Summer's End

by Sally Henson

  Monday

  Monday … morning is as expected: disastrous. I have a headache, and I didn't get enough sleep. Luckily, I awake while Dad, my human alarm, still sleeps. Before I do anything else, I bag up all the tissues that piled up on my floor last night and shove the bag in the kitchen trash can. My eyes are red and puffy. At breakfast, my mom asks me if I feel all right--I don't. My stomach hurts, my chest feels like it’s caving in, and I think I'm dehydrated. Of course, I don’t share this with her, and instead, tell her I'm fine. She eyeballs me all morning but doesn't say too much.

  At practice, Tobi tells me I look like a train wreck. I'm last in about every drill we run through. After practice, I have a splitting headache. Tobi tries pumping me for information about the state I’m in, but I'm able to push her inquisitions off by telling her I don’t feel like I’m getting sick. A nap and plenty of water through the day makes open gym that night a little easier to handle. I push Tobi off again; go straight home, shower, eat supper, then go to bed. I cry again, pray for direction—guidance—help—a light bulb or something to go off. Eventually, I fall asleep mourning the loss of my best friend.

  Tuesday

  Tuesday is much like the previous day. My head aches before I even get out of bed. When I look in the mirror, my eyes are almost like slits they’re so puffy. Splashing my face with cold water doesn’t help the swelling go down. The smell of eggs and sausage cooking makes my stomach grumble in hunger and heave at the thought of eating. I'm still dehydrated and down several glasses of water. I play Twenty Questions with Mom. Not wanting to share the details with her yet, I tell her Lane and I had a fight. She nags me until I eat something. I can only stomach a few bites of sausage and a half of a piece of toast. This routine of crying half the night, sleeping only a few hours, and eating a few bites at every meal isn’t healthy, but I can’t seem to do anything about it.

  At practice, I’m nearly dead last in drills and running. I’m able to push Tobi off, again, telling her I still don’t feel good. On my way home, I roll the windows down. The fresh air and sunshine feels good against my skin and lifts the weight I’ve been under. It’s like my pores are sucking in the oxygen molecules, and they magically fill my lungs so I can breathe without pain. When I pull into the shed, the lightness and ease I felt dissipate. The weight and pain return with the memories flooding my mind at the sight of where my life was turned upside-down. I shut the Jeep off and let my head fall back against the seat. My heart is overruling my brain and insists on rehashing my first kiss.

  When I muster the strength, and am fully messed up and twisted about Lane again, I drag myself to the house. Mom’s busy with sewing, and I do my best to avoid her by taking a shower and a nap. Sleep comes, intermittent and restless. I have no reprieve. I lie on my bed, gritting my teeth and stare at the ceiling. I know I’m overly tired, but the constant turmoil is taking a toll on me and it’s Lane’s fault. Why did he have to open his mouth? My fist pounds against the bed. I try to read, but I can’t concentrate. I give up and trudge to the living room and put on my favorite old movie. It’s distracting enough to get me through the rest of the day.

  I’m still tired at open gym, and my defense sucks as bad as I did last night. Tobi knows I’m keeping something from her. She’s gracious enough to give me one more day, and then she said I have to tell her what's going on—or else. I drive straight home afterward. Every time I get in or out of the Jeep in the shed, I relive my kiss with Lane. And the hurricane of emotions whirls inside of me. I hope and pray the shower washes the affliction away.

  The hot water lessened the tension, but my stomach is still in knots. I’m able to put on a façade that I’m okay at the dinner table and manage to eat enough to keep my mom from nagging me. As soon as I get the dishes washed up, I brush my teeth and go to bed.

  I lie in the dark with my window open. I need to hear the sounds of the night to keep me from crying out loud. Toil and anguish rip my heart in two as I try to figure out what to do about Lane. Susanna’s experience and ingrained words are nagging on me. It doesn’t matter if I have a connection with Lane that goes beyond friendship, I can't allow it. Even if I want him to kiss me again, we shouldn't go there.

