Skinny Dipping Season (20 page)

Earlier, while Elliot had changed clothes, I called our mother on her cell and left a message. I'd have put Elliot on a bus if I could trust him not to jump off at the first opportunity. But there was no way I was going to drive him home.

I stared at the point where his fishing line disappeared beneath the emerald water. “So, are your summer-school exams all done?”

Elliot shook his head. “I have a few still. I may drop one anyway.”

“What's the class?”

“Chemistry,” he mumbled.

“Is it hard?”

“Just boring.”

“Is the teacher boring?”

“He's okay, I guess.”

“Then what's the problem?”

“Do we have to talk about this? I don't care about school. It's not like you learn the important stuff, anyway.”

Hadn't I had this conversation with Cherry not long ago?

I let that comment slide. Staring at the end of his rod and the line where the slack had started to curl, I wondered when he had become this foul-mouthed, cynical young rebel.

No one ever said it but Elliot had been the “oops baby.” Alexa was two years younger than me and Elliot was seven years younger than her, so Elliot and I were almost from different generations. He had been showered with anything that kept him busy and out of our mother's hair. He had more video games and sports paraphernalia than any kid I knew. But he wasn't spoiled with attention. With two older sister and parents who led a busy social life, there was always something that diverted attention from the baby in the family. Yet the two of us had been close.

“What happens if you don't pass chemistry this summer?”

“I guess I either take it over again this fall or throw it in Mom and Dad's faces and tell them to shove their plans for an Ivy League college up their asses.”

“Elliot!”

“What? Don't sit there like little Miss Perfect and pretend to be my teacher, E.”

“I'm not trying to be your teacher. Believe me, that's the last thing I want to be. I'm just trying to understand why you are doing this to yourself. I mean, I know you want a little freedom and you're going through what most kids your age go through. But you're turning a little radical with the whole rebellion thing.”

Elliot turned around from his perch at the bow and faced me.

“Most of the kids at my school are caught up in their own little world of grades, sports, and college tours, trying to live out their parents' wet dreams.”

“Oh, come on. That's a little harsh.”

“You want harsh? A kid in my biology class this year was so upset that she got a B-plus instead of the A her parents expected that she swallowed a bottle of pills. After pumping out her stomach and bringing in the shrinks, her parents decided to send her to another school, an even tougher school, because obviously teachers like the biology teacher didn't know an A student when they saw one.”

The words raced out of Elliot's mouth. I was surprised by the way his voice shook.

“Another kid on the lacrosse team, a senior, was being recruited by Princeton. His parents were so excited they promised him a car if he got in. A few months ago he screwed up his knee and needed surgery. Suddenly Princeton wasn't so interested. His parents argued with the doctors to put him back out on the field months before he was ready. He went back out and blew his knee out again at the first practice. They say his playing days are over.”

He slowed down and leaned back on the bow, turning to watch his fishing line. “Is that the kind of student I should be?”

“Elliot, you can do what you want with your life without going into self-destruct mode.”

“That's only assuming that everyone else on the planet isn't fucked up. But they are!”

“You're better than that.” The sun was sending laser beams into my head like a drill. I hadn't thought about a hat or sunscreen when Elliot had dragged me here.

“Look who's talking.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “The ultimate quitter.”

“I didn't quit.”

“You ran away and, hey, I don't blame you a bit. All those crazy reporters totally screwed you. You ran away to Grandma's. Well . . . I'm running away too.”

“It's not the same. My reputation and my career were ruined. And you know exactly how that went down.” I didn't want to throw it in his face, but I couldn't stand this lie we were living. “Elliot. We both know whose drugs were in the car.”

He looked at me blankly and I bit my lip. “You're too young to let things get you down already,” I said.

“I'm not letting it get me down, because I am not going to
be
like them. Starting now.” He waved his left hand around, making the boat rock. “Ta-da! Meet the new Elliot! Better, stronger, ready to take on the world! It's a big improvement over the old wimpy, browbeaten Elliot.”

“Do drugs come with the new Elliot too?”

His face clouded over and he put both hands back on the fishing pole.

“I don't get why you keep bringing up drugs. This Elliot does what he has to do.”

“You can do what you have to do and still do the right thing for yourself.”

“I don't remember asking for Lecture Elizabeth with the fishing trip. I just wanted Fishing Elizabeth. Or how about Shut Up Elizabeth? She's more fun and doesn't scare away the fish with her flapping mouth.”

Heat and moisture rose up behind my eyes. Clamping my mouth shut, I forced myself to stop talking and concentrate on the water and his pole . . . and the fact that there were no fish anywhere in the damn lake.

 

I sat in the dark on J. D.'s deck and heard the sound of his approaching car amid the constant whine of the tree frogs and crickets.

