Every Summer After

Delilah and I were sitting in the cafeteria the first week of our senior year, and I was smiling so hard a snow plow couldn’t have scraped the grin off my face. I had just bought a used Toyota that weekend, and freedom was pulling up the corners of my lips like marionette strings. Dad had agreed to split the cost of a secondhand car with me, stunned I had managed to save $4,000 in tips alone.

“Don’t be one of those girls,” Delilah said, waving a french fry in my face. I had just mentioned the idea of quitting the swim team. Practice was during the week but races were mostly on weekends, and I had big plans to spend every weekend in Barry’s Bay with Sam.

“What girls?” I asked, my mouth half-full with a bite of tuna sandwich, as a cute red-haired boy sat down across from Delilah, holding out his hand.

“Seriously?” she asked, pointing another fry in his direction, before he could get a word out.

“I’m new here,” he stammered and pulled his hand away. “I thought I’d say hi.”

Delilah gave me a look that said, Can you even imagine? and glared at him.

“What, you think because we’re both gingers we should get together and have little carrot-topped brats together? Not gonna happen.” She shooed at him. “Buh-bye.”

He looked at me to check whether she was serious or not.

“She looks a lot sweeter than she is.” I shrugged.

After he left, Delilah turned back to me. “As I was saying, you don’t want to be one of those girls who has nothing interesting to say because all she thinks about is her boyfriend, and all she does is darn his socks or whatever. Those girls are boring. Don’t get boring on me, Persephone Fraser. I’ll be required to break up with you.”

I laughed, and she narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t joking.

“Okay,” I said, holding up my hands. “I won’t quit. But Sam’s not my boyfriend. We haven’t, you know, put a label on it yet. It’s new.”

“It’s not new. It’s, like, one hundred years old,” she said with a shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter whether you label it or not, you two are together,” she said, watching me. “And stop smiling so much. You’re making me nauseous.”

ON THE WEEKENDS when I didn’t have swimming, I would pack the car on Thursday nights and drive north straight from school on Friday afternoon. This did not sit well with Mom and Dad at first, but I won them over with the I’m going to be eighteen soon and What’s the point of having a cottage if we don’t use it? arguments and assured them I would study while I was gone. What I didn’t tell them was that I was also planning to shove my tongue down Sam’s throat as soon as I got him alone. They found out anyway.

The day after Sam had put his hands over every square inch of my body in August, Sue had spotted a hickey on his neck. True to Sam’s unwavering brand of honesty, he told her precisely who’d given it to him. Sue called my mom just before my first solo trip to the cottage to make sure she and Dad were aware of what was going on. Mom never said anything to me about it, but, according to Sam, Sue told Mom that Sam and I had started a “physical relationship” and then put him on the phone with my mother so he could promise her he’d treat me with respect and care.

My parents never talked to me about sex, and it blew my mind that this conversation took place. But when I unpacked my weekend bag, there was a box of condoms inside with a Post-it note stuck to it, the words Just in case written in Mom’s handwriting.

Sam worked Fridays, and I usually drove right to the Tavern to wait until he finished for the night. He was cooking with Julien in the kitchen since Charlie was away at school. If the restaurant was still busy by the time I got there, I’d tie on an apron and bus tables or help out Glen, the pimple-faced boy who’d replaced Sam at the dishwasher. If it was quiet, I’d take my homework to the bar and study until Julien let Sam go.

Sam insisted on showering after his shift, so we always went back to his place. On the drive, we filled each other in on our weeks—the swim practices, bio exams, Delilah dramas—and then we raced upstairs. We had approximately thirty minutes after Sam’s shower to feel each other up before Sue got home after closing. We kept the light off, a frantic clash of tongues and teeth and hands, and when Sue’s headlights shone through Sam’s bedroom window, we’d pull our tops back on and run downstairs to the kitchen, throwing the plates of food Julien had sent home with us in the microwave. We’d eat at the kitchen table, sneaking glances and nudging each other’s feet under the table while Sue fixed her own dinner.

“You two are as subtle as elephants,” she told us once.

By late September, the leaves were changing and the water was already too cold for swimming, so we created a new morning routine. It involved me sleeping late until Sam knocked on the back door after his run. He’d make weak lattes while I fixed bagels or cereal and we’d eat at the counter talking about the story I was working on or Finn’s new girlfriend, whom neither Sam nor Jordie could stand, or university applications, which were due in January.

