Jake opens my door and offers his hand. "You all right there?"
"Just daydreaming."
Our flip-flops smack the pavement, pulling the angels from their counsel.
"Marco, this is Helene," Jake says. "She and Canaan go way back."
"Yeah, we've met, haven't we?" Marco steps onto the curb and takes her hand, his eyes lingering on the connection. "When I was here before? Or wait. No . . ."
Helene slides her dainty hand away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're from Portland, right?"
"Born and raised," Marco says.
"I've spent some time there. We could have run into one another."
"Huh." Marco tilts his head, blinking at her like she's too bright, or like he's got something stuck in his eye.
She turns to me, unfazed by the awkwardness. "Where's your dad?"
"Picking up Olivia." I don't make a face or growl when I say her name. In fact, I do my very best to keep my irritation to myself. "They'll meet us there."
"And you know where we're going?" Canaan asks.
"Not the foggiest. We're following these guys," I say, gesturing to the comedy act making their way onto Main.
Kaylee has tugged Delia out of the diner and locked the door behind her. "Don't even think about it!"
"This might be one of them times when waving a white flag is your best option," Delia says, screwing her sunhat in place.
"Not a chance," Kaylee says. "You're going."
"Humph. You think I'm a difficult boss, you just wait. I'm going to make one needy sunbather."
"Fine. Be needy, but you're coming." Kaylee gets behind her and pushes Delia toward our circle.
"Oh, you unleashed it now, girl. I'm talking little umbrella drinks and foot rubs and . . ."
Jake makes the introductions.
"I know who this boy is," Delia says, tugging Marco toward her large chest and squeezing him tight. "I watch the news. I've been praying for you, boy."
"She doesn't pray," Kaylee whispers.
"I do. Sometimes."
"Well, thank you," Marco says, pulling away and straightening his shirt. "I've done some praying myself of late."
"You're riding with us," Delia says, grabbing his elbow. "He's riding with us, Jake-y boy. You just follow. Kaylee knows where we're going. Right? You know where we're going? Yes. She does. We'll get you there."
Marco is hauled away, looking amused and slightly panicked. We should have helped him, or at least prepared him for the cataclysmic event that is Delia.
"Think he'll survive?" I ask.
Helene pulls her hair into a ponytail. "He's survived worse."
Dad and Olivia are already at the lake when we arrive. They've managed to avoid the crowds gathered for the annual fireworks display and still found a picnic area not far from the water. A couple tables positioned on the hard-packed dirt and flanked on three sides by a shaded wood. It's kind of perfect.
Canaan and Helene duck into the trees. "Just checking things out," Canaan says. "Be back in a sec."
I throw a towel over my shoulder. "He's been ‘checking things out' a lot lately."
"You just used air quotes," Jake says, closing my door.
"Kaylee doesn't own them."
Marco joins us. "That is one heck of a woman," he says.
"Sorry, we should have-"
"Let me sulk away the holiday in a darkened room? Na. Delia-that's her name, right?-Delia, she's crazy, but she's a good audience. I got this."
Dad's already grilling, a plate of hot dogs at his elbow, tongs in one hand and a beer in the other. I can't help but notice the three empty bottles at his feet. I resist the urge to check my phone for the time, but I know it's not yet noon.
"Hey, Dad," I say, kissing his cheek.
Jake steers clear. He and Marco walk down to the water while Kaylee does whatever she can to make Delia comfortable, which apparently includes some sort of plastic pool float positioned precariously close to the water on the lava rock that surrounds the lake.
I can't imagine that ending well.
I step away from the barbecue, shielding my eyes from the sun. The lake is smooth, like glass, like a mirror reflecting the periwinkle sky. It's strange to see Marco out of place. He's so at ease in the city, surrounded by cement and brick and grungy coffeehouses. But the lake seems to truly freak him out. He places a foot in the water and then yanks it out. With all the snow runoff, I know it's freezing, but Jake's having none of that. He wraps his arms around Marco's chest and hauls him out into the water. Marco's a few inches taller, but there's no doubt who'd dominate a wrestling match. With a testosterone-fueled grunt, Jake throws him. Marco lands with a water explosion that has Delia protesting. She waves her arms, demanding Kaylee move her farther from the water. Marco comes up sputtering and laughing and promising revenge.
