Summer Skies and Ocean Eyes

There was an odd clunking noise coming from somewhere behind me. I kept my eyes closed, trying to focus on the sound to attempt to figure out what was waking me up at what felt like an ungodly hour.

My back had stiffened into a plank overnight. After trying to shift my weight into a better position, I realized it was because I was on the floor.

Then I remembered everything: Tommy.

My eyes cranked open to find my bed a complete mess. Blankets were everywhere, decorative pillows were littered on the ground like fallen leaves, and the regular pillow was on the opposite side of the bed it usually rested on.

Another thunk came from the other side of my room: I sat up to see Tommy, now wearing the t-shirt and shorts he had gone without last night. Standing by my bookshelf, he was taking it apart piece by piece--opening a book or album of mine, leafing through it with bare interest, then dropping it heavily to the floor.

The movement of me sitting up caught his eye, he stood up straight like a guilty child caught in the act. His hair was a complete mess, haphazardly sticking in all directions.

“What are you doing?” I asked in a tired, croaky tone. Tommy shrugged, relaxing once more as he looked away from me and flipped through a couple pages of my newest album. It looked like someone had copied and pasted him in my room, there was something unnatural about him standing there.

“Who’s the little girl with you in all these pictures?”

Glaring, I tried to build up the energy to begin to deal with the mess I created last night. “My half-sister Brie. She lives in Illinois with my Dad.”

“Hm.” Tommy nodded, turning a couple more pages before snapping the album shut. “She’s really cute. Doesn’t look like you at all.”

I was too groggy to have taken it as an insult, watching Tommy as he dropped the book to the floor with the other ones piled at his feet.

“Are you this charming to every person who gives you a place to stay?”

Tommy wryly smiled, shrugging. He had a visible hangover, it dragged down the skin of his face. “I don’t even remember how I ended up here.”

Still trying to give him the stink eye, I rose to my feet and shuffled forward, starting to put the books back on the shelf. Leave it to rich kids to think they can do whatever they want, whenever they want to.

“You didn’t want to stay at Lindsay’s, and wouldn’t let me take you home or to Poot’s,” I darkly reminded him, picking up one of my favorite Terry Pratchett books that had landed crookedly. A couple of the pages were now forever crooked.

Tommy took in a deep breath through his nose, walking to my bed before plopping on it.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.” He motioned around the room, sounding annoyed instead of thankful. I snorted unhappily to myself as I rammed the last book in place. He was still a jerk. He still hooked up with that Tessa girl last night. And he still had a way of stringing my last nerve with the superior way he looked at me.

“Well, you’re welcome.” My eyes narrowed. Tommy rolled his head to face me as his eyebrows folded in a doubtful fashion.

“I wasn’t saying thank you.”

I ground my teeth together, feeling five years of visits to the orthodontist go down the drain. For someone who was trying to deny the fact that I had helped him, it sure was a major slip-up that he stuck around to prove it had all happened.

I had expected him to sneak out last night--that I’d open my eyes this morning to find him long gone. But here he was, being an asshole on my bed.

“I was saying maybe you should,” I shot back. Tommy shook his head, stretching his arms toward the ceiling. It was frustrating: I would have liked nothing better than to stomp over and hit him, but there was something incredibly attractive about seeing him with his bed hair, laying across my mattress.

But, as he raised his arms, I saw a patch of ugly blue and purple skin on his side as his shirt rose. It was what I had seen last night after he fell, but with much better lighting. There had been a small part of me that hoped maybe I had seen wrong yesterday, but that thin desire was crumpled in an instant.

“Yeah, I was about to head out anyway.” Tommy raised an eyebrow at me, swinging his legs lethargically off his bed before he got to his feet. He wobbled with the change of inertia--truth be told, he still looked drunk.

“Fine.” I remembered I was still angry with him, crossing my arms as if I was gathering up every annoyance and holding it tight against my torso.