Delilah, Sam, and Jordie all had their hearts set on Queen’s in Kingston—the university had a beautiful, historic campus and was considered one of the top schools in the country. Delilah wanted in for poli-sci, Sam for premed, and Jordie for business (Queen’s was renowned for all three programs). Sam was still gunning for a scholarship; as hard as Sue worked, there wasn’t enough to put a dent in the hefty tuition and residence fees. Unless my grades took a sudden nosedive, I would be heading to the University of Toronto, as per my parents’ dream, fueled partly by their allegiance to the school and partly because half of my tuition would be covered by their faculty discount. I was applying to the English program and wanted to take as many creative writing courses as possible if I got in. U of T was a great school, but needless to say, I would have preferred if Sam and I were planning to go to university together. Toronto was almost three hours away from Kingston by car, two and a half if I drove fast and traffic was good. A small, parasitic worm of worry was burrowing inside my brain—telling me that this wouldn’t last once Sam went away to school.

My parents came up for Thanksgiving, and our families spent the holiday meal together, with the addition of Julien, whom Sue had finally persuaded to join us. With Charlie back for the long weekend, there were seven of us around the Floreks’ dining room table, and between Charlie and Julien, Sam and I were subjected to relentless jokes about our relationship. Not that we minded. We held hands under the table and laughed at my parents’ initial shock over Julien’s sharp tongue and Charlie’s innuendos about teen pregnancy.

We were all together again at Christmas, but my parents returned to the city for New Year’s while I stayed and worked at the Tavern. At midnight, Sam dragged me downstairs to the walk-in refrigerator and kissed me against the boxes of citrus.

“I’m so in love with you,” he said when we pulled apart, his breaths escaping in cold puffs of air.

“Swear on it?” I whispered, and he smiled and kissed the inside of my wrist over the top of my bracelet.

With my parents’ blessing, Sue agreed to let me stay the night at their place, and after we all showered and changed into our pj’s, she popped a bottle of prosecco, poured herself a fishbowl-sized glass, and headed to her room, leaving Sam and me with the rest. We put something in the DVD player, then cuddled up under a blanket on the basement couch.

I waited ten minutes to make sure Sue wasn’t going to check on us and then crawled onto his lap, my knees on either side of his thighs. I was wired from work and my insides fizzed with his I love you and also with prosecco. I pulled his T-shirt over his head and then kissed my way up his chest, his neck, and then to his mouth, where our tongues found each other. He began to unbutton my pink flannel top, his fingers shaking with excitement, and then stopped when he saw there was nothing underneath. He looked up at me, his pupils swallowing the blues into a midnight ocean. With the exception of what had happened in his room in August, we hadn’t gone further than making out with shirts off, bra on. I opened the remaining buttons.

“I’m so in love with you, too,” I whispered and shrugged out of the shirt. His eyes dropped to my chest and he grew harder beneath me.

“You’re perfect,” he rasped when his eyes found mine again, and I smiled brightly then moved against him. His hands grabbed my waist, then roamed over my breasts, and he groaned.

I leaned close to his ear so our skin was pressed together, and said softly, “I want to show you how much I love you.” I moved my hand between us and put my fingers around the shape of him. He bit down on his lip and waited, his chest moving with his deep inhalations.

“Okay,” he breathed, and we both worked his pants off his legs. “I’m not going to last long,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly. He moved his hand across my breast, pinching the stiff pink peak. “I could come like this just looking at your hard nipples.” My eyes flashed to his. I’d never heard him talk like that, and it sent a hot current through me. I pulled at the waistband of his boxers and then shifted so he could slide them all the way off, watching wide-eyed. I put my hand around him, tentative and unsure. I had no idea what I was doing.

“Show me how,” I said, and he wrapped his hand over mine.

SAM, JORDIE, AND Delilah all got acceptance letters to Queen’s that spring, and I was thrilled for them and especially for Sam, who won one of a handful of academic scholarships that would cover the bulk of his tuition. My acceptance to U of T was met with great fanfare from my parents and Sam, but I couldn’t help feeling like I was standing on the ground while everyone else boarded a rocket ship.

Not that Sam gave me any reason to feel that way. We emailed constantly when we were apart, already making plans for when we could see each other when we both started university. He sent me the schedule for the train that ran between Kingston and Toronto—the trip was under three hours—and the sweetest, nerdiest list of bookstores and hospitals he thought we should visit in both cities.

