Everything is changing.
The leaves are turning color, from green to orange and red. The weather is crisper. September has bite.
We’ll be leaving Hannsett Island in a few weeks. Back to my mom’s apartment in Queens, where the air tastes like cigarette smoke and car exhaust instead of sea salt.
Paradise couldn’t last forever, anyway.
Donovan and Jason want to hang out as much as possible in the remaining time we have, but I keep making excuses to avoid them. I tell them it’s my time of the month (I wish). I tell them I’m not feeling well. I tell them Four is making us engage in a little “family time.”
So when Pearl and Four take me back to the marina to get some boat time in while the weather is still nice, I’ve run out of excuses.
We board Sweet Serenity and Four and Pearl go below deck. I linger up top.
It’s starting to get chilly here. A lot of the boats have awnings over them. They’re locked down and closed up. The swans have left their nests. The pool is empty, shut down.
For the first time, I realize that I’m going to miss this place when summer is over.
I don’t see Donovan or his dad anywhere. There’s activity on The Healing Touch, though. Jason’s dad is sitting on the deck. He’s wearing a wool sweater stretched across his broad chest. His mouth is pulled into a focused frown underneath is greying beard. He’s opened up a storage hatch and he’s pulling things out, making small piles.
I climb over the railing and hop onto the deck. I cross so I’m standing in front of his boat.
“Hi, Mr. King,” I say.
He glances up at me and offers a smile. “Kenzi. How’s your mother?”
“Good.” I rock back and forth on my bare feet, feeling small and awkward. “Is Jason here?”
He shakes his head and turns his attention back to his project. “No. He’s back at the house.”
“Oh.” A thought strikes me. Maybe not the best thought. Or the worst. But I’m out of options. And Jason’s dad did tell me over dinner to come to him if anything…came up.
“What’re you doing?” I ask.
“Putting the boat away for the summer. All good things must come to an end.”
“Cool.” I bite my lip. “Can I get your advice about something?”
“Sure.”
“It’s…kind of personal.”
He looks up at me. Those steel blues—they’re all Jason’s eyes. But these crinkle with concern. “Come aboard,” he tells me, so I do.
I don’t know how I muster up the courage, but I tell him.
It comes out in a burst. All the words that I’ve kept pent up inside of me.
I tell him that I had sex with his son—I leave the details and the Donovan out of it. I tell him about missing my period, and the pregnancy tests, and the results that came after.
Mr. King is silent. He listens to me the whole time, letting me get it out.
We’re sitting in the navigation room. It’s a small area with a circular table between us. I have a glass of water in front of me, but I haven’t touched it. I haven’t stopped talking since I sat down.
Surrounded by all this dark oak, I feel like I’m in a confessional. Maybe that’s why I find it so easy to spill my guts to him.
When I finally go quiet, he lets the silence hang between us for a minute. He doesn’t look angry or confused. He just looks contemplative, his fingers tented at his mouth. Finally, he lowers them and asks, “Does your mother know?”
I shake my head. “No, but I plan on telling her, I just…haven’t found the right moment.”
“That’s good.” He interrupts. “Keep it that way. She never has to know. And neither does Jason.”
I blink. I’m not sure what kind of advice I was expecting, but hide your pregnancy from your mother wasn’t at the top of the list. “Okay…”
“It will ruin her life. And his. Do you understand that?”
A knot forms in my throat. “I guess…”
“Do you have to?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have to guess? Your mother has a unique method of survival by attaching herself to affluent men. I imagine that would get much harder were she to have a pregnant teenager.”
The knot in my throat is now the size of Jupiter, and growing.
“And then there’s my son,” he says and his voice—already deep, already dark—drops about ten degrees. “Jason is on the track for an extraordinary medical career. He graduated with honors. He’s the top of the swim team. And he’s attending an affluent college in the fall. Having a child right now would obliterate his future.”
I can’t speak. The knot is too tight.
