Page 47 of Wrecked

“You said you couldn’t hang out tonight.”

“I feel good.” Brad looked down at his phone. His jet-black hair was styled back in perfection. “Thought I’d hang out with my girl.” He swung his arm around me and tried to pull me in.

Adam just dribbled the ball in front of us. I nodded and moved further into Brad’s side.

“Just no McConaughey flicks, okay?” Brad said as we walked to his car.

That was the last night I spent with Brad. If I were wiser, I’d have realized his demeanor was off, his frame thinner than usual. I went with him so easily because we hadn’t been on a date in weeks. The new friends he had been meeting up with were anonymous to me, yet I never questioned it. I never thought to. I was too busy spending time and playing basketball with another boy with copper hair and onyx eyes.

Brad died later that week.

Everything changed after that.

Suzanne says I should talk about Brad. Really talk about what happened. I’m surprised I’m even allowing myself to travel down memory lane with visions of basketball with Adam. To go further, to acknowledge the most painful memories. . .

I let out a deep sigh and continue to work.

With clean brushstrokes, I do everything I can to make the front porch look as perfect as possible for the war veteran who will soon call this place home.

When the columns have their first coat of paint, I try to reach up inside the awning, but I can’t quite reach it. Climbing up onto a stepladder, I stretch my entire body, every inch I can, but there’s still one spot on the top corner. I try to jump to reach it, but the ladder wobbles, and I hold my breath until I’m sure I’m not going to fall.

“Here, let me get that,” Adam’s deep voice says from behind me.

“Yeah, thanks.” I step down from the ladder and hand him the can and brush, our fingers touching just barely in the hand off. I keep my head looking the other way.

Adam steps up and gets the naked spot with ease. Despite the long day, he smells delicious. Like cologne and soap mixed with sweat and a hard day’s work—the way a real man should smell.

“You wanna stay and do another coat or head out of here?” he asks, turning to me.

“I’d like to stay,” I say.

His mouth widens in a closed mouth smile.

I grab a clean brush from a nearby bucket, dip it into the paint, and start the second coat. I squat down and work on the sideboards. Adam steps down from the ladder and moves to the space next to me, working on the higher areas. My shoulder is just inches from his knee, my head in close proximity to his thigh. What I thought was a peaceful experience has now turned into a buzzing loud moment of uncomfortable silence.

I stay crouched down for as long as I can, but my brush has long since run out of paint. I rise, and just before I’m about to motion for the paint can, Adam holds it out. I dip my brush in and go back down to the ground.

I need paint again, but this time, before I rise, Adam lowers his arm toward me, and the can is within reach. The look on his face is of casual understanding. I give a small nod in thanks and go back to work.

We work like this for a while. Two people painting a front patio in silence, yet speaking to each other with slight hand movements, nods, and glances.

He works up high, me down low. The setting sun casts a faint orange hue on the white paint.

When the base is complete, I move higher. Adam moves lower. When I reach to get a new area, my shoulder brushes his. He doesn’t shift out of the way. When he turns around to work on the door, his back rubs up against mine. I don’t step away.

I glide higher, and he dips lower.

I slide to the left, and he makes his way closer to the right.

We dance in a circle.

Funny thing about trying to distance yourself from someone when you’re in a tight space is, the further you move away from each other, the closer you become.

Shoulder-to-shoulder. Brush-to-brush. Same wall, same level, same place.

When the last spot is complete, I appraise the porch, and I’m happy with the progress we made today. The Montgomerys will be able to move in soon. That feels pretty damn good.

Looking up, above the front door, under the eave of the roof, I notice an area is rough and rugged. It was a spot too high for me. Adam must have painted it.