Page 25 of Seashells and Other Souvenirs

“Sorry for the mess”

She said as she gestured to the room

An empty coffee cup

An unfolded blanket

A stack of papers and a pen

The flip-flops discarded on the floor

“It’s no problem”

I answered

But what I really meant was

Please don’t stop

Leaving these reminders

That someone is living here

It’s been too long since anyone has

It’s been too long since I have

“I think the whole island might sink if it rains any more.” I drop the remaining pieces of the jigsaw puzzle back into the box and replace the lid.

We’ve spent the last few days using the hours around Jude’s work schedule to play every board game he owns, put together two puzzles, and build an elaborate town out of Legos.

“You’re finally bored of me?” He reaches into the container of snacks we set up inside our fort and fishes out a bag of gummy bears.

“Never.” I open my hand, and he shakes some candy into it. “I’m just bummed that it’s our last night before I leave and we can’t go check anything off our list.”

He takes the puzzle from me and moves it aside next to the LED lantern we’ve been using for extra light. “But you’re coming back, right? You’ll only be gone for a week, and then we’ll still have time?”

“If you’re okay with that.” I’ve wanted to have this conversation all week but been too afraid to broach the subject.

“I’m counting on it.” He twists the bag of gummy bears closed. “We have more traditions to cover, and the notebook still has plenty of blank pages. Speaking of which, did you finish the poem you were working on?”

“I haven’t figured out where it’s going yet,” I admit.

“I want it to end on a hopeful note. Like sure, sunburns do fade too soon like temporary tattoos, but there are also things that last. Maybe I should get a real tattoo at some point, and then I’ll be able to relate to the sentiment that sometimes the pain and the beauty are linked like you said. ”

“Hmm.” He considers. “But you do have a permanent tattoo of sorts.”

Before I can ask his meaning, he lifts his hand to my face and carefully traces the scar above my eye with his thumb. Instinctively, I jerk away.

“Sorry,” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, it’s okay. I’m just kind of self-conscious about it.”

I watch the lamplight dance across his face, which is only inches from mine, and try to make sense of what just happened, what’s going on inside me.

“You shouldn’t be. You have to be looking for it to notice it, and only the luckiest of us know to look.

That scar is legendary, Al. Do you know how many times Gavin and I told the kids at school about the girl we knew who split her head open on the waterslide and woke up before the ambulance got there and shed not ONE single tear, because she was so busy trying to comfort her cousin while her aunt held a beach towel to her head and yelled at her to be still? ”

I laugh, the memory as fresh as wet ink. “Elle was beside herself. And Sutton and Bekah were stuck at the top. I think Sutton probably wasn’t very nice to your sister up there.” Then the full force of his words hit me. “Wait. You were there that day?”

“I was there pretty much every day that summer. Kelsey was lifeguarding, and my dad didn’t trust Gavin and me enough to let us stay home alone, so we tagged along with her.

I usually just sat in the office with a book.

Most days, Gavin teased me about being antisocial and afraid of heights, but I was glad I had a clean, dry towel to offer that afternoon.

Which you ruined, by the way,” he jokes.

For some reason, this revelation seems like a bigger deal than it should be. “How did I never remember this? And you hate blood.”

“Yeah. But it was you. I didn’t even think about it at the time; I just needed to know you were going to be okay.”

My face heats, and suddenly the fort seems too small, too quiet, and Jude is too close. I look away.

He clears his throat. “You know what? You’re right. We shouldn’t let the rain spoil your last night before vacation. I need to make a quick phone call. Will you run up to the closet and grab a couple beach towels and the ponchos on the top shelf?”

Curiosity chases away whatever else I’m feeling. “What are we doing?”

“Starting a new tradition.” Before I can ask another question, he crawls out of the fort.

The rain is really coming down when Jude pulls off the main stretch into the parking lot of the mini golf course.

“Are you serious?”

“What?” He cuts the engine. “I figured you’d be up for something crazy like this.”

“Oh, I definitely am.” I lift the clear hood of my poncho over my ponytail.

“I just don’t think you understand how good I am at Putt-Putt.

I’m going to decimate you.” To be honest, I’m only provoking him because I’ve become addicted to the way he looks when his need to win conflicts with the many exceptions I’ve noticed he makes for me.

