by Sally Henson
“Regan?” Lane calls my attention low enough only I can hear him.
“Hmm?” I keep my arm covering my eyes, knees up, and feet flat on the ground. I don't want to move a muscle waiting for his reply. He doesn't say anything. I wait. Still nothing. Am I hearing things? I raise my arm enough to turn my head and glance at him. I suck in a quick breath. He's turned on his side, shielding us from the others and is laying about six inches from my face looking right at me. Still shirtless. Breathing is no longer an involuntary task. My eyes flicker across his skin. I slam my lids shut and rest my arm back over my face.
“Why won't you look at me?” His voice is soft and sad. “You've barely looked at me or talked to me all day.”
My heart sinks. I thought I was doing well. Yes, I've been avoiding eye contact, but I've not necessarily been avoiding conversation with him. Have I? Only since we’ve been here, while he has his shirt off. My arms and legs suddenly feel like a ten pound-weights anchored to the ground. Maybe I shouldn’t answer. It's not a good idea to discuss this in front of the others.
He runs his fingers across my forearm, down my palm to my fingertips. It sends shock waves through my body. My eyes pop open and my pulse increases. I drag my heavy arm off my face. He sings my name soft and low again.
I swallow and turn my head to face him. “Can we talk about this later?” I raise my brows. “Alone?”
He purses his lips and blows out a long breath through his nostrils. He flops over on his back and chews on the inside of his cheek.
I sigh. He's not the only one annoyed. “Please?” I don't want to make a scene.
He looks at me sideways but doesn't say a word when he gets up and walks to the cooler for a water bottle. I turn over to dry the back side of my clothes in the sunlight, masking the pain in my chest and the tears I'm fighting.
By the time we meander through the back roads to Tobi's, my hair is a ratty mess from whipping through the wind, especially after getting wet. I don't even bother trying to tame it down or brush it. Cameron loads up his ATV and scurries off with Haylee. Neither one says much about their plans for the evening. Tobi's getting up early for some cattle thing the next morning, so she's staying home tonight. Lane's parents are taking him out to dinner. Maybe I'll read my Cousteau book and take in the night sky. I don't feel like hanging out anyway. Especially since I feel like Lane’s mad at me.
Lane drives me home. It's been a good afternoon, overall, other than the fact that I couldn’t keep my eyes off him at the river bottoms. As soon as we leave Tobi's, he asks me what my problem is.
“Why were you avoiding me all day?”
I look down at the floorboard. “I wasn't avoiding you.”
“You wouldn't look at me. I call that avoiding.”
I let out a loud exasperating sigh and look out the passenger window.
“See, you won't even look at me now.”
I twist my lips and roll my eyes. He's half-right.
“I'll pull over and wait all night for you to tell me.” He brakes and slows the truck.
“Fine.” I take a deep breath. “It's your own fault.”
“How's it my fault?” He throws one hand up in the air.
“You're the one that told me I stare at your half-naked body. Our time at the river bottoms was the only time I tried to ignore you today.” I keep blabbering, though I know the skin on my neck and face are turning a shade of red. “Maybe you should’ve kept your shirt on and we wouldn't be having this conversation.” When I finish, my voice a little higher than normal.
A smile spreads across his mouth. He quickly tries to fight it by biting his bottom lip, but it doesn't work. At least he drops the questions and we drive with the windows down and the radio on. My hair is such a mess anyway, there's no hope of salvaging it without a wash and plenty of conditioner.
Lane laughs out loud. “I'm sorry, but your hair is so crazy right now. I can't help it.” He throws his head back and laughs some more.
I know it's got to look like a beehive. I reach my hands up and act like I'm smoothing it down. It's so ratty it's rough against my palms. “What's wrong with my hair?” I try to act serious, but I start laughing, too. The weight from the tension between us lifts, and everything is right between us again.