By April, Toronto was in bloom with tulips and daffodils, and the buds on the magnolia and cherry blossom trees were getting fat. But up north, clumps of icy snow still hung around the edges of Bare Rock Lane and throughout the bush. Sam and I trudged up along the streambed, our boots sinking in where the snow was still surprisingly deep, and slipping on the damp ground where the sun had managed to break through the boughs. It smelled both fresh and fungal, like one of Mom’s expensive mud masks, and there was so much rushing water, we had to raise our voices over the roar.

The stream was quieter by the swirling pool where the old fallen tree lay across its belly. It was a bright day, but chilly in the shade of the pines, and the bark was soggy even through my jeans. I was glad for the quilted jacket Sam convinced me to wear.

“So there’s this big party at the end of the year,” he said once we settled, handing me one of Sue’s oatmeal-raisin cookies from the pocket of his fleece. “It’s right after graduation, and, uh, everyone gets dressed up . . .” He pushed his hair out of his eye—he hadn’t cut it in months and it tumbled over his forehead in a waterfall of swooshes and swoops.

“You mean prom?” I asked, grinning.

“There is a prom, but it’s nothing special. This is like a grad party except it’s in a big field in the middle of the bush.” He raised his eyebrows as if to ask, So what do you think?

“Sounds fun, which you have time for now,” I said, taking a bite of the cookie.

He cleared his throat. “So I was wondering, if it doesn’t conflict with your grad, if you wanted to go with me.” He winced slightly and clarified, “You know, as my date.”

“Will you be wearing a suit?” I smiled, picturing it already.

“Some people wear jackets,” he said slowly. “Is that a yes?”

“If you wear a suit, then I’m in,” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Our first date.”

“The first of many,” he elbowed me back. And my smile fell.

“There’ll be other dates, Percy,” he promised, reading my mind and lowering his face to mine. “I’ll come see you in Toronto, and you’ll come to Kingston—whenever we can.” There was a stinging in my nose, like I had eaten a spoonful of wasabi.

“Four years apart is a long time,” I whispered, playing with my bracelet.

“For you and me? It’ll be nothing,” he said softly, and before I could ask, he hooked his index finger around my bracelet and gave it a gentle tug. “I swear,” he said. “And besides, we’ve got time. We’ve got all summer.”

But he was wrong. We didn’t have all summer at all.

SAM READ SCHOOL textbooks—for fun!—in his downtime and landed a full academic scholarship to one of the most competitive programs in the country, so obviously I knew he was smart. But finding out that he had the highest GPA in his class rocked me.

“So you’re, like, smart-smart,” I said when he called to tell me the news. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I study and school comes pretty easy to me,” he replied. I could almost hear him shrug. “It’s not that big of a deal, really.”

But it was that big of a deal. Having the top marks in his graduating class meant Sam was its valedictorian and therefore required to give a speech at his graduation.

I drove to Barry’s Bay the day of his grad ceremony, which was also the night of the big after-party, the strapless white dress Delilah and I picked out at the mall hanging from a hook in the back of the car. My graduation—a sweltering uneventful affair held late afternoon on the school’s soccer field—had been a few days earlier. When I got to the cottage, I had just enough time to shower, change, put on a little makeup, and fix my hair in a side braid that hung down over one shoulder. I had made Sam find out what kind of footwear the girls wore to a fancy bush party, so I headed to the Floreks’ in a pair of silver flip-flops with rhinestones on the straps.

Charlie was already home from his second year at Western, and Sue and the boys were sitting on the porch with sweaty glasses of iced tea when I walked down the driveway. The three of them together at home early on a Friday evening in summer was a rare sight. Sam rose from his wicker chair and walked across the porch to greet me, wearing a black suit, a white shirt, and a black tie. He’d cut his hair, and he looked like a teenage James Bond.

I can’t believe he’s mine, I thought as I ran my hands along his shoulders and down his arms, but what I told him was, “I guess this will do.” He gave me a smile that said he was probably aware of how well he cleaned up and a chaste kiss on my cheek before Sue had us pose for photos.

From the moment we stepped inside his school, it was clear Sam wasn’t just a brain, he was well-liked. It wasn’t a surprise, exactly. I knew Sam was awesome—I just didn’t know everyone else did, too. Guys threw him high fives and handshake/back-pat combos, and several girls threw their arms around his neck with sighs of I can’t believe it’s all over, not bothering to look in my direction. I knew Jordie and Finn a little, but this whole other world he was a part of, maybe was at the center of, was totally foreign to me.