“I mean, it’s always a ton of fun when we hang out, but usually when I’m in a girl’s bed, something a lot more interesting than this is going on,” he said sarcastically, spotting his car keys on my dresser and snatching them up. I gulped, feeling terrible again. As he started walking toward my door, I stepped forward and dropped my arms, letting the annoyances fall to the ground before gently grabbing the back of his t-shirt.

“Wait.” I hesitated as Tommy turned around, giving me a what the hell do you want look. “You want something to eat?”

Shock registered across his face for the tiniest of moments as his swagger died down, shoulders slumping a centimeter.

“Uh.” He blinked, eyebrows ever-so-slowly starting to meld into a confused frown. “No thanks...I’ve got to get going.”

“Okay,” I nodded, letting go of his shirt like a twitch had gone through my hand. “Only, you’ll have to go down the palm tree, I don’t want anyone to see you sneak downstairs.”

He followed my finger as I pointed toward my mini-balcony, deprecatingly snorting. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope.”

Tommy stared hard at my expression, like he thought I was joking and was trying to intimidate me into apologizing for my horrible attempt at humor. The thought of getting to witness him tumbling down the tree made it more than easy to return his expression.

“I-” He stopped himself, turning his sour face to the tree. Locking his jaw, Tommy strode toward my sliding door. I merrily watched as he stared at the palm tree, sizing it up before timidly swinging his legs over the railing.

And then he gracefully climbed down. It wasn’t fair.

“No- how did- that stupid-!” I rushed to my sliding door, about to thrust it open to confirm that he had made it all the way down. The second my hand touched the handle, the door to my room whipped open.

Kendall strolled right on in, casually texting on her phone. She was still in her pajamas, perfect hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun that bounced when she threw herself on my bed. “So, how was Lindsay’s last night?”

I peered outside one more time, hoping to catch a last glimpse of Tommy. He was long gone, though, leaving me a view of our empty backyard with heavy slate clouds heavily hanging where the sky should have been.

Sighing, I shook my head and went back to her, sitting on the corner of my bed.

“It was fine, nothing especially exciting happened,” I murmured, Tommy’s rank smell above all else stirring in my memory.

“Good. I didn’t want to have missed a fun one.” Kendall continued to text and speak at the same time, making me wonder if I should be impressed or disgusted.

I held in the comment about her not being invited in the first place, moving the conversation to something else. “Do big storms in Florida always build up in this slow, impending-apocalypse way?” It was as dark as night outside, I could see the wind start to pick up in strong gushes at a time as the palm trees shook.

Her glassy eyes lifted from her phone, looking out my sliding door before she returned her attention back. “Sometimes. It’s worse when the huge ones build up and hit us out of nowhere. The storm’s going to make a perfect setting for Drew Rose’s memorial service today.”

“You’re going to that?” I asked, turning my back to the glass.

“The whole family’s going,” she replied, clicking her phone shut before tossing it safely to my pillow. Kendall rolled to her stomach as I contemplated what she said.

“Family?” My voice rose as the word went on. She realized her slip of tongue, embarrassed as her lips bunched together in an I-take-it-back way.

“Don’t act dumb. Me, you, Dad, Griffin, and Laura.” Kendall tried to work through her flusterment, regaining a bit of her naive sophomore pride.

I still couldn’t process it. Kendall had called me family. I didn’t know whether to feel touched or terrified. By the way she had always treated me, I assumed I would forever be “that one girl who moved in with her mom and lives down the hall.”

Not family.

“Oh,” I hiccuped, as if that was what I heard the first time. “Right.” Then, something occurred to me. “Wait, why would my mom and I go?”

I never knew Drew. I didn’t even know what he looked--or, used to look--like. Wouldn’t it be a little imposing if I went to the memorial service of someone I barely had a connection to? That is, if I could call what Tommy and I had a connection.

Kendall shook her head like she was the one with all the wisdom. “First, like I said before, Griffin, Dad, and I are going, and we’re all kind of a unit now, if you haven’t noticed. Second, you know Poot and Tommy, so they would probably appreciate it if you at least showed up to show how sorry you feel for them.” She always took that tone with me, the one that sounded like I had zero chance of understanding. It was like having an older little sister. “And third, practically the whole town of Naples is going. Not everyone knew him, but still, the Roses are like, a pretty big deal around here. They’re doing some sort of donation to a charity by the end of the night with the money guests are supposed to bring.”

