Chapterish 17

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TIDE & THUNDER

Today's the day. My return flight. Back to Seattle *reality*.

I can't believe it's been two weeks already. But, I've put in the appropriate amount of face time so mom and dad are happy. My friends don't think I'm dead anymore so they're happy. And me? I'm happy.

Yup, cancelled my flight.

I know.

Decided to stay one more week until the day after Labor Day. After all, wouldn't really be fair to Cape May if I left before summer really ended.

Don't want to jump the gun.

It hasn't been all sunshine and boat rides, volleyball at the pier, and visiting cabanas after dark. No, it's rained a few times. In fact, it's raining today.

I sprint up the steps into Brooks's house. I knock once and expect to see Brooks when the door opens but instead I see his mother.

"Emmeline!" She reaches in to hug me. "It's so good to see you! Look how old you look now."

"Hi, Mrs. Brooks," I force a smile. I can't look too old; I still get carded.

It's not that I'm unhappy to see her, just that I wasn't expecting it. Now here she is in front of me, wearing an apron and holding an open cookbook. I haven't seen her in years but she's just like I remember her.

"Jay!" She shouts over her shoulder. It's weird hearing him called that.

"Great," I say.

"Here, come on in and follow me. I was just finishing up in the kitchen. Need to take all this over to the B&B. Should have been there... About an hour ago." She sighs, dropping the cookbook on the counter.

"How are things? At the B&B?" I quickly add that second half. Can't help the creepy closed-mouth smile I give her.

"Good. Things are good! Busy now so I feel like I'm all over the place!"

She starts boxing up desserts. The entire island counter is covered with tupperware and brightly colored lids. She tucks her own dark hair behind her ear when it falls out of its ponytail. I remember she's a beautiful older lady. When she looks up I also remember that Brooks has her eyes.

"How are you? You're living in Seattle now right?" His mom's questions bring my focus back. Back to the Brooks's kitchen.

"That's right. About four years now." I nod.

"Well, it's been so nice having Jay home these past few weeks. Brody too. Almost like it's ten years ago!" She says, her head inside the fridge. I know she can't see me but I nod at her back.

"I know what you mean," I say. The smile is a reflex.

"Almost can't wait for summer to end. Back on track..." Mrs. Brooks rambles on.

"Well, it's almost ending," I say, watching her put three cans of whipped cream on the counter.

"What's almost ending?"

I turn to find Brooks standing in the archway between kitchen and hallway. He's wearing a dark hoodie and gym shorts. HOW can he make that combo look runway ready?

"There you are, honey. Here can you take this stack," Mrs. Brooks says, snapping shut the rainbow lids and handing them to Brooks.

"Hey," I say.

"Ems," Brooks smirks.

I'm sitting on a stool at the island, watching him take the bowls from his mother and put them in big brown bags. Brooks being semi-domestic. Brooks being helpful. Brooks being perfect.

"What's ending?" Brooks asks again once he puts the bags down.

"Just the summer." His mother answers him, waving her hand like she's trying to swat the idea away.

"Yup." I nod.

"Honey, don't forget you need to stop by later to help Brody with that thing. And I won't be home till at least 10 tonight." His mom removes her apron and sets it on the counter by the hallway. She picks up the bags and blows kisses.

"Emmy, so great to see you darling!" She calls as she turns around.

"You too!" I shout after her, standing up from the stool.

"OK." Brooks turns around back to me. "Are you ready? Are you sure you don't want to go and hang out with her at the bed and breakfast instead?"

"Yes, I'm sure." I say, nudging him in the ribs when he stops in front of me. "Although... Brody is tempting."

"Shut up," Brooks laughs, pushing away my hand.

"Make me."

...

The rain is intense. We are caught in it, riding bikes along the trail down by Higbee.

It is cool today, hardly any sun. The promise of summer's end is literally in the air.

My hoodie protects me from the wind and from the salt spray that's carried on the wind. It can't do much about the raindrops though. They come fast and heavy. My legs push harder, determined to keep up with Brooks's.

It's 4:00 PM but the sky above us is an ominous gray. Clouds rolling in block the parts of the sky that are still light. There's still some sun in the distance. I look left and see the entire horizon sprawled out like some watercolor painting. The sky and the ocean blur together; their lines are unclear beneath the rain.

The beach morphs too. The ocean swells as the tide pulls out and I watch as little whitecaps break in the distance. You would think the storm would bring high tide, but no. It's eerie watching the water draw back from the shoreline –exposing its floor. Something about wet sand I don't get: Sand in the water feels normal. Your feet sink lower with each wave. But sand outside the water? It should never be wet. Now as it's pelted with raindrops, it starts to clump, starts to turn.

"Come on!" Brooks shouts into the wind.

It is cold now. The hoodie is useless. My bare legs have goose bumps all over them, raindrops hitting them like some weird shower massager. My flip-flops slip from the pedals.

"I'm right behind you!" I yell back, struggling to push harder. My lungs are on fire. I am seriously out of shape.

Then it comes. Thunder.

