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Chapter Six

Friday afternoon, 3:47 p.m., ten hours earlier

Stella, the art teacher

I plaster on a smile as I wave goodbye to the girls who had stayed behind from kayaking to paint. They practically sprint to the beach, unable to get away from me soon enough. I don’t blame them. I’ve never been good at hiding my feelings. Usually, I don’t want to. It’s part of being an artist, wearing your heart on your sleeve, inhabiting every emotion completely. As they watercolored the hills, the campsite, I just stared at the blank paper in my lap, feeling as empty as it was. Cassie’s comment plays on a loop in my mind. He’s definitely not in love with you. He’s definitely not in love with you. Until these words become a promise. A vow.

After the girls disappear into the distance, my attention settles back on Cassie, who sits with Lily nestled in her lap. From across the campsite, I can tell Lily’s crying, that Cassie gets to be the doting mother after she just gutted me. Dave stands above them, helplessly. Cassie barks something at him, and he backs away. It makes me angry, the way she commands him, the way she expects everyone to behave according to her will. I see her in sickly greens and anemic yellows, the revenge portrait I could make of her.

I hang the children’s paintings from a eucalyptus tree to dry and start collecting their brushes. I should call Travis to tell him what happened. I should get ahead of the situation. The ranger said there’s service at the pier. But Travis didn’t want me to talk to Cassie. He expressly asked me not to. It’s hard for him to trust people, and I violated that trust the first opportunity I got. Maybe it will be my actions, not Cassie’s, that will end us.

There’s a freshwater spout near the bathroom, so I trudge over with my coffee can of dirty paintbrushes. I don’t know how I’m going to get through the weekend as the peppy camp counselor. I twist on the spigot and let the water bang against the bottom of the can, staring at the muddy puddle below. The oily patina on its surface is strangely beautiful, like decalcomania.

When I turn off the water, I hear a noise.

“Psst.” I freeze, clutch the can, ready to hurl it at whoever is spying on me.

“Psst.” It’s definitely not my imagination. “Psst.” It sends my heart racing. “Psst.” It’s coming from the pile of debris that looks like a Chumash burial mound.

“Whoever’s there, I have a knife.” I hold out the dull end of a paintbrush. If I jabbed it hard enough, it would hurt, and I could get a head start.

“Stell, it’s me,” the bush says. There’s only one person who calls me Stell. Only one person who would refer to themselves as me and expect me to know who it is. Except it can’t be him. He’s on the mainland. And he’s not in love with me.

“Travis?”

“Shhh.” His voice emanates from the bushes.

Clutching the can of soaking paintbrushes to my chest, I make my way over to the mound. I hold my breath as I walk around the debris, fully prepared to let out a scream, because it can’t be Travis. Yet there, standing behind the pile of dead branches, is my love, his eyes so blue it’s like a sucker punch to my gut, his smile so mischievous I want to throw the tin to the ground and pounce on him. He tugs me toward him. Water splashes from the coffee can as he guides me back against the sharp, unforgiving debris. Then he kisses me hard. I start to kiss him back, dropping the can so I can put my hands around his neck. His strong, warm neck. His thick, soft hair. I pull him toward me, thinking Cassie is wrong. When he slithers his tongue into my mouth, my trance is momentarily broken.

“What are you doing here?” What I mean is, Are you here because you love me? What I mean is, Please don’t lead me on.

“I missed you.” He pulls my hips to his. I can feel him through his pants, how quickly his body responds to mine. Already, he’s hard.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing you all weekend.” He runs his tongue across my clavicle, sending a chill through me. “And not being able to do this.”

His lips travel downward as he unbuttons the top of my shirt and reaches his hand into my bra to remove my breast. I groan. I can’t help it. I lean back against the pile of debris, feeling the branches dig into my skin, and angle my chest toward his mouth.

I’m so lost in Travis, his hand that unbuttons my pants and slips into my underwear, that I don’t realize how close the voices are until they’re too clear.

“Can you believe Sofía?” It’s one of the mothers, I’m not sure which. It’s not Cassie. I know that much.

Travis has still got his fingers in my underwear, teasing me as he gets on his knees. His mouth travels down my stomach toward my unbuttoned pants. I grab the sides of his head to stop him. He casts me that naughty simper. We keep our gazes fixed on each other as the mothers prattle on about Sofía, something to do with the kayaking trip, which Lily and Dave evidently dropped out of. I bring my index finger to my lips. He plants his face into my stomach, to muffle his laugh.

“That was seriously the most unhinged thing. Did you hear that Lily almost drowned? Dave had to jump in to save her,” one of the mothers says.

We stay like that, me pressed against the sharp pile of sticks with Travis burrowing into me to keep from laughing. Travis doesn’t seem to register that they’re talking about his niece.

“Mona’s going to flip when she hears.”

“Where is Mona?”

“Something’s going on with her. You didn’t hear it from me, but Grace said last time she was over at their house, Mona was selling her Birkin on eBay. I think they’re having money problems.”

Our eyes stayed locked. We’re both panting. In that moment, I know Cassie is wrong. In that moment, I know this is love.

“Brady and Mona? No way.”

Travis clutches my hips harder, and I run my hand through his hair, my heart racing with exhilaration and elation because he’s here. Travis is here. With me.