No One Needs to Know (12 page)

“Downstairs. There’s a basement. You can’t access it from inside; you have to go through the slider outside.”

“Oh.” So we’re really going to be alone. In a bed. To-gether. Right.

He takes off his fancy silver watch, setting it down on the table beside the bed. I wonder if he did that because time doesn’t really matter, here. “Anyway, do you want to take the rowboat out?”

“Like to go fishing?”

“Nah. I mean, we could fish if you want to, but I don’t really have the patience.” He grins. “I’d just like to row around the lake for a bit.”

“Oh. Sure. Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“Cool. I’ll get the oars and life jackets, if you want to go tell Olivia. She can come, if she feels like it.”

“Sure.”

I leave the little bedroom behind and find my way to a door that leads onto the deck at the back of the cabin. The view is even better out here, totally unobstructed. The railing is white iron around the edges, but in the middle, it’s just huge plates of glass. I breathe deeply, raking in the scent of pine and fresh air.

And I can’t help the smile. I would’ve asked about inviting Carolyn if I’d known it would be like this. She’d love this place.

There’s always next time.

I blink, surprised by the thought. Next time? Do I expect to be with Liam long enough for there to be a next time?

Or do I think of Olivia as an actual friend, and that she might invite me herself?

I shake my head, forcing myself to concentrate on this weekend and not the future as I head to the steps, still training my eyes on the lake. It’s stunning. The reflection of the trees glimmers on the water as I descend the staircase and find my way around the corner, to where another set of windows faces the lake and a sliding glass door is already half-open.

“Olivia?” I call, stepping through the door.

The basement is one big room, with just a couple old bunk beds on the far wall and two twin beds in the middle, between the posts that must support the structure.

“This looks like a little kid’s slumber party dream,” I say when my eyes finally land on Olivia, who’s sprawled out on one of the single beds.

“It was,” Olivia replies, smiling as she looks up at me. “Ava and I used to stay up all night and listen to the radio and eat junk food. It was awesome.”

I nod.

“Can I tell you something?” she says a moment later.

“Sure.”

“It’s just … you kind of freak me out.”

I stand there, half in the cabin and half out, my heart pounding in my ears.

“What do you mean?”

“I’d tell you if I knew,” she says.

“Oh.”

Olivia doesn’t say anything more, and I start to feel like an idiot for just standing there, the warm autumn air mixing with the cooler temps of the basement. So I step back outside the cabin. “Uh, me and Liam are going for a boat ride if you want to go.”

“Nah, you go ahead. I feel like a nap.”

“Okay.” I stand there for a moment longer, waiting for her to sit up and say something else, but she doesn’t. She just lies there unmoving, staring at the ceiling. “Uh, see you later.”

The lake is perfect. I’m sitting at the front of the boat, on top of a couple of those floating cushions that double as life preservers, letting my fingertips skim the water as Liam rows. I feel kind of silly making him do all the work, but he insisted, and now I’m glad he did.

I stare up at the blue sky as the sun tucks behind a puffy white cloud. “It’s nice out here.”

“I think so.”

I let my fingers dip lower, the lake water splashing up against my palm.

“Does Olivia like it?” I ask. “I always pictured her as more of a five-star-resort type. Like her ideal vacation is someplace with a spa attached.”

“Actually, she’s always loved coming here. When we were little she convinced our mom to have Christmas here.”

“Really?” I glance over at him, blinking against the residual effects of the bright skyline.

“Yeah,” he says, chuckling at the memory. The warmth of his smile makes me smile back. “Dad hated the idea, but Olivia convinced Mom. The cabin holds a lot of fond memories for her, too. Her dad died years ago, but she spent a lot of time with him here, helping him fix it up, you know? So we all came out here on Christmas Eve.”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It was a lot better in theory than in practice. Mom had such a hard time making Christmas dinner without plumbing. And I heard Dad in the middle of the night, leaving in the big SUV.”

“He didn’t like it?”

“No, he had to drive back to our house for all the presents,” he says, cracking a big smile. “There hadn’t been enough room for them with all of us and the suitcases and everything.”

I laugh. “Aww. That’s a long drive. How nice of him.”

“It was,” Liam says, getting a wistful sort of tone. “They used to be around more, you know? Even last year wasn’t this bad. They’d be home most weekends, and even the weekday trips were only a few nights. I guess they figured Olivia and I are old enough to handle things on our own.”

“You only
just
turned eighteen,” I say, leaning back against my makeshift chair again, my fingertips dipping back into the water.

“My dad sold his first company when he was seventeen.”

“Really? What was it?”

“I don’t know. Something to do with cardboard. Some kind of new design to make stronger boxes with less material.”

“Hmm. I suddenly feel like a slacker.”

He kicks my foot and I look up. “You’re so not a slacker. You work all those shifts and you get good grades.”

“I know,” I say, surprised by the compliment. Apparently easy-breezy Liam actually pays attention. “I was kidding.”

“Does it suck?” he asks.

“Does what suck?”

“Having to work so much. Juggling everything.”

“Oh. Yeah, I mean … yeah. Sometimes it’s really tiring.”

“It must be.”

It’s weird, this conversation. The honesty, the depth to it. It’s the first time he’s really asked me any probing questions about myself, or shared any of his thoughts.

We fall silent for a while, and I close my eyes to concentrate on the quiet splashing of the oars hitting the water, the coolness of the lake on my skin. I think I fall asleep at some point, because a moment later I wake to a bump and realize we’ve knocked up against something, and a shadow falls over me. I pop open my eyes to discover I’m sitting in the shadow of the dock. I sit up as Liam ties a rope to one of the cleats, looping it around and around and around. Then he reaches back and helps me stand, and we climb out of the boat.

