Reclaimed (8 page)

After lunch, Ian and the guys threw a football around. He made fitting in look so much easier than it must have been. Moving to Solitude had to be rough, especially since our groups had been formed in the sandbox when we were five.

Steph came and sat by me. We were best friends in second grade when we’d both had Mrs. Campbell. We weren’t that close anymore, but I still liked her, although the fact that she was hanging out with Dani Peters caused me to worry a little about her sanity. “He seems nice,” Steph said.

I turned and glanced at Ian. He kicked up the sandy dirt as he ran for the ball Kyle threw. He caught it just before falling into a scraggly bush, but came up grinning. There wasn’t even a hint that he was bothered by anything other than making sure he didn’t drop the ball. Maybe this was one of the reasons I liked Ian. He was so present in the moment. All his baggage must have been tucked neatly out of sight, because he sure wasn’t hauling it around for the world to see. And he only knew me in this moment as well. He didn’t remember me throwing up on Mrs. Kitchener the first day of kindergarten. He didn’t recall every single stupid thing I’d ever regretted. Because he was a clean slate, so was I. He was easy to be with, and without even trying, he managed to loosen the knot that formed whenever I was at home. But I wasn’t going to lose my head over any boy, no matter how handsome he was or how much my heart beat against my chest and demanded I change my mind.

I knew Ian was coming before I saw him walk up because Steph sat up straighter and grinned.

“Steven said we could use his Jet Skis,” Ian told me. “You up for it?”

“Sure,” I said, standing up and brushing the dirt off my legs.

I tried not to stare as Ian pulled off his shirt and tossed it on his towel. I wasn’t the type to be easily swayed by broad shoulders and defined abs. And Ian had both. I focused instead on fastening my life jacket and getting the Jet Ski turned around. We eased out of the shallows, then I roared off, spraying Ian.

The wind tore at my hair and made my eyes water. Ian and I cut around each other and jumped the wakes. We rode out toward the spillway, the green banks and cliffs a blur as we raced faster and faster. I found myself laughing out loud, a sound that was snatched away instantly. I wondered if, somewhere, someone was standing on the porch and heard my laughter carried on the wind.

We circled around to the Point. It was the quietest part of the lake, secluded in a tiny cove accessible by a small road that twisted through the woods. A narrow inlet led from the lake to the cove. We eased through, parking the Jet Skis and climbing off. We sat on our life jackets and dried off in the sun.

I’d never seen someone absorb a place like Ian. He looked at everything and wanted to know the intricacies of Solitude.

“Places like this have long memories,” he said. He didn’t have to tell me. Small towns weren’t subtle and they didn’t have secrets.

“Yeah, no one ever forgets,” I said.

“Forgetting isn’t always a good thing,” said Ian, and I regretted my choice of words. “Familiarity isn’t always bad. You want those you love to know you so well they don’t have to ask you what you want on your burger or what movie you want to see. They just know.”

“What does that have to do with Solitude?” But I knew exactly what he was getting at. I just didn’t know how he managed to voice the fears I couldn’t.

“Because when you walk down the street, everyone knows who you are. You don’t have to impress anyone or try to get noticed.”

“I don’t want to be noticed.”

“Not all the time,” he said. “But you don’t want to be forgotten either. When no one knows you, you have to prove yourself every single day. It’s exhausting.”

I understood what he meant. Having to reinvent myself was something I both looked forward to and feared. I didn’t know who I would be when I no longer lived in Solitude.

“It’s not that difficult to fit in around here,” I told him. “Get on the football team and complain about the heat, and you’ll be a local in no time.”

He smiled and leaned back. The hum of insects made me drowsy.

“So why Solitude?” I asked.

“Mom found a doctor in Middleton who thinks he can help me with my headaches.”

“So that’s why you were here in October? To meet with the doctor?”

He shrugged. “I don’t remember being here before.” His face was so full of remorse that he didn’t have to say the words. “I’m really sorry.”

“Me too.” Because October was part of the reason I was lying in the sun with Ian right then. I hated that he didn’t have the same memories of me that I had of him. “Why don’t you remember?” I turned my head to look at him, but he was staring off into the trees. He looked like he was searching for the words, but I knew he wouldn’t find them there. I never did.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I really don’t.”

