Page 99 of Fire Island
Inside, I toe off my boots and shove my cap on the hook next to Evie’s sun hat. Reese hangs back before the threshold. I glance back but decide to let him take his time. Everyone reacts differently to their first time here. The fact that his father lives here, has lived here for his entire life, may have a distinct impact on him.
I pull the refrigerator open and slide out a pack of steaks. Seasoning them in a tray, I set them aside. Gathering ingredients for a salad, I toss them together with a smidge of Evie’s dressing. Deciding to add tortilla chips and guacamole for a side dish, I load it all up onto a tray and head to the small grill on the eastern side by the fire pit.
As the steaks drop onto the grill, they hiss and smoke. Flames lick the meat, caramelizing it with every brush of heat. Reese drops into a chair at the firepit, a beer—my beer—in his hand.
Okay then.
“You eat it how it’s cooked. Serve the sides yourself,” I say, handing him a plate with the steak, nodding toward the sides on the chair between our seats. A six pack of beers sits at his feet.
I grab one and tear it out. Resting it beside my chair, I decide on eating, putting food into my mouth before something harsh runs out of it and I can’t take it back.
Reese eats like he hasn’t eaten a solid meal in days.
I know better than to feel sorry for him.
“Spill it, what’s got you out here?”
He lifts the beer to his mouth, hesitating before he takes a sip. With a swallow that moves his throat like he’s holding back something, he sighs before uttering, “She kicked me out.”
Not having anything constructive to say, I finish my food. Scraping the plate clean, I set it on the gravel and lean back and take a sip of the cool beer.
“She never used to be like that,” I offer up softly.
He scoffs. “I wouldn’t know. My whole life, she’s tried to control who I hang out with. Who I talk to. Where I go. And Da—” He clears his throat. “Craig says its genetic, I don’t get the rebel streak from him.”
“You got along with him growing up, though?”
He stares at me. “As much as any boy gets along with his dad.” He chugs a few mouthfuls of beer. “At least, I thought that’s what he was.”
“He’s still your dad, Reese. He raised you.”
“You’re very accepting of all this. Why didn’t you try to be part of my life? After Mom left?”
My mouth hangs slack. She didn’t tell him.
“I didn’t know you existed. Ava—your mother—” I clear my throat. “You want the truth or the sugar-coated version?”
I don’t know if I should be saying this to him. Hell, I’m no parent. I’m winging this, at best.
“I want the truth. I’m done being in the fucking dark.”
I force a smile. Sometimes the dark is less painful.
“She faked her death. Her parents moved away. I mourned you both. She was six months pregnant when I got the call she’d died of some pregnancy complication. I was at sea, in the Navy.”
His face goes through every registrable emotion. Finally, it settles on disgust. “Why?”
I take a sip of my beer. “I wasn’t exactly the town’s favorite kid. I was trouble. Off the rails. I’d done a lot of bad shit before I met your mom. She was adored. It was never going to end well.”
“That—” He tilts his head, his face bunching for a brief moment before he schools it back. “You sound like me...”
I huff a laugh, but it’s not the amused type. It’s strained, weighed down by two decades of baggage and grief. “I was way worse, bud. I was a mess. I ruined everything I touched. I guess the town thought they knew better.”
“You don’t know a thing about me.” Reese stares at the ocean, finishing one beer and starting another.
“I know enough.”
“What’s the town got to do with it?”
