The Truth About That Summer

seventy

When we rejoin everyone by the pool, the patio is more crowded than before. More of Laura's friends are over, some who've also brought along their kiddos, and I recognize one little girl, Jade, from the daycare center.

She smiles when she sees me but clings to her mother's leg anyways. I offer a little wave but don't break away from Luke. Not to join Laura or her friends, that's for sure.

Older couples, friends of Mr. and Mrs. Henson, sip wine and lounge in the expensive Adirondack chairs lining the side of Luke's large back yard. It's odd how easily I can pretend my own parents are a pair of them: Dad inspecting the grill with Mr. Henson and Mom laughing, head thrown back, with Talia.

And Casey. He'd be playing volleyball in the pool or sneaking out with Luke to the liquor store. My eyes sting, seeing everyone else enjoying a Henson cookout without Case there.

I look away quickly, before I can catch anyone's eye. Somehow, with more people around, I feel even more invisible and yet in the spotlight all at once.

I wonder, if when everyone looks at me, they catch glimpses of my brother, like I do when I stare into the mirror.

If they'd previously forgotten about the accident and the name Casey Anderson, but seeing one of my dark brows quip up reminds them of the golden boy that would sometimes make sarcastic jokes - the farthest from polite that he ever ventured, really. We looked most alike, we'd always been told, when we were being snarky.

I'll recognize it on their faces if - when - they do finally put the pieces together. One moment, they're looking at me and I'm just a girl they feel slightly sad for, even if they don't remember why. And then they realize what they'd forgotten and their expressions turn guilty, pitying.

And I can't fucking stand it.

"What're you thinking?" Brynn asks and for a second, I'm worried she read my mind. Then she taps my forearm with the paper plate Talia put out next to the plastic cutlery, and says, "Burger or dog?"

Taking the plate from her, I inhale deeply and shrug my shoulders. "Hard to decide when everything looks so good."

The air is thick with smoke from the grill, carrying with it the delicious aroma of propane and charred meat. The patio furniture has been pushed to one side, drinks and dirty napkins claiming people's seats as they wait in line for food.

The food itself lines a long, white, foldable picnic table Mr. Henson brought out.

Hot dogs and hamburgers and cheeseburgers. Ribs and brisket. Pulled pork and grilled chicken. Kebabs and sausages. Big bowls of watermelon and a tray of chocolate covered strawberries. Bowls of potato salad, macaroni salad, Caesar salad. More bowls, overflowing with various chips and pretzels. Ears of corn, grilled and buttery, and oven roasted sweet potato and summer squash.

My stomach growls at the spread and I realize that in my rush to make Grams her meals before I left, I never ate myself.

So I grab a plate and hand one behind me to Luke, feeling a bit calmer as his finger tips graze my hand. I pile mine high with a cheeseburger, some ribs, and lots of potato salad, my subconscious mind preparing for Casey to run by, ask "Anything good?" and steal something from my plate before I can reply.

"Hungry?" Luke chuckles, eyeballing the mound of food I have and an emptiness pangs inside my chest.

"Starving." I try for a smile.