  I don't want to ruin our friendship ... if it's not already. My goals and dreams will never be reached if I allow us to manifest into anything more than friendship. I'm afraid if we change direction, we'll be married when I get out of high school. Married at eighteen? The thought makes my heart sink. Being married would ax becoming a marine scientist and moving to the coast. Everything I’ve planned and dreamed about would change. But I don't want to fail God, either. I don't want to give in to momentary desires and face the devastating consequences that will result. Ugh. I wrap my arms around my stomach and roll on my side. I can feel my supper churning in my belly. I can't, I'm not staying in Stelmo. If Lane does what his parents want, he’ll stick around this black-hole town. But can I go on without him? It’s been two days, and I miss him. Even though I’m still a little angry at Lane for not leaving things the way they were between us, I want to see him.

  The pain in my temples explodes into an all-out stress headache. Sleep, I need sleep. I’ll pray for God to show me what to do, and then I’ll be still and listen. Regardless of the outcome, I'll call him in the morning. Relief trickles over me at this one small decision.

  8

  Wednesday

  Wednesday … the sun is still coming up when my dad wakes me this morning. I have less of a headache today. My eyes are still puffy, though I didn't cry as much last night. I can feel it as I blink them open. And when I realize what today is, anxiety suddenly rushes in. I turn away from my open door and press the palm of my hand against my chest, trying to ease the pressure. Just like dominoes, butterflies rush my stomach, my heart rate increases, a jolt of fear courses through my veins. There’s no way I can stay in bed now, even if I wanted to. I stomp to the bathroom for my morning rituals, and then return to my bedroom to get a grip. Knowing I need breakfast, I make my way into the kitchen and over to the phone so I can make my dreaded phone call.

  When I pick up the phone, Mom asks, “Who are you calling this early in the morning?” She's at the stove cooking scrambled eggs.

  “Lane.” I love my mom, but this whole thing with Lane is too awkward to share with her. I really don't want to talk to him about it either, but it's not going away.

  Mom keeps her eyes on the eggs in the skillet. “He's probably still sleeping. Are you sure you want to wake him?”

  My mouth waters and my stomach threatens to empty its contents. I swallow down bile and suck in a deep breath. “Yes. We need to talk. He's busy—I'm busy.” At the next thought, I tear up a bit. “He'll be leaving for college soon enough.” Argh, why can't I say it without crying? This is stupid! At least the tears didn't spew out of my eyes this time.

  I dial his number and sniff. Mrs. Cary answers with the standard hello. “Mrs. Cary? This is Regan. I'm sure Lane is still asleep, but would you wake him for me?”

  “Is everything all right?” She sounds concerned.

  “Yes.” I don't want to give her any details.

  “Okay, honey, just a moment.”

  I can hear her walk through the house and open his door. An uptick of air whistles through my nostrils.

  “Lane? Lane, sweetie. Regan’s on the phone. She wants to talk to you.”

  “Huh?” His sleep-ridden voice sounds hoarse.

  “Regan’s on the phone.”

  “She is?” he yawns. “Thanks.” I hear the bedroom door shut as he clears his throat. “Regan. Good morning.” He sounds surprised and relieved at the same time.

  Maybe this was a bad idea. I wrap my free arm around my middle. “Morning. Hey, I, uh.” I clear my throat. “I was wondering if you had a lunch break today. Are you working today?” Everything is coming out fast and clumsy. I feel so awkward.

  “Yeah, I'm working. My lunch is at eleven.”

  Oh no, I forgot. I hold my breath. “Mom,
you don't need the car today do you?” I didn't even think about asking her before I called him. Say no, say no.

  She looks up from buttering her toast. “Not until about two this afternoon.”

  I blow out the breath I was holding. “Um, Lane? Can we meet for lunch?” Stop with the nerve … it's just Lane.

  I hear his bed squeak. “Sure, that would be … uh, yeah … yes. Do you want me to pack something? Where do you want to meet?” He's getting a little excited and anxious too, fumbling his words.

  I close my eyes and grip the back of the chair. “How about Eagles’ Landing?” Eagles’ Landing is the local roach coach food truck. It has great food. “It's supposed to be at Lake Nellie this week. We can get something there.” The owner is a chef who grew tired of the endless hours he put in at fancy restaurants and ended up coming back to his roots here in a roach coach.

  “Sure.” There’s a long pause of silence as if we’re leaving something unsaid.

  I clench my jaw and keep my eyes closed. “Okay. Bye.” I rush the words out, uneasy by the silence.

  “Regan?”

