The Season of You & Me

by Robin Constantine

  “He better be or I’ll hunt him down. Costumes and jumping spiders, my kryptonite.”

  “And Tori?” I teased.

  “Ha, right. I think we’re okay.”

  “You so rarely sweat, man, it’s nice to see you’re human.”

  “You okay going to free swim?”

  “Don’t know, not sure if I’m up to the how do you get undressed if you can’t stand up questions in the locker room. It’s busy in there today.”

  “Lake, you should go in. I’ll watch the kids while you get changed. You can take all the time you want. I told you Colby still hangs on to the sides of the pool. It might help with you there.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  If noise could be used as energy, then the rec center pool would have powered all of Crest Haven for the year. That alone made me rethink going in. Jena was still on duty from the morning, and had two other guards for help, one who walked up and down the side of the pool with a flotation device, and another stationed on the far side. Out of habit I parked my chair at the end of the lane usually reserved for swimming laps. The lane marker was still up, but kids were going up and over it. Wade was at the far end with the kids. He waved.

  I put it out of my mind that anyone would be staring and let gravity do its thing, my version of a launch into the water. I landed with a loud splash and swam to the end of the lane toward Wade and our group. The moment I reached the wall, the kids swarmed.

  You’re swimming!

  Cool jump!

  Why are you wearing shoes?

  Bryan, play Marco Polo!

  The last one was from H-bomb, who jumped up and down in front of me. Wade raised his hands. His minions quieted.

  “Guys, guys, chill, you’re acting like you’ve never seen someone dive into a pool before. Give Bry some space.”

  “Hunter, think you could grab me one of those noodles?” I asked, motioning toward the side of the pool.

  “Yep,” he said, swimming toward Jena’s lifeguard stand.

  “Not so bad, huh?” Wade asked. I shook my head. Being swarmed by adoring fans didn’t suck either. Hunter returned with the noodle.

  “Ready to play Marco Polo now?”

  I grabbed the noodle and leaned forward over it, putting one end, then the other, under my armpits. “I want to get used to the water, Hunter. Maybe in a bit.”

  “Anyone who wants to play Marco, come over this way.”

  The only one who didn’t want to play was Colby.

  “You okay with this?” Wade said quietly so Colby wouldn’t hear. I nodded.

  Wade took the rest of the boys farther out into the pool while I stayed with Colby. He was against the wall, lips trembling a bit.

  “So you don’t like Marco Polo?”

  He shook his head.

  “Want to swim a lap with me?”

  His eyes widened and he looked down the lane before shaking his head even more emphatically. I knew Wade told me he clung to the side, but I didn’t realize how bad.

  “Well, okay,” I said, moving away from him. His eyes remained wide, and I realized my I’m swimming without you tactic didn’t work. “Can I ask you something?”

  He nodded. I didn’t want to come out and ask him if he was afraid—that was obvious; I just thought maybe knowing more about it might help.

  “Why does the water bother you?”

  He shrugged.

  A man of few words. We sat there awhile longer, watching the other kids play as Wade was Marco Polo. The kids splashed him, but he was a good sport about it. He yelled Marco and dove in the direction of about four of the kids, who laughed like crazy when he belly flopped without catching one of them.

  “I don’t like to be in the deep water,” Colby said.

  I turned to him. “Well, they’re not in the deep end.”

  “And I think about sharks being under the water and it scares me.”

  “Colby-Wan, you do know there aren’t sharks in the pool? I, for one, would not be chilling in this water if I thought that.”

  “I know that, but sometimes I can’t help thinking it, and then I kick and can’t feel the bottom, and I don’t like putting my head underwater.”

  “Even here? You know, there’s music,” I said.

  “There is?”

  “Yep.”

  “Laaaakewoood.” We both turned to see Nick, in his Camp Manatee polo and shorts, standing next to Jena’s lifeguard perch. Her eyes were on the pool, but she leaned on her elbow in his direction, whistle poised in her mouth.

  “Hey, Nick.”

  “Looking strong. When we gonna see you at the cove?”

