The Season of You & Me

by Robin Constantine

  At first Dad was in the picture for the big stuff—birthdays, holidays, an occasional outing to the zoo or the beach—but soon after Leslie had my half brother, Hunter, everything changed. Dad traded his human resources job for teaching and they bought the bed-and-breakfast and moved to Crest Haven. Getting together, even for the big things, was a hassle with the distance. Over time, we just fell out of seeing each other, and once I hit high school, I’d dodge his invitations purposely. Part was allegiance to Mom and Nan, part was I didn’t want to deal with feeling not quite at home. I could get away with most of it, except for my one week during the summer. That was his.

  It wasn’t terrible. Dad and Leslie did their best to make me feel at home. Having a little brother as a sidekick for a week was kind of cool too. I had my own room, painted a dusky blue color that I’d picked out, white wicker furniture we purchased at a specialty store, and a bulletin board with shell-shaped pushpins. Dad had even given me an old-fashioned three-speed bike to get around the island. All of this was supposed to make me feel like I had a place there.

  There was always a musty, not-lived-in smell in my room when I first arrived. The top of the vanity stayed pristine. No hollow in my bed to snuggle into. Nothing that said home to me. I was always “on” at Dad’s house. My best behavior. Conversation light. At least it felt that way. I knew my mother had told him the reason for my sudden desire to spend the summer, but I didn’t anticipate any heart-to-hearts. Maybe that was part of the appeal.

  My mouth went dry as we passed the bait shop I used as a landmark on the way to Dad’s. ETA—five minutes. There was a massive shark jawbone hanging above the door. Today it felt like I was driving into it, helpless. Was it too late to turn around? Now that I was out of school, avoiding Gavin would be easier, Ems had been right . . . but then there was Nate, the baker’s son from Sugar Rush . . . Don’t shit where you eat. Another one of Nan’s favorite sayings. I was screwed.

  We turned the corner of my father’s street, only to get stuck behind a horse and buggy, the driver holding on to the reins as she spoke to her passengers and pointed toward a row of brightly colored houses on the street. One of my first years visiting, Dad and Leslie had sprung for a kid’s carriage ride where the tour guide explained the architecture of Crest Haven. We learned about conical witches’ hats roofs and widows’ walks and gingerbread trim. I loved the way the town looked, like a place out of another century. My mother tapped the wheel with her index finger and sighed.

  A few moments later we pulled up in front of a big white Victorian monster of a house, complete with gingerbread latticework and a mansard roof. The sign out front read, “Ocean Whispers . . . A Seaside Retreat,” which sounded like a rehab clinic to me, and there I was, checking in to get over Gavin. A small iron fence surrounded the property, setting it apart from the other inns on the street. The wraparound porch had a row of white rocking chairs, which were vacant but moved gently back and forth in the breeze. Dad sat on the top step, but stood up when he saw us. Mom maneuvered into a spot reserved for check-ins and cut the engine.

  “I don’t know about this,” I said, watching as my dad and Hunter trotted down the steps. Hands tucked in khaki shorts, lime-green polo with the collar up, my father looked like he just walked out of a Vineyard Vines ad—dressed to impress. Hunter was at his heels, holding a toy airplane over his head, dipping and weaving it through the air as they walked.

  Mom and Nana both turned back to me. “What?”

  “I think . . . I’m not sure I want to stay.”

  “Well, you picked a heck of a time to tell us,” Nana said.

  “Ma, not helping,” my mother said, then reached for my hand. “Hey, you’re here now. Give it a week—like normal, okay? If you want to come home after that, we can talk about it. I have a feeling you won’t want to.”

  I nodded. Hunter peered into the car and grinned. He’d grown so much since Easter break. I smiled back at him, the feeling of dread lifting a little. Mom and I stepped out of the car. Nan rolled down the window and waved at Dad. That was the most greeting he would get from her.

