Summer Skies and Ocean Eyes

I was positive there was a hurricane going on outside of my sliding glass door. The wind and rain pummeled at the house, like it was distinctly putting all of its energy into breaking down the walls. It made me nervous, listening to the clatter of the storm. Shouldn’t we have headed for a storm shelter or something?

No one else had appeared worried by this. After we got home from the memorial service, everyone took their showers, said their goodnights, then headed to bed. Stupid Floridians.

I clutched the comforter tighter around myself from where I sat in front of the sliding door, warily eyeing the air-conditioning duct beside me. Even with layer upon layer of sweatshirts, socks, and sweatpants, my room was an ice box.

The reflection of the rain hitting the glass projected into my room like a special underwater effect you would see in the movies. If I looked down, it appeared like the rain was actually streaking down my comforter, to the floor. The glow of it reminded me of the night Poot kissed me by the pool. It was a calming, almost comforting thing to think about.

There were tingles beginning to crawl up and down my legs; the beginning sensation of them falling asleep. Bouncing my knees up and down, the self-created tent of my blanket moved with them.

I was in a restless mood, which would have been much easier to handle if I could have walked to the beach like normal. But now, with the makings of what seemed to be a tsunami in place, it was impossible.

The memorial service had been...long. That was probably the best way to describe it. About an hour and a half after my family arrived, they asked that everyone be seated. Then, a lot of people got up, one at a time, standing in front of the large picture of Drew as they told a story about him into the microphone of the podium. The stories were all light, exemplary ones that made people laugh, sniffle, and applaud loudly at the end of each one. None of them delved too deep, they gave me a somewhat murky idea of who Tommy’s older brother was.

After about two hours of that, mixed with videos and pictures of Drew being played from a projector onto a large screen, the local representative from the JED Foundation came to the stage. He spoke about the nonprofit organization, which nationally collaborated with the public and leaders in higher education, mental health, and research, to strengthen local mental health services, policies, and programs. He expressed his sympathy with Drew’s death, politely asked for donations to be made, then left the stage.

The last person to speak was Tommy’s dad, Mr. Rose. He was different than I pictured when hearing gossip from the townspeople, or the time when Poot and Tommy fought. He looked normal and charismatic, not like some heartless giant I imagined. Tommy had inherited his light chocolate hair, and a wide smile that crinkled at the edges. The Rose boys all looked alike. However, there was still something unsettling about him as he spoke, thanking everyone for coming, and encouraging us to donate to the JED Foundation.

Mrs. Rose had silently stood behind him, dainty face blank as she pursed her lips with her nose slightly raised to the audience. Of course she was gorgeous--perhaps thanks to some flawless botox--but I could practically feel her tense nature from where I sat four rows back.

The harsh patter of rain and wind buzzed my mind into a stupor as I thought of Tommy’s parents. I wasn’t looking at anything in particular-

-until a movement by the palm tree caught my eye. It was a person. A person climbing my tree in the inexistent hours of the morning. A scream didn’t have a chance to register action to my throat before he lifted his head, grabbing the railing of my balcony’s fence and hoisting himself up.

Tommy?

I flashed to my feet, hands fumbling as I unlocked the door and jerked it open. Rain and wind gushed in at a dizzying speed, but I didn’t pay any attention to it as I reacted. Tommy strode into my room the moment his feet hit the floor of my balcony. With one more zip, the door was closed, and Tommy and I were left standing there, out of breath as we stared at each other.

Everything had happened with the speed and agility of a magic trick. One moment it was only me, the next, he appeared out of nowhere.

He was completely soaked from head to toe, still wearing his tuxedo. Water rolled off him, dropping to the ground in big puddles. His brown hair was stuck tightly to his head, getting in his eyes, where it directed the water to his nose and plopped off like a faucet.

“What-why-” I sputtered, blinking profusely to make sure he wasn’t a dream. Tommy’s shoulders rose and fell with every breath he took, it sounded like he had sprinted over here.