Elliot was in bed back at the house, attached to his earbuds and half asleep. We'd shared a simple meal of boxed spaghetti and jarred sauce earlier. Fortunately his mood had sprung back after our conversation on the lake, even if we caught nothing.

My mood was nosediving.

Having Elliot here made me miss Grandma Dory even more.

I gazed at the millions of shimmering stars visible in the clearing around J. D.'s house. The contrast between a starlit night in the city and a starlit night in the country—far from the streetlights, neon signs, and skyscrapers—was amazing. How funny that mankind tried so hard to keep the darkness out that they kept the light out too.

For some crazy reason I found myself needing to see J. D. at the oddest moments. Like tonight. From the first cup of coffee in the morning, when I wanted to hear his plans for the day, to the setting of the sun when I longed to tell him a wild story I had heard from one of the women in town. But I couldn't bug him at work over something as silly as my family problems. It wouldn't have been fair. He had a lot of other important things to deal with. He didn't like to talk much about his job, but I knew he was still being given a hard time after Luke Schraeder's arrest.

His headlights crossed over me sitting on the deck. And then he cut the engine of his SUV. I could see his outline in the delayed dimming of the headlights.

“Elizabeth?” He sounded worried.

“Over here.”

“Everything all right?”

I drew in a deep breath. “Yeah. As all right as things can be when your sweet-faced little brother turns into an angry, tattooed rebel.”

He walked up the steps to the deck and even though I could hear weariness in his voice, he opened up his arms with all the instincts of a man who knew how to make a woman feel better. I walked into his embrace and stayed.

“Where were you?”

“Liam Howe called and we were catching up. He should be coming back soon.”

“Does that mean you won't be the acting sheriff anymore?” I said with my face still muffled against his chest.

His chin rested on the top of my head. “That will be a big relief for several people.”

I tightened my grip. “You would make a great sheriff, J. D.”

He stiffened. “Not in this town, I'm afraid. They think I'm a wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting to strike when the farmer is away.”

“Then they're fools.”

Pulling away from me, he reached down and cupped my chin. “I thought I was a hard-ass.”

“I was just mad.” I said it softly. Reaching up to pull his head down, I added, “I just wanted you to do this.”

For a moment, all my troubles vanished as we kissed. But it didn't last long. Reality and worries rose up and yanked me back. “I have to go back soon, I can't spend the night.”

“That's right, you have an impressionable teenager back at home. How's he doing?”

“Not great. It's all just so confusing, J. D.”

“How so?”

“I mean, I completely understand his need to run away and do his own thing. But it's scary, because I can see him going down this path where he is burning bridges and alienating my parents. That's not really what he's about. I know you saw him at his worst. But he's actually really smart and talented. And nice. It's like he doesn't see his own value.”

“Hmm.” His tone was patronizing. It made me both angry with him and myself.

“For the record, we are not talking about
me
right now.”

“I never said anything.”

“You implied it!”

“No, I think you're the one who made the connection first, E.”

I stepped away. “I'm just so confused!”

“Join the club. You're focused on your failures because you got hurt. It's like you got thrown off the horse, but instead of trying to get back on, you're trying to find some other animal to ride.”

I couldn't see his face, half hidden in the shadows. “Funny metaphor, J. D. You should have been the one to teach English. You've got a metaphor for everything, I'll bet.”

A breeze swept across the deck and even though it was a warm night, I felt a chill creep down my back.

“It doesn't change the fact that you need to rethink this whole running-away thing.”

“You know nothing about what I need.”

“I know more than you think. So far you've been playing at pretending you have no responsibility for anything in life. But that isn't the real you and you know it. You care way too much about people. You can twist the facts, but you saved a young girl from getting arrested—even if it was for all the wrong reasons, I might add. You are helping the ladies plan the Timberfest, and you don't look trashy even when you have two inches of makeup on your face. If the good people of Truhart see the real you, why can't you do the same?”

He held up my hands and kissed the tips of my fingers. They had lost most of their rawness from over-scrubbing them a few short weeks ago. “You have nothing to wash away. You never were and never will be anything but a good person.”

I was speechless.

“It's not easy, is it?” he asked.

“What?” I asked, dazed.

“Coming to grips with the fact that the only person whose opinion of you really matters is . . . you.” He placed my hand over my heart. I stood, frozen in place, listening to the sound of our breathing.

“I have to go,” I finally said, hearing a tremor in my voice. I turned away and jumped down the steps toward the path that led to the driveway, almost tripping in the darkness.

B
are legs hung over the swim dock on both sides of me. Nestor's age-spotted white legs, J. D.'s hairy, muscled calves, and Elliot's sunburned shins with the patches of fuzzy man-hair sprouting. Three men at different stages of life. My own red-painted toenails disappeared beneath the water's surface. The sun hung low, just above the tree line. The breeze in the middle of the lake and the chill of the water made the late-day heat bearable.

