The Truth About That Summer

seventy-eight

Luke knocks on the doorframe of Casey's room, startling me in my spot on the floor. Surrounded by Casey's collection of sneakers, I scrunch my nose up at Luke.

"You sure you don't want any? They don't smell. I don't think he wore a pair more than twice," I glance around at the various shoes, many in white and black, but plenty in bright colors with splashy logos. Well, one pair he wore pretty regularly.

I pull gently at the leather strap tied around my wrist.

"Not the same size, unfortunately." Luke shrugged, a laugh rumbling from somewhere in his chest, "It used to bother Case, actually, that my feet were bigger. 'Cause you know what they say about big feet? That-"

"Luke." I hold up a hand, cutting him off immediately, "That's disgusting. I never want to hear about you and Casey discussing your shoe sizes ever again."

He laughs, throwing his arm around my neck once I'm upright and pulling me tightly against his chest. "Fine, fine. Are you ready to get going?"

"Close." I murmur, "Let me just bag all these up. Then I'll be good."

He nods, kissing my hair. "Take your time. I'll help June into the truck."

I watch him walk away, feeling warm gratitude for him yet again. Today he's taking Grams and me to her follow-up appointment with her doctor.

She's doing better, now that I help her to remember to take her medicine. Still, she's insistent that she'll convince the doctor she no longer needs the extra pills.

So Luke... Luke is my moral support for what is sure to be a very frustrating experience.

I let out a deep exhale.

Alone in Casey's room, I shake out a black garbage bag and get to my knees. Scooping up multiple pairs at once, I try not to think too much as they fall into the trash bag.

Reaching under the bed, I drag out the remaining pairs, my eyes finally catching on the worn, brown leather pair of high top sneakers that were Casey's all time favorite.

I pull out one, and then the second, dropping them not into the bag but my lap. The tongues flop about, the leather cord laces gone.

I twist the strap on my wrist to and fro, careful, always careful, not to pull too hard.

"You've got to stop crying Pickle." A younger Casey, about twelve, hugs me in my memory, his scent still exactly the same as I remember. "It's only a week. And then I'm coming back."

He and Luke were going to surfing camp. It was a boys only group, and even if it wasn't, I wasn't old enough for it yet. My little body trembled as I cried into Casey's shirt.

"Do you promise?"

"Of course I promise, Dylan." His laugh was easy. But he wasn't the one staying behind with Mom and Dad for the week while he and Luke had fun. "Hey," He pulled back, smiling down at me brightly. "I've got an idea."

I stepped back, sniffling, as he got to a knee, the same pair of leather, high top sneakers - I think the first time he ever bought a pair of them - on his feet, just in a smaller size. He undid the laces, pulling the leather cords free.

"Give me your hand." He looked at me expectantly.

I put my arm out and he wrapped the cord around my wrist. Once, twice, three times, because my bones were so tiny. Then, he tied the other around his own.

"As long as this stays put," He touched the strap on my skin, "It's like we're together, okay? So you don't have to be scared. Even when I'm at camp this week, I'll be with you."