“Hm.” As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Kendall had a point. It may have been just because I was still flabbergasted at her calling us a family that I decided to throw her a bone. “So I’m guessing that I’m going to need an outfit to wear, if you’d like to go out really quick and help me look for one.”

Her face gradually lit up like a sunrise as she realized I wasn’t making a joke. “Duh!” She excitedly grabbed my hand so tight I thought her fingers were about to slice right through my skin. “And we’ll need to stop by the Chanel store so I can get you some make-up that actually matches your skin tone. On our way there we can also hit up Aveda by the boardwalk to get something for that frizz of yours-”

It was like opening Pandora’s box as Kendall squealed on and on. She didn’t as much as pause to breathe to at least give me a chance to remind her I only said she could help me pick out some clothes.

That’s the last time I ever mention shopping with her again.

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

By the time we had arrived at the Port Royal Country Club, there was a heavy downpour bashing against the ground like ten pound weights. The grumble of thunder had been growing closer to the town the whole day, and now, sharp flashes of lightening zinged against the endless palate of black sky.

Part of a long line of cars, Jon pulled up to the glass overhang that was artistically melded, swooping to cover the entrance to the posh country club. The sound of the raging rain against the roof abruptly stopped as we reached shelter. Sucking in deep breaths to prepare for the tornado-like winds going on outside, Jon, Mom, Kendall, Griffin and I started piling out. One of the valets took the car, driving into the storm again to make room for the next arrival of guests.

Kendall had insisted on me wearing an odd-shaped bag over my head before we got out of the car, worried that my hair would get messed up in the wind after she spent so much time on getting the waves to sit just right. I realized as we began following the flow of people inside the country club that I didn’t stick out: every other female had apparently gotten the memo to sport the odd hats.

I was too focused on them to really look at my surroundings, but once people started taking their caps off at the coat check, I blinked and realized just how out of my own world I was.

I had thought Quail Creek was lavish, but that was elementary compared to how Port Royal did things. Every color was deep and rich: wise golds, gentleman’s blues, lush greens, and the whitest of whites and reddest of reds accentuated here and there. The country club, though only aged half a century, stemmed from the true meaning of Old Money.

Once we had left our coats at the entrance, the five of us again followed the flow of people toward the main ballroom. Everyone was dressed to impress, flaunting only their best tuxedos and dresses as they began greeting those they knew.

Part of me was happy that I had let Kendall have her way with me. During the whole disaster of getting ready, I had thought she totally went overboard. My face was sporting toner, cover-up, bronzer, and blush. Not to mention I was donning layers of black eye makeup and small set of fake eyelashes. They weren’t as dramatic as the ones she had originally wanted me to sport, but I still felt like a amateur porn star when I looked at myself in the mirror.

The only reason I had gained some faith and let her do my makeup was because of the dress she found for me. It was a chic midnight black halter that hugged the top of my torso below my bust then flowed down to my ankles in waves of silky material. I would have never thought of wearing it before: the front V was a little deeper than I was used to wearing, and there was barely any material on my back--yet Kendall saw it in the store, thrust it at me, and insisted it was perfect before I tried it on.

I liked it a lot. It was yet another thing that I wasn’t going to admit to the girl, though.

My “family” broke into the vast ball room, attacked by the widest palate of gold I had ever seen. Almost everything--from the wallpaper, to the victorian-era columns that reached toward the ceiling before ending with a burst of light, to the high-rise arch that curved above our heads--shone a different shade of gold. It would have been overwhelming had it not been for the dark navy blue carpet.

There was a comfortable rush of polite chatter through the room. Along with clinking glasses, bubbly laughter, and cheerful hellos being called out: the atmosphere wasn’t what I had been expecting for a memorial service.

