by Shey Stahl
The thing about these summers and that lake was how easy it was to lose track of time. One day turned into another, and that turned into another, and before you knew it, the seasons were changing again. I was learning to live for the days I had there.
July 2004
It was the first party I had ever been to, and the fact that I was at one with my sisters was somewhat annoying. I wanted to experience this on my own.
And while the party was fun, I mostly hung out with Ivey and Lenny, along with a few other girls she knew from school who came up here during the summer.
I watched your boys. Grayden had his arm around Hadley a few times, Stephanie once or twice, and then Sadie. Grayden was a player and easy to peg—even for a fourteen-year-old girl.
Austin was different. Southern charm, sure, but his eyes were on one girl and one girl only. Natalie Wheeler. Everyone there could see they were together, but it was never defined. And that gave Ivey a little hope.
Then there was you. Still the hotheaded leader, that was evident in the way you walked around, standing taller, standing alone most of the time. You wouldn’t be caught dead with your arm around anyone or her hand in yours. At least not here.
Too bad that didn’t go for your lips, too.
It was nearing midnight when Sadie came up to me and said that Dad was on his way to Aunt Megs’s house. I knew what that meant. We had to get home.
Sadie threw her curly mess of hair into a ponytail as she waited for Stephanie. “What the fuck is taking her so long? If Daddy catches us, we’re screwed.”
Frantically looking around for her, my eyes caught her in the distance, with you, kissing you. Though you didn’t look completely into it, you were still kissing her, with your hands against the side of the barn, and your body leaned in.
Having no claim to you, I couldn’t understand why I felt something when I saw that. You were a friend to me, but more than that … no, I couldn’t say you were or ever would be.
Soon enough Stephanie came out of the barn to stand beside Sadie and me, sprayed perfume on her cleavage, and then smiled at us. “I’ll be out late. Don’t tell Daddy where I’m at.”
I looked up at you, leaning against the side of the barn, waiting for her, and the moment was written all over your face. You never wanted me to see you. It was clear. Ashamed, maybe, but more so that you’d been caught and not that you’d done it in the first place.
“Stephanie, Dad is on his way home,” Sadie tried to reason with her.
Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Tell him I’m staying at Ivey’s house. What’s the big deal?” She was such a snob. Always had been. She acted like Ivey was her friend. I could feel her pride; she was the chosen one for the night, to be used anyway. I was young, but I knew. I felt stuck, the kind of stuck that had me wanting to put my fist through the wall, but the signal from my brain never came.
But the words, “big deal” came to mind, again.
The big deal? There was a lot of “big deals” in that situation. Not to mention Ivey was my friend, and she knew I was hanging around you as well. I felt like she was walking on my territory. I felt like she was just trying to prove something with you. Why she felt the need to kiss you wasn’t what really bothered me. That was a lie, but I refused to admit it, so I settled on the obvious.
“Ivey’s my friend, not yours, Stephanie. Dad will never believe you.”
“So? Dad doesn’t know that. Tell him anything you want. I don’t care.”
I felt somewhat ashamed that I would feel jealous that you were hanging out with my sister, but I did feel something.
Maybe it was sadness, a little rejection, stabbing pains I didn’t understand at the time.
When she came home, late, I pressed my ear to the wall of their room to hear her talking to Sadie. Stephanie would tell her anything she wanted to know, and naturally, she wanted to know.
“That boy has some pent up frustrations for sure. Oh my God!”
And then, “I thought he was with Hadley?” I could hear Sadie giggle.
“Apparently she’s not enough for him.”
Disappointed that you were with her, I was hurt. It hurt. It was hot and cold and massive. The kind of hurt I didn’t understand, but the kind I felt. It was like being burned by something so hot you thought it was cold. There were so many thoughts in my head. Mostly ones I didn’t understand, but still, they were there.
Did you ever think about something so often that every thought you had was about that? It was so consuming that your mind constantly related everything to it. Like being in love—every song, every couple, related to that feeling you had.
I did that with everything after I met you and Ivey, and now with the look on your face when you left with Stephanie. The weather, music, nothing was the same. Time passed differently, seasons changed, life looked and felt different.
Why did you look at me that way when you left? Was it an apology?
You never said anything to me, but I felt it; there was a definite change in our relationship that night.
And it forever changed my relationship with Stephanie because she knew there was something there between you and me. Maybe it was just a friendship, but she knew, and she stepped over the line like it wasn’t even there.
July 2004
I left the thoughts alone for the time being. Stephanie never said a word about it to me, and the only reason I knew was from hearing her talk to Sadie. The next day she left the lake and never came back. I was glad because I just couldn’t get past that night and what she did.
It wasn’t but a few days later and a truck showed up in your driveway. You and Brady stood around it, looking over it.
With a towel and my bikini on, I headed over, ready to get Ivey so we could go over to Sunset Cove with Stephanie.
“Hey pretty girl,” you said, a nod in my direction and then one over to the truck, your eyes waggling.
“That’s cool you got a truck.” Looking over the 1956 Ford F250, I had to laugh that you were so proud of it. For someone who had never shown much excitement, you sure did for that truck. “Did your parents buy it for you?”
