The Moon and More(24)
Author: Sarah Dessen

Unlike Luke, who was now suddenly behind me, his hands sliding down over my shoulders. “What are you guys doing over here, looking so serious?” he asked. “Contemplating the universe?”

I glanced at Morris, who was downing the last of his beer. “Sort of.”

“Screw the universe,” he said. “I’m just checking out the ocean.”

Luke guffawed, then plopped down next to me and pulled me into his arms. I knew he was buzzed and just being sweet, but like too often lately, it grated; he’d come at the wrong moment. I tried to shake this off as Morris got to his feet.

“Getting a refill,” he announced. He looked at me. “You need one?”

I shook my head. “Talk later?”

“Talk later,” he repeated.

It was what we had always said, our version of goodbye, going all the way back to the days when he lived next door. Back then, when we were kids and time was long, we spent just about every day together— riding the bus to school, coming home, then playing by the causeway behind our houses. More often than not, he’d then end up at our house for dinner and TV afterwards, leaving only when it was time for me to go to bed. But as he finally went out the door, walking the short distance across the grass to his rental house, it was never a full stop. More like a pause, until we started up the next day. Talk later. We always did.

Now he nodded, then was gone, loping across the sand. As I watched him go, Luke pulled me in even closer and kissed the back of my head. “You did look pretty serious over here. Everything okay?”

“I guess.” I picked at a piece of driftwood by my foot. “Just kind of freaked about my dad and everything, still.”

“Right.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I know it’s weird. But the fact that he did tell you . . . it’s kind of cool. Like he’s, you know, letting you in.”

I felt myself blink, processing this. “Into what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. His life, his marriage. I mean, that’s progress in some way, don’t you think? That after pulling away like he did, he wants to include you now?”

No, I thought. Out loud I said, “Maybe.”

It was so different from what Morris had said, the complete opposite in fact, that I wanted him to explain himself. But then he was sliding his hands around my waist, over the small of my back, kissing my neck again. “My parents are out tonight,” he said into my collarbone. “Want to see if we can get busted at my place this time?”

It was a fair offer, one I most likely would have jumped at any other day. But now, it just felt off. Sometimes I thought Luke knew me better than anyone. This wasn’t one of them.

“Maybe,” I said again, leaving all of my doubt to hover in this one word between us. I didn’t know if he heard me or not, as the wind was picking up, carrying voices from behind us with it. There were so many sounds near the ocean. Water, air, even sand blowing. As you got farther inland, nature subsided, muted by concrete and the landscape. Here on the Tip, though, you could always count on it to drown just about anything out.

*   *   *

Of course, Luke’s parents didn’t catch us. He had always been the lucky one.

I was heading home just after midnight when my gas light came on. Now I’d be late for curfew for sure, I thought, as I turned into the Gas/Gro. I’d just started filling up when a dusty, dented pickup pulled up to the other side of the pump. The door creaked open and an older guy with graying hair, wearing a worn baseball cap that simply said FISH, climbed out.

It was one of those hot summer nights, with a breeze that didn’t even come close to cooling you off, even when it hit you right in the face. Inside the Gas/Gro, the attendant had his cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he stocked cigarettes, sliding in one box at a time.

When my pump read twenty bucks, I slowed it down, watching the numbers carefully so I wouldn’t go over what I had in my pocket. In my peripheral vision, I saw the guy slide his credit card, then twist off his gas cap. He started filling up as well, and for a moment we just stood there, the only sound the ticking of gallons and dollars going in.

“Hey, Clyde,” I finally said.

He glanced up. “Emaline. How’s it going?”

I nodded for my answer and we were silent for another minute or so. Then I said, “You know there’s some people down here shooting a documentary about you, right?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the pump. “I believe I have ignored some phone messages to that effect.”

“They seem pretty persistent.”

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

When I hit twenty-five bucks, I stopped pumping and replaced my gas cap. As I did so, I looked at Clyde, who was as much an institution in Colby as the pier and the bacon at the Last Chance Café. He’d grown up in Colby, worked doing maintenance for my grandmother in the summers, ran a framing crew my dad was on in high school. I’d met him hanging around the bike shop by Clementine’s, which he owned and had run until a couple of years earlier. He was recognized and referred to by all of us, and yet nobody really knew him that well, which was just the way he’d liked it since he moved back from New York about ten years ago.

On my way in to pay, he nodded at me, and I waved. From inside, I watched him climb into his truck, crank it up, and pull onto the main road. Maybe he was going back to the sound-side house where he lived, or to check on the Washroom, the all-night Laundromat/café he owned. Whatever it was, though, it was his business.

That’s what Theo didn’t understand, what I couldn’t tell him when he first starting asking me questions. It was one thing for all of us here to wonder about Clyde, speculate what his story might be. This was a small town, and that’s what people did. When someone from outside started prodding around, though, it was different. This was the coast. We understood about secrets. And Clyde’s, whatever they might be, would always be safe with us.

6

“OH MY GOD. Look at that.”

There was an appreciative murmur. “Oooh, the scenery here just keeps getting better and better!”

“Melissa, the beach is in the other direction!”

With that, the four girls gathered at the check-in desk burst into loud, squealing giggles. I was pretty sure I knew what they were gawking at, but just to be sure, I glanced out the window. Sure enough, there was Luke, moving some stuff around in his truck bed in the parking lot, shirtless.