In some ways, Sam had remained in my mind the scraggy boy I first met, a kid who had trouble relating to his classmates after his dad’s death and then a teenager too busy to party unless I pushed him. But watching him stride onto the stage in his cap and gown to the cheers of his classmates was like seeing his metamorphosis happen in an instant. He delivered his speech in a deep, clear voice—he was self-deprecating and funny and hopeful; he was completely charming. I was transfixed and proud, and as I stood with the rest of the audience applauding him, a seed of dread sprouted inside me. Sam had been tucked away safe for me in Barry’s Bay, but in September, he would be part of a much bigger world—one that was sure to sweep him up in its infinite possibilities.

“You okay?” Sam asked quietly as Charlie drove us to the grad party, the three of us wedged into the front bench of his pickup.

“Yeah. Just thinking about how fast this summer’s going to go by,” I replied, watching the bush grow thick around the road we were headed down. “At least we still have two more months.” I gave him a small smile as Charlie coughed something under his breath.

“What did you just call me?” I snapped.

“Not you.” He looked at Sam from the corner of his eye, but neither said anything more.

We had been driving for almost twenty minutes, when Charlie turned down a dirt road that cut through the brush and then, without warning, opened onto giant rolling fields. The sun had already set, but it was bright enough to make out the old farmhouse and barns perched at the top of the driveway. Dozens of cars were parked in lines on the grass, and there was a small stage with lights and a DJ booth set up at the edge of one of the pastures. Charlie pulled up in front of the farmhouse, where two girls sat behind a folding table with a cash box and a stack of red plastic cups. Twenty bucks bought you entrance and a cup to fill at the keg.

“I’ll pick you up at one right here,” he said as we climbed out, then peeled away in a cloud of dust.

The air smelled of fresh grass and Axe body spray. There were way more people milling about the fields than the students that made up Sam’s small graduating class. As promised, the girls wore flip-flops or sandals with their dresses, some of them in floor-length prom-style gowns and others in more casual summer cotton. Most of the guys were in dress pants and button-down shirts, but a few, like Sam, wore jackets. We filled our cups and then tried to find Jordie and Finn, but the only lights were the ones on the stage, and unless you were standing in front of it, you had to squint to make out faces in the fading blue light.

Every few minutes, someone would come up to Sam to tell him how fantastic his speech was. We made our way to the stage, watching other drunker people dancing with their arms linked around each other’s shoulders. Several beers in, I noticed that there were no porta potties and that girls were sneaking away to squat in the bushes. I slowed down my drinking after that, but eventually was forced to break the seal among the leaves like everyone else.

“That was a unique experience,” I said to Sam when I got back. The red lights of the stage illuminated his four-beer grin and hooded eyes.

“Dance with me,” he said, circling his arms around my waist, and we swayed together slowly even though the music was a pounding club song.

“I know a million people have already told you this tonight,” I said with my fingers twisted in the hair at the nape of his neck. “But your speech was kind of incredible. I thought I was the writer in this relationship. What other secrets are you keeping from me, Sam Florek?” The smile slipped from his face.

“What?” I asked. He pressed his lips together, and my stomach dropped. “Sam, what? Is there something you’re keeping from me?” I stopped moving.

“Let’s go somewhere quieter,” he said, taking my hand to lead me away from the stage and toward a clump of boulders. He pulled me behind the rocks and ran his hand through his hair.

“Sam, you’re really freaking me out,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. The beer was making my head fuzzy. “What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I got accepted into this intensive workshop for premed students.”

“A workshop?” I parroted. “You didn’t tell me you had applied.”

“I know. It was a long shot. They only accept twelve first-years. I really didn’t think I’d get in.”

“Well, that’s great,” I said, my words slurring. “I’m proud of you, Sam.”

“The thing is, Percy,” he hesitated, shifting on his feet. “It starts early. I have to leave in three weeks.” Battery acid dripped down my spine.

“Three weeks?” I repeated. Three weeks was no time at all. When would I see Sam after that? Thanksgiving? I shut my eyes—everything was starting to spin. “I’m going to be sick,” I groaned.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have, but I knew how much you were looking forward to spending the summer together,” he said, taking my hand.

“I thought you were, too,” I murmured. Then I threw up all over his new dress shoes.

