Unbreak My Heart (25 page)

I watch Olive cast out again, jig her reel at a little nibble, and then sit quietly and wait for a bigger bite. The sunlight glints off of her glasses. The waves lap at the boats beside us. James’s red hair blows softly in the summer breeze as he talks. He does ramble. But it’s the best. I look around at him, at Olive, at the waves.

“Got it,” I say, interrupting him.

“Got what?” asks James.

I smile and give him a light kiss. “My memory of today.”

chapter thirty-six

You draw like a true artist.
    You’re nice to my little sister.
    You have the best hair color on the planet.

I pause, chewing the end of my marker. We’re sailing today—trying to reach the Mississippi border. It’s the beginning of our last week out on the water. I can’t believe the summer’s almost over.

Olive knocks on my door.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

I hesitate, but then decide she can be helpful.

“I’m making a list for James,” I say.

“Of what?”

“Just nice things about him,” I say. I want it to be a list of things like the stuff my family said to me the other night, things maybe he doesn’t hear. I feel bad about that—everyone should know the nice things about themselves.

“Are you going to give it to him?” she asks.

“Of course!” I say.

“So it’s not like your diary or private or anything?” she asks.

“Nope,” I say, glad I haven’t gotten very far. I’m definitely going to add some kissing stuff after Olive leaves.

She sits down on my bed and tilts her head, thinking.

“He talks really fast when he’s excited,” she says.

I write it down, and then I add, “You talk slowly and thoughtfully too.”

“He smiles and laughs all the time.”

“You’re right,” I say, copying that onto the page.

“He makes
you
smile,” she says.

I blush, but I write it down.

“I really like him, Clem,” she says.

I almost write, “Olive really likes you,” but then I realize she’s just saying that to me. Like, approving of him for me.

“Thanks, Livy.”

“He’s not anyone’s boyfriend, is he?” she asks, her eyes wide.

I laugh at her. That question probably would have sent me scowling earlier this summer, but now I know myself better, I know I’m not that girl.

“He’s
my
boyfriend,” I say.

“Good,” she says, hopping off the bed. “I’m gonna go get a snack.”

She runs out of the room and I go back to thinking about James. My
boyfriend
. I feel a giddy smile cross my face.

You joke around with Ruth and George and
think that “old people rule.”
    Your kisses make me feel like I’m dancing.
    You found me a new song with my name
in it.

As we get closer to the next marina, I peek out the window and see James standing on the dock. There’s a light rain falling, and his red hair is blowing all around his face. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks like he’s been waiting.

“James!” I hear Mom greet him from the cockpit.

“Clem?”

James is calling my name.

I scramble up into the cockpit and lean over the side of the boat, out into the rain.

“Hey!” I shout, unable to squelch my grin. As soon as we’re tied up, I jump off the boat and onto the dock.

James opens up his arms. I squeeze him tightly.

That’s when I notice he’s shaking a little.

I pull back. “What’s wrong?”

“I need your help,” he says. “I need … I think I need your dad.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

I feel Mom step down onto the dock—she must see that James isn’t himself.

“James, what is it?” she asks.

He bites his lip then, and I have the urge to sweep him up in my arms and hold him close. But my mom is here. And she does it instead.

He leans on her shoulder and lets her hug him. I feel so helpless. I don’t know what to do.

Olive peeks her head out from the cockpit and then disappears. A few seconds later, she and Dad are on the dock with us.

Mom lets James go, and he wipes his face with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking at my dad. “I didn’t know who to ask …”

“What’s wrong, son?” asks Dad, and I love him for his tone, for his Dad-ness.

“He just got so angry all of a sudden.” James hangs his head like he’s ashamed. “He’s mad at her, I know, but this time it’s …”

“Your father?” asks Dad.

James nods.

Olive and Mom stay behind, but Dad and I follow James to the other side of the marina, where
Dreaming of Sylvia
is docked.

Before we went, James had to explain to Mom and Dad about his mom. They looked a little shocked—Mr. Townsend hadn’t even told them about the separation. That didn’t surprise me after seeing him hide his tears that one day, but I didn’t bring it up—that moment feels private and sacred, still.

When we reach the boat, James brings us around to the back. That’s when I see the scratches on the aft end, where the cursive letters that spelled out
Dreaming of Sylvia
used to be.

“He used a screwdriver or something, I think,” says James, running a hand over the angry marks.

Dad puts his arm on James’s shoulder. “Let me talk to him.”

We slowly climb aboard. James goes into the cabin first, followed by my dad. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if I should be here.

I take a deep breath, though, and I step inside too. It’s stuffy in the living room, like no one’s opened the windows for a day. Then I notice that there are books pulled off the shelf, and a broken glass lies on the floor. Dad and I wait in the main cabin while James knocks on the master V-berth door.

I stare at the photo I saw that first night we had dinner on
Dreaming of Sylvia
. The glass over it is shattered in a spiderweb pattern reaching from the center, but I can still make out the image. James looks about three or four, and his mom is holding him in her lap while his dad stands above them with his hand on her shoulder. She has his red hair. I feel a rush of sadness for their broken family and I think I might cry, but then I hear James opening the door to the V-berth.

