Homewrecker

58 - 𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓵𝓸𝓰𝔂

"So, do you believe them?"

I was stretched out over the beach towel he had thrown down earlier, grains of sand scratching against the back of my neck and getting caught in my hair as I stared up at the starlit sky lingering overhead, totally cloudless except the tinge of smoke from the fireworks tinting the air. The latest pop anthem was coming from cars idling in the parking lot a couple yards away, trunks popped open with opened chip bags and coolers of beer and lemonades.

To my surprise, Starbright Drive-In was actually closed that night—according to Ethan, sales were never that great when there were fireworks and drinking elsewhere—on the Fourth of July. It was his idea to come to the beach that night after eating hot dogs he burned on the barbeque and store-bought cold salads because I didn't like preparing foods with mayonnaise, which he thought was juvenile, but I didn't care.

His parents were gone again but had left instructions to host the Solidays over to thank them for hosting them a couple of weeks ago. Most of them had come over, bringing foil wrapped dishes that were passed around more than what he and Taylor-Elise tried to make, but Andi didn't come. I wondered if it was because I was there, or because Ethan had taken my side instead of hers.

Which, really, he hadn't. He wasn't offended or hurt, like Andi had been, but he didn't agree with me either. Instead, he thought that I was losing faith in the Shiloh Police Department and was turning to my own devices, and biases, to find out who had killed my mom. He also claimed that I was trying to get a reaction out of them which, while true, sounded petty when I heard it out loud.

He was still arranging beach chairs in the sand when he asked me if I believed the Solidays about what they told me a couple days ago at the nursery, a cooler and an assortment of sharable candy bags scattered on towels as we waited for everyone else. He kept forgetting to put on sunscreen, so the freckles on his nose and over his shoulders were starting to become more pronounced, dark hair flopping over his forehead as he glanced over at me.

I sighed. "I don't know what to think."

"I think you know what to think, but you don't like it, so you don't think it," he responded, setting the canvas bag of sparklers and butane lighters on the lid of the cooler. "You don't think they really had your mom killed."

"Are you trying to use a mind trick on me? Like in Star Wars?"

"I'd do something way more interesting than that if I had the Force. But no, I'm just pointing out what you already know."

"Well, Andi did say that no one would kill to have an ungrateful brat like me," I mumbled.

"I wouldn't kill, but maybe I'd do a little jaywalking for you," Ethan teased, opening a package of licorice and holding out one of the red ropey vines out to me. I let myself give him a slight smile when I took it from him, squeezing it between my fingers until the hallowed hole in the center was flat. "You know that she said that because she was upset, right? Not necessarily because she thinks it?"

"I think people tend to say a lot of things they mean when they're upset."

"When they're upset," he repeated. "If I believed everything you meant when you upset, we wouldn't be friends."

I lifted my head up. "Are you still mad about that?"

"No, because I considered how you were feeling when you said those things. Let a little forgiveness go a long way." I rolled my eyes and plopped my head back down against the towel, feeling as he poked my knee with one of the licorice ropes. "Plus, you gave me a proper apology, which you didn't give Andi."

"I tried!"

"Calling her materialistic isn't trying."

"Well, was I wrong?"