“Can...” Tommy said unevenly, arms down at his sides. There was an urgency in his voice that scared me--a look in his eyes that made me uneasy. “Could I stay here? Just for a little bit.”

My mouth opened, hanging before I remembered I was supposed to say something. The words came out easy, without question. “Of course.” Daintily clearing my throat, straining my ears for a sound from someone waking up down the hall, I decided it was clear. “Let me just- hold on.”

Tommy was shivering now, his lips a pale pink as the chilly air from the house started freezing the water on his body. I strode into my adjoining bathroom, grabbing a clean towel from the stack by my shower. When I walked back into my room, I flicked on the lamp next to my bed. It harshly illuminated everything, casting odd shadows over the walls.

“Give me your stuff,” I instructed, throwing the towel over my shoulder. Tommy hesitated. “If you don’t, you’re going to get sick and water damage Jon’s floors. I’ll get you some other clothes, come on.”

Giving in without much of a fight, he took off all of his things, standing there in only his boxers for the second time in two days. His skin looked dewy and soft, I had to rip my eyes away from him before I started to stare. Also, I knew that same, ugly bruise that I had seen this morning would still be there.

“Here,” I whispered, handing the the towel and hoping he couldn’t catch my expression. Tommy was shell-shocked, as if he was just as surprised as me that he was in my room. As he started to dry off, I picked up his clothes and balled them in my hands. Motioning for him to be quiet, I went to my door and creaked it open, glancing into the dark hall.

The trip only took a minute. After sneaking down to Lilia’s laundry room, I tucked the huge ball of Tommy’s clothes into the dryer, throwing in a couple dryer sheets for good measure. Starting the machine, I wordlessly thanked God that Jon had gotten one of those expensive, silent-running models. After that, I knew exactly where Lilia kept our folded clean clothes between doing loads of laundry, so I snatched a couple of Jon’s things before making my way blindly back upstairs.

I had thought that maybe once I got back to my room he’d be gone. Like some kind of apparition, or ghost. To my surprise, as I padded past the door, he was still there. Shivering.

Without talking, I handed him the clothes. He gave me a weary look, one I returned with a more threatening one, making him sigh before he headed to the bathroom. Tommy emerged a minute later with Jon’s clothes on. The t-shirt and sweatpants looked a bit like elephant skin on him. Jon was more of a square, robust guy: Tommy had a taller, fluid kind of build.

He looked a pinch better as I picked my comforter where I had flung it to the floor. Turning to him, I swung it around his shoulders, tugging and tucking it tight against his body liek I remember my dad doing to me when I was little. I could feel his eyes on me--watching, staring, probing--but I kept my expression neutral and dropped my hands to my sides when I was done.

“There,” I said with finality, like I had finished a long project. I couldn’t imagine what he had gone through to get here. He carried no car keys in his hands. Could he have walked through the storm just to get here?

Tommy glanced down at the deep blue comforter, looking like he was about to pass out any minute now. Though he was taller than me, and a lot stronger, he still looked like a small child, standing helplessly inches away. I had the greatest urge to hug him, to do something, but refrained when I remember how he had tugged his hand away from me earlier tonight.

“I probably shouldn’t have come here.” Tommy’s eyelashes veiled his eyes as he looked down. I frowned, shaking my head as I crossed my arms.

“Don’t say that.” If he was here after battling through that tsunami outside, then something must have happened. I would much rather have him in my room instead of wherever he had been that made him snap to the decision to come to me at two in the morning. “I’m glad you’re here.”

I wiggled uncomfortably as his heavy eyes rested on me, perfect lips in a straight line. I could practically see a million things rushing through his mind, and it bothered me to know I didn’t have any clue whatsoever what one of them was.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t go to Poot’s because...Calico, I should go.” Tommy dropped my blanket, stepping toward the door without any of his things. I panicked, jogging to a halt in front of him and putting my hands gingerly on his wrists.

“Wait, wait. Please, don’t go. Just- sit down. You don’t have to explain anything, I promise,” I lulled. Tommy closed his eyes, shaking his head as if fighting a hundred impulses.

