Chapter 18

June 2008

After we fled Fred's uncle's funeral, I sulked around Ash's for a while, but I couldn't settle. I felt guilty for leaving, and sad. Sad about my mother, sad about Fred. This wasn't how I'd imagined the summer would go, and it was only two days in. Added to which, Fred and I had never agreed on a day to meet for lunch, and I wasn't sure how to reach him, or even if I wanted to.

Fred had broken my heart. It had taken me a year to get over it, and every boy I'd met since then I compared to him. They never measured up, and after I while I couldn't tell if that was because I'd built Fred up in my mind or if he really was the boy I was supposed to be with. It was a lot to live with. I'd finally reconciled myself to us not being together. I didn't want to go and stir all that up again. I should leave the past where it belonged—buried in the hard ground like Fred's uncle was about to be.

When Ash tells me I'm moping too much, I leave. My side's aching, and it's time for my next pill. I take it when I get home, then make myself some food in the kitchen and creep upstairs, avoiding the family because I don't feel like engaging with that dynamic.

My room is hot, and after I eat, I feel sleepy, so I strip down to a tank top and my underwear and crawl into bed, settling under the sheet before the drugs pull me under.

I dream about Fred. About how we used to lie in the grass and kiss, our hands twined together, our legs entwined too. I remember the smell of the night, the ocean, the fresh-cut lawn that was a blanket beneath us. I remember the taste of Fred's mouth and the feel of his hands and the want that built up between us until I felt like breaking my promise to myself that I wasn't ready for the next step.

In this dream, I take that step. Fred's hands undo the buttons on my shorts. His lips trail along my collarbone to my breast. His fingers run up my thighs slowly, making my back arch. I bite down on my lip as he slips a finger inside me, thrusting it deep. The pressure builds as he moves methodically, moving his thumb in a slow circle over my—

Clink!

The sound starts to pull me from sleep, but I don't want this dream to end. I don't want this feeling to end. I want, want, want—

Shit.

I sit up, my heart beating, my rib aching. My room is dark, with only the flashlight of the moon cutting across the ceiling as it angles in through the open window. There's a noise outside, something metal clinking against itself, and then something else. A branch snapping, a soft curse.

I get out of bed and go to the window. Someone's climbing up the drainpipe in dark clothing.

It's Fred.

"What the fuck?"

"Throw me a sheet so I don't fall off this wall."

I reach back to my bed, pulling the sheet I was just tangled in from it, and dangle it out the window.

"Did you tie it to something?"

"You didn't tell me to do that."

"Shh. Someone will hear you."

Part of me doesn't care, but also, everyone else sleeps on the other side of the house and between the distance and the ocean, they wouldn't hear anything unless we yell really loud.

"Hold on." I take the other end of the sheet and tie it to the bedpost, then lean out the window again. "Okay."

Fred wraps the sheet around his wrist and uses it to climb the last ten feet. I step back as he appears in the window. He's dressed in dark jeans and a navy hoody, and with his dark hair, he looks like he's ready for a caper.

"Can I come in?"

"Bit late to ask that now, isn't it?"

I take a step back, then realize what I'm wearing. Basically nothing. I reach for a pair of shorts on the floor and slip them on while Fred finishes climbing in through the window. I sit on my bed, covering my legs with the quilt and crossing my arms across my chest.

Fred dusts himself off. There's a twig caught in his hair. "Sorry about that."

"What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to talk to you."

"And the phone doesn't work at your house?"

"It was too late to call."

"Okay."

Fred looks sheepish. "You want me to go?"

"I want to know what's going on."

"I wanted to talk to you."

"You said."

Fred holds his hands out. "This is hard for me, okay?"

"And it's not hard for me?"

"You act so cool about everything."

I almost laugh. "What are you talking about?"

He moves toward the bed and sits on the edge. "At the train station."

"I was in shock."

"And today at the funeral."

I look away. "That's where my mother's funeral was."

"I didn't know."

"It's okay."

"Hey, no …" Fred touches my chin with his finger. "Look at me."

I let him turn my head. What does he see as he stares at me so intensely? My hair's a mess, and my face is slack from the deep drugged sleep I was in. My body is still half in the dream, about to climax with Fred bringing me there, and now here he is, that same finger on my face, close enough to smell his sweat.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No."

"Are you happy to see me?"

"Fred."

"Just tell me. Tell me you didn't forget me."

The idea that I could forget him is so ridiculous I don't know what to say. I can't speak, and each second that goes by, I watch an ocean of feelings cross his face, from hope to disappointment to resignation. And that's what breaks me. I can't stand the thought of him being resigned to anything about me.

So, I do the only thing I can to express what I'm feeling.

I kiss him.

Not the sweet kiss of five years ago, but hard and hungry, my hands in his hair, pulling his body to me, the kisses of my dream. He meets me kiss for kiss, his hands on my hips, pulling me up and into his lap. I wrap my legs around him and press my chest to his, feeling a flood of memories, and half believing this is still an illusion, that any moment now I'll wake up for real and all of this will be gone.

Fred will be gone.

But in the meantime, Fred's murmuring in my ear, narrating how I feel under his hands. His voice is deep and husky, his breath hot on my skin when his mouth leaves mine to kiss my neck. He leans back and raises my arms above my head, then removes my top. He takes my breast in his mouth and I arch back, my hands threaded through his hair, holding him in place. His tongue makes slow circles around my nipple as he sucks on it, then nibbles gently, and I don't know how much more of this I can take.