A jazz troupe of about twelve men played gently in a corner, while couples slowly danced on a square of wooden floor in front of them. Others were schmoozing by the bar, or gathering in groups while waiters dressed with tight black vests carried them drinks. The rest were sitting down at circular tables that were neatly in rows, bending like a rainbow around the stage that sat at one end of the long, rectangular room.

And at the center of that stage, was a large picture of a boy who looked alarmingly similar to Tommy. I would have stopped in my tracks, shocked at the resemblance, if Kendall hadn’t pushed me forward.

So this is Drew, I thought to myself, sympathy and sadness washing like cool water over my heart. He had Tommy’s eyes, and that same, mischievous smile. At the bottom of the picture, traced in fancy handwriting, the words “In Memory Of Our Andrew” were sketched.

“Well,” Jon said, breaking me from my thoughts as he gazed around the opulent room. “I guess this is how the other half lives.”

Mom and I exchanged wary smiles. For the first time since I arrived in Florida, I felt like I caught a glimpse of the mother I knew. The one who had come from that small house in a small town, where Jon’s place had been considered “how the other half lives.” I hadn’t expected New Mom to notice her boyfriend’s naivety.

Kendall spotted one of her friends, shooting off into the crowd without saying a word. Soon Griffin followed, and I turned to see Jon and Mom had already begun to get caught in conversation by other attendees. She apologetically smiled at me for getting pulled away, then transformed back as she linked her arm with Jon’s and put on a charming smile.

Almost awkwardly alone now, I silently started walking with no direction, fingers drumming on the clutch purse I had borrowed from Kendall. Jeremy and Chase were laughing in a group full of older kids I didn’t recognize, and I could spot Lindsay and some of Emily’s soccer friends holding hands and weaving through the crowd like a train.

I could have went and joined them. In fact, I normally would have. But there was something heavy in my bones from the occasion that kept me wanting my distance. I didn’t feel like talking and smiling and laughing at jokes I probably wouldn’t think were funny. Mouth in a straight line, I made my way to the edge of the room, where I could snag a drink and look natural standing there by myself.

Almost at my destination, I felt a warm hand on my back. The moment I turned, all I could see was a flash of sky blue and golden-blonde hair before Poot pulled me in to a hug. He held me tightly against himself; my arms slid around his back to return the squeeze after the initial surprise wore off.

“Hey,” he murmured. I could feel his breath against my hair as I softly inhaled his light cologne.

“Hey,” I replied just as soft, trying to think of something constructive to say we continued to embrace. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind, so I settled with, “How are you doing?”

Poot pressed me firmly against his chest before letting go. Sticking his hands in his pockets, his eyes steadily stayed on mine. “I’m fine.”

Somehow, either through his struggling smile or the weight of his purposefully lighthearted words, I didn’t believe him. He had been close to Drew, too, but had a completely different way of handling it than Tommy.

I remained silent, the same height as Poot now that I was wearing heels. What could someone say in a situation like this? There must have been something I could tell Poot that could make him feel the smallest bit better. I had never lost someone close to me, and been to a grand total of two funerals--both when I was a toddler.

“You look great.”

Poot wiped my thoughts away, flustering me once I caught up with what he had said. I was suddenly aware of just how low my dress was cut. Crossing my left arm across my chest, I tried to naturally tug the material higher with my free hand. “Thank you.”

I could feel heat swirl beneath the skin of my cheeks and forehead by the way Poot was looking at me. Beat-up t-shirts and tank tops, dressed down with worn shorts were all that he had seen me in, I must have looked like a completely different person with Kendall’s makeover-mask.

“This is going to be a long night,” He observed, pulling his eyes away from me as he looked at the entrance where people were still piling in. I grabbed his hand, tugging at his fingers to try and be reassuring. I hated seeing people upset like this, knowing there was nothing I could do. “Anyway, I just thought I’d say hi. Tommy’s hungover, he keeps asking for me to find him Aspirin, so I have to somehow find some.”

“I have Aspirin,” I said, happy to feel useful as I popped open the sparkly black clutch. Poot gave a small smile of amazement as I pulled out the little box of pills I carried for situations just like this. “Here.”

