’ night in. We ordered enough Chinese for an army.

  Mom grabs the nail polish and suggests pedicures. It takes some persuading, but finally I convince her to let us watch Dan In Real Life instead of Singin’ In The Rain while we do our nails.

  While the movie quietly plays in the background, Mom starts talking as though I asked her a question.

  “It was our first summer at the beach house.” Her voice is soft, solemn. “You probably don’t remember. The Fishers didn’t come—the one and only summer—because of prior family obligations that they couldn’t get out of. You were four, and the rain hadn’t stopped for a week.” A reminiscent smile traces her lips as she stares forward, yet to make eye contact with me. “We were running out of options to entertain a four year old. Back then we didn’t have the Internet or even cable in the house, so we couldn’t turn on cartoons for you. Our movie collection wasn’t what it is now. Your father figured there wasn’t a better movie to watch than Singin’ In The Rain, so he drove across town in search of it for me. He had to drive all the way to Avon, but he finally found it.” She chuckles behind her hand.

  “We didn’t leave the house once that day. You kept singing and dancing for us—wouldn’t let us turn the movie off. So, it played on repeat for the rest of the day. It was the best day out of the whole summer.” Tears fill her eyes and she swallows.

  It all makes sense.

  “You’ve never told me that story before.”

  “I nearly forgot about it until the rain started,” she talks through her tears, but she smiles and peers over at me.

  I whisper, “I miss him too.”

  On an exhale, she whispers back, “I know, baby.”

  “We can watch it again if you want.”

  She shakes her head with a sad smile.

  I’ve been preparing for this all summer. I knew the breakdown was coming. We’ve been avoiding the heartache for so long, but neither of us can pretend any longer. He’s not here with us when he should be.

  Mom takes me into her arms, and I cry on her shoulder like I’ve done so many times before over failed tests and rejection letters and broken hearts. She kisses the top of my head, resting her head there and says what she always does. “It’s all going to be okay, Peyton. You’ll see. We’re going to be okay.”

  This time, her reassurance doesn’t comfort me because if my mom doesn’t get a happily ever after, how can anything be okay? How could I ever deserve one?

  ON MY WAY to bed after the movie ends, I hear Brodee softly playing his guitar, so I knock on his bedroom door.

  “Yeah?” I hear him say.

  I peek inside to see Brodee sitting on the edge of the mattress with his guitar resting on his lap. “Just wanted to say good night.” I smile.

  “Come in,” he says, tilting his head to the side, encouraging me in.

  I secure the door behind me. “I thought maybe you’d be asleep, but I saw your light on.”

  “Yeah, I’m not quite tired enough yet.” His fingers toy with the strings on his guitar, plunking out notes to a melody I don’t know, but it sounds like something I’d love, creating a song of his own.

  I sit down beside him and appreciate the strength of his fingers and the way they methodically stroke the strings. For a brief moment I think about what his fingers would feel like if they touched my body in the same way. With precision and care. I feel my face flush.

  He presses his hand flat against the base of the guitar, stopping the captivating tune. “So, I kind of wrote you a song.”

  “You what?” I blink, struggling to clear away my thoughts.

  With a nervous smile, he says, “It’s nothing special, don’t get too excited. Just a little something I’ve been working on.”

  “You going to play it for me now?”

  “It still needs some tweaking,” he tries to explain, or possibly get out of playing it for me, but if he wasn’t going to play it, he shouldn’t have told me about it yet. “You might want me to wait.”

  “I won’t judge you.” I place my hand on his leg, trying to persuade him. “Play it for me. I want to hear it.”

  He reluctantly nods, and then begins to strum the melody he was playing moments ago. When he begins to sing, my heart sighs.

  When you’re here with me,

  There’s no other place I’d rather be

  Than in your arms so tight,

  Holding your hand, you’re holding mine.

  What did I do?

  To deserve you

  I’m so lucky

  That you’re with me.

  What did I do?

  To deserve you

  I’m so lucky

  That you’re with m
e.

  My Peyton.

  On cold Hatteras nights,

  I hold you so tight.

  Then I stare into your eyes,

  And that’s when I realize…

  What did I do

  To deserve you?

