Justin and I watch Cory and his mom trudge across the sand to collect their beach chairs. The sun disappears, leaving a line of fading orange light just above the waves.

I drive us home with one hand on the wheel and the other holding Justin’s.

The mattress springs squeak so loudly. Justin tries hard to keep his game face on. Serious sex. Very serious. But then the single squeak turns to double. Flex, release. The bed sounds like an old hoarse donkey, and I laugh out loud. Justin breaks into a smile and falls on me, giggling. We shake together. And kiss and laugh more. I roll over, so I’m on top, and make the bed squeak again. His smile is beautiful. I could love this if I tried. Unlatch the door and let him in. It wouldn’t be the worst thing.

— Chapter 40 —

Justin is dead to the world when I wake up, making that funny click in his throat that happens when he sleeps on his back. He doesn’t even move when I get out of bed to pee. But I worry if I try to climb back into bed, I’ll wake him. I stand in the doorway of the bedroom and watch him for signs of stirring. There are none. One of his hands is resting on his chest. He’ll wake up with pins and needles in his fingers. I think about trying to move his hand, but I’m sure it would startle him. I leave to avoid the temptation.

I decide to shower so we can clear out faster once he does wake up. It takes forever for the water to get warm, which seems so strange to me, since it doesn’t start from cold pipes like it does up north. Once the water is warm, I’m lazy about it, humming to myself, taking the time to shave my legs with soap and everything, instead of a few swipes of dry razor on wet skin. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Margo would say. Justin’s been using water and electricity like nobody’s business, so it doesn’t even make sense for me to scrimp. I use the Paul Mitchell stuff on the side of the tub to shampoo twice and I let the conditioner sit in my hair for two minutes like the bottle says, counting a hundred and twenty Mississippis to time it.

When I get out of the shower, Justin is awake, sitting on the bed. He hangs up the phone.

“You used the phone?” I say.

“Yeah.” His voice is gruff. He’s not making eye contact.

“Who did you call?” I’m hoping it was just to get the surf report or find out movie times. Nondescript. Local.

“My dad,” he says.