But then he softens. He reaches across the table and grips my shoulder and squeezes gently. “You did a good thing telling me, Kenzi. I’ll set you up for an appointment at the medical center tomorrow. We’ll get this taken care of.”
“Taken…care of?” I echo the words like I’m learning the English language.
“It’s better this way.” He stands then. “Come here.”
I follow his lead. He takes me in his arms and hugs me like he’s my father. He smells like smoky, like bergamot, with the hint of something sweet, like apple. His heavy cologne makes my stomach twist.
“It’s going to be okay,” he tells me, and he sounds so certain of it that, in that moment, I almost believe him.
Four lets me borrow his bike.
He’s thrilled, I think. Look at me, getting exercise. Fresh air. All American fun.
Impossible to tell him that the reason I need the bike is because I don’t want anyone to know where I’m going.
Mr. King set me up with an appointment. 1:00 pm at the Lighthouse Clinic. To get things “taken care of.” Don’t be late.
I strap my headphones around my ears, tuck my Walkman into my backpack, and blast music as I bike up the road. I let the music clear out my thoughts. It’s like my ears are open windows and the music is a hefty cross-breeze, blowing away anything in its path.
Because when I let myself think, my thoughts are chicken wire. It hurts to cross them.
You’re doing the right thing, he’d said. You’re making the right choice.
Maybe he’s right, you know? He’s the adult here. I’m a dumb girl who got herself stuck in a dumb spiders’ web of problems I can’t easily wiggle out of this time.
As I get closer, the lighthouse peaks out first from the horizon. And then the hospital itself. It strikes me how big it is. How impressive.
How small I feel standing next to it, straddling my bike.
I need to go inside. But I can’t. My feet are stuck to the ground.
I can’t do this, I think. The thought is a lump in my throat, a weight on my chest.
I can’t do this.
“Kenzi?”
Donovan is standing there. The sight of him is both a surprise and a relief and I nearly fall off my bike. I adjust, keeping balance, and ask, “What’re you doing here?”
He’s by the bike rack, pulling his own bike out. It’s worn and the peddles click loudly when he walks it beside me. “Last day of my summer program.”
“How’d it go?”
He makes a gagging sound. I laugh. Too loudly.
He knits his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”
Um…
“Here to celebrate you, obviously. Happy graduation.”
That pulls a smile from him. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. We can do whatever you want.”
He glances over his shoulder. “We should wait for Jason.”
“No,” I say too quickly. The thought of seeing him right now sends my heart pounding. “I mean…I thought this could just be the two of us. For old time’s sake.”
He bites his lower lip briefly in thought. Then he swings his leg over his bike and says, “C’mon.”
We speed down the road, away from the medical center, even as I feel the pull of anxiety tightening like a noose around my neck with every pedal push.
We end up at the very top of the clay cliffs. We find a spot where the grass is cut shorter and flop down. Head-to-head. Watching the clouds. It’s chilly up here, but the sun is hot, and it warms my skin.
“What’s the deal with Jason’s dad?” I ask after a while.
Donovan glances over at me, his eyebrows knit. “What do you mean?”
“I mean…what do you know about him?”
Donovan thinks about it, then says, “My family has a…weird relationship with the Kings.”
“How so?”
A sigh escapes him. “We didn’t always live in a trailer. We had a house in Syracuse. Dad was an accountant. Mom was a teacher. We were comfortable. And then mom got cancer. He really loved her, so…my dad went all out. The best doctors. The best hospital. That’s how we came here. I was thirteen. It was supposed to be temporary. But…she never got better. She fought it. Hard. For two years. But…well…”
His voice trails. I reach up and touch his hair, running my fingers through it. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. Anyway. In case you haven’t noticed, this place…isn’t cheap. My dad had to sell the house. It ate up his savings. Everything we had, basically. Mr. King…took pity on us, I guess. He gave my dad a job at the marina as a way to settle his debts. And we’ve been working it off ever since.”
“So he got you out of debt? That’s generous.”