We sat in comfortable silence, listening to the water lap against the plastic barrels that held the swim dock afloat. Next to our picnic basket rested an open bottle of white wine tucked inside an ice sleeve, a napkin with half a loaf of French bread, and a small wedge of cheese. I stashed a couple of Twinkies in the basket for Elliot and me. As much as J. D. hated sharing in my junk-food homework, he had certainly looked hungry when I had licked a stray dollop of cream from the corner of my mouth a minute ago. I knew he was thinking of what we had done the first time we were on this dock.

I breathed deeply and meditated while I balanced my wineglass on my lap. The prisms of color the setting sun radiated on the lake and horizon were hypnotic. Nestor felt it too. This was the first sunset he had enjoyed on the lake in a very long time.

This afternoon J. D. had stopped by after his shift ended. I was on the phone with my father. Dad was threatening to come get Elliot if I didn't drive him home today. I explained that Elliot was just too old to force into anything he didn't want to do. Elliot and J. D. stared at each other while I promised my dad I would keep trying.

I hung up and put my hands on my hips, tired of watching J. D. and Elliot size each other up. I suggested we pack a picnic and head out to the dock. At first Elliot was reluctant to do anything with J. D. but I managed to coax him into it with the lure of junk food. It was Elliot's idea to kidnap Nestor. He remembered how we used to float lazily on Loon Lake while Grandma and Nestor told stories and drank beer.

When Nestor had answered his door, Elliot popped out without warning. Nestor didn't bat an eye at Elliot's transformation from boy to man and prep to punk. I watched as they hugged and I tried not to be jealous by the fact that Elliot had no problem showing his affection for Nestor. One of these days he would return a hug from me.

Nestor insisted that he didn't like surprises and he was going to miss his favorite game show on TV, but he couldn't hide his excitement. We loaded him in the passenger seat of J. D.'s SUV and drove around the lake road to the dock where the old rowboat waited. It was stocked with the necessary items for a maritime picnic on our floating island.

When Nestor realized where we were going, a deep rumble of laughter surfaced in his chest. “You're not going to give this old geezer the heave-ho and feed me to the fishies, are you now?”

“After your last euchre victory, we should, Nestor!” J. D. took an arm and Elliot took the other. They helped Nestor into the rowboat and when we reached the middle of the lake we helped him onto the swim dock.

Now, with full stomachs, each of us were lost in the secret life of daydreams.

Nestor sighed. “This is a perfect moment.”

“There's no other place I would rather be,” I agreed.

Elliot splashed the water with his toe. “You know, you seem happier here, in Truhart, E. More relaxed. Like your old self.”

His words hung in the air and drifted off in the wind.

A loon tremolo sounded at the edge of the reeds near the shore. It was followed by another call of distress.

J. D. glanced up. “The eagle must be hunting. He loves to come every evening around this time. He's searching for the baby loon.”

“Look!” I whispered. Two loons glided across the surface of the water not too far from the reeds where I had fallen a few weeks ago. On one of their backs rested a baby loon, gray and downy and awkward.

“There's a little appetizer for Mrs. Eagle,” said Elliot.

I hit him in the stomach with my free hand.

“Hey, that eagle has kids to feed too,” J. D. said.

“She can take all the rats and mice she wants, but not that baby loon!”

“Can't do a thing about it, my dear. That's nature,” cautioned Nestor. “They can't protect their young all the time. Sooner or later, it's about survival.” He stared at the sky, but I wondered if he was talking about more than just the loons.

“Well, you don't have to always kill the nice, sweet baby to survive,” I murmured.

“Some people think mice and rats are cute,” J. D. said.

“Some people think WWE wrestling is real!” I shot back.

“You don't think it's real?” Elliot and J. D. said at the same time.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. Men!

J. D. leaned backward, catching Nestor's eye. “Isn't this the time of day the snapping turtles come out too?”

Nestor nodded his head and took a long sip of his wine. “Most definitely. It will be dark in a short while.” He gazed down at his feet still swinging in the water. “But they probably smell old-man feet miles away. I doubt they would be too interested in these bony old dogs.”

I pulled my feet out of the water and let them drip-dry on the dock. “Are you telling me there are snapping turtles in this lake?”

“Well, yes, my dear. Although it's been a while since I set eyes on one.”

I scanned the water, searching for dark shadows, and took a big sip of wine. Elliot grabbed a soda and the last Twinkie out of the picnic basket. He shook his head at me and snickered.

“Did you ever hear how Russ Littleton is doing?” Nestor asked.

“Well, last I heard he was having trouble getting the hang of walking with only four toes,” J. D. said.

“Poor man.”

J. D. shook his head in woeful agreement and looked down at his glass. “Who would think one lost toe could throw a man's balance off so much.”

“What happened?” I asked. They were probably just trying to scare me. But I was curious.

