Summer Secret Read online

  Summer Secret

  Raleigh Ruebins

  This is a work of fiction. Names, businesses, places, and events are products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2018 Raleigh Ruebins

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover design by Resplendent Media

  Contents

  1. Owen

  2. Max

  3. Owen

  4. Max

  5. Owen

  6. Max

  7. Owen

  8. Max

  9. Owen

  10. Max

  11. Owen

  12. Max

  13. Owen

  14. Max

  Epilogue

  More from Raleigh Ruebins

  Social Media

  1

  Owen

  “Put him on the phone.”

  “I told you, he’s not—”

  “Megan, just put Max on the phone. I know he’s there.”

  The big oak branch swayed under my feet, the afternoon sunlight blinding me as I made my way up the tree. This oak had been in my parents’ backyard since long before I was born—potentially even since they were still babies. I’d climbed up the tree to get a little privacy as I finally mustered the courage to call Max.

  Turned out that climbing a tree while talking on the phone—even when using hands-free headphones—was kind of a death-defying challenge. That was okay, though. Death-defying things were my bread and butter. What scared me more was the possibility that Megan might not put Max on the phone.

  I heard her let out a long sigh. Max was probably right across the room from her. Megan and Max were twins, the kind that shared a bond like the closest form of friendship. Sibling rivalry had never applied to them. And it didn’t apply to our friendships, either; I’d met them both eight years ago and been best friends with both of them ever since.

  At least until I fucked everything up royally—finally, permanently fucked it up—about three months ago. And Max hadn’t spoken to me ever since.

  At least until I fucked everything up royally—finally, permanently fucked it up—about three months ago. And Max hadn’t spoken to me ever since.

  I heard a door slamming shut over the phone, and I knew by Megan’s change in tone that she was alone now. She was probably out in the hallway of the apartment building all three of us had lived in together.

  “I just don’t think it’s a good idea yet, Owen,” she said, her voice low. “Max is still getting over… everything. I know he’ll call you when he’s ready, but he just needs a little more time.”

  “I haven’t spoken to him since before April,” I said. I plucked a fat green leaf from the branch above me. Held up to the sunlight, it was a luminescent blanket of veins and chlorophyll, peak summer in one small package. Over the past few weeks, I’d learned how to identify a red oak versus a white oak, and I now knew definitively that the one I was on was a red. The tips of the leaf lobes gave it all away.

  If you’d told me months ago that I’d be able to identify trees by their leaves, I would have said you were crazy. But a lot had changed since then, since I’d last seen Megan and Max.

  I rolled the leaf between my fingers before letting it drop languidly to the ground below.

  “I’m… I’m a different person than I was then, Megan.” It sounded so damn feeble. I’d told Megan and Max that I would change many times before, and it had never been true. Everything was different this time—but how could I make sure that she knew that?

  “What?” she asked, exasperated.

  “I know, I know, it sounds like hokey bullshit.”

  “Did you… find yourself, after moving away from New York City?” she asked with a laugh.

  I swallowed hard. Suddenly my throat felt a little tight. I’d called with the express purpose of telling her where I’d been the last six weeks, but now that it was time to say it, I felt myself clamming up.

  “Well,” I said, shifting my weight on the branch, “you’re kinda closer than you might think—”

  Suddenly a thwack pelted the side of my torso. Cold water exploded against me and I jerked away, the big tree branch swaying beneath me. I caught my balance quickly, centering my gravity on the narrow seat.

  “What the fuck?” I shouted, pulling my phone out and switching it to the dry pocket on the other side of my shorts. “Are you trying to kill me?” I looked down and saw my older brother Patrick grinning wide at me, Ray-Ban sunglasses over his eyes. He was in his swim trunks, looking happy as a clam.

  He’d thrown a goddamned water balloon at me. I wouldn’t admit it to him, but the cool water did feel great against my skin. It was early July, pushing ninety degrees outside.

  “Get off the phone and come hang out with me,” he said.

  “Is everything alright?” Megan said over the phone.

  “Yeah—sorry Megan, hang on one sec.” I leaned back over, looking down at my brother. “Patrick, just lay off, okay? I’m trying to talk to Megan. And Max,” I said, making sure to say that part loudly and clearly into the microphone.

  “Lame,” Patrick said, walking back over to the porch where his boyfriend Taran was sitting. “Can’t promise we’ll save any watermelon slices for you!” he called back at me.

  “Sorry about that, Meg,” I said. I gripped my hands against the branch, lifting up until I was standing on it, and started to climb to the next highest branch. The one I was on had gotten soaked, and part of me craved a higher climb, anyway. I grunted as I made my way up.

  “What are you doing over there?” she asked.

  “I’m—I’m on a tree—”

  “A tree? Since when do you climb trees? You didn’t even want to go to the park with us when you lived here.”

  It was true. Back in the city, I would have laughed out loud if anyone told me I’d ever climb a tree willingly.