  I’m so lucky

  That you’re with me.

  What did I do

  To deserve you?

  I’m so lucky

  That you’re with me.

  My Peyton.

  You’re with me…

  So, I wrote this song

  For you.

  I wrote this song

  For you.

  I wrote this song

  To tell you,

  I love you.

  Brodee repeats the chorus and ends with one last strum. He anxiously chews on his bottom lip, looking at the floor before he unhurriedly lifts his eyes for my reaction. I can’t speak right away, so he covers up the silence, “So, the lyrics need some work, and I know some of the chords are a little off…”

  While he isn’t going to be some professional songwriter or a rock star someday, his voice is perfect, and he wrote this song for me, and I love it. I don’t say I love you back because I’m not ready yet, but I take his face in my hands and kiss him hard on the mouth. I let our lips and tongues do all the talking.

  BRODEE AND I spent our day on the beach. We surfed this morning and spent the rest of our afternoon making drip castles and basking in the sunlight.

  “I need to run inside real quick,” Brodee says. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.” I roll on my stomach, changing positions to read. I put my nose back in my book to get lost with my newest book boyfriend and drown out thoughts of everyone else.

  Why hello, West. You can be my anchor during a tornado any day.

  I’m not sure how much time passes before I look up and let my eyes drift down the beach. When I squint, I notice Brodee in the distance sitting with his knees to his chest, looking out at the waves. What’s he doing all the way down there?

  I place a bookmark to hold my spot and close my book before I make my way to him. Brodee doesn’t move when I approach. When I say, “Hey,” he startles.

  I chuckle. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Brodee’s laugh is different, strained. His eyes remain on the water.

  “What are you doing all the way down here?”

  He leans back on his hands. “Just took a walk.”

  I sit down beside him, mirroring his position. “Did you even go inside?”

  “Huh?” He peers over at me, puzzled.

  “You went into the house. Did you do what you needed to?”

  “Oh.” He nods, clipped. “Yeah. Just decided to go for a walk when I saw you were still reading.”

  This is it. With only a week left, he’s doing exactly what I tried to do. Brodee is distancing himself. I can’t even blame him. I get it. It’s going to be hard enough as it is. Maybe it’s time we stop pretending the end of the summer isn’t nearly here and that whatever this is will end.

  “Brodee.” He has to pry his eyes away from the ocean. It’s painful to look at me. “I get it. This will all be a dream in a week, but don’t leave me yet. Don’t leave me while I’m still here. Isn’t that what you said?”

  A layer of tears coats his eyes. “I won’t.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I won’t.” His voice is certain, firm. And then he latches onto me, clinging to me like it’s the end of time, not the end of the summer. His face burrows into the crook of my neck and his arms squeeze tighter.

  When he pulls back, it’s merely enough to kiss me. Brodee holds my face to his. His fingers tangle tightly into my hair, desperate. I don’t know what’s gotten ahold of him, but it scares me. Scares me enough not to ask. All I can do is kiss him back and make every touch count. Make sure every kiss leaves such an imprint on our hearts that the only thing that could affect the mark is another kiss, deepening the imprint, branding our hearts as one.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I walk by Brodee’s bedroom door and notice it’s cracked open, inviting me in. I knock lightly and peer around the door, expecting to see him lying on his bed, but his room is empty. He must be eating breakfast.

  I jog down the stairs and find Carter playing video games and Tatum doing dishes. “Morning, Peyton. How’d you sleep?”

  “Really good.” I smile and grab a bowl from the cupboard to pour my cereal. “Where’s Brodee?”

  “He didn’t tell you?” Tatum asks, turning from the sink. “He left for Kitty Hawk about an hour ago.”

  “Oh.” I look at the clock on the microwave. 8:35. I stop and think. Did he mention that? No. He didn’t. “Did he leave a message for me?”

  “Sorry, darlin’, he didn’t. I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. You two have been inseparable lately.” Tatum has a mischievous glint in her eyes.

  “Yeah. I guess I’ll just text him.” I take my bowl of cereal out on the deck to listen to the waves. “Thanks, Tate.”

  “Anytime.”