I prop a bare foot up on the dash and lean my head against the door, watching the fields of corn and soybeans trail off through the side mirror. Heat and humidity bring out the distinct scent of the corn leaves—a reminder it's the end of summer. Moments like this, when I'm taking in all that I love about living here, is when a war breaks out inside me—because right now, this very moment ... is perfect. Riding down a country road, bare feet on the dash, next to my best friend who is very nice to look at and, now that I know, very nice to kiss. It's where I want to be. Look at him—arm resting on the edge of the door in the sun, shades on, sandy hair blowing around the edges of his cap, uninhibited—singing to the radio. He's so beautiful.
This is but a moment, though. How could I stay here in this cage? No expanding my horizons, just getting older and drowning in gossip. The Fanigers will never stop hassling Susanna and her family. Since I’m her cousin, that includes me. I can't hang around and take that crap for the rest of my life. The weight on my chest returns, even heavier than before. I rub my sternum to alleviate the pain. Besides, there's no ocean here, no marine science careers. Am I going to let a few perfect moments overshadow years of oppressive banter and gossip if I stay? I'll never get away from here if I don't do it as soon as I can.
We turn off the main road, and Lane clicks off the radio. “What are you thinking about?” My shoulders slump even more. I don't know how he knows, but he always knows when I'm thinking about the future and leaving.
“I was just absorbing the sights and smells of summer’s end.” I flash a grim smile. “And fighting a war.”
His forehead wrinkles. “A war?” I raise my brows and shrug. “Tell me about this war.”
I rub my hand across my forehead and down my face with a groan. “I don't want to dredge through it right now.” I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
“Always so serious.” His voice is sad but full of understanding.
I want to change the subject. “There's a blue moon tonight.” I try to sound upbeat. “It should be up by eight-thirty.” Lane turns in the driveway and parks by the shed. No one's home yet. I take off my seat belt and rest my head on the back of the seat. My thoughts turn back to the perfect moment, wishing I could freeze time so it could’ve lasted. My expression must have deepened again because Lane seems concerned.
He takes his seat belt off and lays his sunglasses on the dash. “What's the matter?” His face softens, eyes round and pleading as his body turns towards me.
I close my eyes to keep the tears from coming. “It's just, it was a great day with a perfect moment, and I don't want it to end.” I trail off to a whisper. My vision begins to blur from a buildup of tears. These moments will be few and far between if I stay here. With Lane leaving in a week, maybe it’ll make this easier for me. Perfect moments always come to an end, right? My stomach twists.
He slides over and pulls me into him, not saying a word, only holding me tight with his cheek against my ratty hair. The motion of his chest breathing in and out is in sync with mine. We become one. I'm awaking to the realization that Lane may be the only person on this earth who gets me. He holds me with my head against his chest as time stands still.
The rumble of Dad's car makes us jump apart to the opposite sides of the cab where we should be. Reaching over, he wraps his hand around mine and squeezes, seeing through my eyes, touching my heart. With one look, one touch, he lifts the weight and settles my stomach. How does he do that? Lane releases my hand at the sound of the car door shutting. As the footsteps on the gravel near, he looks out his window. I sigh and reach down for my bag on the floorboard and put on my “I'm fine” face.
Dad calls out to Lane as he gets out of the truck. “It's good to see you, Lane.”
He meets Dad at the back of the truck to shake his hand. “You, too, sir.” I slide out with my bag in tow and head their way.
Dad inspects my wild hair. His brows draw in and he cocks his head to the side. “What have you been up to?”
Lane starts to answer, but I cut in. “After practice this morning, the gang joined us at Tobi's. We goofed off in the ATVs. Coach canceled Friday night open gyms.”
“Ahh. Did you have a good time?”
“Yes, sir. We found a little water.” Lane gestures to my crazy hair with a giant smile.
I roll my eyes. “I'm sure I look like Medusa. I don't care.” Lane's already laughed at me once. I admit I deserve a chuckle or two. “Where's mom?”
“She'll be home shortly. Do you want to stay for dinner, Lane?”
