“I love this song,” Roe yelled as she turned the dial up on the portable radio. She reached for Brooklyn’s hand and pulled her to her feet. They danced, swaying their hips back and forth, throwing their hands up in the air. The truck rocked wildly, causing the girls to laugh.
“You’re going to bust my truck,” Austin hollered through laughter. They were stopped at some pond, trying to beat the late-summer heat. All summer, the gang would explore the area, finding ponds, rivers, and campgrounds to hang out in. At night, they would converge on the beach for a bonfire. Those nights were Brooklyn’s favorite. She loved sitting with her back pressed against Austin’s chest, his legs holding her close. She was ridiculously in love with him.
“Dance with me,” Brooklyn said, extending her hand to Austin. He shook his head and sipped on a bottle of beer.
“I’d rather watch.” He winked.
“I will.” Bowie stood and joined the girls, encouraging Austin to do the same. Brooklyn’s lower lip jutted out as she stared at her boyfriend. Her hand remained suspended in the air as her hips moved to the music, but Austin wouldn’t comply.
“You’re such a jerk, Austin,” Monroe yelled out. She took Brooklyn’s hand and spun her in a circle. Still, Brooklyn wasn’t giving up on Austin.
He never relented.
Monroe came toward Brooklyn with open arms. They hugged, even though Brooklyn felt completely out of place. She didn’t deserve the fact that Monroe was being so nice to her after she had left all those years ago without warning or provocation. She’d deserted her friends in their time of need. They had lost their friend, the man they had all grown up with. When she should’ve consoled them, they were consoling her, and the guilt was too much to bear.
“What are you doing here?” Monroe asked.
“I’m here for the summer, visiting Carly.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. She could’ve been passing through; she could’ve been doing anything other than what she said. But it was too late. She could tell by the expression on Monroe’s face her words had done damage. Brooklyn, who’d cut ties after Austin died, hadn’t, in fact, cut ties at all.
Still, Monroe feigned a smile. Something Brooklyn knew she could do all too well. Ironically, the years of accepting that her younger sister was the favorite, even among the community, had made Roe one of the best actresses the area had ever seen.
“That’s right—with Austin’s memorial service coming up, of course you’d come home.” Monroe reached out and squeezed Brooklyn’s hand . . . a sharp jab right to the heart. That one stung. She hadn’t been a good grieving girlfriend, at least not to the local people or their friends.
Brooklyn inhaled deeply, finding some inner strength to let the comment roll off her. She deserved it. “I’m not sure if Carly is up for attending.”
“But you’ll be there, right? It’s such a wonderful way to remember Austin. The town does a fireworks display, but you probably know that since Carly pays for it. There’s a reading on the pier, and sometimes people get up there and tell stories about Austin. As time passes, though, more and more of our friends don’t come back or they can’t get the time off from work. We’re all so spread out around the country now with our careers. But for those of us that do come back or are still here, we always meet on the beach for a bonfire. You should come—bring Mrs. Woods if she’s up for it. I’ve tried a few times over the years to reach her, but she’s never taken visitors. It’s nice to know you’ve been speaking with her and that she’s okay. I miss her as much as I miss you. I know everyone would love to see you.”
She expected that to be a lie. She knew one person who could go their whole life without ever seeing her again, and she felt the same way. As nice as it sounded, she would have to memorialize Austin in her own way, with his mother, watching from afar. Too much time had passed, and Brooklyn’s excuse for giving up on everyone was, at best, weak and selfish. She hadn’t counted on needing to explain her absence, nor had she wanted to.
“How are you? How’s Mila?” Brooklyn asked. Now that she’d seen someone familiar, her emotions were all over the place. Aside from Austin, she missed Roe the most. There were many times when Brooklyn picked up the phone to call Monroe, to beg her to come to Seattle—or wherever she was at the time—to see her. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
“Mila’s . . . Mila,” Monroe said with a shrug and a long, exaggerated sigh.