  That was a question I hadn’t been prepared to answer.

  “I don’t know. Pool’s a lot different, ya know?” I said.

  “Your board is looking good. Waiting for you when you’re ready.”

  What did he mean by that? “Has Matt been using it?”

  “Uh . . . ,” he said, shrugging his shoulders to his ears. “Sometimes. You know, you should just get back to the cove. You’re missed. Hey, did I tell you I changed the name of my slush? Gonna have a get-together to celebrate. I’ll keep you posted.” Jena glanced away from the pool momentarily.

  “You have a slush?” Colby asked.

  “Yeah. Pineapple and cinnamon, total flavor beast.”

  Colby’s nose wrinkled. I laughed, but pretty much felt the same way about the flavor mix. “Sounds good,” I said.

  “Mention my name when you go, you’ll get a discount.”

  “Like free?” Colby said. The thought of a free slush trumped fake sharks in the pool, and he pulled away from the wall to look at Nick.

  “Maybe for you,” Nick said to him.

  That gave me an idea. “Colby, could you go grab me another noodle?”

  He kept to the side until he reached the stairs, then went over to the flotation equipment and grabbed a purple one.

  “Hey, Mr. Beckett’s looking for you, Nick,” I said. “Monty is supposed to lead a dance party this afternoon.”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Guess I better go mop the floor.”

  “Huh?”

  Nick bent down to get closer to me. “Remember, the kids don’t know I’m Monty.”

  I laughed. He was so serious. “Gotcha,” I said.

  He stood up and put his elbow on the lifeguard stand. “So, lovely Jena, have you tried my slush yet?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her.

  “That sounds perverted.”

  “I’d be more than happy to bring in a sample for you.”

  “Stop distracting me.” She smiled.

  “Fine, fine, duty calls,” he said, backing away. Colby handed me the noodle.

  “No, buddy, that’s for you. I’ll make you a deal: you swim with me a little, holding on to your own noodle, and I’ll get you any size slush you want—well, if your mom says it’s okay.”

  He looked past me down the swim lane, then nodded.

  “We always go to Sip N’ Freeze. She’d be okay with it.”

  “Okay then, let’s go.”

  The noodle shot out a little in front of him and I pushed it back. He grabbed it and started kicking wildly, but at least he was moving forward. I let my own noodle out from under me and swam slowly next to him. Halfway down the lane he stopped kicking and floated for a second.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  He nodded, took a deep breath, and dunked himself under the water. He rose up sputtering and blinking.

  “Dude, hard-core,” I said. He grinned and started kicking again.

  I swam forward, making it to the opposite wall a good five feet ahead of him.

  He kept pushing along, determined, until he finally reached the wall.

  “You made it,” I said.

  He slapped me a high five.

  The look on his face said it all.

  “So far we have a street name, Monty, a towel, and fireworks. Those seem pretty random to me. I give,” Wade said, leaning his head back into his
clasped hands. We were in cooking, and Tori and Cass had given the kids an assignment to make cereal collages, while the four of us sat at another long table trying to figure out what the scavenger clues we had so far meant, if anything.

  “You said you were going to work at this. I might have to jump ship and join Cass and Bryan,” Tori said.

  “You know, he’s right though, it all seems kind of random,” I said.

  Wade gave Tori a smartass grin.

  Cass sat next to me, the list of clues between us. I kept sneaking glances at her. Her hair was loose and tucked behind one ear. I had studied her left ear so closely I could shut my eyes and still remember every delicate curve. She had three piercings: two small studs, a pearl and a diamond, and a tiny hoop at the start of the outer fold of her ear. Every time she moved the scent of something flowery filled the space.

  “Yeah, I got nothing,” she said.

  “Ugh, my brain is fried—why do you think I’m letting the kids do something as prosaic as a cereal collage? This is left over from making the marshmallow treats. I’m all out of creative ideas today,” Tori said.

  “Can I make one?” Wade asked.

  Tori cocked her head. “Sure, have at it.”

  “Cool,” Wade said, getting up. He came back with four small cups of cereal. Cass reached into one and popped an Apple Jack into her mouth.