As he still had his eyes closed, I timidly tugged my fingers against his wrist, pulling him to my bed. Carefully putting pressure on his shoulders, I helped him sit down. He opened his eyes, blankly looking at the blue-lit floor. My hands itched to touch him, to pull him close to me, but I kept them neatly folded in my lap as I sat at his side.

“This is embarrassing,” his voice rumbled as he looked at me. “I mean, I don’t even know you. You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t care. Stay as long as you want to.”

Tommy absorbed my words, then sighed and laid back on my mattress. It was a small win, but a victory, nonetheless. I sighed, falling so my own back was against the mattress.

We were both still: the only movements were our chests rising up and down, the only sound came from the gush of the air conditioning and constant howl of the storm fighting against the house. The silence beat on for a long time. The only way I knew Tommy was still awake was by every now and then shifting my pupils and seeing the glow of the white in his eyes.

Before, finally:

“Drew hated chocolate,” Tommy said, the hush of his voice reverberating deeply through his chest. “That’s all I could think about today, when everyone was talking about him.”

I didn’t dare speak, fearing that once I did, he’d stop. I settled for turning my face to him, watching his faraway expression. He licked his lips, hands crossed over his stomach as he stared at the ceiling.

“He always hated it, and always told my parents that. But it’s not like they remembered. I always called him a freak, not like that phased him. I think one of the reasons he so passionately detested it as we got older is because my parents never seemed to catch on, and he loved arguing with them.

One year, they ordered him this huge, fancy chocolate cake from a notorious bakery in New York for his birthday. He dropped a soccer ball right in the middle of it when Mom wasn’t looking. Dad was pissed.” A small gulp sounded off from his throat at the last sentence. “But he hated it. Absolutely. Hated chocolate. And that’s what they served today. Little chocolate truffles, tiny chocolate cupcakes, chocolate éclairs. Idiots.” He shook his head, disgusted with the thought.

Tommy turned so he was laying on his side, facing me. His eyes were exhausted and numb. “Do you like chocolate?”

I nodded, still too cautious to speak. The tiniest of smiles pulled at his lips.

“I thought so. Only complete tools don’t like chocolate.” The edge of fondness in his voice made my chest squeeze. Tommy bit his lip, glancing at the clock. “I’m really tired. Think we could sleep?”


“Yeah,” I crackled out, throat dry from not daring to swallow my spit. Tommy crawled so that his head was where all my decorative pillows sat, then swiped them off my bed with one motion of his arm. He pulled one of my two real pillows toward himself, then laid his head down.

I got up, pulling the blankets out from under him and swooping them over his worn body. When that was done, I walked to my comforter and picked it up, then headed to my bed to grab the other pillow.

“Hey,” Tommy said quietly, eyes already half-closed. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor. I don’t mind sharing if you don’t. Besides, if anyone...should sleep on...the floor...it...should...be...”

He fell asleep.

I paused, tilting my head as I watched his peaceful face. A small part of me knew to enjoy it now, because the next time we talked, he’d be his usual jerk of a self. I knew he wasn’t going to thank me for this, or probably mention it ever again. But still, it was the closest I had felt to him, so I accepted it.

Hissing in a short breath, I carefully pushed back the covers, so as not to wake him, then climbed into my bed at his side. The mattress was big, so we weren’t mashed against each other, but there was still something nice and intimate about laying down and seeing him so close beneath the same covers.

His breathing was deep and relaxed, something I found surprisingly nice when so near to my ear. I looked up at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Tommy’s breaths. The air was cold against my face, but the added person and blankets kept the heat of my skin safely close to my body.

Then, without my usual trip to the beach, I fell asleep.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

The next morning, I couldn’t say I was surprised when I woke to see the space on the bed beside me empty. But, there was proof that Tommy had been here last night, like the messy pile of pillows beside my bed, and the crumpled towel laying on my floor.

I wasn’t surprised, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t disappointed.