  “Cassidy,” Dad said, opening his arms as I walked over to the sidewalk. Before he could hug me, Hunter got between us and flew his airplane right into my abs with a dramatic-sounding “Pppsshhhwwwrr.” The plane dropped to the ground and he jumped back, making hand gestures that I guess represented a crash. He gave me a once-over.

  “Your hair got long,” he said.

  “And you grew about ten inches,” I said, tousling his mop top.

  “Did not,” he said.

  “Okay, maybe two,” I said. He threw his arms around me and squeezed. Hunter gave good hugs. He finally let me go, picked up his toy plane, and walked toward Nan, who was waving out the window for him to come over. My mother joined us at the back of the car, opened the trunk.

  “Much traffic?” Dad asked, stepping off the curb to get the bags.

  “Nah, I think we were ahead of it.”

  Mom tugged the duffel out of the trunk. I took it from her and slung it over my shoulder. Dad had my suitcase in his hand. This was really it.

  “Leslie made some lunch. There’s more than enough if you and Shirley want to stay for a bit.”

  My mother closed the trunk and crossed her arms. “Shirl’s fingers are itching to get at the slots. We’re staying over in AC tonight. Making a mini break of it.”

  “You’re always welcome here. Owner’s discount.”

  Mom chuckled. “You know how I feel about B&Bs.”

  “It’s really not so bad,” my father said, smiling. A beat passed between them, a shared memory, maybe? Something I wasn’t privy to. Not long ago, after Mom had one of her seasonal decluttering episodes, I’d found a black-and-white photo strip of them in the trash. The kind you used to be able to get from an arcade photo booth. They must have been at the beach—Mom was in a bikini top, Dad was shirtless. They both looked so young and happy. They were even kissing in one of the shots, which should have skeeved me, but it made me sad. Now they stood before each other, pretty much strangers with one thing in common—me. Did anything last?

  The front gate to the inn creaked. Leslie trotted over to where we were standing. She was younger than Mom, but not by much. Once it was clear that Les was in the picture for good, she and Mom became friends—not like me and Em were friends, maybe more like distant relatives who were pleasant with each other at the yearly family reunion.

  “Sorry, was just finishing up a check-in,” she said, giving Mom a loose hug. Mom patted her back before they pulled apart. “Are you staying for lunch?”

  “Thanks for the invite, but no. We have to get back on the road before traffic gets too heavy,” Mom said.

  “We’re so happy Cass is staying with us for the summer,” Les said, giving my hand a squeeze. Mom opened her arms to me. I dropped my bag and wrapped my arms around her. Her mouth was right by my ear.

  “Remember, I’m a phone call away.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered.

  “You’re going to have a great time.”

  “I hope so,” I said. I made my way around to the passenger side of the car. Nana sat like the queen in the front seat, fanning herself with the mailers. I bent over to kiss her cheek. She grabbed my hand and slipped something scratchy into it.

  “Enjoy yourself, but not too much,” she said, winking.

  “Will do,” I said, opening my hand. Two twenties.

  And they smelled of Jean Naté.

  We watched and waved as the car sputtered around the corner, then we went inside. Dad carried my suitcase. I carried my duffel. We climbed up the three flights of stairs to my room. I shouldered open the door and was greeted by the not-lived-in musty smell, even though the curtains billowed in the breeze. The bed was made, the wardrobe was open with empty hangers waiting to be filled. My stomach lurched as we tossed the bags on the bed. You chose this, Cass, I reminded myself.

  “Why don’t we leave this and have some lunch. You must be starving
after that ride. We have chicken salad. Your favorite.”

  Leslie’s chicken salad with pecans and red grapes was my favorite, but my eyes tingled with the threat of tears. I needed a moment to collect myself, take it all in.

  “Um, I’d like to unpack first, if you don’t mind,” I said, stalling.

  I walked over to the vanity. My name, CASS, was spelled out in a mix of blue sea glass and broken clam and scallop shells. I ran my finger along the C and laughed.

  “Hunter did that,” Dad said.

  “I love it.”

  “You’ll have to tell him,” he said. “Take as long as you need to unpack, we’ll be downstairs.” I waited until he was on the second-floor landing before closing the door. I pulled out my phone and called Emma. She picked up on the second ring.

