I rise and close the cap on the bottle of polish in front of me.
“And Lila?” she asks as I get up from the table and push my chair in.
“Yes?”
“Are you doing okay?” Her forehead is creased and her eyes are soft.
“Of course.”
“You’re just so … quiet,” she says. “And you never used to be. You used to chat my ear off every time we’d come out. Talking about movies and boys and friends and books and concerts and anything and everything.”
Her mouth twitches into a quick, bittersweet kind of smile.
“I … I hope you don’t think we’re pretending like nothing happened. It’s hard for us, too, you know?” She pauses. “I don’t ask you how you’re doing every five seconds because I don’t want to annoy you. But I think about it all the time. The things that must be going through your head. The way you must be feeling. If you ever want to talk …”
“Thank you. I know. I know I can tell you anything,” I say. “I’m just taking things one day at a time.”
She places a butter knife on the cloth before her, dragging in a long breath. “You remind me so much of her, Lila. Every day. The way you talk. The way you walk. Your expressions. Your strength … it’s all her.”
My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them away.
I don’t want to cry.
Not here, not now.
“In a way … she lives on. Through you,” Grandma continues. “And while I know this isn’t exactly the kind of place a girl your age would want to live for the summer, just know that having you here has been a blessing for your grandfather and me.” Rising, she walks to me, cupping my face in her hands. “We’ll get through this together.”
“I know.”
She smirks, her eyes glassy. “All right. Now get going.”
I hurry out the back door and trek through the lush green lawn toward the dock, passing The Bertram along the way, where a trail of younger-sounding voices in the wind tell me they must be back from sailing.
Keeping my eyes forward and my head down, I keep walking, focused and undeterred.
“Lila!” a voice calls for me. “Lila, hey, wait up!”
I glance back and spot Thayer jogging down the porch steps and toward me. His hair is wind-swept and the bridge of his nose is a shade darker than it was at lunchtime. He’s wearing dusty red chino shorts and a white polo and belongs on the cover of a Lands’ End catalog.
“Hi,” I say.
His eyes hold mine. “What are you doing?”
“Working.”
For a split second, I glance over his shoulder, toward The Bertram’s porch, and catch Ashlan watching us like a hawk as she twirls her dark hair around one finger.
“What are you doing … later?” he smiles.
“I really have to go.” I turn and take a few more steps, only a couple of seconds later, his arm hooks the bend of my elbow and he leads me behind the little white machine shed, out of sight from any prying eyes.
“We’re having another bonfire tonight,” he says. “Ashlan brought a bottle of Grey Goose. Could be fun …”
For a moment, I try to imagine myself sitting around a fire with the four of them … but I can’t.
I’d rather wash my hair, I think.
“You don’t have to drink. You can just sit around and watch Westley make a fool of himself if you want …” he winks.
“I’ll pass. But thank you. And I reallllly need to go.”
“You didn’t look at me once at breakfast,” he says. “And I tried to say hi to you at lunch and you wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
“I was working …”
“No. It wasn’t that. It’s something else.”
I scoff. “And you know that because you’re psychic?”
“We had a nice talk last night. Or at least I thought we did. And then you went all cold on me today. I don’t know what’s up or down with you, Lila. I have no idea what you think of me.” His jaw flexes and his eyes flash intense as he leans in. “And it drives me insane …”
His breath is warm against my ear, sending a wave of tingles down my back.
Clearing my throat and straightening my shoulders, I glance into his eyes and say, “That makes two of us, because I don’t know what I think of you either.”
Neither of us says a word. I don’t think I could if I tried.
Everything is racing: my mind, my heart, the goosebumps traveling across my skin.
I fight like hell to compose myself so I can tell him for the third time that I need to get going—but the second my lips part, they’re claimed by his.
Full and soft, his mouth covers mine as his hand cups the side of my face and his fingers hook around the back of my neck. I’m pressed up against the side of the shed now, my body melting and knees threatening to give out. When our tongues meet, I taste sweet spearmint and when I breathe him in, my lungs fill with his cedar cologne and a mix of fresh salt air.