Page 7 of No One But Us

“Are they serious?”

“Oh, he’s totally marrying her. Well, he hasn’t asked yet, but he will. I mean, they’ve been together for nearly a year, and she’s just amazing. They’re perfect together.”

The sinking in my stomach was a small boat capsizing. Now it’s the Titanic. I think of him downstairs, with his brooding eyes and dark brows and the way his mouth quirks up to the right when he’s trying not to smile, and all I feel is loss. It’s as if I’ve spent my whole life training for a race, only to discover I’ve gotten to the starting line a day late.

Chapter 4

ELLE

I wake thinking about this sleep-away camp James went to every summer. How there was a curious stillness to the air when he left each year, the surprising silence that ensues after a power outage on a hot summer night.

Ginny and I finally got to go ourselves when we turned nine. Much like this summer’s beach trip, my thrill was entirely related to the fact that I’d be with James. I imagined being able to participate in all of the same activities, giving him a chance to notice my surprising maturity. I also imagined wowing him with my guitar-playing, which was unlikely to work out since I don’t play guitar.

But the camp spread over several acres, and we weren’t even in the same section. And from the very first night, I wanted to go home. By nightfall I was begging to leave, but neither of my parents answered the phone. Finally, lacking any other option, the counselors in my cabin got James.

He sat beside me on the front steps of my cabin, and I was ashamed of my tears but couldn’t manage to hide them. “What’s going on, Elle?” he asked. “Are you just homesick?”

It was impossible to explain. The crickets suddenly became deafening while I sat silent.

“No,” I finally said. “But I need to get home. I need to get back to my mom.”

“It’s normal to miss your parents when you first go to sleep-away camp. I did. I remember my mom always sang this stupid song to me at bedtime, which I acted like I didn’t like, but when I got here I missed it. And I felt bad that I’d acted like I didn’t like it.”

This made me cry harder, because my own sadness wasn’t the same. I dug my bare toes into the dirt at the bottom of the steps, wishing I could somehow stop. “My mom needs me there.”

“For what?”

I didn’t know how to explain what time with her was like. I couldn’t tell him about all the summers we spent on yachts, the way she’d drink too much and need me to get her to her room before something bad happened. So I told him the lesser things, still troubling. “I’m just worried about her. She...forgets stuff.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding bitter. “I’ve noticed. But she’s the adult, and you’re the kid.

You’re not supposed to be the one worrying about her.”

I said nothing, because him being right didn’t change the way things worked at my house. He changed tack.

“My grandmother is super religious,” he said. “Have you met her?”

“The one who makes the gross cookies?” I asked.

He laughed. “Yeah, her. She gave me this medal,” he said, pulling it over his head. “It’s St. Christopher. It’s supposed to keep you and those you love safe when you’re away from home.” He put it around my neck. “You can wear it while you’re here. It’ll protect you and your mom.”

“But what will keep you safe, then?” I asked, with real concern.

He grinned at me, a grin far too cocky and self-assured for a kid his age. “I don’t need a medal. I can take care of myself.”

I still have that necklace to this day. I imagined showing it to our children. But now, in light of the news about Allison, I see what a ridiculous, childish pipe dream that was. He’s getting ready to graduate and marry someone else. And now I get to spend an entire summer seeing what I’ve lost firsthand.

* * *

Ginny and I are just heading to the bar when James returns from a run. His shirt is off, revealing a long, lean torso covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and any reservations I had about the job or spending a summer around him are obscured in a sudden haze of lust. His hair is standing up a little in front, and he’s just the tiniest bit flushed, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones slightly sharpened. He doesn’t look like a normal guy after a hard run. He looks like a fitness model posing as a guy who’s just done a hard run. A single bead of sweat trails down his chest. I watch its progress, envious.

“Gross,” Ginny says, wrinkling her nose. “Poor Elle hasn’t been in the house long enough to be subjected to that.”

I am probably best off not seeing it, but not for the reasons Ginny thinks.

The Pink Pelican, my purported place of employment, is an open-air bar/restaurant a few long blocks from our house that does a decent lunch business and a massive Friday/Saturday drinking business.

Ginny introduces me to Brian, the manager, who tells me to take a seat at the bar. “We definitely have room for you,” he says, grinning in a way that makes me shudder. “Let me have you fill out some paperwork.”