  When I reached the next branch, I glanced downward again. It was a long drop—one I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to survive if I fell—and the soft swaying of all the leaves left me with a vague sense of vertigo. The hairs on my arms stood on end when a breeze blew past, and adrenaline surged through me.

  Fuck it. I capitalized on the brief rush and finally built up enough courage to just come right out and tell Megan the truth.

  “I just got back from a wilderness retreat,” I said, letting out a long breath that I didn’t know I’d been holding. I didn’t know if my heart was pounding from the climbing or because of the conversation.

  “What?” she asked.

  “A wilderness retreat. Y’know, you go out, and it’s like camping, but… rougher, and there’s no internet and no phones, and basically nothing to do at all but sit with your thoughts.”

  She was silent for a moment. “Was this some kind of drug thing, Owen? Were you, like, doing acid in the middle of the forest?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

  Of course that’s what she would expect from me.

  “No, it wasn’t a… drug thing,” I said quietly, running my hand along the rough bark of the branch beneath me. “It was the opposite, actually.”

  “Opposite?”

  I swallowed hard. “It was a wilderness therapy program,” I said. “Y’know, for… addicts. Like me.”

  As I waited for her to reply, I felt a growing lump in my throat
the size of a small country.

  “But, uh, yeah,” I continued quickly, “it was all nature-y and so not my thing, but I did it. I got through all eight weeks, and as lame as it sounds, or whatever, it kind of worked, Megan. It… it changed me. Or maybe I was just finally ready.”

  She was still silent, and I thought the inside of my head might explode waiting for a response.

  “Megan, I—” I started but stopped when I heard a sniffle on the other end of the line. “Megan?”

  Suddenly she let out a long wail, and then I realized she was sobbing. Megan cried easily—she always used half a box of tissues every time she convinced Max and me to rewatch Titanic or The Notebook with her. But even though I was used to hearing her cry, I certainly hadn’t been expecting it now.

  “Owen!” she said, and I couldn’t tell if she was still crying or laughing now. “Holy shit, Owen, I am so fucking proud of you.”

  I cocked my head to the side. “Proud?”

  She blew her nose. “Oh my God,” she said. “You… you’re trying to get better? You stopped drinking… for good?”

  I hadn’t realized just how intense her reaction would be. “I mean, yeah,” I said. “I’ve been wanting to get better for a long time, you know. But I needed a big change, and God, Megan, wilderness was the change I needed. I haven’t wanted to drink in weeks. And I’ve never felt that way. Not truly. Not to my bones, like I do now.”

  It was true. There had been many times that I’d “taken my last drink” in the past—I was only twenty-six, but I’d already tried to stop drinking many times. I’d always known I was an addict, but I’d never really been ready to give it up. Now was the only time that I was certain it was true. I didn’t want to anymore. I just wanted to live my life, as terrifying and unfamiliar as that prospect was.

  Regaining Megan and Max’s friendship was what I wanted the most.

  “I love you, Owen,” she said. “I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  “I love you too,” I said. “You and Max are the best friends I’ve ever had. And that was the whole point of this conversation.”

  She laughed. “What, to make me cry like an idiot in the lobby of this apartment building?”

  I smiled. I could still picture Tony, the old Italian guy who worked at the front desk of the building. Tony had looked out for me on many nights when I’d come home too late from partying. I was sure he’d give Megan a box of tissues if he saw her crying.

  “Well, not quite,” I said, shifting and looking back down at my parents’ house. Patrick, Taran, and my parents were all on the porch now, getting ready to grill tonight’s dinner.

  “Then what?” Megan asked.

  “You know how my family goes to the beach every summer? The trip I always went on in July?”

  “I remember. Last year you were so mad because there was a huge rave happening in Brooklyn that same week, and you were going to miss it.”

  I bit my lip. “Yeah, that’s the trip,” I said. I couldn’t believe that just a year ago, I would have rather been at some sweaty warehouse party. It felt like a world away. “Anyway, we’re going to the beach house in two weeks, and I want you and Max to come.”

  There was a pause before she spoke again. “Wait… really?”

  “Yes, really. Patrick is bringing his boyfriend, and I have nobody to bring. I figured if I’m single, I may as well invite a friend, and, well… you and Max are the best friends I have. We rent this big beach house every year. There’s plenty of space.”

  “So you’re allowed to bring two people?”

  “Everyone knows you and Max go together. You’re wonder twins. And besides, my parents always liked both of you when they visited the city.”

  Megan let out a long breath. “I do need a vacation… God, I haven’t been to the beach in years….”

  “Perfect time to go is now,” I said.

  “I’ll have to ask for time off from work, but it does sound awesome to me, Owen. I’ll call my boss tonight. And… thank you. Wow, what a roller coaster of a phone call.”

  “I owe it to you, Meg. To both of you. I… I know I put you guys through a lot.” That was the understatement of the century.