  “Yes?” My lids slide back open as my chest tightens.

  More silence. “I'm glad you called,” he let out in a husky, nearly whispering voice.

  “I'll see you later.” I try to hide my anxiety and click the “off” button. Breathe.

  Tobi waits until the end of practice to start hounding me. “Are you going to ditch me again today?”

  I sigh and drop my shoulders. “Yes.” She gives me a nasty look. “I'm sorry. I really can't today. But,” I look at her pleadingly. “Could I catch a ride to open gym and back home tonight? My mom needs the car this afternoon.” I purposely fail to mention that I'm meeting Lane for lunch. A twinge of guilt flutters inside me, but it's not painful enough to tell her what's going on.

  “Sure, I can give you a ride. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

  I give her a half smile. “I'll have her drop me off on her way into town. Hey, what time is it?”

  Tobi sifts through her bag for her phone. “Ten thirty. We went over today.” Her phone beeps. “Dad. What's he demanding now?” She rolls her eyes. Tobi and her Dad are always giving each other a hard time. They’re constantly gigging each other. He's funny, but I think Tobi's funnier, of course.

  “I'm going to the locker room,” I yell back over my shoulder as she's reading her dad's message. She grunts in acknowledgment. Smooth, even breaths, Regan, stay calm. I need to wash up a bit if possible. I don't want to stink too bad when I talk to Lane. I get some paper towels, wet them down and wipe off starting with my face. I look terrible. My skin is splotchy. I'm sweaty. My hair is a mess. This isn't working. My shoulders hunch, and I toss the paper towels in the trash.

  Tobi calls out to me from the locker room entrance and says she needs to go by the feed store for her dad. “I'll see you at my house later. Come over whenever you want.”

  I'm glad she didn't come in and see me freaking out. Tears drop one by one. It feels like all I do is cry these days. “Okay,” I manage. “Thanks again for the ride.” I wait a few moments, cleaning up my face again, and walk out across the gym and through the parking lot to the Jeep, all the while trying to convince myself it doesn't matter what I look like.

  Lake Nellie covers nearly sixty acres and provides the drinking water for our small town. It doesn't look that big when first pulling into the lane, but it curves back and around hills. The entrance is along the main road going north out of town, the same road I take home, and only three miles from school.

  At the entrance, I decide to wind on up the drive to a more private shaded area. It's beyond where Eagles’ Landing is parked. Lane's truck isn't here. My head falls back against the headrest. After I'm parked, I sit in the car for a minute. My fingers are curled around the steering wheel, reluctant to remove their grip. I force myself to get out and walk toward the food truck. Halfway there, Lane's white Chevy truck pulls up. The muscles in my shoulders draw up in knots. He spots me on the road and waves with a big smile on his face as he drives by to park beside the Jeep. I reluctantly walk back toward the vehicles to meet him.

  He shuts his door and trots to meet me. “What's on the menu today? I'm famished.” His smile is easy and eases the tension in my shoulders.

  I take a deep breath. “I don't know. I haven't been to the truck, yet.”

  He has his hands shoved in his pockets. “How was practice? You look like you're making it okay.” He looks me up and down.

  Practice was terrible. Everything in my life is a mess. I want to yell and blame everything on him, but I keep the truth of my feeling to myself. “The usual.” I shrug as though I'm not having an internal conversation. It's hard to be mad at him. “I'm exhausted by the end of the day, though. And I think I'll probably be a little sore tomorrow. Have you been busy at work today?”

  “First thing this morning it was one customer after another, but it's been super slow since ten.” His eyes float back and forth from me to our surroundings, constantly gauging me. He continues with nervous chit chat until we stand in front of the menu.

  The roach coach is wrapped in this amazing vinyl that shows a lit landing strip with a Columbia blue-and-white eagle, the school mascot, and colors, coming in for a sunrise landing. Off to the side of the order window is a large folding chalkboard. It's framed like a picture with old rough barn siding. They write the menu for the day on there—each item in a different script. It looks awesome.

  Sliders: 2 BBQ Pulled Pork sliders topped w/coleslaw on mini sweet bread buns

  Big Boy: BBQ Pulled Pork sandwich topped w/coleslaw on toasted onion bun

  The Boss: BBQ Pulled Pork sandwich, three strips of Bacon, topped w/coleslaw on Texas Toast

  Boss Hog: 3 meat Pork Sandwich—Ham, BBQ Pulled Pork, Bacon—on toasted Beer Bread, Coleslaw on the side.

