Sacred (5 page)

The mini-golf was as crowded as it ever got. A mix of tourists with their screaming kids yanking on their arms, begging for quarters for the vending machine, and teenage locals who formed their own little circle a clear step away from the visitors gathered around the ticket booth.

It was understood that tourists go first. Locals held open the doors to restaurants for them, took a step back if a group of them was heading for the ice cream stand, kept the shop lights on as long as they wanted to browse.

The tourists were our livelihood, so I guess it was natural that life on the island kind of revolved around them, but we got pretty tired of it sometimes. It was like we lived in Disneyland; there was very little private space, and almost everything was about making a buck.

Of course we knew the owners of the mini-golf: the Carpenters, a nice older couple who’d never had any kids of their own and seemed to enjoy all of their customers—tourists and locals—equally. That was one of the reasons the island
teens liked to hang out here; there were no dirty looks from the proprietors. Most of the island kids were pretty broke, except during high season, when tourist money lined our pockets from summer jobs, so the town’s businesses usually viewed us as a burden rather than as genuine paying customers.

To an extent, they were right; after all, our friends were the waiters and waitresses, the tour guides and ice cream scoopers, and we had an unspoken agreement to give each other free sodas and fries, bigger servings of ice cream … when the owners weren’t looking.

But the Carpenters didn’t employ any teenagers. They worked the ticket booth themselves, handing out the putters and brightly colored golf balls. And though Mrs. Carpenter was a kind lady, she kept a shark’s eye on the equipment, making sure that no one got a free round unless they scored a hole in one on the eighteenth hole.

“Hey, it’s Big Red!” shouted Connell, Andy’s closest friend. They played baseball together—Andy was the pitcher and Connell was the catcher. They had a secret language of signs and signals that they employed on the field, and I was pretty sure that they used it off the field too.

I hated that nickname—Big Red. Because my name was Scarlett, Connell seemed to think that any moniker referring to things red was appropriate. Big Red wasn’t as bad as some of the names he’d called me over the years; freshman year I’d made the mistake one day of wearing red tights, and he’d called me Fire Crotch for most of the first semester, until I dumped a tray of pasta in his lap one lunch and
threatened to smash his face with the tray if he ever called me that again.

The crowd of kids watched me with the full spectrum of expressions on their easily readable faces—surprise, pleasure, concern, pity … and, from Kaitlyn Meyers, a mix of resentment and distaste.

I registered their expressions without feeling much about them either way. Kaitlyn and I had been pretty close until Andy and I started dating last year. It was clear from the way she stared at our interlaced fingers, as if she’d like to turn my hand to dust, how she felt about me being here, and with Andy.

Kaitlyn looked great as she always did; her pretty strawberry hair was twisted away from her face into some kind of messy bun at the nape of her neck, and her lip gloss shimmered alluringly on her lips, always slightly parted. She was technically overdressed for the activity, but she pulled it off, anyway; she was wearing kitten-heeled shoes and a fluffy pink ballet-neck sweater with professionally distressed skinny jeans. I got the impression from the way she looked at Andy that she had dressed with him in mind.

Even apart from her shoes, there was something distinctly kittenish about Kaitlyn. The way she smoothed the errant hairs about her temple, the way she tilted her head to an appealingly lilting angle … Yes, if Kaitlyn were a pet, she would be a perfect, eternal kitten, playful and soft, full of delightful purrs … and unexpectedly sharp claws.

Connell came over to ruffle my hair, and I cringed away from his hand. Andy had me covered, though. He knocked Connell’s hand away and said, “Take it easy, man, okay?”

They stared at each other for a beat, and I could practically smell the testosterone boiling. Then Connell’s face stretched into a grin and he held his hands palms up, as if surrendering.

“Sure, buddy, sure thing,” he said, and ambled over toward the vending machines. There was something about the slope of his shoulders that made me wonder if maybe Connell was getting a little tired of catching for Andy.

He sure had grown over the last few months. He was now taller than Andy, and his face had lost all the soft edges it had had the spring before. His face had kind of a Neanderthal slope to it, though it looked good on him, the wide brow, the shaded eyes, the square jaw. Connell, I mused, was a guy you’d want on your side in a fight.