I didn’t push it. Not knowing the cause had to be the worst part about the whole thing.

We listened to the water and the wind. There was the occasional sound of a boat passing, but mostly it was quiet. The silence was one of the most beautiful parts of the Point.

“I thought I was going to hate it here,” Ian admitted after a minute.

“And now?” I opened my eyes, turning my head to look at him. I wondered how long he’d been watching me; the thought made my insides squirm.

The corners of his mouth curved up in an endearing grin. “It’s looking pretty good so far.”

I smiled back. “So you don’t miss Massachusetts?”

“Right now I can’t think of one good thing about it.”

His eyes drifted to my lips, but he didn’t try to kiss me.

We built a fire as the evening wore on, needing light rather than warmth. The party really started as the stars, and two more boats full of football players and alcohol, showed up. Laughter echoed over the lake.

“I’m serious!” a guy said as I stepped out of the shadows and sat near the flickering light. “She was home from college to watch her little brother compete.”

“The only action you got was poison ivy.” Steven laughed.

“Keep it up,” the guy warned, “and I won’t let you have any melon bomb.”

Steven shut up.

“Melon bomb?” I asked.

Steven grinned. “Drunk watermelon. Chris here fills it with vodka.”

Chris lifted the lid of the cooler, revealing a huge watermelon surrounded by ice.

“How much did you put in?” Steven asked.

“More than enough,” Chris promised. “It’ll knock you on your ass.”

I passed on the watermelon, but took the beer Steven offered me even though I didn’t drink it. The smell gnawed at the back of my mind, a finger that seemed to probe my memory, sending up images I couldn’t hang on to, like wisps of smoke.

Kyle loped up, his girlfriend trotting alongside. “New Guy!” he hollered. He was already drunk. I wondered if he even knew my name.

“Drunk Guy!” I hollered back.

Kyle laughed and slammed a large hand on my shoulder. “Where’s Oliver?” he asked. His girlfriend scowled.

I shrugged, though I was pretty sure I’d seen her helping one of the girls who’d already had too much to drink. Jenna seemed to make taking care of people her responsibility.

A scrawny boy walked up and tossed Kyle some tubing. “You’re up.” The circle moved around Kyle.

I stood just outside it. I was used to being new, but this was different. They had a familiarity with each other that resembled family rather than friends, like cousins at a reunion. Most of these kids had been hanging together since kindergarten, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine all the memories they shared. It made me miss mine even more.

The air was heavy and humid, and the fire just made it hotter. The flames glowed brighter and brighter until my eyes hurt. Pain blossomed in the center of my forehead, a pinprick of agony that grew until the edges of my vision went dark.

Luke hooked the tube to a funnel. I blinked. It wasn’t possible—Luke wasn’t here. I closed my eyes, then opened them, the light stinging. Kyle was hooking the tube to the funnel. Of course. But there was an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, like I’d lived this life before. Like I’d failed the first test and was having to retake it.

Beer spilled down the front of Kyle’s shirt, and Steven turned to say something, except I was hollow, and his words went straight through me. A blonde girl stood underneath the tree where the keg sat, but she wasn’t watching Kyle like everyone else was. She was watching me. She didn’t smile or scowl or move at all. Her feet were bare. She kept staring at me, and I knew I was supposed to know her. But I didn’t. She held something in her hand, and I had the craziest idea that it was for me, that if I could just reach out and take it, I would know her.

And then the feeling was gone. Steven shouted again, and night sped back up, filling with sounds and those damn bright lights. When I looked back at the tree, the girl was gone, taking whatever she had with her.

“You okay?” Jenna walked up behind me.

“Of course.” It was almost the truth. I did feel better being near her. I could pretend that my life was normal, that my family wasn’t falling apart. I wanted to say something witty and intelligent. Instead, I just stood there.

Jenna looked at Kyle with disgust. “Let’s get out of here.”

I would have followed her anywhere.

We wandered away from the party, leaving behind the noise and ritual, finding silence and stars on the other side of the island.

