Free Sweet Waters by Julie Carobini

planks. “Someone invited me to church today,” I finally say, not sure why it seems this statement will create a pause along our walk.
    â€œReally? What kind of church meets on Monday?”
    I stop and look at Camille. “I mean that he invited me to come on Sunday. He would’ve invited you too of course, but he doesn’t know you exist.”
    â€œGee, nice. So who is this ‘he’? Is he the type of ‘he’ worthy of attending church for?” She giggles.
    â€œActually, he seems like a sweet kid—a teenager. He and Josh fixed some electrical problems at the inn today.”
    â€œOkay, so now we’re getting to it. You saw Josh today. Working at the inn? How convenient is this? Ha-ha . . . Tara’s going to snag herself a hunky firefighter.”
    â€œStop it. Mikey—the kid who was working with Josh—he’s the one who invited me to the church. The weird thing is, even before he said it, I knew where it was located. I think we must’ve gone there as kids.”
    â€œTo church? I don’t think so. Daddy was always so down on church people.” She laughs lightly. “Remember that time he complained so much about Anne’s wedding being held in a church? He kept mumbling under his breath, and carrying on. I could just see Mom’s bare shoulders blushing in that strapless bridesmaid gown. Ooh, she was so mad.”
    â€œYou were just a baby, Camille, but I remember running around on a blacktop with other kids, singing songs and eating snacks. A distinct memory popped into my mind today.”
    Camille giggles again. “You mean like preschool?”
    I pause. Maybe I am thinking of preschool? But why would there be so many women around wearing heels and skirts, and so many men in slacks? “No, I really think it was some kind of church. It’s weird because I haven’t thought about that in all these years, but when I learned that Josh and Mikey were members, the memory popped into my head.”
    â€œYou’re not thinking of going, though.”
    â€œMaybe somebody there would remember us . . . or it might spark another memory. I just think it might help us connect with Dad again, somehow.” I’m struck by how many things I never asked him, so many new questions now that we’re back in our old hometown.
    Camille groans. “Well, don’t wake me when you leave.”
    We make it to a lookout that juts over low, flat rocks where tide pools gather during daylight. Narrow lines of foam sparkle in the soft moonlight as the water recedes from the shore. Camille shows no interest in this conversation, so I move us in another direction. “Speaking of leaving, I think it’s time we find a place of our own.”
    As if doused in fresh sea spray, Camille comes alive. “I was thinking the same thing! No offense, Tara, but your snoring’s driving me crazy—it’s the saddest thing of my life.”
    â€œGuess you’ll be wanting to get a job so you can have your own room, then.” I refuse to let her get to me. Snoring. Right.
    â€œI want to go back to school.”
    I snap a look her way, wondering if she’s serious. “Do you really? Because I’d let you slide on the job thing for awhile if you did.”
    She sighs softly, like she’s musing. So unlike her. “I’m serious. There’s a junior college down the road that has a fashion-design program. I’d like to check it out, at least.”
    â€œHow did you hear about it?”
    â€œA guy I met told me about it. Says it’s where a lot of the surfers go ’cuz they have night classes.” She giggles then. “Not that they’re all into fashion design. That’s just one of the programs they have there. Anyway, surfers like it because night school doesn’t mess up their wave action.”
    Of course.
    She continues. “Oh, I meant to tell you. I saw a cute place for rent