Page 83 of High Season

“Hey.”

Her voice is weighty with suspicion. The ease and warmth that used to hum between them like a current has flickered down to a faint pulse. Tamara finds herself wanting another cigarette, even though her throat still burns with smoke from the last one.

“Are you doing anything right now?” says Tamara.

Josie shrugs, wary.

“Not much.”

“Do you wanna go down to the beach? We could sneak some vodka out of Evelyn’s alcohol cupboard.”

Josie sighs. Rubs the heel of her hand into her eye.

“I’m kind of tired,” she says. “It’s been a long day.”

“Oh, come on,” says Tamara. “We haven’t hung out in ages. Just for an hour?”

Josie hesitates. Between them, Tamara sees the truth that neither of them will speak. They haven’t hung out for ages because of Tamara. Because of the distance she has laid between them.

Because they’re not children anymore, and the differences in their lives feel too vast, too awkward, to bridge.

“Fine,” says Josie. “An hour. But then I’m going to bed.”

Tamara feels a smile spreading up but fights to keep her mouth still. Tilts her head to the side, casual.

“I promise,” she says. “An hour.”

When they get down to the water, Tamara hovers at its edge.

“Do you want to go in?” she asks.

She so badly wants Josie to say yes. She wants to be in the water with her. She believes, in some impossible way, that it will take them back to who they once were. Two girls, without all the complicated things that have arisen between them over time.

Josie screws up her nose.

“I don’t have a swimming costume with me,” she says.

“We could paddle?”

“I’m OK. Thanks.”

“Vodka, then?”

Josie accepts the bottle and they sit on a broad, smooth rock. There is a chill in the air, and Josie pulls her knees up to her chest as she passes the vodka back to Tamara.

“What have you been doing this summer?” Tamara says.

“Working, mostly.”

“Right. Obviously.”

Tamara takes a swig from the bottle and then offers it back to Josie. Josie shakes her head.

“I’m good,” she says. “Mum will freak out if I come back hammered.”

Tamara removes her hand, stung. Already, the night is not unfurling how she had imagined. She had hoped that they’d get tipsy. That they’d swim. That she’d see Josie ease back into herself, her guard gradually falling away.

“My mum, too,” she lies, knowing that Evelyn will not care—perhaps will not even notice.