For Lila, Forever

by Winter Renshaw

  “I know.”

  She smirks, her eyes glassy. “All right. Now get going.”

  I hurry out the back door and trek through the lush green lawn toward the dock, passing The Bertram along the way, where a trail of younger-sounding voices in the wind tell me they must be back from sailing.

  Keeping my eyes forward and my head down, I keep walking, focused and undeterred.

  “Lila!” a voice calls for me. “Lila, hey, wait up!”

  I glance back and spot Thayer jogging down the porch steps and toward me. His hair is wind-swept and the bridge of his nose is a shade darker than it was at lunchtime. He’s wearing dusty red chino shorts and a white polo and belongs on the cover of a Lands’ End catalog.

  “Hi,” I say.

  His eyes hold mine. “What are you doing?”

  “Working.”

  For a split second, I glance over his shoulder, toward The Bertram’s porch, and catch Ashlan watching us like a hawk as she twirls her dark hair around one finger.

  “What are you doing … later?” he smiles.

  “I really have to go.” I turn and take a few more steps, only a couple of seconds later, his arm hooks the bend of my elbow and he leads me behind the little white machine shed, out of sight from any prying eyes.

  “We’re having another bonfire tonight,” he says. “Ashlan brought a bottle of Grey Goose. Could be fun ...”

  For a moment, I try to imagine myself sitting around a fire with the four of them … but I can’t.

  I’d rather wash my hair, I think.

  “You don’t have to drink. You can just sit around and watch Westley make a fool of himself if you want ...” he winks.

  “I’ll pass. But thank you. And I reallllly need to go.”

  “You didn’t look at me once at breakfast,” he says. “And I tried to say hi to you at lunch and you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

  “I was working ...”

  “No. It wasn’t that. It’s something else.”

  I scoff. “And you know that because you’re psychic?”

  “We had a nice talk last night. Or at least I thought we did. And then you went all cold on me today. I don’t know what’s up or down with you, Lila. I have no idea what you think of me.” His jaw flexes and his eyes flash intense as he leans in. “And it drives me insane ...”

  His breath is warm against my ear, sending a wave of tingles down my back.

  Clearing my throat and straightening my shoulders, I glance into his eyes and say, “That makes two of us, because I don’t know what I think of you either.”

  Neither of us says a word. I don’t think I could if I tried.

  Everything is racing: my mind, my heart, the goosebumps traveling across my skin.

  I fight like hell to compose myself so I can tell him for the third time that I need to get going—but the second my lips part, they’re claimed by his.

  Full and soft, his mouth covers mine as his hand cups the side of my face and his fingers hook around the back of my neck. I’m pressed up against the side of the shed now, my body melting and knees threatening to give out. When our tongues meet, I taste sweet spearmint and when I breathe him in, my lungs fill with his cedar cologne and a mix of fresh salt air.

  I let him kiss me.

  I let myself have this moment.

  I let myself go a few endless moments without worrying, without overthinking, without second-guessing.

  And then it’s over.

  Thayer removes his mouth from mine, though his hand still lingers at my jaw and his thumb traces my swollen lower lip.

  “Does that help?” he asks. “What do you think of me now?”

  “Lila!” my grandfather calls my name from the direction of the dock, and the beeping of a boat horn follows. “Lila!”

  “I have to go,” I tell Thayer, leaving him answer-less as I jog toward the dock.

  A man in jeans and a dingy t-shirt is unloading boxes, and my grandfather is placing them in a crate attached to a four-wheeler. The boxes keep coming and coming, and I’m guessing this will take several trips. It takes a lot of food to feed almost a dozen grown adults three full-course meals a day.

  I get to the dock and pray my lips aren’t red and the awestruck expression has left my face, and my prayers are answered when my grandpa hands me a box of groceries and turns to talk to the delivery man.

  When the first load is packed, Grandpa drives it back to The Bertram, leaving me on the dock to wait for him. Alone. With my noisy thoughts and lips still burning from that kiss that ended way too soon and left me wanting more.

  It was easier when I could deny the way I felt toward Thayer, when I could deny the blossoming crush and ignore the butterflies and chase those thoughts away like pesky gnats.

  But there’s no denying I’m attracted to him, to his kindness and his stormy blue eyes and the way he says all the right things at all the right moments.

  And then he had to go and kiss me, the bastard.

  I take a seat on the edge of the dock, crossing my legs beneath me and watching the ripples on the water.

  Screw it.

  I like him.

  I like him a lot.

  Chapter 9

  Thayer

  It’s half past eleven when I check my watch. I’m not sure why I didn’t give up hope hours ago. It’s not like she’s going to magically emerge from the darkness that surrounds us and join our stupid little bonfire.

  My head is dizzy and despite the fact that I’ve had an ungodly equivalent of vodka shots, I swear I can still taste her—spicy like cinnamon gum and its signature burn followed by sweetness.

  Fitting.