  Me: Hey. You left without me.

  Fifteen minutes go by with no response. It’s possible he’s already in the water. In that case I won’t hear from him for a couple hours, so I busy myself.

  A few hours come and go. I surf. Go on a bike ride. Walk the beach searching for shells. When I check my phone at 12:15 there’s still no contact from him.

  Me: How’s Kitty Hawk?

  Nothing. Carter left to go hang out with Chelsea, so I take advantage of the TV and watch a movie.

  Two more hours pass.

  Me: Are you alive?

  Another twenty minutes goes by, and I’m about to call the cops. This is so unlike him. Instead of resorting to such drastic measures, I go out back where my mom and Tatum are relaxing on the deck.

  “Hey, Tate, have you heard from Brodee?” She looks up at me from below her sunhat.

  “Yeah. He touched base about an hour ago. Should be home before dinner.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I try to disguise the hurt, but it’s really hard.

  Brodee is avoiding me. For the first time since whatever we are began, he went surfing without me. I don’t mean to sound needy. It’s fine if he wants to go alone. It’s just weird that he didn’t mention it to me or respond to me when I texted him. He’s never ignored me before.

  With the end of summer drawing closer, I know it’s hard to think about what will become of us, but it feels like it’s more than that. He didn’t think to leave a note to say where he was going so I could meet up with him. Clearly, I wasn’t wanted.

  Sure enough, Brodee walks through the front door right before dinner. He doesn’t say a word. Not to me. Not to Carter. Not to his parents. He gives his mom a kiss on the cheek and sits down at the table across from me. I try to catch his eye during dinner, but he won’t look me in the eye for long. When I smile, his lips turn up, but it’s nothing like a smile. It’s a crescent moon on a stormy night. It wants to gleam, but darkness hinders it. What did I do wrong? I thought we fixed this yesterday. He’s not supposed to leave me yet. He’s already backing down on his promise, and it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours.

  Whenever Nick makes a comment, Brodee makes a nearly silent noise of annoyance or snarky comment under his breath. I’m not even sure anyone else notices, since no one says anything. So, maybe Nick did something? Did they have a fight about Duke?

  After Brodee finishes eating, he heads straight to his bedroom. I give him a few minutes, help with the dishes, and then follow him up. It’s quiet. Hesitantly, I knock and wait for his reply.

  “Come in.” He doesn’t sound like he actually wants me to come in, but I go against my gut instinct and open the door. Brodee is lying on his bed with his arm draped across his face, only his nightstand light creating a glow on the pale blue walls.

  “Hey.” I pause. He doesn’t move. “Are you mad at me?”

  “Huh?” Brodee lifts his arms from his face and peers at me from beneath his thick lashes. “Nah. I’
m just tired.”

  That sounded really convincing. “Are you sure?”

  He slowly sits up on his elbows, looks at me for a moment, and nods once. I waver in the doorway. Should I leave him alone? Should I press for more details? With a wave of his hand, he motions me in. I close the door behind me and crawl onto the bed beside him. He tucks me into his side.

  “Sorry I’ve been out of it today,” Brodee murmurs, nuzzling his head against mine. “I just needed the space to clear my head. Been thinking about the future and stuff.”

  I nod into his chest. “You worried me.”

  “I know.”

  As we lay there silently, rain starts to tap on the window. “What did you come up with?” I quietly ask.

  “I want to go to USC.”

  I sit up so fast my head knocks into his. “What?”

  “Ouch.” He holds his jaw with a quiet chuckle.

  “I’m sorry.” I gently touch where I hit, brushing my fingers tenderly against his skin. “What?” I repeat.

  He leans into my hand. “I’ve been thinking a lot. You make more sense than Duke. I want to be wherever you are.”

  “Brodee,” I utter, shaking my head. “Don’t make a rash decision. This is not something you can take back. I don’t want you going to USC just for me.”

  “Why not?”

  “You have to want this. I don’t want you to wake up one morning months or years from now and wish you’d gone to Duke. That kind of regret can never be reversed. It’s Duke for heaven sake’s. People dream of going to that school, and you’re willing to give it up so easily.”