Donovan bites his lip. “Sort of.”
“What’s the sort of part?”
“Well…it makes you think. What does the guy value more than money? Control. My dad can’t make move without Mr. King’s say-so. He’s in his pocket. For good. Which is fine, as long as you stay on Mr. King’s good side.”
“And if you don’t?”
Donovan lapses into a long, dark pause. “I don’t even want to think about the ways he could make me and my dad’s lives a living hell.”
And this coming from Donovan, the guy who is bullied on a regular basis.
A knot twists in my stomach and won’t come undone.
He glances back at me. Those chestnut browns meeting my gaze. “Why do you ask?”
“No reason.” I purse my lips together and turn my head away from Donovan, staring off into the wide ocean below. A seagull swoops across the distance, and I feel instant envy.
Applications will be the death of me. I have a fire lit under my ass now, though. At least applying to internships keeps my mind off of my little (big) problem.
“Kenzi!” Pearl calls from downstairs. “The phone for you!”
I pick up the landline in my room. “Hello?”
“Kenzi.” The voice on the other side sends my nerves on edge. Mr. King continues, “I heard you missed your appointment.”
I swallow. Hard. But better to be honest, right? “Yeah…I think I just need time. To think about it.”
“I see.” A lengthy pause. “Would a check help?”
“Sorry?”
“Money. I can help with your college fund, perhaps.”
“Oh, I’m not…I’m still waitlisted…I mean…” My head is spinning. Is he really trying to buy my pregnancy? I finally come out with: “No, thank you.”
“I’m disappointed,” he says. “I thought we were on the same page.”
“I just need to think about it,” I repeat. Dumb like a parrot, but at least I’m holding my ground.
The silence on the other end is so long, I think he’s ended the call. Then he finally says: “I’ll schedule a new appointment. I’d recommend you make this one.”
I hang up immediately. My hands are shaking and I can’t catch my breath, like I’m breathing through a straw. I lay down on the hardwood floor and close my eyes until the spinning stops.
“Are you avoiding me?”
I look up, and there he is. The man I have been avoiding. Jason King.
In the grocery store, of all places.
It takes a minute for my mouth to work. Pearl is down the opposite aisle and I stand there, like an idiot, with a jar of peanut butter in my hand, which I’ve been debating for the past five minutes because why this sudden craving for peanut butter?
He’s leaning against my shopping cart, wearing a green bomber jacket and a crooked grin. And…goddammit.
Two weeks of carefully crafted avoidance wasn’t long enough. The very sight of his tall frame, his dark hair, and mischievous blue eyes makes me flutter.
More than anything, in the sweets aisle of the grocery store, I want to grab his stupid, beautiful face and feel the warmth of his lips on mine.
But I don’t. Instead, I scoff. Throwing up my walls. “Don’t you have like…a person chef to do the shopping for you?”
He shrugs. “Most of the time. But she never buys…”—he pulls a box from the shelf—“Gushers.”
I can’t help the grin that lifts my lips. I missed his terrible sense of humor.
“Jason!” A voice barks his name and he winces.
“Also,” he adds, “my dad is really picky about his cuts of steak.”
My heart freezes. Mr. King is here.
My whole body goes numb. I shove the peanut butter away and grab the shopping cart. “I actually should find Pearl, we’re kind of on a time crunch…”
“Hold up.” He grips the rim of the shopping cart and he’s too strong for me to yank it back. “Answer my question first.”
I sigh dramatically. “What. Something about Gushers?”
“No. Are you avoiding me?”
When those blue eyes meet mine…part of my chest caves in. For someone so tall, he looks suddenly small. Vulnerable.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.
Words coming up like acid in my throat. I want to tell him. I’m going to tell him. He deserves to know.
But then, down the aisle, I see him approaching. Mr. King. His eyes land on me and they narrow.
I have to get out of here. My voice is sharp, my teeth are chattering, and what comes flying out of my mouth next is the only thing I can think of to get him to leave: “Jesus, Jason, it was just a summer fling. Man up.”
