Between Us and the Moon - Rebecca Maizel Page 0,106
done to Andrew.
I walk down the little path between the house and the garage. I turn behind the garage and stop next to a hydrangea bush with the great purple flowers. Behind these flowers is the shingle where Scarlett and I carved our names. I come to my knees again.
It was me Andrew shared laughs with, me who talked about probability and living life the way you want.
It was me all along.
I just couldn’t believe that someone would see in me what I felt deep inside my soul.
I rest my forehead on my knees and sit next to the hidden shingle and hydrangea. My back shudders and tears run down my legs toward my shins. I wonder right there on the grass about survival. How we become the adults we’re meant to be. We all start off small, we all start off here. Don’t we? I can’t bring myself to lift my head.
My sister’s footsteps walk gently down the patio steps.
Maybe I could stay here forever? Hide in the bushes and grass. It’s dark here. It’s safe. Or maybe I could go back to the Alvin and take a trip down to the deepest part of the sea. I would like to creep and crawl along the bottom of the ocean. I know there are some fish that can make their own light because it’s so dark where they live. Lanternfish. That’s their name. Maybe I could go there too.
I shudder again, surprised that I’m crying so hard. But the pain feels good and that scares me too.
I wonder . . . I wonder what would happen tomorrow, if all the stars in the sky burned out and the world went dark—would the Lanternfish survive?
THIRTY-THREE
SCARLETT LETS ME CRY FOR A WHILE. SHE FINALLY asks, “What happened?”
“Go away,” I say to my knees.
“I waited up all night for you.”
I squint when I lift my head; the yellow light of the sunrise is blinding.
“You. You waited up?” I can’t help the distrust in my voice.
“It’s five forty-five in the morning,” she says and removes a stray branch blown from the storm from the top of the hydrangea bush and places it on the ground.
She pushes the leafy bushels aside and there, between the shadows, is our shingle. It’s barely been weathered from the years. Our names—Scarlett and Bean—are almost black compared to the gray of the wood.
“That was the day you tripped and skinned your knee on the boat dock,” she says.
Her hands cup the flowers so as not to damage the buds. The tenderness in her voice makes my bottom lip tremble.
“You took a bobby pin from your hair,” I say and my nose prickles.
I have to look away from our shingle and the memory of my burning knee and sticky cheeks. The tears are different this time, but she is still here. Maybe Scarlett has always been with me.
“Why did you lie to everyone all summer?” Scarlett asks quietly.
I shrug. “Why do I do half the shit I do?” I ask.
“Bean,” Scarlett says, almost scolding me.
“What?” I ask, sitting up and linking my arms even tighter over my knees. “Can I curse? Can I do anything normal? Can I wear a dress that isn’t a fucking doily? Can I, Scarlett?”
Her eyes are gems to me. Blue marbles framed by blonde lashes. She looks down at her hands when I hold on to her gaze.
“I don’t know, can you?” Her voice is frayed around the edges.
The tears burn my sun-warmed cheeks. “Do you want to know what I did last night?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer; she wants to know.
“I had sex with Andrew.”
Scarlett’s lips part. A cloud passes over us, dimming the halo of light over her head. She slides a hand over her mouth and it’s so white, I can see the tendons and bones. I turn my head slowly back to the water. Tiny waves lap against Nancy’s private beach. I smell the coconut of Andrew’s skin and taste the tangy bite of his lips after swimming.
“It all started with this ridiculous lie,” I say. “I met him on the beach and he had no idea I was fifteen. I lied, told him I was eighteen . . .”
The whole summer comes spilling out. I tell her about The Doors, about the comet, what happened on the beach that night. I tell her about all her clothes that I stole, about the bikini, Mike’s death, and about Curtis being an alcoholic.