“Oh, thanks, Mr. Stone, but my parents are taking me out tonight.” He pulls his phone out and looks at it. “And I should be going. I'll see you Sunday.”
“God willing,” Dad replies. Lane turns to get in his truck and my dad strides to the house.
He starts the engine, watching my dad enter, then moves his gaze on me. “It's okay.” His tender smile warms my heart and makes believe him. “I'll see you soon.” He winks at me. It's cute, kind of funny, too, and so sweet. I can't keep the smile from spreading across my lips. Those cute, funny, sweet idiosyncrasies of his lighten my load. I may consider being more than friends. My pulse picks up speed at the thought of kissing him again.
I watch him leave and then go in to take a shower to wash the sweat and grime off, not to mention the rat's nest sticking out of my head. Dad wants me to come outside when I'm finished. So, after braiding my clean, wet, rats nest free hair and starting some laundry, I go out to see what he wants.
I'm still humming the tune of the last song Lane was singing when I step outside. It's going to be a good night. The smell of burning charcoal fills the air. That means Dad's cooking on the grill tonight. I follow the scent around the corner to the back patio and see him still dousing the fire with lighter fluid. Huge waves of flames dance up, threatening to lick his arm.
“What's for supper?” I stand beside him but not too close, protecting myself from the flames.
“Pork chops. Run inside and bring them out for me.” He keeps his eyes on the flames, ready with the lighter fluid bottle in his hand.
Returning, I hand him the platter, but he gestures to place it on the patio table. “What's up, Dad?” I ask while pulling out a chair to sit down.
He sits, too. “Are there any boys who have your attention?” I'm sure my eyes bug out of my head. Wow, we're starting out with a bang here. “I hear you like your friend, Cameron.”
My nose scrunches. Stupid Stacey. There goes my good mood. “What do you mean by like?”
“There are a couple pictures of you two floating around where you look like your much more than friends.” His dark brows raise above his deep-set eyes. “Your mother and I agreed you could date when you turned sixteen, but that doesn't mean behind our backs. You still need to get permission.” He tilts his head and looks down his nose at me. My back presses into the chair as if his words hold me in place. “I didn't know you were interested in any boys, and I find out your friend is carrying you around in your bathing suit like that?” His voice isn't loud, but it’s disapproving. “And what does Lane think about this?”
He knocked the wind out of me with that comment. I take a needed breath. “It's not what it looks like, Dad. I was going to tell you about the pictures, but we haven't seen that much of each other lately.”
“Start explaining, young lady.” He folds his arms. His cold, slate eyes narrow and his mouth twists, showing his disappointment in me.
“A couple weeks ago the gang and I went swimming at the cliffs,” I begin laying out the whole story for him.
He stares at me, deciding if I am telling the truth or not. “Lane was there?”
“Yes, Lane was there.” I'm going to implode one of these days because of Stacey's venom. Or explode. Or maybe both. Whatever.
“Where did the pictures come from?” He keeps his arms crossed.
“I'm not sure. Tobi and I think someone took a video with their phone and captured the shots from it.”
He mashes his lips together and raises his brow. “How could they do that?”
“It's easy, Dad. All they have to do is download the video and use software to take a clip out like a picture. Whoever it was teamed up with Stacey Faniger. I'm sure of that.”
He takes the platter and puts the pork chops on the grill. “You're not interested in dating Cameron?”
I scoff. “No way. He's my friend. Nothing else.”
I try to enjoy the silence but, I'm not sure if it's good or bad. It keeps me pinned to my chair.
“You're going to be a junior this year, right? What boys do you like? Who are you interested in dating?” He sits back down. Mom comes around the corner with drinks just in time to hear dad's question.
“No one. What's the point in dating? I don't plan on getting married anytime soon.” My shoulders soften. At least I can tell the truth.
“I'm glad you aren't planning on getting married soon.” Mom hands me a glass of tea. “When do you think you might be ready?”
