Summer Sunsets (3 page)

“
Am I supposed to be getting
closer to the water?” I ask in a bored tone. “If so, you’re doing
something wrong, Skye. Way wrong.”

She wraps her arm around my
throat, effectively cutting off the air. That’s when I start trying
to grab her hand and pull her free. She takes that moment to shift
my balance, and I’m falling. I take her with me. Once in the water,
I open my eyes until I find her, wrap my arm around her, and drag
her back to the surface.

“
No fair!” I just got you
back!” she yells, once again kicking to get free, without any
progress. Both her arms are tucked beneath mine and she faces me,
her eyes luminous and dark in the bright sunlight. She’s panting
through her parted lips, and water drips from her sodden
bangs.

“
All’s fair in love and
war,” I say, before I realize the implication there. Skye doesn’t
say anything. She just keeps staring at me, and I feel her breath
caressing my face, which is just a few inches from hers. In that
moment, I see myself through her eyes, my reflection in her pupils,
and I can tell she feels safe with me, which means one of two
things: either Skye still only sees me as her best friend or she
knows I love her and some part of her wants to love me back because
of the trust between us. I wish I knew which.

For a moment, we just
linger like that, neither able to say anything. We just keep
looking at each other, and in that moment, a memory from long ago
comes back to me. Skye and I were jumping on the trampoline, and
one thing led to another. We started wrestling because she thought
she could beat me. I tripped her, and once she’d fallen on her
back, I straddled her, pinned both her hands above her head, and
leaned over so my face was close to hers. I was as close to kissing
her then as now.

Instead, I shake off the
intoxication of her nearness. “You ready to call a truce?” I ask,
my voice rough from all the things I’m not saying. My shoulders and
back tense, and I feel I’m going to go mad.

“
You started it.” Her voice
also sounds different, but I can’t put my finger on how. I just
hear it and I feel it in her stillness.

“
So, truce?” I ask,
waiting.

“
Truce,” she
agrees.

Swallowing hard, I ease my
arms from around her, wondering if she feels any of the things I
do, and part of me recognizes that unless I say something, she’s
never going to admit or deny anything. Maybe that’s what I’m
shooting for because that means anything is possible—difficult but
possible. Even after I lower my arms, Skye lingers there, her hands
dangling uselessly at her sides as though she doesn’t know what to
do with them. She takes one last long breath and exhales and that’s
when she realizes I’m watching her and averts her eyes, yet another
Skye-ism. She hates eye contact. I could probably guess a million
reasons why, but I’ve learned that whys don’t matter with Skye.
They don’t change anything.

A shudder runs through her,
and I flinch, wondering what’s going on in her head. “You okay?” I
whisper.

She nods slowly. “Yeah, I’m
fine. It’s just been a long day, that’s all.” Instead of waiting
for me to say something, she abruptly turns and throws herself
deeper into the surf. I stand there, watching the water and sun
gleam off her dark skin and then I, too, thrust myself into the
gentle roll of the tide.

A few hours later, when
we’ve both tired of swimming, we climb from the water and rest on
our towels. While I lie on my side toward her, she flops onto her
stomach, both hands near her head as her dark hair splays around
her. There’s nothing like the warmth of the sun after being washed
in the ocean all day, and even though Skye seems fine, she’s moving
a little slower, as though getting up so early is finally catching
up with her.

“
You look exhausted,” I
say.

“
That obvious?” she mutters.
She peers at me through one open eye. “Then again, I think it’s
because somebody called me so early.”

“
Guilty as charged and sorry
as hell,” I say, watching as a strand of hair tickles her nose. I
could sit here and laugh all day; Skye hates it when her hair does
that. Instead, I reach out and gently push it back.

“
Thanks,” she whispers, her
voice already kind of sleepy. As I prop myself up on one elbow, I
look at her back. She’s got the wonderful beginnings of a sunburn.
Glancing at my shoulders, I know this “white boy,” as Skye calls
me, is also working on a promising burn, so I head to the house and
grab some sunscreen. I figure she’ll thank me later, when she
doesn’t look like a lobster.

I notice she’s gone to
sleep. The soft exchange of her breath confirms that much. I don’t
really want to wake her up. Instead, I figure I’ll just start
applying the sunscreen and maybe she’ll sleep through it. I pour
some of the white goop in my hands and rub them together to warm
the lotion before gently applying it to her back.

“
What are you doing?” she
asks, her voice groggy as she starts to turn over.

“
Making sure your back
doesn’t get roasted while you’re napping,” I say, massaging the
lotion deep into her skin. “Otherwise, you’re going to be in a
world of hurt.”

“
Mmmm,” she murmurs. “That
feels good.”

Beneath my hands, I feel
the shoulder and back muscles that had once been so knotted
gradually ease and relax. The one eye which had barely opened
drifts shut, and she’s gone again. I know that’s a good thing. For
a long time, Skye has had trust issues. I think I’ve been one of
the few people she trusted.

Even after I finish rubbing
in the sunscreen, I massage her back for a little longer, marveling
at how good it feels to be this close to her, and how good it makes
me feel to relax her. A few minutes later, I apply my own sunscreen
and lie next to her on my towel, smiling as I watch her sleep. Of
course, I’ve been up just as much as she has and I am just tired,
so I let my eyes get heavier and heavier until I finally drift away
as well.

A couple of hours later, I
see the sun is lower in the sky. Skye lies beside me, but she’s
shifted from her front to her back. Sunglasses block the glare of
the light, and I smile as I get to my feet. As she continues to
sleep, I comb the beach for shells until I find enough to outline
her body. Then I slip inside and grab my camera and a book. Even as
I photograph her, she remains completely still save for the slow
rise and fall of her chest. Setting the camera to the side, I open
the novel and begin reading, figuring I’ll just let her
sleep.