  “Hey, no eating the art,” Wade said.

  “But they’re my favorite,” she said, grabbing another one.

  Wade looked at Tori. “What’s your favorite?”

  “Me? I don’t eat that crap.”

  “You don’t eat cold cereal, ever?” Cass asked.

  She shook her head. “That’s like one of Nick’s food groups. I think I’m better off without it. Must kill brain cells.”

  “That and slushes,” I said.

  Tori put her hand over her face. “Omigod, my brother the slush king.”

  “As far as titles go, it’s not bad,” Wade said, gluing another piece of cereal down on the construction paper.

  “Some people go through life never having anything named after them. It’s a pretty cool claim to fame,” I said.

  “Or pathetic, if that’s your only claim to fame ever,” Tori said. “I have a feeling he’s peaked.”

  “Have you tried the slush?” I asked.

  “I think I’ve been to Sip N’ Freeze every day this week to pick up one for him. And oh . . . hell no,” Tori said, looking past Cass and me to the door.

  We turned. Nick—or rather, Monty—filled the doorway. He shuffled into the classroom waving a flipper. A few of the kids ran over to him, jumping up for a high five.

  “Monty, so good of you to stop by,” Tori said, standing up. “C’mon, guys, back in your seats. You can see him later.”

  Monty crossed his flippers, or at least tried to, and shook his head in protest. The kids laughed and instead of sitting down, a few more stood up and went over to him. Only Colby continued with his cereal collage.

  “Do something, they’re on the verge of being uncontrollable.” Tori looked between Wade and me. Wade focused on making his picture.

  “They’ve been cooped up all day, they’re entitled to a little anarchy,” I said.

  “Not here, not now,” Tori said.

  Cass stood up and clapped. “C’mon, guys, Monty has to save his energy for the dance party. I want to see those collages.”

  They reluctantly backed off. Monty grabbed Cass’s hand in his fin, pulled her to him, and dipped her back. She squealed, but smiled until he pulled her up.

  “Seriously, dude, watch the flippers,” she said, pulling away from him and straightening her T-shirt. Monty put his flipper up to his mouth and pretended to laugh. Tori escorted him to the door. Cass came back over to the table and flopped down in her chair.

  “I think I was just groped by a manatee.”

  I turned to her. “So, want to get together this weekend, maybe look for the next clue or . . . you know, whatever, just hang out?”

  “Um . . . like, the four of us?” Cass asked.

  No, just the two of us, me and you, you and me. Us. “Yeah, what do you think? Game, Wade?” I asked.

  “I’m working Friday night, but other than that, I’m in. Ha, done,” he said, pushing the construction paper away. He’d made a heart out of Apple Jacks and what looked like Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

  “Sounds good, then,” Cass said.

  Tori came back over to us. “Will this day never end?”

  Wade presented her with the picture.

  “For you, Tori, my heart in cereal form,” he said.

  Tori looked at the paper.

  Her face flushed pink. She opened her mouth but then walked away.

  For once, she had nothing to say.

  FIFTEEN

  CASSIDY

  “CASSIDY.”

  I jammed my eyes shut, ignoring the voice. One Saturday to sleep in, was that too much to ask?

  “Cass.”

  “Hunter, please, another hour at least.” I pulled the blanket over my head and faced the wall. For a second I thought it had worked and he’d left, but then I felt the foot of my bed depress as he sat down. He grasped my calf and shook. Couldn’t he give me a break? I pulled the covers back, ready to plead, and gasped.

  “Leslie?”

  She grimaced. “Cass, sorry to wake you, but I need your help.”

  I blinked a few times and looked at my alarm clock. Six thirty a.m.

  “What’s wrong?” As I started to wake and Leslie’s features came into focus, I could see she wasn’t her usual slicked-back-ponytailed self. Her hair was loose and slightly messy around her shoulders. She still wore her nightgown.

  “Your father went on a fishing trip—oh, shoot—” She covered her mouth, shot up from the bed, and raced to the small half bathroom right outside my door. Retching noises followed. I got up to see the damage.