My mind was flooded with him as I showered and dressed, then walked down to the kitchen. Jon was at work, and Mom left a note on the kitchen counter saying she and Kendall went shopping down at the boardwalk. The P.S. read It would be nice if you took Griffin and Kendall to go do something today.

Cracking open a new jug of orange juice--picturing Tommy’s rain-soaked face again and again--I could hear Lilia bustling around in the laundry room: connected by a white wooden door in a corner of the kitchen. It wasn’t until I poured myself a cup and took a long, thirsty drink when I remembered: Tommy’s tuxedo.

The orange juice felt like it solidified in my throat, making me choke as I tried my best not to spew it all over the pristinely clean kitchen. With a clunk, I planted the thick glass down and gasped for breath, wincing at my own stupidity. There was still a shred of hope that maybe she hadn’t run a load yet, and I could possibly-

“Ah, good morning, Calico.”

It was like Lilia had been waiting for her perfect entrance all morning, just listening for the sound of me stirring in the kitchen. She promenaded into the kitchen, a laundry basket filled with folded laundry grasped in her hands.

And right on top of the organized clothes, Tommy’s tuxedo was on a hanger, draped over the basket.

I didn’t have to ask to know that Lilia knew everything. Her eyes were accusingly boring into mine as she walked into the room. With a plop, she sat the laundry basket on the counter. I could just barely see her nose as she looked at me from over the tuxedo.

The silence was tactful, I could feel the weight of everything pressing against me. Lilia had three children in her lifetime, and they had produced their own gaggle of rambunctious grandchildren. So she was a professional at this--making me squirm simply by being quiet and staring. I wished she would talk. I wanted her to talk. I NEEDED her to talk.

“So.” Finally, she lifted the weight off my shoulders and spoke. “Would you like to explain why there is a tuxedo in the dryer when I wash clothes this morning, and a pair of Jon’s shorts and shirt is missing?”

Ugh, Lilia was epic. I was no match for her: the only thing I could do was tell the truth and hope she took mercy.

“I...there was a...friend, who came over last night. And...” I was already struggling, knowing how pathetic I must have looked and sounded. Except when visiting my dad, I had rarely been in trouble for doing something I shouldn’t have. It was a hard thing to get used to. “He walked, so I mean, it was raining. You know? And I had to, um, put his clothes in the dryer.”

Every word was having a difficult time coming out of my throat. Lilia was silent, her brow furrowed as she put all of her interest into listening to me. Maybe that was why I stumbled over every half-sentence, because she wasn’t showing any kind of good or bad reaction to my words.

“Then I didn’t want him naked, because it totally wasn’t like...like that, Lilia. He just- I- Jon’s clothes- The chocolate- This house is freezing all the time.”

That was all I had in me. Again, I breathlessly waited for Lilia to move, speak; anything. After a beat, she hummed and nodded her head, still giving me a stern expression.

“I believe you. But Calico, I have to tell Jon. This is Jon’s house, you follow Jon’s rules. Kendall is not allowed to have boys spend the night, you are not allowed to have boys spend the night. You understand, si?” At Lilia’s words, my heart sunk with dread. Of course I understood, but there was still a part of me that was fizzling with panic: wanting to grab on to the bottom hem of her bright sea foam-colored shirt and beg for any alternative punishment other than that.

“Yeah, Lilia. I understand,” I morosely mumbled like a child. I had known all along that Lilia was one-hundred percent no-nonsense, I just never thought it would effect me.

Her face took on a slightly softer light as the line between her brows disappeared. “Okay. Do not worry, I will let him know what you told me.” I didn’t know if I had managed to tell her anything constructive that could help Jon understand.

My mouth stayed shut, trepidation started balling in my stomach like I had balled the tuxedo last night. Jon wouldn’t be home until about five or six, which meant a full day of waiting and letting it stew inside of me.

I had no clue what to expect, and I guessed that was the worst part of this all. I was going to get in trouble with my mom’s boyfriend, with whom I had only been living with for about a month.