Three chapters in, she
finally stirs and rolls to her side, blinking groggily. “What time
is it?”

“
About five.”

I can’t believe I slept
that long.” Strands of her hair fly into her face, and I brush them
back. “Maybe you were just more tired than you thought.”

“
Maybe I was.” She eases
herself to a sitting position. “Did you fall asleep,
too?”

I nod. “For a little while.
Then I got busy reading.”

She peers at the book and
spies my camera. “You didn’t take any pictures of me, did you?” Her
tone is a warning, and I’d dearly love to see her enforce whatever
she might be threatening me with.

“
What if I did?”

She reaches for the camera,
but I’m quicker, jerking it just out of her reach. “Give me that!”
Her fingers splay apart and she tries to stretch closer to the
wrist cord. My arm is longer than hers, so in the end, I’m the one
holding the camera.

“
Grabby as ever, Skye.” I
make a tsking sound repeatedly just to annoy her.

“
Not funny!” She dives
toward me and knocks me flat on my back as her fingers wrap around
the camera and jerk it from me. She leans across my chest and turns
it on so she can get a look at the photos I’ve taken.

“
Well, if you really wanted
it that badly, all you had to do is say, ‘please.’” My lips are
close to her temple, and I smell sunscreen and the brine of the
ocean. She edges farther over my legs so she can prop her elbows in
the sand and focuses her efforts on viewing the images in the
camera.

I start laughing at the way
she just sprawls there. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable.
Don’t let me get in your way or anything.”

She smirks up at me. “Don’t
worry. I won’t.” I see the camera color to life, and she begins
flipping through the images until she reaches the last one of her
surrounded by shells. Her lips part as though she wants to say
something, but no words come. She just sits there in a stunned
silence, staring at her still form.

“
Somehow I think that’s
going to be one of my favorites,” I say, leaning forward to look at
the image even though I’ve memorized it already.

“
Where did you find all the
shells?” She lifts her hand to her face and brushes the hair from
it, pushing the strands behind her ears. The shells are there, and
she toys with one of them.

I chuckle. “Look around
you, Skye. We are on a beach.”

She grabs a fist full of
sand and tosses it at my chest. “Thank you, Captain Obvious.” She
gives the image one last glance before turning off the camera and
handing it to me. Then she crawls back to her own towel, sits
there, and rubs her neck.

“
Oh, and I even get it back,
along with a handful of sand. Thanks, Skye. You’re so sweet,” I
say, setting the camera to the side and batting sand from my
chest.

“
Hey, I could have put it
down your trunks. I’m sure you would have really liked that.” She
pulls her knees to her chest and sets her chin atop them, her deep
eyes regarding me. As she sits there, her stomach growls, and we
both laugh.

“
Something tells me you’re
getting hungry.” I, too, sit up and eye the sun.

“
Gee, how could you tell?”
Sarcasm drips from her tone, and she rubs her flat tummy, as if
that will keep it quiet.

“
Lucky guess.” I get to my
feet, pick up my towel, and shake it out before grabbing my camera
and book. I reach for Skye’s hand. “Perhaps we should get some
dinner.”

“
Sounds like a plan to me.”
Her hand takes mine, and I lift her to her feet so she can shake
out her towel. Together, we saunter to the house and slip inside.
As she walks to the sink and fills a glass of water, I stare at her
shoulders.

“
Somehow I think you’re
going to feel all that time in the sun. Even with the sunscreen
you’ve got a nasty burn.” Without thinking about it, I reach up and
touch her shoulder, gently nudging her long hair aside so I can get
a better look. At the feel of my fingers stroking her skin, she
flinches, which is my cue to give her enough distance to sort out
whatever she’s feeling.

The hand holding the glass
trembles slightly. I can tell because I see the water inside waver,
and her other hand grips the counter as though she’s suddenly
afraid she’s going to lose her balance. I want to ask her if she’s
okay, but I don’t think that’s the best thing to do. She hates
that.

She’s slow to turn, and
when she does, whatever is going through her mind—whatever feelings
she’s keeping under wraps that might have struggled to the
surface—she now has them back under control, so I don’t have a clue
what’s really going on with her. She licks her lips and gives me a
half-hearted smile. “I’m going to go and get a shower, if that’s
all right.”

“
It’s all right.” I lean
against the counter, feeling as though I’m floundering again—as
though somehow I could say all the wrong things and drive her away
again like I did the last time. “You don’t have to ask, Skye. You
know that.”

She nods distractedly and
sets down the glass. “Okay.” She points towards the back end of the
house. “I’m gonna go get my clothes, then.”

“
I’ll be here.”

She nods and walks towards
the hallway, her steps unsure. Her shoulders slump, and her hair
spills down her chest. She wraps her arms protectively over her
abdomen, and I wonder if her mind is going back in time, back to
the moment when I failed her.

What I wouldn’t give to
take that back.

Chapter Four

Once Skye and I have washed
away the water and sand, we stroll down the beach towards this
small family-run seafood restaurant, the same one we’ve eaten at
each time we’ve come. Skye enjoys the shrimp. I like the halibut. A
soft breeze crests over the waves, and the sky is filled with terns
circling in the sky as they call out to one another. The sun sinks
lower, dappling the ocean with a fire.

Skye has chosen a loose
spaghetti-strapped sundress that flits in the soft breeze. Her dark
hair is pulled back in a loose pony, and a few thin strands dance
around her face. She wears sandals and sometimes has to shake the
sand from them as she walks. Skye is far from graceful, so she
often grips my arm to steady herself.

“
Having a little trouble?” I
ask as we stop in front of the restaurant, her fingers curl around
my forearm. “I mean, I can carry you, if it would help.”

She finishes with her
shoes. “You wouldn’t.”

“
Oh, but I
would.”