I’m reluctant to leave it behind. But it would be silly to climb back in, so I follow him back to the cabin.

OLIVIA

I’m sitting on the creaky old couch in the living room when I hear them down at the dock, their laughter and voices drifting up through the open window. I quickly reach over and turn on the radio, so it’s not like I’m sitting here alone, and grab one of the years-old
Good Housekeeping
magazines off the coffee table.

They breeze through the door a moment later. Liam’s mumbling something that makes Zoey giggle, and she leans over, resting a hand on his arm.

Something streaks though me as I watch her fingers curl around his biceps.

Jealousy.

I blink. I’ve never been jealous of Liam. Maybe he has someone at the cabin with him, unlike me, but I’m not going to start getting jealous of him now.

I toss the magazine back onto the coffee table and hope they don’t notice how old and stupid it is. “How was the tour of the lake?”

“Awesome,” Zoey says, beaming. “It’s way bigger than it looks from the dock.”

Liam made her smile, from ear to ear.

The streak of jealousy grows a mile wide. I’ve never seen her smile quite like that, so naturally. And for some stupid reason the urge to make her do it again is almost overwhelming.

“You should see it at night,” I find myself saying. “With the stars.”

“That sounds cool,” she says, glancing over at Liam.

He puts his hands up in a surrender pose. “Don’t look at me, I’m going to drink beer. You know the rules.”

I raise my hand up like a boy scout pledge. “Thou shalt not mix alcohol and boating, lest you be struck dead by God.”

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t think Mom said it quite like that.”

I shrug. “I’ll take you later,” I say to Zoey. “It’s way too pretty to miss for a beer.”

And she beams again, making it all worth it.

We’re sitting on canvas camping chairs surrounding the rusted iron campfire pit. The fire crackles and pops, sparks lifting into the air with the smoke.

“I can’t believe you’ve never had a banana boat,” Liam is saying.

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“S’mores?”

Zoey laughs. “Yes, I’ve had freaking s’mores. And not just the Pop-Tarts ones.”

Watching her poke his side, her teeth glinting in the moonlight when she lets back a laugh, is so surreal I’m hardly talking.

Zoey is different here. That advice I gave her, telling her to put down her guard and give people a chance—turns out she’s someone else when she’s away from it all.

When she’s with Liam.

She laughs and lets loose. And yeah, she’s taken a few sips of his beer, but not enough to make this a product of drinking.

It tastes bitter, this realization that Liam’s here and happy and getting Zoey to loosen up, but she doesn’t act like this for me.

“Well, prepare for deliciousness,” Liam says, his tone serious. “These will blow your mind.”

“Is it bad if I admit I’m not a huge fan of bananas?” she asks.

“What! Blaspheme!”

She laughs again, watching as he pulls the tinfoil out of the fire.

“Besides,” my brother says, “it doesn’t really matter because it’s not really about the bananas. You could put marshmallows and chocolate on a saltine and it would make it taste like heaven.”

He holds the foil by the edges, pinching it between his fingers just long enough to drop it onto the little camping table between me and Zoey. “Give it a second to cool, or you’ll burn your hands
and
your mouth.”

“And then how would I flip burgers?” she says. “That would be a real travesty.”

I don’t know why it’s rubbing me the wrong way, her joking around, being all playful with him, but I’ve reached my limit. “You didn’t make me one,” I say to my brother, even though I noticed this twenty minutes ago.

He glances up at me as if surprised, the dancing flames casting shadows on his face. “That’s because it’s BYOB. Bring your own banana. You were supposed to bring it down from upstairs. I only grabbed two.”

“It’s fine,” I say, standing, trying to keep the frustration and jealousy from my voice. “Don’t worry about it.”

And then I get up and walk away.

I hear Liam murmur something to Zoey under his breath, and fight the urge to whirl around and glare at him. He’s not worth it. They’re not worth it. They can sit out here and be all cutesy or whatever. I don’t need them.

I got to the basement and dig out my backpack, searching for my little pillbox again. I can’t remember where I put it earlier, and that dose didn’t seem to have been enough because I can feel everything inside me coiling tighter and tighter. I need another pill.

Before I can locate the box, the door behind me slides open. I turn around to see Zoey walking in, paper plate in her hand. “I cut it in half,” she says, holding up the plate.

“It’s fine,” I say, waving her away as I zip my bag up. The pill will have to wait. “You can have it.” I try to ignore the strange warmth I feel as she sits at the foot of the bed.

Gratefulness. That’s what it is. This realization that at least Zoey cares about me enough to give up half a banana boat.

“Don’t be silly.” She picks up one half and then slides the plate toward me.

I stare down at it. I probably shouldn’t eat it. I skipped all those meals for a reason. But as Zoey licks gooey chocolate off her finger, I give in. I sit down, so that we’re side by side, and place the plate on my lap.

“Thanks,” I say, picking up the extra fork she brought me.

“You’re welcome.”

The sounds of Liam’s stereo and the crackling fire drift in through the open window, but inside it’s silent as we eat our treats.

It’s the best-tasting banana boat I’ve ever had. Warm, squishy banana, and ooey gooey chocolate and marshmallow. Neither of us speak until I’ve had the last bite, and I ball the tin foil up.

“Should we take the boat out now?” I say finally. Whatever fit of annoyance I had has passed.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she says.

I get up, and Zoey follows me out the door and down the little hill. I’m at the end of the dock before I remember I wanted a pill, but I shove the thought away. I don’t even feel like having one anymore.