  “Thayer, do you remember when we snuck out of our dorm after curfew last year?” Ashlan asks with slurred words as she sways by the fire, a near-empty bottle of Grey Goose in her hand. Out of all of us, she’s hit it the hardest tonight, which isn’t like her. “And do you remember when campus police chased us on their bikes and we hid behind those statues outside the library?”

  “Yep ...”

  She takes a swig before walking the bottle over to me.

  “No thanks,” I wave it off.

  She collapses on her knees in front of me, motioning for me to scoot over on my sand-covered blanket.

  “Fine,” she says, crawling into my lap.

  She didn’t even give me time to move …

  “I’m so glad we picked the same school,” she says, leaning against me. “It’s almost like it was fate or something.”

  More like it was Ashlan being obsessed with me.

  Ever since we turned sixteen, something changed in her. She got clingier. Called more. Texted more. Followed me around more. When we were heading into our senior years, she found out through her mother that my first pick was Yale and that I was thinking pre-law, and magically she went from wanting to be a kindergarten teacher to wanting to be a lawyer.

  Every girlfriend I had, every female friend or person of the opposite sex who so much as looked at me in a certain way always had her to contend with. She would always criticize them under the guise of “trying to protect me from crazy bitches,” but I always saw through it.

  It’s only gotten worse since we went to college.

  She made sure her dorm was in the same building as mine, and in addition to that, she made sure we had at least half of our classes together. I tried talking to my mom about it once, but she waved it off, saying I was reading into things too much and that I should be grateful to have a familiar face around.

  I’ve made it clear to Ashlan on several occasions that I think of her as a sister, that I would never date her, but if anything, I think it only made her that much more determined to get what she wants—me.

  I gave her a roadblock.

  She saw a challenge and readily accepted it.

  “Ashlan, get off me,” I say, giving her a gentle nudge.

  She slides off my lap and cozies up beside me, taking another swig from the bottle.

  “As
h, maybe you should stop,” Westley says. “You’re going to feel like shit tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to look like shit too,” Whitley adds. “And then everyone will know we were drinking.”

  “It’s nothing sunglasses and Advil can’t fix,” Ashlan says with a giggle before crawling onto her hands and knees like a damn animal.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Whitley asks.

  For the first time, it’s not Westley making a fool of himself, and without any of us saying another word, I can almost feel the collective embarrassment for our friend.

  Ashlan begins to say something, only to suddenly slap her hand across her mouth and scramble to get up. In her drunken haste, she trips, falling into the sand as she tries to get away.

  “I think she’s going to throw up,” Whitley says, waving her hands and looking like she’s going to be sick herself. “I can’t. I can’t deal with puke. One of you guys needs to take this one.”

  I get up and go to her, helping her up as she dry heaves, and with my arm around her, I lead her several yards away and hold her hair back as the liquid contents of her stomach splatter against the beach grass at her feet.

  When she’s done, she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and turns toward me, though she won’t look me in the eye.

  “Got a little carried away tonight, I guess,” she slurs, eyes half-open like she’s about to pass out.

  “Let’s get you back to the house.” I can’t leave her like this. It wouldn’t be right.

  With my arm around her, I walk us past the bonfire and tell the twins I’m taking her to her room, and then we begin the half-mile stumbling trek back up the cliff.

  She throws up twice more on the way.

  “What would I do without you?” she asks, her arm hooked around my waist as we get closer to The Caldecott.

  I take her in the back door and immediately dread the three flights of stairs it’s going to take to get her to the guest room.

  “You’re my best friend, Thayer,” she says.

  “Shhh ...” I’d hate to wake my aunt and uncle.

  By the grace of God, I manage to get her to her room a few minutes later, and I help her climb into bed. I flick on the light to her bathroom in case she needs to see in the middle of the night, and then I tell her goodnight.

  “Love you,” she calls out as I leave. She says it the way a friend would say it to another friend who just did them a solid, but I know better.

  I say nothing in reply—I tiptoe down the hall, down the three flights of stairs, and head back to my house in the dark, stealing a passing glance at The Hilliard on the way.

  Tonight would’ve been so much better had Lila shown up.

  Chapter 10

  Lila

  I toss and turn for hours before deciding to face my insomnia head on. For whatever reason, sleep isn’t coming easily to me tonight, so I tiptoe to the kitchen and make myself a cup of chamomile tea before heading to the front porch.

  Rose Crossing was hit with a heat wave this week, so the cool evenings I’ve been growing accustomed to have now become stuffy and insufferable. Not even an open window helps.

  Curled up in the white rocking chair, I sip my tea, knees against my chest, and take in my midnight surroundings.

  Thayer invited me to another bonfire tonight, but that was before he kissed me, and we didn’t have a chance to talk again after that. The last thing I want is to look like I’m becoming smitten with him, even if I am. I don’t want to seem desperate or like I suddenly changed my mind all because of a kiss behind a shed (even if it was one of the best kisses of my entire life).

  I was floating for a moment, lighter than air.

  Yesterday didn’t exist. Tomorrow wasn’t so much as a thought in my head. It was just us, in that moment, and it was divine.