“I apologize in advance for shattering this delusion of yours.” He talks a big game, but I’d bet every penny I have he’s going to let me win.

We dash across the parking lot and under the cover of the cashier’s stand. There’s a guy who looks vaguely familiar behind the register, shaking his head.

“And here I was thinking I was going to get a nice quiet night off.”

Jude passes him a wad of cash and hands me the wire bucket of golf balls from the counter so I can pick out a color. “This is my buddy BJ. He’s doing us a favor.”

“I remember you,” he says. “You were at the Lincoln Shark show.” He pulls two clubs down from the rack behind him.

“I’d pick the highlighter yellow ball if I were you, so you can see it out here in all this rain.

For the record, I think you’re both insane.

But as long as there’s no lightning or thunder, you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. ”

“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

We make our way to the first hole, and I set my golf ball on the soggy green carpet.

“Hold on,” Jude demands. “What are we wagering on this?”

I’m already freezing cold, but I don’t care. “If I win, you have to make me hot chocolate and cheese toast tonight.”

“That’s fair,” he agrees. “But I’d have probably done that anyway.” He adjusts the poncho as the wind blows it around him. “ When I win.” He smirks. “You have to make me another medal.”

“Deal,” I laugh. “Now, can we play before I can’t feel my hands anymore?”

By hole eight, we are drenched despite the ponchos, and when I reach down into the hole after my last putt, the ball is floating in a few inches of water.

“What was that? Four?” Jude calls from the tee.

“Three,” I correct. “And I’m keeping score in my head too, so don’t you try to cheat.”

“I don’t need to cheat, Miss Henry. I’m winning if you’ve forgotten.” He putts the ball, and it rolls right beside me, almost a hole-in-one. Maybe he isn’t going to let me have this.

My socks squish inside my shoes. “We might as well be in the ocean right now.” I shiver.

“It is pretty chilly.” He steps up beside me. “I’d offer you my jacket if I had one, though I doubt it would still be dry. We can just play to nine this time if you want.”

“I knew it.” I let myself stand closer to him than I normally would, justifying it with my need to be heard over the rain. “You’re scared, because you know I’m about to make my comeback.”

He stares me down, and without even looking, taps the ball straight into the hole.

By hole fourteen, he’s “accidentally” missed a few shots, and I’m winning by one stroke. “It’s because I can’t see,” he protests. His glasses are splattered with raindrops and starting to fog up.

“Here.” I pinch an arm of the frames in each hand and carefully pull them from his face. I shake the water off. “If I had any clothing that wasn’t soaked, I’d dry them off for you.”

He leans in and squints. His hair is plastered to his forehead, and it’s annoyingly cute. “Now, I really can’t see.”

“Sorry.” I giggle and slide his glasses back into place. He blinks, focusing his eyes, seemingly surprised at how near I am. He doesn’t step back.

“I forfeit,” he states quietly.

My mind is too muddled to ask for clarification; all this rain is making me dizzy.

“Let’s go home, and I’ll start that hot chocolate. We can put on dry clothes, pile every blanket from the fort onto the couch, and watch a movie. What do you say?”

I find my voice. “You had me at ‘dry clothes.’”

We run back to the car, BJ still shaking his head as we drop clubs and balls on the counter in passing.

Once inside, I slam the passenger door and reach in the back for the towels.

It takes me a minute to peel the plastic poncho off and swaddle myself in a striped towel that hardly does anything due to the fact that everything else I’m wearing is wet.

Jude finishes wiping his glasses, cranks up the heat, and tucks his own towel around me. “I’ll drive as fast as I safely can,” he promises.

I watch the water trickle in streams down my window as he drives, trying to distract myself from the idea of snuggling under blankets next to Jude on his couch.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he comments when we’re almost to the house. “What are you thinking about?”

“Hot chocolate,” I lie, braving a glance in his direction.

I watch whatever lighthearted retort he was planning to say die on his lips as he turns onto our street and curses softly under his breath. My eyes snap forward to take in the source of his sudden change: a silver car parked in the driveway.

He whips our vehicle in beside it and hardly has time to snatch the keys out before swinging open his door and bolting up the stairs, leaving me alone and bewildered.