I lean away, and we tumble backward onto the bed. My rib shouts in protest. "Ouch."

"Are you okay?" Fred asks above me, his voice gentle, his face creased in concern.

"Just my rib."

"I'll be gentler."

"Please don't."

Fred groans and then his mouth is on mine again, his hands everywhere. He undoes my shorts and dips his fingers into my underwear. I arch up to meet his palm, letting it cup me and feel how wet I am. His finger slides inside me easily, and I cry out. He moves it in and out slowly, and my God, my God, none of those fumbling boys at college ever came close to this.

I reach for the fly of his pants, and he pulls his shirt over his head, then takes his pants off quickly, leaving only his boxers. He lies down next to me. We're both breathing heavily, our mouths wet, our tongues intertwined. His fingers are still inside me, his thumb on my clit.

He pulls back, out of breath. "I didn't come here for this."

I pull him to me again, and I can feel him hard between my legs. I grind my hips into his, and he moans in my ear.

"I meant, I don't have anything."

"Oh." I pull back. "I'm on the pill, but hold on …" I disentangle from him and search around the floor for my purse. Somewhere in there is a two-pack of condoms. I blush at the thought of why I have them, my stupid hook-up guy at college, then banish him. After this, no matter what, that guy is never touching me again.

I fish around in the purse until I find it. I hold it up like a prize. "We're covered."

Fred smiles and beckons me with his hand. "You're beautiful."

"That's what all the guys say." He frowns. "I didn't mean …"

"It's okay, come here."

I climb back into bed. "Here?"

"Right here," he says, pulling me closer to him and kissing my neck. In an instant, we're right back in the moment together, only skin between us. Fred puts the condom on and positions himself over me. He looks down at me, his face in shadow, his voice full of desire. "Did you wait for me?"

"No," I say and pull him inside.

And there's nothing stopping us now as our breath turns ragged and our bodies thrust together, and I lose myself a moment before he does, burying himself deep.

Two hours later, we're still touching. His hand on my hip, mine on his flat stomach. His fingers massaging gently along my rib, then followed by kisses and promises to make it all better.

In between we catch each other up on where we've been these last five years, what we've done and seen and felt. And all that complicity we had when we first met, where we felt like our two hearts were completely open to each other, like we were the only people in the world who'd ever felt this way: that's still there—it's still there—and I don't know whether to stop his talking with kisses so we can start all over more slowly or talk to him until the day breaks.

"What time is it?" I ask.

He picks his watch off the nightstand. "Four AM."

"Sun will be up soon."

He smiles against my mouth. "I always wanted to do this."

"Sex?"

"Well, yes, but I meant talking all night. Being with you for the sunrise."

"But you didn't come here for this."

"I swear."

"Uh-huh."

His finger grazes my nipple and my body clenches. "Okay, okay, maybe a small part of me was hoping for a kiss."

"Fred."

"Olivia."

"What's happening?"

"We're having the reunion we deserve?"

"Okay, sure. But also …"

"What about everything that happened last time?"

"Well, yeah."

He turns over on his back, pulling the sheet across us. It's the coolest part of the night, before the sun comes up, after the heat of the day has burned off and been swept away by the ocean breeze.

"I was an idiot," he says.

"I agree."

"Thanks."

"We both were." I lace my fingers through his. He raises my hand to his mouth and kisses it.

"I should've reached out."

"Yes."

"I almost did a million times."

I watch the shadows cross the ceiling. Something about this night still seems impossible, but if it's a dream I don't want to wake up. "What stopped you?"

"My pride, mostly."

"Why?"

"I didn't want to be rejected again."

"I never rejected you in the first place."

"I know that now. But then … it was a weird time. With everything with my uncle and then that stupid thing with Ashley."

"She feels really bad about that."

"She told me."

I turn on my side and snuggle into him. "When you ran into her?"

"I think that's why she asked me to pick you up. She wanted to make it up to me."

"That's not why."

"Why then?"

I squeeze his hand. "Because she saw how devastated I was after you left. How it wasn't ever the same with anyone else …"

He turns to me. "Not for me either. I told you then that I'd never felt this way before, and I meant it. This. You and me … it's special."

My heart feels like it's melting, and we kiss, sealing something, I'm not sure what. We pull apart.

"When I saw you leave at the funeral, I wanted to leave too. And then I was lying in bed, trying to sleep, and all I could think about was how I couldn't stand to be away from you for one more minute."

I pull my hand away, feeling a chill. "This is about your uncle."

"No, Olivia. No. I was coming here this summer before that happened."

"You were?"

"Ask my aunt if you don't believe me."

"I'm not going to do that."

He pulls me into his arms. "I was coming here this summer."

"Why?"

"You need me to say it?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Because I told you I'd be here in five years, and I wanted to keep that promise. Even if you wouldn't see me. Even if I had to spend the whole summer convincing you to give us another chance."

He was coming here this summer. For me. I am dreaming.

"Really?"

"Really."

"And at the train station?"

"You were so … far away from me … I chickened out."

I let go of the breath I was holding. I can't remember the last time I felt this happy, and if there was another time, I don't want to remember it. Because it's probably related to Fred too, and that makes me sad. All the time we missed, all the things we didn't get to do.

"Olivia?"

"I wasn't even supposed to be here this summer."

He smiles. "Aren't I lucky, then?"

"No," I say. "I'm the lucky one."