“No. I bought it myself.” You laughed, again looking over at the truck with its rounded fenders and better days. Though it was in good condition, it surprised me to see you in a truck that old. I would have expected something brand new. “He wouldn’t help me even if I asked him. It wasn’t his choice of car so he said I was on my own. My dad wanted me to get a Jeep or a car, whatever; I saw this and couldn’t help it. With a little care, it’s just as reliable as a fucking Jeep.” You kicked at the tire, rust fluttered to the rocks. Then with a reluctant look, a glimpse into yourself you’d never shown before, you asked, “Wanna go for the first ride?”
“No one has ridden in it yet?” There was no denying my eagerness.
“Nope, only Brady.” Your eyes found mine, and they seemed honest. “No girls yet.”
Again, there was no denying my excitement.
“You wanna go?”
Ivey looked out the window holding up her finger, signaling she’d be down in a minute. “I can’t. I’m going with Ivey and Stephanie to Sunset Cove today.”
“Me too … it’ll only take a minute.”
“You’re going, too?” You nodded. “Since when?”
“Since my mom told Ivey she couldn’t go without the boys.”
“And the boys would be?”
You laughed, throwing your keys up in the air. “Come for a ride with me … sweet Sophie.”
I rolled my eyes at you, only to have you smile and open the passenger door, tipping your head and resting your cheek against the doorframe. My doubts left me, and I went for it. How often would someone like you ask me to ride in your car? Surely Ivey would understand.
She came out on the porch, her bag in hand, smiling at me. She must have known and winked, taking a seat on the porch swing, finding her phone entirely too interesting.
Such a good friend.
“Do you thin
k it might need a paint job?” I asked once I was inside, looking over all the rusty metal and chipped teal edges. You heard me as you walked around the front of the truck, watching, your confident grin gave way to a nod and a shrug.
“No.” Running your fingers down the front fender, a light touch meant to be sensual, you smiled. “It’s pure. In its original form. No one has ever touched it. There’s something special about that.”
Talk about mixed meanings.
You winked at me again, nudging my ribs with your elbow when you got in. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you want me to.” You grinned.
I wanted to jump you right then and there.
You had your iPod connected to the makeshift stereo that didn’t come in a 1956 Ford, and I wasn’t sure either one of us could hear it over the rumble of that 460. I wasn’t a country fan, but the more I hung around you, the more I was sneaking over to the Southern side of Tim McGraw and “Down On The Farm.”
To get to you, I changed the playlist to the one I created for you called “Gray-Blue.”
You smiled when “The Way You Move” flowed through the dusty cab, a bass thumping softly I felt it in my heart.
I heard Grayden’s truck behind us before I saw it. After all, there were no mirrors in your truck. Grayden got his truck in the spring—a brand new Ford F250, lifted. I thought it represented his personality perfectly. Flashy, superficial, was above everyone else.
But then there was you, and this truck, and the hidden meanings in everything from the fading paint to the bare essentials. It was you.
Grayden revved up beside you, taunting in his howling diesel. He was screaming something we couldn’t hear but laughed anyway. The roads around the lake were windy and not meant for side-by-side driving so you sped up, shifting up a gear. I watched you, the control you had and the way your strong arms maneuvered the steering wheel. I wondered if Sadie had felt those arms wrapped around her and what it must have felt like. Did she reach out and touch the soft hairs on your arms like I wanted to or run her hands up them feeling every indentation?
Okay, what was wrong with me? I asked myself that a lot, because speeding down those country roads with your cousin taunting you was when I first thought about your hands on me. Must have been the adrenaline.
And I blamed us barreling into a ditch on your adrenaline, too.
It caught me off guard, my face hitting the dash and my hot cheek quickly turning pink and then purple. All was forgotten because you were frantically reminding me I should have been wearing a seatbelt, and spewing words and apologies about how I constantly got hurt by you.
None of that mattered. Your hands and arms were wrapped around me, pushing tear-soaked hair from my face and capturing my stare.
“It’s okay,” I said, gaining some control over my tears. My mind may have been elsewhere, but the truth was, it hurt, and I wasn’t completely convinced that I hadn’t broken a bone in my face.
“My dad is gonna kill me.” I laughed, bringing my fingers to the sensitive skin. Pebbled and hot, I knew there’d be a mark. Coming around the side of the truck, we realized there was no getting it out without help. “And we’re stuck in mud.”
Grayden left to get your dad, an idea you weren’t a fan of, but it had to be done.
“Great.” You rolled your eyes, laughter breaking through your riled mood. “Look at me trying to impress gray-blue and getting us stuck. And breaking your pretty face.” You were laughing so hard you had to put your hand over your stomach, your head shaking back and forth. “I’m sorry.”
We were trying to push your truck out of the mud, only my shoe got sucked in. “My shoe is gone.” I laughed, pointing to the mud where the tire was, along with my shoe. “And I’m still pretty.”
You were the only boy besides my dad that called me pretty, and I would be lying if I said it didn’t make me feel that way when you said it.