“Sometime after college, for sure. I want to get at least two years into my career first. Who knows where it’ll take me.” My words come out a little dreamy at the end, but I do dream about it.
The weight of Dad's eyes and words have lifted, and I pull my knees up and hold on. Mom and Dad talk, but my attention is across the back yard into the trees of the woods. I see more than a country setting in the middle of the United States. I see glimpses of the ocean and the beach. I hear the roar of crashing waves. It's my hope for getting out from under my Dad's thumb and the dark cloud of the gossiping Fanigers.
Inside at the dinner table, Mom brings up my fight with Lane I mentioned a couple days ago.
“Did you and Lane make up? Your father said he brought you home today.”
“Yeah.”
“What were you fighting about?” Dad takes a drink and continues eating.
I sit up in my chair and clear my throat. “College. Career.” I'm trying to keep it simple. We did fight about that, before.
She tilts her head. “What about college and career?” Mom asks too many questions. Dad jumps to conclusions.
“He says his parents are pushing him to go into a field that is more practical than being a conservation officer.” Just the thought of it ticks me off.
She shrugs her shoulders with a fork full of food. “What's there to fight about?”
I grit my teeth. “He's wanted to be a game warden for years. We've talked about it hundreds of times.”
“They have his best interest in mind.” She defends her friends, of course.
I want so badly to roll my eyes and huff. The tightness in my chest grows. And though I’m doing my best to be the calm respectful daughter, my self-control is slipping through my fingers. “His best interest is following his dream. I told him he was giving up, and he didn't have to settle.” She raises her eyebrows as if it isn't my business to be saying such things. I drop my fork against my plate and shake my head. “He said he didn't have a choice.”
Dad has the left side of his mouth twitched up. “There's something to be said for being practical, Regan. Chasing dreams is like chasing the moon and the stars—always out of reach.”
I look down and roll my eyes with a sigh. “That's encouraging.”
“Sometimes life isn't encouraging. Sometimes you have to choose doable and settle for less than what you want.” Dad usually speaks thoughtfully, but he's disregarding Lane's whole choice in the matter.
The tension spreads to my shoulders and arms. “That sounds like a miserable way to live.” I'm trying to contain myself here, but fighting for my dreams always gets me a little-worked up.
He straightens his back as if he's looking down on me. “Your perspective is a youthfu
l one. One without experience in such matters.” He says it almost like a curse.
I sit as tall as I can and hold my chin up. “My youthful perspective is part of what makes these dreams achievable. It's not fair.”
He raises his thick brows. “What have I told you about life, Regan?”
A quiet growl rumbles in my throat. “Yes, life's not fair. But shouldn't your parents be supportive of what you want to do in life? Shouldn't they support the dream you've had for years?”
“Not if it's far-fetched and unrealistic. And I must say, Regan, it wouldn't hurt you to consider some alternate degrees and careers yourself.”
I fall back against my chair and look at him. What? “Are you suggesting marine science is far-fetched and unrealistic?” My breathing is shallow. The pain in my chest keeps me from breathing any deeper.
He takes his napkin and wipes across his mouth. “You know a business degree is very versatile. As bad as the economy is here, you could find work with a business degree.”
There's been something gnawing at me, a hint, a gut feeling, possibly prophesy of sorts that this would be coming. If I wasn't already angry from talking about Lane's situation, I might curl up in a ball right now in this chair and weep. Instead, my invisible curtain is shielding me. “You think I should dump my dream of becoming a marine scientist, one I've had for four years, which, I might add, you both have supported?” I slink down in my chair looking at, but not seeing my dad.
“How many marine scientists are employed in Illinois? It's just not a good location for marine science.”
“I don't plan on staying in Illinois, you know this. I want to be near the coast, the Gulf coast.” I grip the table. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. I'm still trying to claw my way back to support.
“Illinois may be a little more depressed economically than the Gulf coast, but that line of work is very narrow.”
