Free What I Thought Was True by Huntley Fitzpatrick Page B

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    and giving her these nibbling kisses along her jawline.
    It can’t be true. Vivien’s incapable of keeping anything to
    herself about Nic ( way more than I want to know about my
    cousin). And Nic, while he doesn’t tell me everything . . . he’d
    never keep a thing that big from me. Ever.
    Manny’s pushing at the sand with his feet, avoiding my eyes,
    and I realize I should have said something in return, but I can’t
    even find words.
    Getting married?
    That’s crazy .
    I mean, I imagine they probably will eventually. Eventually.
    Vivien is seventeen. Nic just turned eighteen last month. . . .
    Mom and Dad were seventeen and eighteen when they got
    married. But look how that turned out. And that was years ago.
    A whole different time. Nic and Viv . . . now?
    “Not that crazy. It happens,” Pam comments quietly. I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud. “Dom married Stace right out of
    SBH.”
    Yeah, and Stacy took their one-year-old and moved to Flor-
    ida two years ago.
    What about senior year? What about the Coast Guard?
    Is Vivien pregnant? No, impossible, she’s on the Pill and Nic is hyper-responsible.
    I lie back on the blanket, rest my arm across my eyes, listen
    to the general blur of conversation. It’s still warm, but the angle of the sun has that flat, end-of day slant. When I peer through
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    the canopy of my arm, I can see that Vivien has temporarily
    disentangled herself and is toasting a marshmallow, carefully
    turning it to the perfect puff of brown on each side, just the
    way Nic likes it. At cookouts this summer, I know he’ll nearly
    burn her hot dog—Viv likes it charcoal-briquet style—and
    load it down with ketchup, mustard, mayo, relish. After the
    Fourth of July parade on Seashell, when everyone eats Hoodsie
    Cups, she’ll snag two but eat the chocolate half of both, swap-
    ping with Nic so he gets both vanillas.
    Now he’s watching her lazily, sifting through the sand next
    to him, probably in search of another flat skipping stone.
    But . . . an engagement ring?
    Hooper is attempting to get Ginny Rodriguez to give him
    the time of day by asking her to bet on whether he can drink
    five beers in ten minutes without barfing.
    Manny scratches the back of his neck again, red-faced and
    uncomfortable. The flush could be the beer, but he seems to
    know he put his foot in it. “Gwenners,” he starts, then looks up
    and jumps to his feet. “Dude. You came.”
    I shield my eyes and peer over at the newcomer.
    Great.
    I mean come on . Three times in one day!
    “Sure I did,” Cass says easily, lifting a hand to greet Pam. He
    gives me a quick glance, then looks down, lashes shielding his
    eyes. “I’m an island guy now, right?”
    “You are not,” I practically growl, “an island guy.”
    Manny straightens, startled. Pam’s eyebrows rise and she
    looks back and forth between us.
    “Course he is, Gwenners. He’s working for my dad. He’s
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    an honorary Jose, aren’t you, dude? Nab something from the
    cooler and take a load off. The first days are killers.”
    “Ah, it’ll be okay,” Cass says, “once I figure out the whole
    horizontal thing.”
    That’s it. I feel suddenly exhausted. Cass. Nic, Viv, engage-
    ment ring. The Robinsons. The lobsters. I clamber to my feet,
    feeling as though I weigh about a thousand pounds—and,
    let’s face it, probably looking like it in my baggy, so-attractive clothes. I walk over to Nic and Viv, nudge Nic sharply with my
    toe, jerk my thumb toward the pier. “Let’s head out.”
    Like Pam and Manny, Nic does a quick double take at my
    tone, checking Vivien for translation. She glances over at Cass,
    wrinkles her nose, then stands up, pulling Nic with her. We
    walk to the edge of the pier, dangle our legs over. Well, Nic and
    I do. Vivien slides her legs over Nic’s, entwines her hand in his.
    I open