Three Summers

Do I know Rowen? I literally sneer before I answer her, “No, but I used to… ”

Five

The work shift went quickly and I was thankful for how busy we were. Between me having to break up a splashing fight between two little girls and an extremely annoying little boy, and from having to place a little red-haired, freckle-faced kid in pool “time-out” on more than one occasion for jumping into the shallow area, I barely had time to even think about what happened with Rowen. Morgan tried to talk to me about how I knew him a few times, but each time I dodged her questions. She finally got the hint and dropped it with a pout on her face.

I look over to my right and Morgan and Hallie are gathering their bags and heading towards the gate. They both give me a tiny wave as they leave and I wave back. It’s just me and Sash. I can hear him counting the register aloud so I quickly grab my stuff and murmur a goodbye in his direction while walking to my car. I pause the second I hear the gate slam behind me. Right beside my car is an old, rusty, brick-red Dodge truck, and sitting on the curb beside it is Rowen, his head hung low. I momentarily think about retreating backwards, but I have nowhere to go as my car is mere feet from me. I could tiptoe and hope he doesn’t realize I’m sneaking behind him, but that’s just immature. It’s time to face this head-on. It’s inevitable. I have to face him at some point; we work together, for goodness’ sake.

I glance between Rowen, who has yet to notice me, and the sun setting just behind the grassy hills above.

I take a gulp of air and drone, “How long have you been sitting here?” My voice comes out shaky, and I bite my bottom lip in protest. Rowen whips his head in my direction and immediately stands up and looks me up and down.

His expression is surprised, then quickly changes to timid. “I’ve been waiting since your shift started.”

I feel my eyebrows shoot up, impressed, but I’m quick to put back the blank expression. He used to read me so well, and I hated it. Hopefully he can’t read me now, or else I’m in big trouble.

“I’ve been sitting here thinking of everything I wanted to say to you, trying to find something to say that would get you to un-hate me, but every single thing I came up with wasn’t good enough.” He pauses, and I cross my arms over my wet chest.

He inches towards me and I inch backwards, so he stops in his tracks. “There’s nothing I can say that will erase what we’ve been through.” I turn my head away from his stance and look at his truck instead. The truck that I used to sit with him in on Old Man Henry’s hilltop, overlooking the town. The truck that I spent many nights in, him holding my hand, caressing my thumb. The truck that I spent so many nights in, with him on top of me. My heart twinges at the images flowing through my mind and I can feel the burn filling my eyes.

“What we’ve been through? Don’t you mean, what I’ve been through?” He looks at me with confusion.

I shrug. “I mean, yeah, we were both at work on that rainy night, so I guess in that aspect we were in something together, but then afterwards… nope. I was in that by myself.” Pain flashes on his face and for a second, I’m glad.

“You’re right.”

I quip, “I know.”

For a while, neither of us says a word. I stare at the rusty fender of his truck with my arms crossed. He stands beside his truck, arms down by his side. I don’t care if he wants to say sorry. I don’t care if he wants to pretend like he cares now. He didn’t care when it mattered. It’s too late.

“Will you ever stop hating me, Sadie?” I hate how he uses my name. I hate how it makes my insides clench, and I particularly hate how I don’t hate him.

“I don’t hate you.” I finally get the confidence to meet his eyes and I hold them. I hold his stare. It makes me want to crawl into the fetal position and cry, but I hold them.

“Why? How could you not hate me? I hate myself.” Instinctively, I feel my expression soften.

“I don’t hate you, because I think that hating someone is too much work. It’s a useless emotion and it only crowds your heart. I don’t hate you, and I don’t hate Samantha. I hate what you did to me, but I don’t hate you.”

I swear I see his eyes glisten as the words leave my mouth. I’ve only seen Rowen cry once, and it was when his grandpa died.

I descended my porch steps when I heard the rumbling of Rowen’s truck around the corner. When he pulled that rust-bucket up the driveway, I felt the corners of my mouth rise. Watching him descend from the door made butterflies fly throughout my stomach, no matter how many times he did it. I ran over to him, only to stop abruptly when I saw his reddened face.

“Rowen?! What’s wrong?” I asked when I ran to his side. He crushed me in his embrace and I felt the salty wetness that dripped down my bare shoulder. My mind was a whirlwind.

“It’s my grandpa. He… ” Rowen’s grasp around my waist became tighter as he cleared his throat. “He had a stroke. He didn’t make it.” I tightened my tiny arms around his body and instantly felt the hurt pouring out of him. Seeing him hurt, hurt me too. It tore my heart open at its seams, it bled for him.

Rowen’s voice brings me out of my memory, “The world doesn’t deserve someone as good as you, Sadie.” I take in what he says, while never losing hold of his gaze. He’s probably right. I should hate him. I should hate him with every fiber in my body. I should hate Samantha and I should hate that evil man that turned my life upside down, but I don’t want to be filled with hate. I don’t want to give them the satisfaction of turning my tender heart into a hateful one.

“Maybe so.” I run my fingers through my damp hair and feel the overwhelming need to clarify to him that, just because I don’t hate him, doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten what happened.

“I don’t hate you, and I won’t hate you. But I will never,” I emphasize the word “never” and Rowen’s eyes dip downward, “Forget what you put me through. I will never forget how you never checked on me, how you started dating my best friend not even weeks after I had been attacked, and I’ll never, ever forget how you didn’t even have the c

ommon courtesy to break up with me.” I quickly walked to my car, leaving him looking as hopeless as that day I realized he never loved me. Not like I loved him, at least.

I slammed my car door, never once looking in his direction. I made it only three miles before I had to pull over and let my sobs loose. I sobbed and banged my steering wheel and in that moment, I let a little hate into my heart. Hate for myself for being so weak when it comes to him.

Six

I adore my small town in North Carolina in its entirety, and I especially love being home with my family. I’ve made it a goal to myself to have a decent summer, filled with family and friends—and to do all the stuff I used to do before everything hit the fan. My town is one of those places that has festivals every other month, sometimes every month. This month is the “Kick-Off to Summer Fest.” Basically, it’s a bunch of random vendors that set up their booths in the middle of downtown, the roads are blocked, and there’s an abundance of summer-ish food. It used to be my favorite thing about summer. But last year… I didn’t go. I didn’t get to go because I was holed up in my room like a turtle in its shell. I was anxious, scared, and a bit depressed. And sadly, I was more fearful of running into Rowen and his family than about the trauma that had led me to this state.