I hear Mr. Townsend say something in a muffled tone, and James peeks his head back out.

“He doesn’t really want—” starts James.

Dad moves forward.

“James,” he says softly. “Let me. You and Clem go up top.”

James nods and comes back into the main cabin. He looks at me and gives me a half grin. Always trying.

“Let’s get some sun,” he says quietly.

I go outside and we step our way up to the bow. We plop down on the hatch above the V-berth. James leans against the mast and I sit next to him, crossing my legs in front of me.

I realize that we can hear them. James’s dad is shouting, calling James’s mom a bunch of pretty awful things.

I look over at his face, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. He holds my gaze.

“He’s so sad,” James says softly, and my mind echoes back to when Olive said that about me, at the beginning of the summer. That seems so long ago. The problem I was dealing with seems very small right now.

“I know,” I say. I put my hand over James’s and he opens his palm to hold it.

I hear my dad talking quietly to Mr. Townsend.

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s going to be just fine. You’re going to be okay.”

He used to say that to me when I was little. He’s talking to Mr. Townsend like you talk to a kid. I guess sometimes adults need that, too, because after a minute Mr. Townsend’s yelling seems to quiet down.

Then I hear my dad’s voice get a little louder, a little firmer.

I feel like I’m in a movie, like I’m watching a climactic scene, and I can picture my dad down there, talking to Mr. Townsend. My dad is the good guy, the wise hero. James and I are the kids, the audience, just watching. Mr. Townsend is the one who needs saving. There is no bad guy—not really.

“It will always be hard,” says my dad. “But this is your time with James. Don’t waste it. My time with Clem and Olive has been priceless this summer.”

James squeezes my hand, and I look out at the water, still listening to my dad.

“The yelling, the laughing, the eye rolling, the dirty hair—everything,” he says. “It’s all part of the magic.”

I feel a tear roll down my cheek. It gets quiet for a minute, and I look over at James again. He’s smiling at me.

“You’re so lucky,” he says.

“I know.”

James and I go for a walk around the docks, and by the time we get back to the boat, Dad has talked Mr. Townsend into taking a navy shower. He steps off the boat, hair still wet, and reaches out to give James a hug.

“I’m so sorry,” says Mr. Townsend.

James just holds him tightly and whispers, “I love you, Dad.”

What guy can say that? It makes me love
him
.

chapter thirty-seven

I press the pen into my journal and the words come fast and furious as I lean against the life jacket at the edge of the dinghy. When I got back to
The Possibility
, I grabbed my diary and the pink feather pen, untied the
Sea Ya
, climbed in, and floated away without asking.

Last summer, before Ethan moved to Bishop Heights, before there was even a wisp of a possibility that I’d spend a summer without Amanda’s friendship, she and I had a different kind of fight.

“I’m definitely going to college in-state,” said Amanda, her feet running up the wall of my bedroom next to the closet. She was flipping through the magazine Mom had left on my bed, the one that ranked all the colleges.

She’d slept over, and we were spending the morning just hanging out in my room, as usual. This type of nothing-to-do day was one reason we were both dying to get our drivers’ licenses.

I was sitting at my desk trying to restring beads onto my favorite necklace, which was broken.

“Not me,” I replied. “I’m going far away.”

I said it without thinking; I was focused on the blue turquoise piece in front of me, trying to thread its hole with the gold chain that would barely fit through.

But Amanda dropped her legs to the floor and sat up to face me.

“Where?” she asked.

I shrugged without looking up. “Just somewhere else,” I said. “Somewhere less boring.”

She stood up then, turning away from me and grabbing her bag. “I’m going to call my mom to get me,” she said.

“Why?” I looked up for the first time.

“I just have to go.”

That day, I thought she just got suddenly tired, or hot, or PMS-y. The next day she was back to smiles and fun. I’d almost forgotten about it completely.

But as I relive it with my pen, writing down what happened that morning, I’m doing what Henry does when he holds up his hands during a film shoot, what James did when he looked at me through framed fingers on the dock that day before he started drawing.

Maybe Amanda is afraid of losing our friendship too. Maybe that’s what her anger was about that day—that I’d be so quick to say I’d leave her. Of course, I was just saying I wanted to get out of town, not that I wanted to leave her behind. But she might have taken it that way, I realize when I reframe the memory.

The other thing that occurs to me is this: she trusted me more. Whatever she has with Ethan, he’s a guy she likes. Me? I’m her best friend. I’m the one she should be able to count on.

And then, out on the water, I start, for the one-thousandth time, to write the letter.

Dear Amanda,
What I did was selfish and awful, and I wish
I could take it back. I know it will take a
long time for you to trust me again, but our
friendship means too much to me to let go.

The thing is, you are more than my
friend. I can picture us as roommates in our
dream city in our twenties, being bridesmaids
in each other’s weddings, renting vacation
houses together with our families.

You
are
my family. And families fracture
and fight, but if there’s enough love, they
always come back together. Maybe not in
the same way, but still strong, still connected.

I will do anything I can to show you that
I am the person you thought I was. I am
your Clem, your true friend forever.

Love,

Me