Page 11 of The Summers of Us

Holden said even more with his mouth shut.

I never thought I had much to say, but Holden and Haven made me feel like they would listen to me talk about orange juice and mermaid scales and the best way to roast a s’more until their eyes got droopy.

“I promise it’s worth it when you get a bite. Sometimes the fish are stubborn, but I’ll let you reel mine in when I get one.”

“Pinky promise?” I held my pinky out for him.

“Pinky promise.” He took mine in his.

I watched him reel in another worm heart, wrap another, wipe the dirt on his shorts, and kiss it goodbye.

Haven resigned to throwingcorn kernels at Holden—a more economical bait that Holden said only sometimes worked. The only thing it caught was Holden’s attention. He finally noticed, or finally decided to care, and stuck his tongue out at her.

Haven gave up and pulled out a sandwich with bread, peanut butter, and sticky marshmallow goo from the wagon. “You ever had a fluffernutter?”

I nodded and took the half she held out to me. A few years back, we were low on groceries and my dad made them for dinner. We ate them on the porch steps at dusk, our bare feet on the concrete. We used to watch fireflies mingle through the darkness when we knew Mom was on the way home from work. I was the best at guessing where they’d end up the next time they lit up. Dad credited my young eyes and the determination I’d inherited from Mom.

But that was before everything happened, back when Mom was different and Dad still loved us.

“Do your mom and dad still love each other?” I said with peanut butter bread stuck in my molars. The words escaped so casually you’d think I was asking her where she got her shirt.

Holden looked at Haven, willing her to answer.

Haven finished her bite. “Yes, but I know Mom doesn’t like it when Dad doesn’t finish fixing stuff around the house. One time he took the shutters off the house and took forever to paint them. They look good now, though.” She shrugged and wiped marshmallow from the corner of her mouth.

“They were on the kitchen table for weeks,” Holden said dramatically, like weeks were years.

“You’re too much likeMama,” Haven said.

“You’re too much likePapa,” Holden retorted.

I got a taste of the parents they’d watched and supposedly become. Did people think I was like my mom? Did they think I also triple-checked the locks on the door and looked both ways nine times before crossing the street? Did my mom resent the daydreaming I got from Dad?

“Do they ever fight?” I asked.

“One time last year we got off the bus and saw Dad getting in the car. Mom was crying on the couch. She didn’t tell us what happened but she took us to Sunset Scoop.”

“We think they had a fight, but then Dad was waiting for her at the table when we got home. We went to bed and everything was normal when we woke up.” Holden shrugged.

They said it so coolly, like it was normal to talk to new friends about how close their parents got to living in different places.

It didn’t sound like the Rivera-Sanchezes’ world ever got close to breaking. It sounded like ice cream filled the small cracks in their foundation. Maybe real moms and dads were supposed to be happy together. Maybe that was the story people sat on a dock all day to catch but never did.

“Doyourparents still love each other?” Haven’s voice danced with the wind.

All I could do was shrug. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled between chews.

I almost told her why. I almost told her about my dad, about all the nights I thought the ghastly sounds of the house settling was him breaking locks and sneaking back in to our lives. I almost told her about the night I unlocked the door after Mom fell asleep, like a little girl letting Santa Claus in. I locked it soon after having a nightmare about a strange man wandering in to kill us. At that point, though, my dad was a strange man too.

They wouldn’t care. They’d just pretend to understand.

“It’s fine,” I said. Itwasn’t, but that was just what people said. My mom said it even when her eyes were all puffy and red.

It wasn’t Haven’s fault my parents couldn’t just fight about unpainted shutters.

Piper Island sunsets were differentthan the ones back home. The lush trees in Raleigh hid the sunset too early in the day. Here, the sun peeked through the pines. Here, the sound made a clearing perfect for an orange and pink sky. Here, the clouds were marshmallows drenched in cotton candy and orange pulp. Here, cicadas cooed wildly from the pine trees and frogs sang from the marsh.