Poot took a couple out, placing them in the front pocket of his tuxedo jacket. “You’re like a model boy-scout, always prepared. Thank you.”

Before I could say thank you, a large, meaty man brambled up, almost knocking me over as he turned to give Poot a hefty pat on the back. I backed away, giving him a small smile as Goliath gruffly asked how he was holding up.

The empty space near the wall was still vacant as I finished my journey, snapping the clutch shut. From my view on the outskirts of the room, if I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought some sort of party was going on. There were some dark whispers of gossip about the Rose family flitting here and there, but for the most part, everyone was in a merry mood.

“Excuse me.” I caught a waiter carrying a tray of fluted champagne glasses, he gracefully came to a stop directly in front of me. “What kind of drink are you carrying?”

“Sparkling peach white grape juice, would you like one?”

Nodding, he politely smiled and held the tray toward me. I grabbed one, quietly thanking him before taking a long sip. The waiter flounced by, revealing Tommy, standing only two feet away and staring at me. I almost choked on the peach-sparkling-grape-whatever in surprise.

He looked horrible, truly. Though his hair was neatly combed for the first time, and he was wearing what must have been a very expensive suit, there was something about him that felt messy. Jumbled. Like a completed puzzle thrown into a box and tossed around.

Maybe it was just his eyes that made him look that way. They were sunken in, dark and dull in a way I hadn’t witnessed before. Staring, I couldn’t find the smallest of words to greet him.

“So what do you think of all this?” he asked, skipping saying hello completely. Gripping the fluted glass tightly in my fingers, I remained speechless, shrugging. I didn’t know what he was expecting me to say, and I was too afraid of seeming ignorant at his own brother’s memorial service. He appeared satisfied enough with the rising and falling of my shoulders. “Yeah. My parents always have a way of going overboard.”

“It’s...pretty,” I suggested, feeling like I should say something. Tommy let out a fake laugh, shaking his head and looking about the room with distaste.

“It’s pretty? It’s all a show,” he uttered, like saying those words made him physically sick. “Most of these people didn’t even know Drew. They don’t care. They’re just rich snobs who will snatch any chance to dress up and look more important than they really are. This night is more about my parents and their fucking social circle than my brother.”

I cautiously glanced around us, hoping that no one was catching on to Tommy’s private rant. Being the stupid girl I was, I tried to smooth it over. “You can’t say that for-”

The “sure” stopped at a dead end in my throat from the flash of glare he was giving me. I ashamedly looked down at my hands, glass pinched tightly between them.

“But I do know. Drew wasn’t about the parties, or the tuxedos, or this stupid country club my parents practically live in. He didn’t know who most of these damn people were, and then hated a good chunk of those he did. I mean, if he could see that picture of him they have up front, he’d be shitting a brick right now.” Tommy was heatedly gaining momentum, his sickly tan cheeks were starting to tinge pink.

“And,” he continued, “if people think that’s the Drew they remember-” He brandished his finger at the portrait at the head of the room. “-That ridiculous, staged picture, then we shouldn’t even be having a memorial service because everyone has already forgotten him anyway.”

“Tommy,” I murmured, wincing as his pain freshly swept over me. Without thinking, I reached forward and grabbed his hand, holding it tentatively in mine. It wasn’t until I solidly pressed my fingers against his when I realized what I had done.

Tommy’s eyes alarmingly widened, more surprised than I was as every trace of his anger slowly ebbed down. He started to calm down as we held hands, taking deep, shaky breaths as he moved his gaze to the ground.

Jerking his hand from mine in a swift motion, he held it in the air for a moment before returning it to his side. “Whatever you hear tonight about Drew, would you do me a favor and instantly forget it?”

I nodded, it was almost as if I could see feel the weight of his hand in mine.

“Thank you.” With that, Tommy sharply turned around, head still hunched between his shoulders as he retreated into the crowd. No one was paying close enough attention to the boy as he passed, they were all too enveloped in their own conversations.

Hand shaking, I raised the glass mechanically to my lips and took another sip.