It's Not Summer Without You (Summer #2)

It's Not Summer Without You (Summer #2) Page 37

“Put me down!” I screamed, pounding on his back.

“Belly, you’re drunk.”

“Put me down right now!”

And for once, he actually listened. He dropped me, right in the sand, right on my butt. “Ow! That really hurt!”

It didn’t hurt that bad, but I was mad, and more than that, I was embarrassed. I kicked sand at his back and the wind kicked it right back at me. “Jerk!” I yelled, sputtering and spitting out sand.

Conrad shook his head and turned away from me. His jeans were wet. He was leaving. He was really leaving. I’d ruined everything again.

When I stood up I felt so dizzy I almost fell right back down.

“Wait,” I said, and my knees wobbled. I pushed my sandy hair out of my face and took a deep breath. I had to say it, had to tell him. My last chance.

He turned back around. His face was a closed door.

“Just wait a second, please. I need to tell you something. I’m really sorry for the way I acted that day.” My voice was high and desperate, and I was crying, and I hated that I was crying, but I couldn’t help it. I had to keep talking, because this was it. Last chance. “At . . . at the funeral, I was awful to you. I was horrible, and I’m so ashamed of how I acted. It wasn’t how I wanted things to go, not at all. I really, really wanted to be there for you. That’s why I came to find you.”

Conrad blinked once and then again. “It’s fine.”

I wiped my cheeks and my runny nose. I said, “Do you mean it? You forgive me?”

“Yes,” he said. “I forgive you. Now stop crying, all right?”

I stepped toward him, closer and closer still, and he didn’t back away. We were close enough to kiss. I was holding my breath, wanting so badly for things to be like before.

I took one step closer, and that’s when he said, “Let’s go back, okay?”

Conrad didn’t wait for me to answer him. He just started walking away, and I followed. I felt like I was going to be sick.

Just like that, the moment was over. It was an almost moment, where almost anything could have happened. But he had made it be over.

Back at the house, people were swimming in the pool in their clothes. A few girls were waving sparklers around. Clay Bertolet, our neighbor, was floating along the edge of the pool in one of his wifebeaters. He grabbed my ankles. “Come on, Belly, swim with me,” he said.

“Let go,” I said, kicking him off and splashing his face in the process.

I pushed my way through all the people on the deck and made my way back into the house. I accidentally stepped on some girl’s foot and she screamed. “Sorry,” I said, and my voice came out sounding far away. I was so dizzy. I just wanted my bed.

I crawled up the stairs with my hands, like a crab, the way I used to when I was a little kid. I fell into bed, and it was just like they say in the movies, the room was spinning. The bed was spinning, and then I remembered all the stupid stuff I said, and I started to cry.

I made a real fool of myself out on that beach. It was devastating, all of it—Susannah gone, the thought of this house not being ours anymore, me giving Conrad the chance to reject me one more time. Taylor was right: I was a masochist.

I lay on my side and hugged my knees to my chest and wept. Everything was wrong, and most of all me. Suddenly I just wanted my mother.

I reached across the bed for the phone on my nightstand. The numbers lit up in the darkness. My mother picked up on the fourth ring.

Her voice was drowsy and familiar in a way that made me cry harder. More than anything in the world, I wanted to reach inside the phone and bring her here.

“Mommy,” I said. My voice came out a croak.

“Belly? What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m at Susannah’s. At the summer house.”

“What? What are you doing at the summer house?”

“Mr. Fisher’s gonna sell it. He’s gonna sell it and Conrad is so sad and Mr. Fisher doesn’t even care. He just wants to get rid of it. He wants to get rid of her.”

“Belly, slow down. I can’t hear what you’re saying.”

“Just come, okay? Just please come and fix it.”

And then I hung up, because suddenly the phone felt very heavy in my hand. I felt like I was on a merry-go-round, and not in a good way. Somebody was setting off fireworks outside, and it felt like my head was pounding right along with them. Then I closed my eyes and it was worse. But my eyelids felt heavy too and soon I was asleep.

Chapter thirty-two

jeremiah

Pretty soon after Belly went up to bed, I cleared everybody out and it was just Conrad and me. He was lying facedown on the couch. He’d been lying there since he and Belly came back from the beach. They were both wet and sandy. Belly was wasted, and she’d been crying, I could tell. Her eyes were red. Conrad’s fault—no doubt about that.

People had tracked sand inside and it was all over the floor. There were bottles and cans everywhere, and somebody had sat on the couch in a wet towel, and now the cushion had a big orange spot. I flipped it over. “The house is a wreck,” I said, falling onto the La-Z-Boy. “Dad will freak out if he sees it like this tomorrow.”

Conrad didn’t open his eyes. “Whatever. We’ll clean it in the morning.”

I stared at him, just feeling pissed. I was sick of cleaning up his messes. “It’s gonna take us hours.”

Then he opened his eyes. “You’re the one who invited everybody over.”

He had a point. The party had been my idea. It wasn’t the mess I was pissed about. It was Belly. Him and her, together. It made me sick.

“Your jeans are wet,” I said. “You’re getting sand all over the couch.”

Conrad sat up, rubbed his eyes. “What’s your problem?”

I couldn’t take it anymore. I started to get up, but then I sat back down. “What the hell happened outside with you guys?”

“Nothing.”

“What does that mean, nothing?”

“Nothing means nothing. Just leave it, Jere.”

I hated it when he got like that, all stoic and detached, especially when I was mad. He’d always been like that, but it was more and more these days. When our mom died, he changed. Conrad didn’t give two shits about anything or anyone anymore. I wondered if that included Belly.

I had to know. About him and her, how he really felt, what he was going to do about it. It was the not knowing that killed a guy.

So I asked him flat out. “Do you still like her?”