Free Summer at the Shore Leave Cafe by Abbie Williams Page B

when.”
    â€œWe were all carefree back then. God, if only,” Jilly said, and hung her head back for a moment, walking for a few beats as she stared straight up at the treetops. “Aubrey tried to keep their marriage going, I think, from what I’ve heard. But it couldn’t have been easy. He’s so bitter.”
    â€œYeah, but who can blame him?” I felt a flash of defensiveness for Justin, who had certainly only minutes before driven this very stretch of road. “Then she cheats. She was always a total flirt.” I hadn’t intended to sound so bitchy, and if that wasn’t me projecting my own experience onto the situation, then I didn’t know what was.
    Jilly didn’t disagree. “She was, that’s true.”
    â€œWhat happened? Do you know?”
    â€œNot totally…Dodge won’t go into details, even when Gran starts digging. But from what I understand, she ran off with a tourist. That was three summers ago now, and they moved out of state. Aubrey doesn’t even come back to visit her parents very often. But then, they’re so religious they probably shun her.”
    My heart constricted for a moment, unexpectedly, as I imagined Justin alone and dealing with that bullshit. No wonder he’d taken up drinking. That much I’d heard from Mom. I needed a subject change so I asked, “How’s Clinty looking forward to tenth grade?”
    We were discussing our children’s respective future plans fifteen minutes later as we came out from under the canopy of trees and turned right onto Landon’s main drag. The music was growing steadily louder, as the atmosphere would undoubtedly grow more raucous as the evening progressed. The air was redolent with the smell of the fish fry; vendor’s booths were set up along the street, festooned with colored lanterns, fishing lures, plastic trout and blue garlands meant to resemble waves. Near the lake, a local band called Untamed was setting up their equipment on the pavilion for a show later tonight. Eddie Sorenson and Jim Olson were putting on an impromptu show at the moment, sitting on a bench under an enormous weeping willow whose branches trailed into Flickertail Lake, plucking along on their respective guitar and banjo. Picnic tables were jammed with families; kids were running everywhere, most wearing foam fish heads that fit like headbands over their sweaty hair. I felt a small pang, remembering my own girls at those fun ages of seven, eight, nine…big enough to have some independence, but still with enough of a child’s heart to hold my hand, wear a foam fish head and caper without restraint or fear of embarrassment.
    â€œJoelle Davis!” I heard then, and turned towards the familiar voice of Leslie Gregerson, a former classmate. I was prepared for questions, I reminded myself. I wasn’t about to let anyone see the real me, the aching one. I could project the happy, smiling Joelle that I used to be, the one everyone remembered: Jackie’s Perky Girlfriend. Hopefully not: Slut Who Got Pregnant on Prom Night.
    â€œHi, Leslie,” I said, and we hugged briefly; her hair smelled exactly like I remembered.
    â€œYou look great, Jo,” she said, and then smiled warmly at my sister. “Hi, Jilly, you know I think that about you too.”
    â€œThanks, Les, you too,” I added, honestly; it was funny how after a few moments around people you knew as teenagers, no matter how much they’d physically changed, you suddenly just saw the person you used to know. Despite the extra pounds and much shorter hair, she was still the girl I’d sat by in senior English, taken tequila shots with at parties, whose older brother Keith had been Jilly’s first crush.
    â€œThese are my kids, Randy and Tim,” she said, trying futilely to grasp the shoulders of a couple of boys as they darted by. “How many do you and Jackie have now?”
    â€œThree girls,”