  “Are you . . .” I didn’t have to finish because it was clear she was not okay. She was crouched down in the small space in front of the toilet bowl, pale and gasping. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She shook her head and heaved again.

  I got a washcloth from my room and soaked it in some cold running water, then crouched down and handed it to her. She dabbed the cloth on her forehead and cheeks before wiping her mouth. She smiled weakly.

  “Thanks. Sorry about that. I must have a stomach bug, I feel awful.” I helped her to standing and we went back to sit on my bed. I inched away from her; I did not want to catch whatever had made her retch like that.

  “I need you to make breakfast.”

  “For you?”

  “For the guests.”

  “What?”

  “I know this is a lot to ask; as soon as this passes I’ll be down to help you, but right now the thought of looking at food . . . I just can’t. Everything is ready for you—I made the muffin batter; you just have to pour it in the tins and bake, but you’ll have to mix up the blueberry pancakes and put out the fruit salad.” She put hand over her mouth and ran to the bathroom again.

  My brain was slowly beginning to process what Leslie had just asked and was about to push the panic button. Nice way to wake up.

  Cooking wasn’t the issue, that was a no-brainer—actually something I didn’t mind doing at all—but the interacting with a room full of strange adults freaked me the hell out. I’d seen both my dad and Leslie in action, and I did not have the perky, bullshitting, talk-about-the-local-points-of-interest thing down like they did. I stared at my rumpled blanket, the bed calling me back to dreamland. Leslie leaned against my doorframe. The race to the bathroom must have been a false alarm.

  “When do I need to start?”

  “Now—breakfast begins at seven thirty a.m. We don’t have a full house. It’s really just a matter of keeping everything replenished. Juice. Butter. Cream. Oh, no.” She cupped her hand over her mouth and ran back to the toilet.

  “Just go, um, do what you need to do. I
’ll get ready and head downstairs,” I called.

  I pulled on some shorts, grabbed a tee, threw my hair in a ponytail, and slipped into my flip-flops before heading downstairs. The smell of coffee greeted me. At least Leslie had been able to do that. I took a deep breath, trying to quiet the terrified voices in my head that said you will completely screw this up and forged onward.

  And since when did my father go fishing?

  The kitchen was set up for action. Coffee maker sputtering. Various glass cake stands and platters arranged with doilies waited to be filled. Thankfully there was also a to-do list on the counter next to the sink. The steps for a perfect morning at Ocean Whispers were all laid out for me.

  Piece of cake.

  I started with the strawberry muffins, spooning the batter into the tins and sliding them into the oven. The dry ingredients for the blueberry pancakes were already measured out, and I mixed them together in a larger bowl before getting the fruit to fold in. Everything was going smoothly.

  Then I opened the container of blueberries.

  They rolled into the batter in one clump. As I tried to fold them in I noticed they were all stuck together in a gray furry ball. I tried to pick some out, to salvage what I could, but the damage was done. My first impulse was to call Leslie. Then I realized giving her a description of rotting fruit pancakes would probably just send her on another vomiting spree. I put the batter to the side and took the fruit salad out of the fridge, trying to pull plan B out of my ass. Too bad it wasn’t a number on the to-do list.

  It was ten after seven. Twenty minutes until guests could possibly be downstairs, although why anyone in their right mind would get up that early on vacation was beyond me. The timer for the muffins went off and I took them out of the oven and set them on the wire rack to cool. Hunter came bounding into the kitchen. Did no one sleep in this place?

  “Bud, what are you doing up?”

  He looked at me as if that was the most ridiculous question anyone had ever asked. “Where’s Mom?”

  “She’s not feeling right, so I’m making breakfast.” Alone. All me. And I’m completely fucking it up.

  “Can I have some Apple Jacks then?”

  “No, I mean for everybody,” I said. He didn’t comprehend, just pulled out the chair and sat expectantly. A bowl of cereal wouldn’t set me back that much. I grabbed the box and bowl and poured, wondering if I put them in a large dish decorated with a doily if they could pass for a breakfast item. Hunter got himself the milk.