“The Tates know what they’re doing,” Ashley insists. “They’ve been farming that land for generations.”
It’s all I can do not to roll my eyes. But I’m not spoiling for a fight with my best friend. I’ve been angling for reconciliation. So I keep my mouth shut and focus instead on distracting the twins while Ashley gathers up the toys they’ve tossed in the grass and shoulders the oversized diaper bag. She’s such a natural it almost makes me feel uncomfortable. Ash could be a mother at nineteen.
“Thanks again for lunch,” I say.
“Not sure fries and a shake count as lunch.” Ashley smirks. “But you’re welcome. I’ll pick you up on Friday at five. And, for the record, you’re in charge of sleeping bags, lawn chairs, and firewood. Don’t forget to check the email with food assignments. I think you’re on for breakfast on Saturday.”
I nod like I’m taking careful mental notes, but I’m thinking about the Murphys. About the battles we choose—and the ones that pick us.
* * *
It’s a bittersweet weekend, heavy with a sense of finality. The sky is so blue it hurts to look directly at it, and in the morning the horizon is studded with tufts of white clouds whipped stiff as heavy cream. It’s hot in the sun but cool in the shade, and I live in my swimming suit with a long, loose-knit sweater thrown over top. By the time Saturday evening rolls around, my skin is the color of cream soda and my hair is frothy with sun-bleached streaks to match. I smooth Ashley’s expensive body cream onto my shoulders and carry the scent of coconut and driftwood with me wherever I go.
I don’t often think about missing this little corner of Iowa, but days like this make me feel nostalgic for something I haven’t yet lost. Or maybe I never had it? I can’t quite decide why I’m so conflicted about this community and my place in it, but it might have something to do with the fact that it’s filled with so many contradictions.
Now, in the dusky haze of a couple of days spent in the sun and water, everyone is just a little short, nerves exposed. Who we are is less artfully hidden because the veneer has been buffed away by sand and a bit too much time together. Ashley’s forlorn, Jonathan is distracted. I can guess what’s troubling him, but it doesn’t make me feel any better to know the source of his sadness. Callum’s sunburnt, Phil’s hungover, Lexi’s sour all the time. There are just over twenty of us spread over six campsites in a collection of tents, tent trailers, and one Suburban where Jeff and Blake are sleeping on the benches. To a person, we’re done.
“Let’s go home,” I tell Jonathan when I catch him heading off toward the bathhouse alone.
He doesn’t even glance at me as I hurry to match his long strides. “This is our party, June.”
“Not really. It’s an excuse to get together and you know it. Has anyone said happy birthday to you?”
“My birthday is long past.”
“It’s not about that.” I snag his arm, and he finally stops to face me. “Come on. It’s been fun, but I want to go home. I think you do, too.”
“You’re welcome to go.”
I study my brother for a long moment, taking in the beachy sweep of his dark hair, the warm glow of his skin. His eyes are bright but hard somehow, and they don’t crinkle at the corners like they usually do when he looks at me. It makes me sad.
“What’s going on?” I ask him. “What happened to you this summer?”
Jonathan sighs. He passes his hand over his face, and when he’s done it looks as if he’s drawn his mouth down farther still. It’s a trick that should end with a reversal, with his hand sweeping everything up into the grin I know so well, but he just stares at me like his heart is breaking. I rise onto my tiptoes and wrap my arms around his neck. When Jonathan hugs me back, he shudders. I’m afraid that he’s crying, but after a few seconds he steps back and gives the end of my ponytail a tug. His eyes are dry.
“I’m okay, Junebug. I’ll be just fine.”
“Why won’t you confide in me?” I can’t keep the hurt out of my voice.
“I’m not trying to keep you out. It’s just…” He puts his hands on his hips and looks over my shoulder to where the moon has drawn a wavy line across the water. “I need some time.”
“Time to what?”
“Figure a few things out.”
“Is this about Cal and Beth?”
He lifts one shoulder. “In a way. But there’s more to it, June. I just can’t share it with you right now.”