Charlie took one look at me when I climbed into the truck, cheeks stained with mascara tears, and said to Sam, “Finally told her, huh?” Sam shot him a dark look, and no one spoke for the rest of the drive.

Three weeks went by as if they were seconds, and my dread formed roots in my feet and grew branches that spread to my shoulders and arms. Sam spent much of our time together with his nose in various textbooks, as if he was cramming for a major exam. He refused to break our annual lake-crossing tradition, and insisted I do the swim on his last day before heading to school. It was a gorgeous sunny morning, and I went through the motions of stretching and warming up. Since I started competitive swimming, paddling across the lake wasn’t a challenge for me like it used to be. I felt almost numb when I made it to the far shore, pulling my knees up to my chest and gulping down the water Sam had packed for me.

“Your fastest time yet,” he said happily when I was done, throwing an arm around me and pulling me against his side. “I thought I might not be able to keep up.” I let out a bitter laugh.

“That’s funny,” I said, hating how resentful I sounded. “I feel like I’m the one being left behind.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?” I wouldn’t look at him but could hear the worry in his voice.

“What am I supposed to think, Sam? You didn’t tell me that you applied to this course. You didn’t tell me when you were accepted.” I swallowed back tears. “I understand why you want to go. It’s amazing that you got in. And I one hundred percent think it’s going to be great for you. But you keeping all this from me until the very last minute hurts. A lot. It makes me feel like this is a one-sided thing we’ve got going on.”

“It’s not!” he said, his voice cracking. He pulled me onto his lap so I was facing him and took my head between his hands so I couldn’t look away. “God, of course it’s not. You’re my best friend. My favorite person.” He kissed me and pulled me against his bare chest. It was warm with sweat and he smelled so much like summer, so much like Sam, that I wanted to curl up inside him.

“We’ll talk all the time.”

“It feels like I’m never going to see you again,” I admitted, and then he smiled at me with pity, like I was being truly ridiculous.

“It’s just university,” he said, kissing the top of my wet head. “One day, you won’t be able to get rid of me. I promise.”

SUE AND SAM left early the next morning while Charlie and I waved from the porch, tears streaming down my face.

“C’mon,” he said after the car had driven out of sight, throwing his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go for a boat ride.”

It turned out that Charlie was a lot less of a jerk without Sam around to harass. Much to my parents’ confusion, I decided to pick up extra shifts at the Tavern. Even when Charlie wasn’t working, he would give me a ride. Most days, he’d swim over when I was down at the lake to see how I was doing.

I was not doing well. More than a week had gone by without me hearing from Sam, even though he had finally got a cell phone before he left for Kingston. I knew he wouldn’t be big on texting, but I couldn’t fathom why he hadn’t responded to any of my HOW R U, I MISS U, and CAN U TALK??? messages. And when I called his dorm landline, he didn’t answer.

Charlie kept giving me questioning looks whenever I came into the kitchen to pick up an order. On the way home one night, he cut the motor in the middle of the lake and turned to face me.

“Spill it,” he ordered.

“Spill what?”

“I don’t know, Pers. You tell me. I know you’re bummed that Sam’s gone, but you’ve been moping around like Miss Havisham.”

“You know who Miss Havisham is?” I grumbled.

“Fuck off.”

I sighed. “I still haven’t heard from him. Not an email. No phone call.”

Charlie rubbed his face. “I don’t think he’s got his internet set up yet. And Mom told you he called home. He’s fine.”

“But why didn’t he call me?” I whined, and Charlie laughed.

“You know how expensive those long-distance calls are, Pers.”

“Or text?”

Charlie sighed, then hesitated. “Okay, you want to know what I think?”

“I don’t know, do I?” I narrowed my eyes. You never knew what you were going to get with Charlie.

“Honestly, I think my brother was a coward to keep the course a secret.” He paused. “And if it were me, I would have called you as soon as I got to Kingston.”

“Thanks,” I said, my face hot.

“Sam has it in his head that you belong to him. Not in a creepy possessive way, but it’s more like he has this belief that everything is meant to work out between you two in the end. And I think that’s pretty much bullshit.”

I blanched. “You don’t think it’s meant to work out?” I whispered.

“I don’t think anything is meant to be,” he said flatly. “He already screwed things up when you got that hockey player boyfriend. I hope he fights harder this time,” he said, starting the engine. “Or someone else will.”