“Well, now, Russ and his brother-in-law, Hank, were out here last summer at just about this time of day. They were fishing and having a lot of success too, I hear. Then they had a nibble. It was a lunker for sure!”

“What do you mean—a lunker?”

“Jeez E, don't you know anything? It's a big fish,” Elliot said.

J. D. nodded. “The kind you only catch once every couple of summers—”

Nestor interrupted. “I hear it was a pike that measured almost two feet.”

“I heard that too. Anyway, you'll like this story, Elliot. They started to pull in their line, when out of the water jumped an enormous snapping turtle. And get this: That snapping turtle jumped right into the boat.”

“Oh come on. You guys are making this up just to scare me,” I said. Even so, I scooted backward toward the picnic basket.

J. D. put a hand over his heart and said with a serious face, “I swear, I was just as shaken when I first heard the story too.”

I looked down at the bottomless lake and back at J. D. I didn't think he would say that if he didn't mean it. “What did they do?”

“They tried to kick that turtle out of the boat. But Russ had taken off his shoes while he was fishing—”

“If only he hadn't done that,” Nestor said gravely. Both men paused and sighed. Nestor took another long sip of his wine. His mouth trembled.

“I could hear him screaming like a girl all the way from my house,” added Nestor.

“I heard some people say they heard him down on Echo Lake too.”

“Once that turtle finally let go, both men jumped in the lake and swam to shore, leaving their fishing boat with a pike flopping around inside it.”

I was on my knees now with my feet tucked under me.

“Well, time to head back. This wine is going straight to my aging cranium,” said Nestor.

We put away the food and loaded up the basket. As we boarded the rowboat, I eyed the surrounding water warily. When Nestor was comfortable in the back bench of the rowboat, J. D. and Elliot jumped in.

I hesitated. “Do you think a snapping turtle could jump in this boat?”

“I doubt it,” said J. D. “What? Are you worried?”

“No. Of course not.” I crawled to the bow of the boat and let J. D. row from the middle seat. We had left our shoes on shore, so I could only curl my toes tightly and hope for land soon. We were passing over a particularly dark patch and I craned my neck to get a better view of the sinister shape.

“That might be one—” J. D. started to say, and before he could finish I jumped from my perch onto J. D.'s and wrapped my hands around his neck. I clung so hard his breathing was impaired.

“It's all right, E. I've got you,” he wheezed. He put his arms around me from behind and brought me down hard in his lap.

“Get a room!” Elliot jeered.

“How come Grandma never told me about the snapping turtles in this lake? We used to swim in it when we were little.” I had skinny dipped in it just a few days ago. Well, never again!

Nestor's shoulders were shaking in the shadow of the advancing evening. Reaching out, I took his hand. “It's okay, Nestor. We're almost to the shore. We won't let anything hurt you . . . just don't jump out, okay?”

Elliot made a noise that sounded like a strange sniffle. I sat up rigidly, feeling as if I'd missed something.

“What? I'm nervous too,” insisted Elliot. J. D.'s mouth tilted in the corner.

At the shore, J. D. released me and jumped off the boat to drag it farther on shore. Then, still holding a shaking Nestor's hand, I guided him off the boat and onto land . . . where Nestor proceeded to snort and bend over in laughter.

I sent J. D. a worried glance. Maybe this whole thing had been too much for Nestor. J. D. was staring hard at the ground. His chest was shaking.

Elliot burst into laughter. “That was great! She always falls for that shit!”

I grabbed the picnic basket from the boat and swung it at J. D.'s head. “You cretin! I almost knocked the boat over after that story!”

“We would have saved you,” defended Nestor.

“Men are so
stupid
. Why do you love to scare women like that?”

“It's what we do best,” said J. D.

I stomped off to the SUV while J. D. and Elliot guided Nestor up the path to the waiting car. Nestor was still giggling. “That was a good one, J. D. Almost as good as when I first pulled the story on you.”

“Yeah, I didn't go swimming for a month after that one. . . .”

When they arrived at the truck they found me sitting behind the wheel. “I'll drive.”

J. D. narrowed his eyes and handed me the keys. “Just be careful with this truck, Betsy. It's not like that guppy you drive. The acceleration really has a lot of kick.”

I nodded and stared straight ahead. “Only when you push it off a cliff, Hard-ass.”

J. D. chuckled and helped Nestor into the truck, then went to help Elliot finish loading up the back. Nestor put his hand on my knee. “Don't blame them too much my dear. I was in on it as well.”

“Well, as the saying goes, ‘Nothing inspires forgiveness quite like revenge,' ” I said with a wicked smile. I shifted the SUV into
drive
.

“Watch out for snapping turtles on your long walk home, boys!” I yelled out the window. I looked in the rearview mirror at J. D. and Elliot eating road dust.