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Authors: Mia Kerick
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with him, listening closely for
his steady heartbeat, and enjoying the intimacy. Strangely, being
close to Liam also brings me back to memories of times I got close
to Ginny. She too liked to spoon me from behind. I smile, thinking
I must be very “spoonable.” Liam’s chin drops onto my shoulder,
returning me to the here and now, and his dependable arms work
their way around my shoulders. I don’t think I could ask for
anything more.
But as my eyes start to blink and close, I
let myself wonder what it is that he wants enough to make him
sigh.
8
Despite a nasty hangover, this is the best
Saturday I’ve had in months.
“Aaaahhhh! I’m never gonna live this down—I
forgot all about calling my mother last night. She probably thinks
you’re Ted Bundy and you took me to your evil dungeon to roast me
and eat my flesh and make a scarf out of my skin.”
“You’re mixing up your serial killers. I’m
pretty sure they’d be offended if they knew.” Liam smiles and I
notice that his teeth are not only chalk white but are also
perfectly straight, and I’m surprised. I have a hard time picturing
him as a twelve-year-old boy with awkward silver braces decorated
with red, white, and blue elastics, or as an adult wearing
whitening strips. This last thought reminds me of the organic
cinnamon-flavored whitening strips his marketing group was working
on before the shooting and I fight the urge to dig a hole in the
sand and stick my head into it. Memories of the shooting still have
this kind of effect on me.
“What’s the matter, Jase?” On the white
sandy beach in front of our cozy cottage, we’re lying on matching
pink bath towels, heads and feet in the sand. We spent the morning
alternately swimming and eating dry toast, thanks to the ocean in
our front yard and a loaf of bread left in the freezer by the
cottage’s former guests. “What just crossed your mind?”
“You don’t want to know, Liam. In any case,
I’m going to reply to Mom’s twenty-seven texts.”
He lets me off the hook and laughs. “You
don’t want to hold off until she reaches the round number of
thirty? I don’t think you’ll have to wait very long at this
rate.”
I shake my head. “Knowing my mother, she’s
had a tracking device implanted in my cell phone. She’ll show up
here if I don’t let her know I’m okay.”
“It’s cool that she loves you so much.” His
expression changes drastically. Not in a good way, either.
I wonder about this change, but just shrug
and send off the “I’m okay, Ma, so don’t panic” text.
“I thought I’d treat you to a burger
tonight. Tommy said there’s a great little pub just up the street;
we might catch the Red Sox game. They’re playing Toronto, I
think.”
We watched a lot of baseball in the
(un)safe house. I just think it.
“Come on. We can go for the happy hour
dinner special. Man cannot live on bread—or in our case,
toast—alone.” He gets up and then offers me his hand. I take it and
we run into the cottage to rinse off the sand.
***
The Beachcomber Bar and Grille is not only a
lively pub that serves fine seafood, it’s also a pick-up joint. At
least it is at happy hour. Liam’s friend Tommy forgot to mention
this minor detail. Based on the steady hum of hormones flying
through the air, I have a sneaking suspicion that Liam is going to
learn the lesson of not asking Tommy the right questions about
local eating establishments the hard way. And because I’m only
twenty and I don’t have a fake ID, and therefore I’m not drinking,
Liam has decided to toss back virgin lemonades right along beside
me. In any case, our heads are clear, which turns out to be a good
thing.
“Go ahead and have a beer. I don’t mind.”
There’s no need for both of us to stay sober. “You can get toasted
and I can drive the Charger back to the cottage tonight.”
“I had too much ‘toast’ this morning.” Liam
smiles and his teeth look even whiter thanks to all
his steady heartbeat, and enjoying the intimacy. Strangely, being
close to Liam also brings me back to memories of times I got close
to Ginny. She too liked to spoon me from behind. I smile, thinking
I must be very “spoonable.” Liam’s chin drops onto my shoulder,
returning me to the here and now, and his dependable arms work
their way around my shoulders. I don’t think I could ask for
anything more.
But as my eyes start to blink and close, I
let myself wonder what it is that he wants enough to make him
sigh.
8
Despite a nasty hangover, this is the best
Saturday I’ve had in months.
“Aaaahhhh! I’m never gonna live this down—I
forgot all about calling my mother last night. She probably thinks
you’re Ted Bundy and you took me to your evil dungeon to roast me
and eat my flesh and make a scarf out of my skin.”
“You’re mixing up your serial killers. I’m
pretty sure they’d be offended if they knew.” Liam smiles and I
notice that his teeth are not only chalk white but are also
perfectly straight, and I’m surprised. I have a hard time picturing
him as a twelve-year-old boy with awkward silver braces decorated
with red, white, and blue elastics, or as an adult wearing
whitening strips. This last thought reminds me of the organic
cinnamon-flavored whitening strips his marketing group was working
on before the shooting and I fight the urge to dig a hole in the
sand and stick my head into it. Memories of the shooting still have
this kind of effect on me.
“What’s the matter, Jase?” On the white
sandy beach in front of our cozy cottage, we’re lying on matching
pink bath towels, heads and feet in the sand. We spent the morning
alternately swimming and eating dry toast, thanks to the ocean in
our front yard and a loaf of bread left in the freezer by the
cottage’s former guests. “What just crossed your mind?”
“You don’t want to know, Liam. In any case,
I’m going to reply to Mom’s twenty-seven texts.”
He lets me off the hook and laughs. “You
don’t want to hold off until she reaches the round number of
thirty? I don’t think you’ll have to wait very long at this
rate.”
I shake my head. “Knowing my mother, she’s
had a tracking device implanted in my cell phone. She’ll show up
here if I don’t let her know I’m okay.”
“It’s cool that she loves you so much.” His
expression changes drastically. Not in a good way, either.
I wonder about this change, but just shrug
and send off the “I’m okay, Ma, so don’t panic” text.
“I thought I’d treat you to a burger
tonight. Tommy said there’s a great little pub just up the street;
we might catch the Red Sox game. They’re playing Toronto, I
think.”
We watched a lot of baseball in the
(un)safe house. I just think it.
“Come on. We can go for the happy hour
dinner special. Man cannot live on bread—or in our case,
toast—alone.” He gets up and then offers me his hand. I take it and
we run into the cottage to rinse off the sand.
***
The Beachcomber Bar and Grille is not only a
lively pub that serves fine seafood, it’s also a pick-up joint. At
least it is at happy hour. Liam’s friend Tommy forgot to mention
this minor detail. Based on the steady hum of hormones flying
through the air, I have a sneaking suspicion that Liam is going to
learn the lesson of not asking Tommy the right questions about
local eating establishments the hard way. And because I’m only
twenty and I don’t have a fake ID, and therefore I’m not drinking,
Liam has decided to toss back virgin lemonades right along beside
me. In any case, our heads are clear, which turns out to be a good
thing.
“Go ahead and have a beer. I don’t mind.”
There’s no need for both of us to stay sober. “You can get toasted
and I can drive the Charger back to the cottage tonight.”
“I had too much ‘toast’ this morning.” Liam
smiles and his teeth look even whiter thanks to all
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