“I’ll get our tickets,” Andy said, and he dropped a kiss on my temple before releasing my hand and jogging over to the ticket booth. When I looked up, I counted six pairs of eyes on me, though they all looked away quickly … all except Kaitlyn’s.

Inwardly, I sighed. It all seemed so silly now, this jockeying for position, these petty jealousies. But I felt angry, too, that familiar burning sensation I’d come to rely on over the last few months.… There was no way I would be intimidated by Kaitlyn, not today, not anymore.

I held her gaze and walked toward her. Her eyebrows shot up, revealing her surprise.

“Hey, Kaitlyn,” I said smoothly. “What’s your problem?”

Her eyes widened, her innocence on display for all the onlookers. “Problem?” she asked. “I don’t have a problem. It’s great to see you, Scarlett.”

She sounded sincere. This confused me. Maybe I was misreading the situation. I adjusted my posture, relaxing my arms and taking a half step back.

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s been a while.”

The others turned away, and Kaitlyn’s eyes narrowed. “You and Andy seem pretty friendly,” she said.

It was there—the animosity I had suspected, but she had it layered under a saccharine coating.

“Yeah,” I answered, keeping the heat of anger inside of me under control. “I guess my absence made his heart grow fonder.” I shrugged as if it didn’t matter to me either way.

“Hmm,” she said. “We’ll see, I guess. You’re looking … skinny.”

I couldn’t tell for sure if that was meant to be an insult or a compliment, but I decided to take it as the latter.

“Thanks,” I said.

Andy returned with our putters and two golf balls. He handed me the red one. His was blue.

“You ready?”

The next hour was a lot less difficult than I thought it might be. Everyone cheered my good shots and consoled me when my putts went wide, in a clear effort to make me feel comfortable. Of course, all the extra attention did the exact opposite, but I knew their hearts were in the right place.

Kaitlyn glued herself to Connell’s side, flirting with him outrageously and asking him for tips on how to negotiate the tougher holes. This was completely transparent as Kaitlyn
was one of the most dexterous players, but at least it kept her out of my hair for the night.

It felt good to be out, but I couldn’t help feeling I was betraying Ronny. I knew he’d want me to be having fun. No one loved a party more than Ronny. He had always made sure that everyone around him was at ease and having a good time.

I gave up keeping score, just concentrating on holding myself together as we negotiated our way around the tight little course. Ahead of us was a family of four—the mom and dad with their two little kids, an older sister and a little brother.

The girl was probably about ten. I could tell that she had a real competitive streak from the way she was vigilant about keeping score. Her baby brother, just four probably, kept messing up her strokes, swinging his putter in wild loops, tumbling on the green, kicking the balls every which way. She tolerated him the best she could, but I could see the strain it was causing her. The parents laughed easily, and took turns trying to distract the little boy.

They looked happy. Normal. As if they had no idea how lucky they all were.

I tore my gaze away from them when the mother caught me staring, and focused on my shot through a haze of tears. Andy must have seen me fighting to maintain my composure, because he leaned in close to me and whispered, “You want to get out of here?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. He took my putter and ball and returned them to the booth. Then he led me
by the arm away from the green and called over his shoulder, “Catch you later, guys.”

I heard a mix of voices calling out goodbyes, but didn’t turn as I raised my hand in a halfhearted wave.

All of a sudden, I didn’t have anything else to give. I’d managed to fake it for almost an hour—pretty good for a first attempt. I felt Andy navigating me toward the lights of the boardwalk, though I wasn’t really paying attention to where we were headed.

“Hungry?” he asked.

I shook my head.

“Mind if I get something to eat?”

I shook my head again.

Steering me by the small of my back, Andy maneuvered us through the crowded main street toward a little café. I knew it well; my family was friendly with the family that owned it. The Hendersons had five daughters: one off at college, one who’d gotten pregnant during her senior year and still lived at home, now with her baby boy, two who were still in school with me, and one in middle school.

One of the owner’s teen daughters, a sophomore named Hailey, was working the hostess stand. There wasn’t a line, so after forcing my way through some awkward small talk—
Hey, long time no see, how’s it been?
—she seated us at a table in the back corner.

