“Paddywhack lets you be. Like, you can go full throttle with the classes and games if you want. Or you can sit back, be quiet, and watch the clouds roll by.”
Spot on. “Claire was the full-throttle type, of course.” It feels good to talk about my sister like this. To talk about her when it’s simply . . . remembering, rather than mourning.
“And I was the watch-the-clouds-go-by type,” Ruby says, a newfound confidence in her tone, maybe one that’s coming from this day, from the class, from the list.
From owning who she is.
“You guys were kind of each other’s yin and yang. Like puzzle pieces,” I say, slowing the pace of the paddle in the water.
“Peanut butter and jelly. Salt and pepper.” She sighs. “I was steady ground for her sometimes, I think. And she was a wild rainstorm I got to dance in. But deep down, we were a lot alike. We both wanted to challenge ourselves. To live full, fabulous lives,” she says, giving a soft, contented smile.
Then she sits up straighter, like something suddenly dawns on her.
“It makes me wonder,” she says in a reverent whisper. “I mean, I know it’s probably crazy to even think about something like this, but maybe Claire is . . . watching over us somehow? Maybe she put that list in your hands at the perfect moment? Like she knew how much I needed it right now?”
My jaw clenches tight, but I force myself to nod as casually as possible. “Could be, I guess.” I try not to sound evasive.
And fail.
Because she’s touching on a sore spot, one she has no clue even exists.
Lies—even little lies, white lies, convenient lies … They always come back to bite you in the ass.
Her face goes pensive again. “Do you think Claire would be grossed out that we enjoy banging so much?”
I laugh, glad we’re veering away from the subject of the list. “No, she was a sex fiend. She wanted everyone to get laid. Often.”
“True, but . . . does it ever bother you?” she presses. “That I was so close to her? And now here we are?”
But where are we? I want to ask.
Do you feel this too? Like we’re on the verge of something even closer than what you had with my sister?
Only, I can’t say that. That’s not our deal. And yeah, I have no doubt Claire would want Ruby to get laid, but I can’t ever ask Claire about this. I can’t knock on my sister’s door and tell her I fell in love with her best friend.
Besides, I’m leaving, and Ruby’s staying, and telling her I’m crazy for her wouldn’t be fair.
What’s important is how the list is working its magic.
It’s helping her step away from the past, throwing the doors wide-open to her limitless future, prompting her to take it. Own it.
I can’t mess that up.
Swallowing roughly, I tell her part of the truth. I can do that much for her at least. “No. It doesn’t bother me at all.”
Then, I press my mouth to hers and kiss her, because if I don’t, I’ll use my lips to say all the things I need to keep locked up tight.
After dinner on the dock—grilled fish and baby potatoes that Rachel brings over as a thank-you for her pretzel delivery—we grab sheets from the car and head into the only habitable cabin on this side of the lake. The other three are still standing, but their netted windows are full of holes, and it looks like a family of raccoons has made one of the old bunk beds into their full-time crib.
Ruby hums warily as we mount the steps to our home away from home for two nights.
I glance over my shoulder. She lingers at the edge of the porch, her pillow clutched to her chest, making thinking noises low in her throat.
And I swear, those little grunts make me fall a little more in love with her.
I’m so screwed.
“Everything okay?” I ask, even as a sour voice inside me assures me everything is not okay. Not even a little bit.