“Crunchy or creamy?” Ian asked.

I laughed. “What kind of question is that?”

“I can tell everything about a person based on their choice of peanut butter,” he said.

“Well, in that case,” I said, “both.” Ian tried to argue, but I interrupted him. “I’m sorry, but you can’t expect me to pick between the two. They each have their own distinct roles. Now analyze me.”

“You didn’t answer fairly. Another question,” he argued.

“Fine.”

“Vanilla or chocolate?”

“Vanilla. Why do all of your questions have only two answers? There’s more to life than either/or,” I insisted. At least, I was hoping there was. I didn’t want two roads. I wanted an interchange with endless possibilities.

“You’re very hard to please,” he said. “Okay. Let me think.”

A line of trees rose tall and dark in the center of the island, and cicadas interrupted the quiet.

“One thing you really want to do before you die,” Ian finally said.

“That’s not a peanut butter question.” I reached up and pulled my hair off the back of my neck, tying it into a knot. The air was sticky, with barely any breeze to stir it. I wasn’t sure how to answer his question. There was so much I wanted to do before I died. Hell, there were a million things I wanted to do before I was thirty.

“Right now, I’d say swimming in Switzerland,” I told him. I walked to the edge of the water, taking off my shoes and letting the lake lap over my toes. “But I guess I’ll have to settle for tepid lake water for now.”

Ian stepped closer and blew lightly on the back of my neck. Chills immediately erupted across my damp skin. “Better?” he asked.

“Um, yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Thanks.” I waded in past my ankles.

“So what’s one thing
you
want to do before you die?” I asked him. It wasn’t fair that I was the one getting grilled. Nor was it fair that he could make my brain misfire like that. I was having a hard time focusing.

“Graduate high school. Go to college. Become immortal.”

I laughed. “How are you going to do that?”

Ian walked closer and stood right behind me. “By building something that stands forever.”

His words were pronouncements, and I could hear the conviction in his voice. He was going to do exactly what he said. I wanted that kind of certainty in my life.

I didn’t want to speak my dreams out loud. Putting weight to my words might destroy their magic. I was such a coward. As much as I wanted to see the world and recreate it on the page, I was even more afraid of failure. I was terrified I wasn’t good enough to do all that I dreamed of doing. I couldn’t be sure I was strong enough to deal with the kind of disappointment that came from watching everything I ever wanted sail out of my reach. Having an audience for that would make it worse.

I turned to look at Ian. It was hard to see him in the dark. He was a shadow, a line here, an angle there. He reached up and ran a finger along my cheek, and I shivered despite the heat. He leaned down, stopping just before his lips touched mine. Was he trying to kill me? I didn’t move, not even to breathe.

“Do you think it would be okay if I kissed you?” he whispered. His breath tickled my face.

I didn’t bother answering with words.

Mondays were my worst days. In the past, I’d nursed hangovers and struggled to recall all the trouble I’d gotten into, and out of, over the weekend. And while I didn’t have a hangover, I was going to spend this Monday trying to atone for my sins.

I measured the kitchen wall again just to make sure, then rechecked the numbers I’d written down. They had to be exact—there was no room for screwing up in building. Even a quarter of an inch difference could throw everything horribly out of whack. I stuck the tip of the pencil underneath my hat, clipped the tape onto the waistband of my shorts, and grabbed my drawings. Rough sketches, actually. I wasn’t really artistic, but I was pretty good with lines and angles, and I could draft out the picture in my head. I took everything out back.

The shop was a little eerie, like someone had walked away to answer the phone and never come back. There were piles of rusted junk in the corners, but there were also fishing poles propped against the back wall and jars of nails and screws organized by size. An old hat sat on a bench, its bill thick with dust. I also found some decent tools; once I’d cleaned the rust off, they worked pretty well.

I was thrilled the day we’d moved in and I’d found the workshop. Being on house arrest sounded like certain death, but the tools promised an outlet for my energy. I’d always been good with my hands, and Uncle Danny had taught me how to build cabinets. I’d never done a job this big by myself before. But I didn’t have a choice—I’d put holes in the existing kitchen cabinets. Guilt was a great motivator.