I spent last Independence Day on a bus traveling from St. Tropez to Paris. It was hot and crowded and smelled like armpits. This beats that by miles and miles. I inhale the spicy woods and the musk of water deep into my chest. Today has potential.
And then I catch Dad glaring over my shoulder at the splashing, laughing boys, his face murderous. I wrap my arms around his waist, and he breathes a little easier, patting my back, splattering beer down my shirt.
"Dad!"
"Sorry, baby," he says, mopping me with his apron.
I hate when he drinks like this. Hate it. He gets forgetful and clumsy and-his eyes are back on Jake-he gets vicious.
"It's fine, Dad." I push him away and back toward the barbecue. The back of my swimsuit cover-up is drenched, so I pull it off and readjust the suit underneath. "Where's Olivia?"
"Round here somewhere," he says, flipping a dog blistering on the grill. "Looking for cell reception."
"Ah."
I grab a soda from the ice chest and climb up on the picnic table.
"I wish you liked her," Dad says, bringing me a hot dog.
I could say I'll try, but I'm not going to lie to him.
Still, I'm not going to start a fight either.
"I do too, Dad."
When Canaan and Helene return, I'm stretched out in a perfect patch of sunlight. Helene lays her towel next to mine. She's humming. Always humming. Canaan splashes into the water, rescuing Marco. He sweeps Jake from his feet and throws him farther, much farther than any human I've ever met is capable of throwing a person.
Dad steps into my sun, shading my face. "Holy . . . Did you see that?"
Kaylee and Delia clap and cheer. Marco's eyes are huge, like perfectly round, perfectly green planets. Jake emerges, shaking his head and paddling in.
"Yeah. Um."
"He's a circus freak, isn't he?" Helene says, perched on her elbows. "I've always thought so."
Dad stumbles back, dropping to his bum on the dirt. "Yeah. Circus freak."
Olivia doesn't return until Delia's slicing up her famous apple pie. By then Dad's so sloshed, sprawled across a lounge chair, he hardly notices her presence. Still, she sits next to him, her pretty face tense.
"You all right, Liv?" Kay asks, dishing up the pie.
"Oh sure," she says, tucking her phone into her pocket. "People are a disappointment sometimes, but it's nothing a little sun can't cure."
"Liv?" Marco's sitting in a beach chair under a covering of trees on the opposite side of the picnic area from Dad and Olivia. Clothed in a dry shirt, he's been reading, lost in Ali's journal for the last half hour, but now he stands and crosses the picnic area. "Liv? Olivia Holt?"
She sits up, startled. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"It's Marco. Marco James. Benson Elementary."
Her face softens, and she looks almost childlike. "Marco? Oh my gosh!" She jumps from her chair and embraces him, laughing and . . . Is she crying?
"How long has it been?" she asks.
"A lifetime, I think."
She squeals again, and suddenly it's not hard to believe she's younger than she looks.
"I didn't see that coming," Jake whispers. Dad's started to snore, so he's brave and takes a seat next to me. "Did you?"
"Not in a million billion years," Kaylee answers, gape-mouthed, apple pie stuck to her cheek.
Kicking up a cloud of dirt, Marco drags his chair over to Olivia's and they talk. And talk. Somehow Marco doesn't look so out of place next to her, and she looks substantially less like Cruella de Vil. Engaged in conversation with an old friend, her plastic smile's been replaced with something genuine, something wholesome. I run a finger over the halo on my wrist, unsure how to reconcile my bipolar impressions of her and the halo's strange warning.
I lose track of them after that. We eat pie and play cards. Delia is remarkably good at rummy and Canaan is not, which is kind of hilarious. Jake's not any better. Tired of losing, he takes my hand and drags me down to the water.
I don't complain.
13
Brielle
The sun's low in the sky now. It's cut a yellow boulevard across the lake. So beautiful, so clear. I can imagine stepping out onto it. I can imagine walking on water.
But when my toes touch the rippling current, my feet sink into mud.
"Let's walk," Jake says.