I jiggle the shifter around in neutral and do as I’m told, then I put the truck in first gear, like before.
“Now, slowly this time, ease off the clutch and give it a little gas.”
I follow his instructions, lifting my left foot off the clutch and pressing down on the gas pedal with my right foot, using equal pressure until the truck is traveling at about ten miles per hour. I look over at Gabe with a satisfied smile on my face.
“See, you did it,” he says encouragingly. “Now do it again,” he instructs as the speedometer nears twenty. “Push in the clutch and put it in second, just like you did with first.”
I focus and successfully put it in second gear.
“You got it.”
“Stop sign,” I say, panicked.
“Okay, just stop like normal. You don’t have to downshift. Just put it in neutral when you start to slow down.”
“Okay,” I say, concentrating, but I stall just shy of the stop sign. “Dammit.” I smack the steering wheel and Gabe laughs. “I’m sorry,” I say, looking over at him. I’m really not trying to ruin his truck. I’m not sure how much life it has left.
“You’re doing fine. You just have to get the hang of it, that’s all.” He reaches over and tucks a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Brandon would be really proud.”
“Brandon would be laughing at me.”
“Maybe”—he laughs—“but I’m proud. You’re doing real good, ba—” He stops himself and shakes his head. “Sorry. Old habit.”
My heart physically hurts, not because he was going to call me baby, but because he didn’t, and now he’s apologizing for it. I force a half-hearted smile and say, “Old habits are hard to break.”
“Yes, they are.” He shakes his head and lets out an ironic laugh. “I’ll work on it. Now, how about you get us to the beach before the sun goes down?”
“Okay,” I say softly.
He drops his head to the side and looks at me. “You good?” he asks.
“Mm-hmm,” I lie, feigning a smile. I put the truck in neutral and start the engine again.
Forty-five minutes later, we arrive at the beach, a trip that should have only taken about ten minutes. Hopefully that’s my last lesson for a while. I park the truck on the side of the road against a sawgrass-covered sand dune. I can’t see the ocean yet, but I can hear the waves crashing against the shore and I can smell the salty sea air when I get out.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs and head with the smells and sounds of my childhood and, just like last time I was here, it satisfies a place deep in my soul. For a split second I let myself go back to the last summer we were all together and I can see Gabe and Brandon running around on the beach, throwing the football to each other.
I exhale and open my eyes.
Gabe is staring at me from across the hood of the truck. “You really missed it, didn’t you?”
I nod my head and hide behind my sunglasses.
He lowers the tailgate for Roxy and she jumps down and circles his legs. “Come here,” he says, kneeling down beside her. He hooks a leash onto her collar and she gives a little crying bark, like she’s trying to talk to him. “I’ll take it off when we get to the water,” he says to her, and she barks again. He grabs his surfboard and tucks it under his arm. “Ready?”
“Yeah. Can I take Roxy?”
“Sure.” He hands me her leash, but as soon as I take it from him, she lurches me forward. “No, Roxy,” he shouts, and she stops. “Tell her to heel,” he says to me.
“Heel, Roxy.” I tug on her leash and she falls back beside me. “Good girl.”
“She’ll drag you down the beach if you’re not careful. She loves the water.”
“A girl after my own heart,” I say, reaching down to pet her soft head. Her silky fur is already hot from the sun.
Once we’re past the dunes and safe from the sandspurs that cover them, I kick off my flip-flops and run through the soft sand, letting Roxy pull me down the beach, just like Gabe said she would. When I find a good spot, I stop and tug on her leash. “Roxy, stop.” I grab a blanket out of my bag and spread it out on the sand. “How’s this?” I ask Gabe, who’s trotting toward me.
“Perfect,” he says, peering out at the surf. He’s much more interested in the water. “Waves look good today.” He leans down and takes Roxy’s leash off and, before he can say anything to her, she’s halfway to the water.
I laugh, watching her splash into the surf. “How’s the water?”
“Like bathwater this time of year. Just how you like it.”
I smile wide and start shrugging out of my shorts and tank top. I reach behind my neck and tighten the knot that’s holding my bikini top up. The girls are secure. I look up and see Gabe staring at me. “What?” It’s not like he hasn’t seen me in my bathing suit a hundred times before. I double check my top—everything’s covered.
“You still have that?” he asks, and I realize he’s looking at the gold compass ring he gave me, which is hanging on a delicate chain around my neck, resting on my chest.
My heart races and my cheeks flush with uncertainty. Maybe I should have taken it off. Maybe I shouldn’t have put it on in the first place. Maybe I should just explain that I like wearing it because it reminds me of better times. “Mm-hmm,” I say simply.
He looks out at the horizon and says, “I’m glad you kept it.”
I smile softly and swallow down my unnecessary concern.
He pulls his hat off and tosses it on the blanket.
I reach down and pick it up, dismayed. “Gabe, exactly how old is this—” His shirt lands at my feet and my eyes dart up to his torso. Sweet mother of all that is holy. I swallow hard and finish my thought, “Hat.”
He takes it from me. “I like this hat. It’s been through a lot with me.” He tosses it back on the blanket.
“I guess so.” I laugh and grab my sunscreen out of my bag. I spray it all over my body, rubbing it into my arms and legs. “Can you get my back for me?” I ask, handing Gabe the bottle.
“Sure.” He takes it from me and eyes the label. “SPF 60.”
I’ve already turned around, but I hear him laugh quietly.
“What? Not all of us tan as easily as you do. And besides, we should both be wearing good SPF now that we’re getting older.”
He runs his hand down the length of my hair, twisting it and placing it over my shoulder. He slides his fingers across my neck a few times to catch the loose strands and it sends a rush of warmth through me.
“Yeah, well, I guess it’s better than the tanning oil we used to use,” he says, spraying my back.
“What was that stuff, SPF 4 or something?” I shake my head, wondering how we didn’t fry out here.
“SPF 15, actually.” He rubs my shoulders, massaging the sunscreen into my skin, and I close my eyes at the feeling of his strong, familiar hands.
“Tell me you don’t still use that stuff,” I say, trying not to sound too breathy, but it’s a struggle.
He keeps working the sunscreen into my back, rubbing down to my bikini bottoms and back up. “The smell of it reminds me of you.”