“And here,” Lilia picked up the tuxedo, walking it over to me. “Give it back to your friend, he is in the back yard.”

I took the clothes, glancing over my shoulder at the back window that overlooked the yard. Poot was bent over a piece of wood on a workbench, nose centimeters away as he poked at with with a pencil. No sooner had I opened my mouth to tell Lilia it wasn’t Poot’s tuxedo when Tommy appeared, carrying another piece of wood to the bench for Poot to measure.

When I looked back in amazement, the only thing I saw was Lilia’s bun as she walked out of the kitchen with the basket of clothes. Humming to herself, she strolled through the arch and disappeared.

“How did she...” I trailed off, completely mind-blown. Lilia had to be one of the most bad-ass people in all of Naples. Though I felt a little upset that she couldn’t keep the whole tuxedo thing between the two of us, there was something almost awesome about what she had just done.

Looking at the tuxedo in my hands, I nervously gulped. Tonight couldn’t come slow or fast enough.

After putting Tommy’s clothes in a corner of my closet--there was no way I’d walk outside and hand the tuxedo back right in front of Poot--I grabbed a pair of flip flops and made my way outside. The grass was soaked, my feet squished into the ground with every step as I walked toward the two guys working on the shed.

It was strange to see Tommy and Poot getting along. They were both wearing their grunge clothes, chatting to each other like no big fight or huge, emotionally draining ceremony had gone on the day before. Boys were strange in that way.

That could have possibly been the reason they were acting like best friends again: the want and need to move on and forget was more powerful than anything else that had happened.

“Hey Calico!” Poot grinned, sticking the pencil behind his ear. It was hard for me to smile back at him, feeling Tommy’s stare on the side of my face. Guilt squeezed my rib cage as I thought about Lilia telling Jon about the tuxedo--but really, I would let him stay at my house again in a heartbeat.

“How’s it going?” I asked in an overly friendly tone, failing to act like everything was normal the second it left my lips. I risked a glance at Tommy. He was back to his usual self, though maybe lessened by a degree. The kid wasn’t staring me down with dislike, but that definitely didn’t mean he looked happy to see me.

“We’re about to start getting the frame up after finishing some fine-tuning here and there. But hey, after we go home and shower, a couple of us were going to head to the skating rink. Would you want to go?” he asked, as upbeat as ever. His eyes were bright and sunny, easily contrasting to the glum sky that was still recouping from the storm. It made me wonder if that was how Poot dealt with hard things. All that Sunshine Attitude, it seemed to be smothering other things.

“I would, but I was going to do something with Griffin and Kendall today.”

He shrugged. “Bummer. I’ll just give you a call later, then. See what you’re up to.”

I tried to keep my face neutral as the terrifying thought of my impending encounter with Jon resurfaced in my mind. “Yeah, totally.”

“By the way, I don’t have your number, Calico.” It sounded like Tommy’s voice, and I was sure that his lips moved along with the words, but he had never outright talked to me in front of Poot before. He acted like it was no big deal as he continued sorting through a couple planks of wood, only glancing up with annoyed curiosity once I didn’t answer right away. “So I want it.”

His best friend looked as confused as I felt, eyes ping-ponging between us like he had missed a major part of the conversation. When Tommy realized I still wasn’t going to answer, he shook his head and sighed.

Reaching in to his back pocket, he pulled out his cell, punched in something, then held it out to me. “I’ll make this simple, just for you. Calico. Put number. In phone.”

His eyes were solemnly sincere, I took the phone from him with an unsure hand. Part of me felt like he was going to jerk it away at the last moment, hooting and laughing to himself that he couldn’t believe I actually thought he wanted my number.

Even when I was done pressing in the digits, I still felt like it was all a joke. After handing the phone back to Tommy, he stuffed it in his pocket, turning away from us as he got back to work. Poot and I watched him, joined in a perplexed silence.

I couldn’t tell if it had placed me any further along with Tommy accepting me, but I would take what I could get.