Dear John(13)

I swallowed, feeling a sudden dryness in my throat, which was just about the strangest thing that had ever happened to me.




The house was one of those big three-storied monsters with the garage on the bottom and probably six or seven bedrooms. A massive deck circled the main level; towels were slung over the railings, and I could hear the sound of multiple conversations coming from all directions. A grill stood on the deck, and I could smell the hot dogs and chicken cooking; the guy leaning over it was shirtless and wearing a do-rag, trying to come across as urban cool. It wasn’t working, but it did make me laugh.

On the sand out front, the fire was set into a pit, with several girls in oversize sweatshirts seated in chairs circling it, all pretending to be oblivious to the boys around them. Meanwhile, the guys stood just beyond them, looking as if they were trying to pose in a way that accentuated the size of their arms or sculpted abs and acting as if they didn’t notice the girls at all. I’d seen all this at Leroy’s before; educated or not, kids were still kids. They were in their early twenties, and lust was in the air. Throw in the beach and beer, and I could guess what would happen later; but I would be long gone by then.

When Savannah and I drew near, she slowed before pointing. “How about over there, by the dune?” she suggested.

“Sure.”

We took a seat facing the fire. A few of the other girls stared, checking out the new guy, before retreating into their conversations. Randy finally wandered toward the fire with a beer, saw Savannah and me, and quickly turned his back, following the example of the girls.

“Chicken or hot dog?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to all of this.

“Chicken.”

“What do you want to drink?”

The firelight made her look newly mysterious. “Whatever you’re having’s fine. Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.”

She headed toward the steps, and I forced myself not to follow. Instead I walked toward the fire, slipped off my shirt, and laid it over an empty chair, then returned to my seat. Glancing up, I saw do-rag flirting with Savannah, felt a surge of tension, then turned away to get a better grip on things. I knew little about her and knew even less about what she thought of me. Besides, I had no desire to start something I couldn’t finish. I was leaving in a couple of weeks, and none of this would amount to anything. I told myself all those things, and I think I partially convinced myself that I’d head home just as soon as I finished eating, when my thoughts were interrupted by the sight of someone approaching. Tall and lanky, with dark hair that was already receding parted neatly to the side, he reminded me of those guys you met from time to time who looked middle-aged from birth.

“You must be John,” he said with a smile, squatting in front of me. “My name’s Tim Wheddon.” He extended his hand. “I heard what you did for Savannah—I know she was grateful you were there.”

I shook his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Despite my initial wariness, his smile was more genuine than either Brad’s or Randy’s had been. Nor did he mention my tattoos, which was unusual. I suppose I should mention they weren’t exactly small and covered most of my arms. People have told me I’ll regret it when I’m older, but at the time I got them, I really didn’t care. I still don’t.

“Do you mind if I take a seat?” he asked.

“Help yourself.”

He made himself comfortable, neither crowding me nor sitting too far away. “I’m glad you could come. I mean, it’s not much, but the food’s good. Are you hungry?”

“Actually, I’m starved.”

“Surfing will do that to you.”

“Do you surf?”

“No, but spending time in the ocean always makes me hungry. I remember that from being on vacation as a kid. We used to go to Pine Knoll Shores every summer. Have you been there?”

“Only once. I had all I needed here.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.” He motioned to my board. “You like the long boards, huh?”

“I like ’em both, but the waves here are better suited for the long ones. You need to ride in the Pacific to really enjoy a short board.”

“Have you been there? Hawaii, Bali, New Zealand, places like that? I’ve read they’re the ultimate.”

“Not yet,” I said, surprised he’d know about them. “One day, maybe.”

A log crackled, sending small sparks up to the sky. I brought my hands together, knowing it was my turn. “I hear you’re here to build some homes for the poor.”

“Did Savannah tell you that? Yeah, that’s the plan, anyway. They’re for a couple of really deserving families, and hopefully they’ll be in their own homes by the end of July.”