  “Come home,” she said.

  “I, I . . . Ems.” My throat closed up around her name. I leaned against the door and slid down, hand on my forehead. The whole summer; what had I been thinking?

  “Cass?”

  I took a breath. “I think I made a huge mistake.”

  Our late lunch became an early dinner, and after, I asked my father if it was okay to take the bike out. Hunter heard and begged to come along. I bit my tongue. I knew the polite thing would be to say, Sure, come along, but I wanted to be alone. I widened my eyes at Dad, hoping he would understand. He nodded.

  “I need you to stay here, Hunter,” he said.

  “But why?”

  “I can’t finish the chocolate peanut butter ice cream on my own. Cass will be back soon.”

  “Can we have a game night then?” he asked. Dad looked to me—this was the bargaining chip to bike solo. Game night didn’t sound like complete torture.

  “Sure,” I said. Dad checked the tires and filled the back one with air, and then I was off. It was still too early to ride my bike on the promenade—only pedestrians were allowed during the busy hours—so I rode alongside it on the street, going all the way down to the end, replaying my conversation with Emma in my head. She’d talked me off the ledge, or at least helped me come up with a game plan. Of course I was freaking out; getting over someone was not as simple as changing the scenery. It was a start, but I needed more direction.

  You have to do something symbolic, she’d said. Something physical to represent that it’s over, something that will begin a new thought pattern.

  Emma’s mom was on her third marriage, and she’d been through enough breakups with her to have some opinions on what worked when it came to moving on. She also had access to a self-help-book gold mine that could rival any library’s. I was ready for a new thought pattern, that much I knew. I had something in mind that would kick-start it. I pumped the bike harder, standing on the pedals to put more power behind it.

  The streets were thick with pedestrian traffic. There were sun-kissed people toting beach bags and umbrellas, lumbering across the road after a day on the sand. Others were already dressed and heading out to dinner. Families lined up for mini-golf. The occasional horse and buggy clomped by. There was no reason not to be excited that Crest Haven, a place where people came from all over to enjoy the beach, the food, and the quaint atmosphere, would be my home for the summer. Was I ready to move on? Yes, but I needed to be far away from the crowds. The symbolic physical thing didn’t need an audience.

  I rode out farther than I ever had, to a beach at the end of a long straightaway. There was tall grass on either side as far as I could see, and the briny scent of the ocean got stronger as I pedaled to the end of the road. I was on the west side of the island, a place where locals hung out. The beach wasn’t as pristine; the sand was more rocky than powdery, but it was empty and the water only lapped gently at the shore. I had a feeling it was Crest Haven’s version of Meadowbrooke when the sun went down, but for now, it was the perfect place for my symbolic gesture. There were a few cars in the parking lot, and someone whistled as I locked my bike to the rack by the beach. I ignored it. Blinders on to everything except my mission to obliterate Gavin from my mind.

  I kicked off my flip-flops and left them by the start of the path that cut through the beach grass. The sand was cool beneath my feet and I sank into it as I made my way toward the water, my heart still pounding from my ride. My legs ached, I was a sweat ball, but the exertion felt good. Purposeful. The only other people on the beach were a small family who were packing up, and two older guys who were sitting on lawn chairs next to a few fishing rods. I went a little farther down the beach and sat near the shoreline, letting the water lap over my feet. Thoughts of Gavin bubbled up without any effort. It was like the moment I got quiet, he was there.

  You don’t have to do this, Cassidy. It was one night.

  The final straw had been the picture of Gavin and that girl, the one I probably wouldn’t have seen except that she had tagged him in the shot and posted it on StalkMe. How could he have been so careless? If only I hadn’t seen it, would we still be together? There were other clues—a card addressed simply to Dimples, which somehow crushed me all the more because those dimples were for me; times where he blew off answering me when I asked him where he’d been when I couldn’t reach him—things I chose to ignore because I loved him, or at least I thought I did. Maybe I loved the idea of him, of having someone to walk down the halls with, someone to go to prom with, someone to make summer plans with. Was I really willing to put up with the constant doubt and questioning, wondering if he was telling the truth, all so I could have someone to hang with on a Saturday night?

