“So why do I feel like it is?” I asked.
“Because he dumped all that shit on you. Totally uncool.” Another gulp. God only knew how many he’d had. Morris never seemed to get drunk, just talked even more slowly. When he was really wasted, he was flat out silent. That’s how you knew. “He wasn’t around for you when you needed him, you don’t have to be there for him. Bottom line.”
I was quiet, aware as I always was when we crept close to the issue of his own father. All I knew of him was the lowered Monte Carlo he’d always driven to see Morris back when we were neighbors, years ago. It was red, supershiny, with a stereo that had bass rumbling loud enough to set your teeth chattering. You could tell the car was its owner’s baby, absolutely loved and cared for. This was in stark contrast to how he treated his actual child, who, more often than not, sat waiting on the front steps for weekend visits for hours before finally disappearing back inside, dragging his overnight bag behind him. After Morris and his mom moved, his dad relocated somewhere up north and hadn’t been in touch since. It was not something we talked about much. What I did know was that in the weeks leading up to graduation, when I found myself haunting my mailbox for responses to my invites, it was Morris who said to cut it out, that it wasn’t worth the time. He might have been ignorant on some fronts, but the boy knew about the futility of waiting around.
Unlike Luke, who was now suddenly behind me, his hands sliding down over my shoulders. “What are you guys doing over here, looking so serious?” he asked. “Contemplating the universe?”
I glanced at Morris, who was downing the last of his beer. “Sort of.”
“Screw the universe,” he said. “I’m just checking out the ocean.”
Luke guffawed, then plopped down next to me and pulled me into his arms. I knew he was buzzed and just being sweet, but like too often lately, it grated; he’d come at the wrong moment. I tried to shake this off as Morris got to his feet.
“Getting a refill,” he announced. He looked at me. “You need one?”
I shook my head. “Talk later?”
“Talk later,” he repeated.
It was what we had always said, our version of goodbye, going all the way back to the days when he lived next door. Back then, when we were kids and time was long, we spent just about every day together— riding the bus to school, coming home, then playing by the causeway behind our houses. More often than not, he’d then end up at our house for dinner and TV afterwards, leaving only when it was time for me to go to bed. But as he finally went out the door, walking the short distance across the grass to his rental house, it was never a full stop. More like a pause, until we started up the next day. Talk later. We always did.
Now he nodded, then was gone, loping across the sand. As I watched him go, Luke pulled me in even closer and kissed the back of my head. “You did look pretty serious over here. Everything okay?”
“I guess.” I picked at a piece of driftwood by my foot. “Just kind of freaked about my dad and everything, still.”
“Right.” He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I know it’s weird. But the fact that he did tell you . . . it’s kind of cool. Like he’s, you know, letting you in.”
I felt myself blink, processing this. “Into what?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. His life, his marriage. I mean, that’s progress in some way, don’t you think? That after pulling away like he did, he wants to include you now?”
No, I thought. Out loud I said, “Maybe.”
It was so different from what Morris had said, the complete opposite in fact, that I wanted him to explain himself. But then he was sliding his hands around my waist, over the small of my back, kissing my neck again. “My parents are out tonight,” he said into my collarbone. “Want to see if we can get busted at my place this time?”
It was a fair offer, one I most likely would have jumped at any other day. But now, it just felt off. Sometimes I thought Luke knew me better than anyone. This wasn’t one of them.
“Maybe,” I said again, leaving all of my doubt to hover in this one word between us. I didn’t know if he heard me or not, as the wind was picking up, carrying voices from behind us with it. There were so many sounds near the ocean. Water, air, even sand blowing. As you got farther inland, nature subsided, muted by concrete and the landscape. Here on the Tip, though, you could always count on it to drown just about anything out.
* * *
Of course, Luke’s parents didn’t catch us. He had always been the lucky one.
I was heading home just after midnight when my gas light came on. Now I’d be late for curfew for sure, I thought, as I turned into the Gas/Gro. I’d just started filling up when a dusty, dented pickup pulled up to the other side of the pump. The door creaked open and an older guy with graying hair, wearing a worn baseball cap that simply said FISH, climbed out.
It was one of those hot summer nights, with a breeze that didn’t even come close to cooling you off, even when it hit you right in the face. Inside the Gas/Gro, the attendant had his cell phone tucked between his ear and shoulder as he stocked cigarettes, sliding in one box at a time.
When my pump read twenty bucks, I slowed it down, watching the numbers carefully so I wouldn’t go over what I had in my pocket. In my peripheral vision, I saw the guy slide his credit card, then twist off his gas cap. He started filling up as well, and for a moment we just stood there, the only sound the ticking of gallons and dollars going in.