Andy pulled my chair out for me—always the gentleman—before seating himself.

“Can I get you a drink?” Hailey asked, handing us our menus. I put mine down on the table without looking at it.

“I’ll have a Coke,” Andy said. “Scarlett, what do you want?”

To be at home, tucked into my room for the night
, I thought. “Do you have herbal tea?” I asked.

“I think so,” Hailey said. “I’ll check.”

She came back a few minutes later with Andy’s icy Coke and a pot of lukewarm water that had a tea bag floating morosely in it.

“You really should eat something, Scarlett,” Andy urged. “You look a little … I don’t know, weak.”

Another Henderson girl, Jill, one year above me and Andy in school, came over to take our order.

“Hey, Andy,” she said. “Hi, Scarlett.”

Andy made small talk, but all I could hear was the drumming of my blood in my ears. I closed my eyes and felt the room spin.

“… and you’ll have …”

My eyes opened. Andy and Jill were both staring at me.

“Umm …,” I said.

“Bring her a burger too, will you, with fries,” Andy ordered.

“Sure.” Jill jotted it down on her pad. “Are you okay, Scarlett?”

I nodded carefully, not wanting to move my head too much. I heard her footsteps as she carried our order back to the kitchen.

“… don’t look so hot, Scar.”

I forced myself to look at Andy. “I guess I forgot to eat lunch.”

Andy shook his head. “Well, no wonder,” he said. “I can’t go twenty minutes without eating something, or I’m practically crazy with hunger.” He went on to break down his diet into minute detail, rattling off fat percentages and calorie counts, grams of protein in his favorite muscle-builder shake, how many ounces of water he drank each day.

I nodded and asked a vague question every minute or two about fat conversion. Andy was thrilled to have an audience, I could tell, and after a while he shifted from diet to nutritional supplements.

“My dad has me taking all these omega-3s,” he said. “And I just started popping these acai berry supplements.”

I wasn’t sure what the right response would be to this, but fortunately Jill arrived with our burgers.

As she set the plate down in front of me, my belly grumbled urgently, and I felt my mouth watering.

Andy was still talking, but it was as if his voice were coming through a tunnel from somewhere very far away. I watched my hands reach out and embrace the burger. The bun was warm, and as I raised it to my lips, droplets of meaty juice rained down on the fries. I closed my eyes as I took a bite.

I chewed, I swallowed, I chewed, I swallowed. My tea went from lukewarm to room temperature as I ate and ate and ate. My burger disappeared and I felt my stomach stretching, distending, and I knew I should stop, but my hands kept bringing salty, oily fries from my plate to my lips until they were all gone. When my plate was empty, I sat for a moment with my eyes closed, remembering the taste of it all.

Across from me, Andy’s plate was cleared too, and he was saying something about baseball—his own team or a professional team, I couldn’t discern, but I couldn’t care less. My mouth felt greasy and my lips tasted like salt.

Jill walked by and I flagged her down. “Can I have a glass of water?”

As I drank the water, I felt my head clearing and my heartbeat returning to a more civilized pace. I wasn’t dizzy anymore, and the restaurant seemed somehow brighter, more sharply in focus.

I watched Andy’s lips move as he talked, and I forced myself to listen to what he was saying.

“So Jenna dumped Brandon that weekend, and by the next Thursday, Connell and I found her and Kevin making out during their lunch break over at the tourism office. I mean, they were broken up already, so whatever, right? But Brandon didn’t seem to feel that way about it. I think he was about ready to pound Kevin when we told him.” He slurped the final drops of his Coke from the bottom of his glass.

“Why did you tell him?” I asked.

Andy seemed a little startled by my question. Maybe because he’d gotten used to the conversation being one-sided. “I dunno. I guess we figured he had a right to know.”

“What right?” I asked. “I mean, they were broken up, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, but still …” Andy shrugged. “It seemed the right thing to do.”

I doubted that, but I nodded as if I agreed. It seemed to me that Andy and Connell were a bigger set of gossips than
two old ladies, and they had wanted to see what would happen if they passed their little gold nugget of information along to a jealous ex-boyfriend.