  Not anymore.

  When I’d visited Ocean Whispers at Easter, I’d taken a walk on the beach by myself, deliriously happy because I’d discovered the secret of life, of love. Gavin and I were solid then, or at least it felt like it. Prom was a dream, like summer and Gavin’s graduation, end-of-year parties . . . we’d even talked about how we were going to stick together in the fall when he went away to Penn. Defy the odds. It seemed possible. I’d knelt in the damp sand then and wrote “Cassidy Loves Gavin,” whispered it to the ocean. I made a wish that it would be forever, and when the ocean swallowed up our names, it felt like something heard me.

  Wish. That word.

  I knelt in the damp sand again now and etched “Good-bye, Gavin” with my index finger along the waterline. I sat back and waited for the ocean to swallow it up, to take it in, to make it real, permanent.

  Any moment the water would just rise up and erase it.

  I waited.

  And waited.

  Maybe the tide was going out.

  Or maybe as far symbolic physical gestures went, this one sucked.

  What if I took a picture of it and posted it on StalkMe; maybe it would be like, eff you?

  Lame, Cass.

  There was something else I could do, something I knew would be tough to let go of, but wasn’t that the point? It needed to be tough to mean something. I traced the Tiffany heart pendant around my neck with my finger. The one I’d put in the don’t-take pile, the one I’d changed my mind about as I was leaving. I couldn’t get rid of it this way, could I? I undid the clasp and let it drape over my hand for a moment before closing my fingers around it. It was the first piece of jewelry a boy had ever given me. It meant something, or it had at one point. Now it was just a reminder, wasn’t it?

  I saw this and thought of you, how lucky we are to have each other.

  How lucky could we have been if things ended so badly? Had he given other girls a necklace? Told them the same thing?

  Fueled by those thoughts, I tossed it into the water.

  “Good-bye, Gavin,” I whispered.

  There. I could cross “symbolic gesture” off the getting-over-Gavin to-do list.

  I stood up and wiped the sand off my butt, turned back toward the parking lot.

  I walked a few steps before I froze.

  My face flushed hot.

  What the hell did I just do? It’s a freaking silver Tiffany heart necklace! I spun back toward the ocean, stood at the water’s edge, a
nd scanned for anything sparkly. My pulse pounded in my ears. It had to be there, I’d only thrown it moments ago. The edges of my vision blurred. Tears.

  I stepped into the water. The ocean was clear, calm, practically like bathwater. I treaded lightly, ignoring the pinch of the shells beneath my feet. The necklace should have been there, but I couldn’t see it; the shells and pebbles close to the shoreline made it hard to differentiate anything. I walked out to smoother sand, the water just below my knees, and turned toward the beach—I hadn’t thrown it any farther than where I was standing.

  Nothing.

  I went back to the beach, ignoring the looks from the old guys fishing.

  Ignoring the snot running down my face.

  The salty sting of tears on my cheek.

  The necklace was gone.

  Only it didn’t make me feel better.

  It was like I lost something all over again.

  I took the path back to the parking lot, stopping to put on my flip-flops, shoving one foot, then the other into the thongs. The sun was about to set. The sky looked unreal, a burst of orange and pink with thin wispy clouds. So pretty. I needed to get back home before it got too dark. My legs ached. I crouched down to undo the lock.

  And then I lost it.

  Total ugly cry, right by my bike.

  I put my face in my hands.

  It was over, it was really fucking over, and by leaving I made damn sure there wouldn’t even be a chance to talk about it. This was for the best, wasn’t it? Then why did it feel so crappy?

  “Hey, hello?”

  I looked up.

  There was a boy sitting in the driver’s seat of a black car parked a few feet away. He waved, gave me a small concerned smile. I swiped the tears and snot away from my cheek with the back of my hand and acknowledged him with a nod.