  “It was a lot, sometimes,” Megan said softly, “but… you were worth it. I’m so happy to hear you’re doing better.”

  “And… now you’re going to go back upstairs and put Max on the phone, right?” I asked.

  She paused for a minute, and I heard the click of her shoes as she walked up the stairwell. Our apartment had been on the third floor, and I knew it wouldn’t take her long to get back up there.

  “Owen…” she said, “…you know that Max is going to be a harder sell.”

  “I know, I know,” I said. “He never takes vacations. He’s probably forgotten what the word even means. But just put him on the phone. I’ll convince him.”

  She sighed. “I’ll… I’ll try. But I’m not making any promises.”

  “Of course not,” I said.

  As I waited, occasionally hearing muffled sounds come across the phone, I shifted so that my legs dangled over the branch. I could hear the call of a mourning dove in a branch nearby, a sound that before I would have just assumed was a hooting owl. I also spied a patch of red clover over by the fence of the yard. Had it always been this beautiful back here? Had I been so unreceptive to it?

  I knew the truth: until recently, I wouldn’t have cared about the nature around me. The mourning dove would have been background noise, the aged red oak just another tree. All I would have known how to identify were the different bottles in my parents’ liquor cabinet or the brand of cigarettes that someone on the sidewalk was smoking.

  But the appeal wasn’t there anymore. All I wanted to hear was the sound of Max’s voice. Someone who’d always been there for me the past eight years, and only now did I finally feel like I might deserve as a friend.

  There was a rustle on the other line, and my heart skipped a beat when I realized I was about to hear his voice for the first time in months. I could picture him perfectly: his sandy-colored hair, his deep brown eyes squinting slightly as Megan told him who was on the phone.

  “Max?” I said.

  “It’s me,” Megan said, her voice low again.

  I deflated like a cheap balloon. “Oh,” I said.

  “He… he said no, Owen,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  There was a finality to her voice. Her tone told me that Max probably had been firm in his refusal—Max was a sweetheart to everyone, but when he felt something wasn’t right, he wouldn’t stand for it.

  I had a feeling that was how he must have reacted to the prospect of talking to me. Polite, but undeniably resolute.

  And I couldn’t blame him. The last time we’d spoken, he had basically been telling me he was sick of my shit. Months ago, I was going to tell him that I was better—that I was going to clean up my act and be a better roommate and friend. But when he’d told me he wanted me out of his life for good, it was too much. And then that night, I’d drank even more, and Megan had found me passed out on the sidewalk outside our apartment.

  That had been the start of my recent journey. Three months ago my parents had essentially forced me to move back here to Rose Falls, and shortly after, I decided to enroll in wilderness therapy.

  It had been a tough ride, but I knew now that it had been the best decision I’d ever made. It wasn’t easy—every day was another mountain to climb—but now I finally found myself able to climb.

  But how was I supposed to let my best friend know how badly I needed him in my life again?

  Hours later, Max was still on my mind. I was sitting on the back deck with my parents and Patrick and Taran, all of us stuffed full of watermelon and grilled chicken and corn. I could still smell the faint char from the grill at the neighbors’ house, and fireflies twinkled at the corners of the lawn. It reminded me of summers from my childhood, when I hadn’t been old enough or aware enough to know how idyllic my family and my hometown
really were. I had always been looking for escape, but now that I’d spent the past decade doing nothing but escaping, I was finally appreciative of home.

  It was nine o’clock. Once upon a time, this would have been the time I’d start getting ready for a long night out, and I’d likely be four drinks deep already. But more recently, in wilderness, I’d have probably already been sound asleep for a half hour at this point.

  Dad and Mom and Patrick were talking about our upcoming beach vacation, and I was vaguely paying attention.

  “You know, they’ve been having problems with the turtles this year down at Pearlview,” Dad said. He was lounging on a patio chair, the faint glow of the citronella candle from the table flickering over his face. It was the most relaxed I’d seen him in a while.

  “Wait a minute,” Patrick said, smiling. “Turtle problems?”

  Dad nodded. “Yeah, apparently the turtles are going a little bit wild on the beach.”

  Taran turned to Patrick, then turned back to my dad. “Is this some kind of… secret code? Or am I missing something?”

  “If there’s a secret code about turtles, I sure as hell don’t know about it, babe,” Patrick said, grinning at Taran and reaching out to hold his hand. “What in hell are you talking about, Dad?”

  My dad grinned, lacing his hands together like he did before every long story he told. “Apparently, last year after our vacation, the sea turtles of Pearlview… had a bit of a wild orgy,” he said simply, not even cracking a smile. “They were everywhere, mating in the water, mating on the sand. No one knew why. They actually sent out a team of researchers from Duke University to study the bizarre habits.”

  I couldn’t stop watching Taran, who looked like he was about to explode. He had only met my dad a few times so far, and he clearly had no idea whether to suppress his laughter or not.