  Dessert Features Locally Grown Blackberries: Blackberry Cobbler, Blackberry Ice Cream

  Drinks: Bottled Water, Canned Cola, Diet Cola, Lemon-Lime

  “It looks good.” Lane's stomach growls as he speaks.

  We laugh. “You must be famished.” A little more tension fades as we try normalizing.

  JB, the owner, waits for us at the order window. He looks like Albert Einstein with his crazy hair streaked with white. It sticks up like Einstein's, and he has bushy white eyebrows, too. His energy is almost tangible. His brother, Petey, works with him, too. He's a big dude who looks like he could tear your head off, but he's the most lovable fuzz ball.

  I'm not that hungry. My appetite's suffered since Sunday evening. I can eat breakfast, but usually, my stomach is twisted in knots trying to figure out what to do about Lane's epiphany. I do feel better since deciding to talk with him today, though. I want to patch things up, somehow.

  “The Sliders, please, and a water.” I hand him my money to pay.

  “Let me buy.” Lane stops the transaction and pulls his wallet from his back pocket. That seems more like what a boyfriend might do.

  My back stiffens. “No.” JB looks back and forth between Lane and me. I lift my eyes to Lane’s under my brow. His shoulders drop as he glances down at his wallet. That came out a little harsher than intended. He takes a step back and closes his wallet. I drop my eyes to the ground below the window and relax my posture. I sigh quietly. I add, “Thanks anyway,” to lessen the blow. After JB gives my change to me, I shuffle over to a picnic table off to the side, and sit down.

  Lane orders. “Give me the Boss Hog, Blackberry Cobbler with the Ice Cream and a water.”

  “Dude! A man after my own heart. Petey, fire all the burners for this one!” He continues to heckle Lane. It's all part of his image. The customers like it, too. Lane pays for his order, and then sits by me at the table. My mind races as we attempt to make small talk. The pressure in my chest grows with every word. Finally, our food is ready.

  “Do you mind eating over by where we parked?” I step in that direction, knowing he'll agree.

&nbs
p; “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “Sure.” We walk side by side as we have done so many times before. This up-and-down roller coaster ride of emotions is wearing on me. For a moment, as we walk like this among the trees and open space, everything feels as it should.

  As soon as we take our seats at the picnic table, the atmosphere surrounding us changes again. The muscles in my shoulders constrict, a burning sensation tears through my stomach, and I find myself short of breath. Small talk about the food doesn't last long. Lane is first to stop the blathering and cut to the chase.

  He looks down at the food container and swallows. “So, have you thought about things? About Sunday?”

  My head drops, and I look at my hands and fingers in my lap. A hint of pine carries through the breeze, and as I breathe it in, it relaxes me a little.

  “Be honest,” he interjects softly. “With yourself and with me.” He leans over the table and lowers his head level with mine, waiting for me to answer.

  I look directly at him. This is no time for cowardice. “Yes. I've spent a lot of time thinking about your conditions.” Good start, Regan, keep going. “It's been torture, Lane.” My lips press together, forming a thin line. “It would be so much easier if you hadn't said anything.” His head and shoulders drop. “You said you wanted me to be honest.”

  He pulls away from the table and nods, averting my eyes. “Yeah.”

  “The past couple days have been awful. Tobi's on my case wondering what's going on, and I had to tell Mom we had a fight to keep her off my back.” Lane's body grimaces at my words. My stomach sours. I didn't mean to sound so harsh. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “When I think about us, in all honesty, we've become very—comfortable with each other. You're right.” His eyes twinkle at those two words. I force myself to look at him, even though my body wants to slink under the table and hide. It's so hard to say this out loud. “I do allow only you to play with my hair and stuff.” I rush through my words. “We steal looks, and I do linger over your physique sometimes.” There, I said it. His eyes widen, and his chest puffs out. Heat flushes my cheeks, and I have to look away for a minute. I glance back and his features soften. At least he's not interrupting me. “I think we know each other so well, you know, we're just—comfortable being together. We trust each other, and that's why it seems natural. Like you said.”