I yank the shopping cart and, this time, he releases his grip. He looks kicked. But I’m running on adrenaline now—no turning back now. I exit the aisle and push the cart forward, away, trying to find Pearl, trying to get out of here…
Trying to ignore the tears blurring my vision, or the metallic taste of shame in my mouth.
I open the jar of peanut butter on the way back to Four’s. I eat it with my fingers. It lumps in my mouth and my throat and I take no joy in it, but I keep shoveling it back anyway.
Pearl parks the car out front and then hops out. “Can you get the rest of the bags, darling?” she calls out.
But “rest of” she means “all of,” but I don’t complain. It takes me a second to suck the sweet stickiness from my fingers, but then I screw the jar shut and get to work. I clamber out of the car and load the groceries onto my arms. All my movements feel slow. Every task is a chore.
I want to curl under the blankets of my bed and sleep for a year.
I use my foot to kick the car door closed and trudge inside. Except my bad mood doesn’t get to linger, because the second I open the door—
“Surprise!”
For a minute, I just stare at the sight in front of me. There’s a colored banner hanging across the wall with the word “Congratulations!” Four and Pearl are standing side-by-side, staring at me, all wide, toothy smiles. A single cupcake sits on a plate on the table, a candle in it.
First, I think: it’s not my birthday.
Then, it hits me. They must have found out about the baby. And they’re…happy about it?
“We’re so proud of you, kid,” Four says. Really laying on the dad-role thick.
Proud of me? This isn’t how I thought this conversation would go. My mouth is dry. Maybe from nerves. Maybe from all the peanut butter I devoured in the car. I drop the grocery bags to the floor.
“Um. Thanks. How did you…find out?”
“We got the letter,” Pearl says.
The letter?
She then whisks a letter off the foyer and holds it out for me. It’s folded in three places and I have to flattened it out.
Ms. Kenzi Stratton,
We’re delighted to inform you that you’ve been accepted to…
“Holy shit,” I gasp. “I’m off the waitlist.”
I reread the letter. Twice.
“I’m going to Berklee!”
Pearl lets out a whoop and Four pulls out a noisemaker from who-knows-where and blows into it.
For the first time in weeks, I’m grinning ear to ear. My mom wraps her arms around me and I find myself clinging to her, crushing her against me.
“I knew you’d do it, darling,” she says.
I bury my face in her shoulder and fight off tears that have been welling up all day.
“That’s all it takes,” Four goes off, his voice meandering. “Hard work. Patience. And a little angel on your shoulder.”
I release Pearl from my death-grip hug. “What angel?” I ask.
Four looks pleased with himself. “I had lunch with the Kings the other day. I mentioned to him that you were waitlisted. Leonard said he’d look into it. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but, well…”
“Well,” I echo. My heart is a balloon, deflating.
“It seems Leonard put in a good word for you after all,” Four says.
An angel on my shoulders…or a devil.
“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Pearl muses.
I feel like I swallowed a rock. My one bubble of hope, this precious moment that I could finally hold onto, now sullied.
The Kings giveth. The Kings taketh away.
I know what this is: a small taste of the power he welds. It’s like Donovan said—the only thing Mr. King wants is control.
Just like his son, Mr. King is persistent. I’m an inconvenience. A black mark on his son’s otherwise perfect record. And he’ll never stop until I give him exactly what he wants.
He’ll follow me. To college. Anywhere I go.
The knowledge is dizzying and I sway on my feet. This room is suddenly too tiny. Pearl and Four are too close. My very bones itch.
“I…have to pee,” I lie. “I’ll be right back.”
“The cupcake!” Pearl’s voice pitches.
I quickly blow out the candle, take a bite of the top, and shout, “it’s delicious!” before rushing upstairs to the bathroom.
I lock the door, close the toliet lid, and sit on it.
I have to make a choice. And I have to make it fast.