  The sound of voices interrupt my quietude, and I peer ahead in the distance to see the outline of two figures stumbling toward the houses. The closer they get, the more I’m able to make them out, and within seconds I realize it’s Thayer and Ashlan.

  I can’t hear what they’re saying over the crash of the ocean waves that surround the island, but I don’t need to.

  His arm is around her shoulders.

  Her arm is around his waist.

  They’re glued at the hip.

  And they’re heading to The Caldecott.

  My stomach sinks, and I know I shouldn’t watch, but I can’t help myself. I’m frozen in my rocking chair, my tea growing colder by the second, and I watch as they go in through the back door.

  A minute or so later, the light to her room flicks on, though the curtains are drawn. A minute after that, the light goes out.

  Everything stings: my eyes, my chest, my ego.

  I go back inside. I can’t watch any longer.

  I’m such an idiot.

  Chapter 11

  Thayer

  It’s mid-morning when I wake on Tuesday. My tongue feels like sandpaper and my head is pounding. The daylight pouring in from my open windows damn near burns my eyes, but I fight through it and make my way to the bathroom to shower.

  I’m sure my absence at the breakfast table this morning will raise some questions and earn me a Spanish Inquisition from my parents, but I’ll just say I stayed up late and wanted to get some extra sleep. With Ashlan’s arrival, they won’t think twice about it. They’ll think we chatted all night, catching up like old friends who didn’t just see each other less than two weeks ago at college.

  I run the shower and toss my clothes in the hamper before grabbing my phone off the nightstand. We might not have cell service out here, but at least I can still listen to music. I shut the door, tap my playlist, and The Killer’s Spaceman begins to play before I step under the hot shower spray.

  When I’m finished, I step out and secure a towel around my waist, my headache beginning to subside. My mind begins to wander to Lila.

  I kissed her yesterday behind the shed, after she said she didn’t know how she felt about me. What she was really saying was that she liked me and she didn’t know how she felt about that.

  I don’t know what came over me, but the next thing I knew, my mouth was on hers and my hands were in her hair and when it was over, she was looking at me in a whole new light.

  We’re playing with fire, I know. But I can’t help myself.

  She’s an enigma.

  A puzzle I want to solve.

  A code I need to crack.

  I’ve never met anyone like her. She doesn’t throw herself at me. She makes me work like hell for an ounce of her attention. She’s smart-mouthed and sassy, independent and stronger than most people would be given her current life situation. And then there’s her beauty, which is nothing more than a bonus.

  I’ve seen a thousand beautiful girls before and there’s certainly no shortage of them at school, but Lila has what all of the other girls don’t—a personality.

  I brush my teeth and step out of the steamy bathroom, my phone now blasting Modest Mouse’s Missed the Boat. I’m two steps into my room when I stop in my tracks.

  Lila’s in my room, making my bed.

  Her back is to me and there are earbuds in her ears.

  I watch as she fluffs my pillows and tucks the corners of my quilt under the mattress, and when she finally realizes I’m standing in the doorway of the en suite, she gasps and yanks her earbuds out.

  “You scared me.” Her hand rests on her chest for a second before she shuts off her music. “I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “You didn’t hear my music?” I point behind me.

  She lifts the cord of her earbuds.

  “I’m almost finished,” she says, turning away and grabbing a feather duster from her cleaning caddy. “Let me know when you’re done in the bathroom so I can get out of your hair.”

  I linger for a second, my hand hooked on the back of my neck.

  I want to talk about the kiss yesterday … and the question she didn’t have a chance to answer. />
  “Lila … about yesterday,” I say.

  She whips around to look at me, brows lifted. “You don’t have to say anything. I know it was a mistake. I’m perfectly capable of acting like it didn’t happen.”

  “No. That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m saying.”

  She dusts my nightstand and lampshade before moving to the writing desk in the corner that once belonged to my grandmother.

  “I’m confused,” I say. “You kissed me back. I thought ...”

  “You thought I liked it?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “I mean, you’re not a bad kisser if that’s what you’re getting at. So congrats on that.”

  God, she’s a smartass.

  “I’m not fishing for compliments, Lila.” I massage the back of my neck, watching her work her way around the rest of my room. “You didn’t answer my question yesterday.”

  Her adorable little nose crinkles. “You’re still hung up on that?”

  “Yeah. I am.” I fold my arms across my bare chest.

  “That’s the problem these days. Everyone is so obsessed with what other people think of them,” she says, shaking her feather duster. “It’s really restrictive, you know? You end up living your life for other people and not for yourself, and that’s no way to live.”

  She turns to dust a bookshelf.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it,” I say. “But if you’d like, I’d be happy to tell you what I think of you.”

  She says nothing as she continues to clean.

  “You’re fascinating and baffling—but in the best kind of way. I think about you way more than I should.” I make my way to the dresser in the corner, grabbing a few things from drawers. “And I’d love to get to know you better. That’s what I think of you.”

  She stands frozen, unmoving, her back still to me.

  And then I return to the bathroom to get dressed. When I come out a few minutes later, she’s gone.