“You’re still pretty,” you agreed, trying to get my shoe out, but there was no way. Shrugging, you looked back at me, turning around and walking toward me, eyes on mine while you said, “It’s stuck. I’ll get you a new pair.” And I didn’t doubt that you would. “I am, however, concerned about this.” You gestured again to the left side of your truck stuck in that thick Georgia mud. “And your face. Fucking Grayden.”
“Uh, if you weren’t trying to race him, this wouldn’t have happened,” I pointed out, giving you a smile.
I was met with an eye roll. Wiping your dirty hands on your jeans, you took your shoes off and set them in the mud next to mine. Brand new Nike shoes destroyed. “There, now neither of us have shoes.” You shrugged, a careless look washed over you. “They’re just shoes, little girl.”
I sighed, hating that you called me ‘little girl’ again. “You’re dumb. And that was dumb.”
“No.” You took my muddy foot and wiped the mud on your shirt, as much as you could, and then bent down so I could hop on your back. “Hop on.”
Leaning my chin on your shoulder as you walked, I took in the scar on your neck. It looked like someone stabbed you. “What happened?” My fingers lightly touched the raised skin running over the clean line.
“First summer we came out here, I was, what, like thirteen?” You smiled, the thought amusing to you. “Bryan pushed me off the rope swing, and I landed on a stick.”
“In your neck?”
“Yeah.” You laughed. “Hurt too. Sixteen staples and one surgery to get the stick out.”
“Damn, you could have died!”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” You were downplaying it, but even from the side, there was a look in your expression showing you knew how bad it could have been. “It wasn’t that bad.”
This was the first story I heard of Bryan, and it got me curious about your relationship with him. Ivey didn’t talk much of him and neither did you or Brady.
“Do you still talk to Bryan?”
“Nope. He left in December—when he turned eighteen—for the military, and we haven’t really heard from him since. He came home on leave, but I was in Jacksonville with Jesser and Grayden.”
“You didn’t want to see him?”
You shrugged, adjusting your hold on my legs, hands slipping slightly on the mud that was caked on us from struggling with that tire. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see him. Bryan is the good kid, like Brady, or even Ivey. I’m the kid that’s constantly fucking up. The one parents wish would just get his shit together but never really does.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you that way?” I wasn’t accusing, and I though the only reason you answered was because you knew that I was only curious.
“Why should I be any other way? The only reason they want me to do good by them is for status. They don’t want me fuckin’ up because it looks bad on them.”
“So you’re that way for you?”
“No, shit’s complicated, and you’re a kid. Leave it that way.” You looked over your shoulder at me, your cheek brushing against mine. “How’s your face?”
“It’s fine.” I was confused and wiggled my way off your back to walk beside you. “What do you mean by complicated?”
Clearly frustrated that I was asking, your hands went in your hair and your attention to the dirt road. You looked over your shoulder and sighed. “Where the hell is Grayden?”
“I wasn’t trying to be mean. Just curious.”
“I know. I just … they want me to be Bensen Cole, the little boy they had big dreams for, but that was their vision, not mine. I’m not sayin’ I wanna be a bum or anything, but I want a chance to decide for myself. It’s never really been that way for me. Not when your dad is Robbie Cole and owns CC.”
There were signs everywhere in North Georgia for the buildings being contracted by Cole Construction. They had their hands in everything. With that, came expectations for you I didn’t see. And maybe even Bryan.
“Is that why Bryan left?”
“Part of it. He’d ne
ver admit to it. Like I said, he’s the good kid. But he joined the military instead of following in Dad’s way. That should tell you somethin’.”
And it did. It told me a lot about the Cole boys.
August 2004
I got in a lot of trouble over that ditch and your truck. I wasn’t supposed to be in it, which I knew, and my dad found out. There was a good two weeks when he kept me from going over to see Ivey, but eventually my mom convinced him to ease up.
It was a hot day, the sun blinding, and the only relief was the lake. On the dock, you were sitting beside me while Ivey went up to get the chicken wings and pasta salad your mom had made. Suddenly, the simple conversation turned to kissing—something I had never done.
“Have you ever been kissed?” you asked, your attention mostly on the slivers of the dock we were picking at. For a brief moment, you took in my face, stunned-stupid with shock that you would ask me that. You didn’t know it, but I could see the color to your cheeks, an indication it was a question to which you didn’t want the answer.
“Yeah.” It was such a big lie for me that I couldn’t look at you. My eyes left yours for the water, as I was about to swallow my tongue at where the conversation had suddenly shifted. I tried really hard not to let you know how embarrassed I was, trying to breathe calmly.
Play it cool, I told myself.
“By a boy?” Your question came out with a laugh, leaning on your arms as they propped you up, body relaxed.
“Well, yeah.” You knew I was lying. Trying to show you I was comfortable, though I wasn’t, I leaned back on my arms, looking down at my bare stomach.
“Sure you have.” There was a sarcasm I didn’t appreciate, and you knew it. Looking over at me, you also looked down at my bare stomach and then my chest. “You’re a baby. I bet no one’s touched you, ever. Have they, pretty girl?”
“Shut up,” I said, giving your shoulder a push. “It’s none of your business anyway.”