Rolling through the sky like bowling pins knocked down by angels. At least that's what I was told once. Hard imagery to shake.

No lightning yet, and we've almost made it. We're off the trail, out of Higbee. The sand becomes harder, firm, with bits of grass poking through. Brooks disappears off the path in front of me. I turn where he did and find myself on the backside of his house, the screen porch in front of us. Its silhouette dark against the gray sky.

We drop our bikes against a dune and run to the deck. The screen door slams just as a crack of thunder rips overhead. Strike. It's followed by a flash of lightning so bright it illuminates the entire porch. Brooks's face lights up beneath it. I watch it flash in his eyes –changing their color.

Shit.

"Just in time," he says, shaking the rain from his hair.

"We're soaked!" I laugh, wringing the hem of my hoodie. Water splashes against the floor.

"We'll live," Brooks laughs, rolling his eyes. He slides open the door and walks in. "Hello? Hellooo?" No response.

Brooks turns to me with a mischievous grin. "No body's home."

I roll my eyes, still shivering.

My shorts are hard to get off. Wet denim- not a fan. Brooks watches me with a hungry look on his face. I'm used to this now, but still it makes me tingle.

Here I am, standing in the doorway on the deck in my underwear and dripping wet hoodie. His shorts are glued to him like wet paper, folding over him, making little creases in the fabric.

"What should we do?" He asks, smirking. He takes a step toward me.

"Brooks," I laugh, warning. "I have to be back like, right now."

"You can't leave," he says matter-of-factly. "It's storming out."

"It's just rain," I say.

Another strike. More lightning. I can hear the wind too, picking up, howling over the waves. I look sideways off the deck. The sky is darker now –you'd think it were 10 PM. Sand is drifting from the dune and the tall grass is practically parallel with the ground.

"Ok. So it's a storm. I'll be fine."

The lights flicker right when I say it. The cracking thunder more ominous by the second. The air is heavy with the smell of rain and drenched ground.

Love it.

Brooks is still staring at me, biting his lip. I stare at him too -at the way I can see him through his shorts -see his muscles moving as he walks toward me. No. Saunters. Saunters toward me.

Thunder. The porch lights flicker again as the lightning flashes across the sky and across his face.

Have mercy. (-Uncle Jesse)

The saunter. The shadow. The hunger. Brooks could be a delicious serial killer and I wouldn't mind one bit.

Here we are all alone in his empty childhood house and I'm thinking of serial killers.

Wtf, Em.

"Let's play a game," Brooks says, still watching me. I'm still in the doorway –can still feel the cool rainy breeze on my legs. My hair still whips against my face.

"A game?" I ask, almost laughing. "What kind of game?"

"One where I have to chase you." He smirks. OK. I can get behind this mood. "Tag!"

"Tag!" I widen my eyes and look from him to the outside, laughing. "We can't play tag now!"

"What? It's just rain." Brooks moves toward me. "Ok, not tag. How about hide and seek?"

"Hide and seek?" I repeat, skeptical. "You want to play hide and seek right now?"

"Why not? We used to all the time. Or don't you remember?"

"Yes, I remember." I look at him. Ugh, just look at him! "OK then."

"You have 30 seconds." Brooks walks past me onto the deck, flashing a smile.

I take off, trying my best to remember the layout of this house –the house I spent so many weekends sneaking around in.

The thunder chases me from room to room, each time the lightning strikes it pours through the window, casting shadows on the living room, the kitchen, the foyer.

Where to hide?

His room seems an obvious choice. But he will know that. My heart races with the rain. I turn a corner expecting a powder room. Nope. Renovation.

Another crack like a whip and a loud signal starts. I smack my shoulder into the side of the wall and my leg knocks into a small decorative chair. Really.

The power is out. Somewhere the microwave or oven or fridge is beeping. You never can tell how loud all the machines are or how the electricity hums quietly beneath it all. That is until the power goes out. Until you're no longer surrounded by live digital apparatuses. It's just silent. Void of noise. Darkness. Suddenly you need nature's bolts of light to guide your way.

I hear his footsteps in the dead quiet. Thirty seconds are up. He's on the hunt for me now. I turn left, away from the sounds of feet falling. Down the hallway I take a right and find myself in a quiet room –a bedroom maybe. I don't recognize it.

Thunder. Lightning. Repeat.

It is pitch fucking black.

I hear Brooks bang into something. I crack up to myself. At least I'm not the only one who can't see in the dark.

"Em-my," I hear. He says my name like a crazy ax-murderer on the loose in some horror film. Seriously, some beach version of The Shining right now. "Em-my."

I peek into the hallway. Lightning lights up the walls. I see his shadow in the doorway of the room down the hall. I make a break for it.

Brooks reaches me and grabs me around the waist.

"Ahh!" I laugh, trying to get away. He flings me over his shoulder and holds my legs. I have a great view of his cute butt. "Put me down!"

"No way," Brooks says. "I'm claiming my prize."

We cross the kitchen, back through the door that's still open to the porch. The rain is coming down sideways, biting at our ankles and legs.

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