Chapter 4: You couldn’t let me have this one thing
The kitchen smelled of scorched coffee and toasted bread. Sunlight, fierce and unapologetic, streamed through the window over the sink, illuminating every dust mote and the faint, tea-stain rings on the old farmhouse table. Belly hovered in the doorway, the cool hardwood of the hall floor still under her feet. The bruise on her cheek felt like a neon sign.
“Good morning.” Jeremiah’s voice was cheerful from his perch on a counter stool. He was already dressed, a bowl of something brightly colored in front of him.
Laurel, stirring a mug at the counter, glanced over. Her eyes, sharp and lawyerly even at nine a.m., locked onto Belly’s face. The spoon stilled. “Is that a bruise?”
Belly’s hand flew to her cheek on instinct. She could feel Conrad’s presence before she saw him, a shift in the air near the fridge. “Um, I bumped into someone,” she said, the lie automatic and thin. Her eyes darted to Conrad, who was leaning against the refrigerator door, a carton of orange juice in his hand.
“You bumped into someone?” Laurel’s tone was flat, disbelieving.
Conrad took a slow swig from the carton, his eyes meeting Belly’s for a fraction of a second over the rim. He lowered it. “Doesn’t look that bad.” His voice was a morning rasp, dismissive. The split on his lower lip was a dark, scabbed line.
“Cereal?” Jeremiah offered, holding up a red box.
“Yeah, hit me,” Belly said, sliding into a chair, grateful for the distraction.
The back screen door slammed, and Susannah breezed in, a cloud of gardenia perfume and summer warmth. She had a stack of mail in her hands. “Oh, my God!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with delight as she dropped the envelopes on the table. “Belly is gonna be a debutante!” She held up the embossed invitation Belly had left on the hall table.
Belly felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She forced a laugh. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Not a big deal? Honey, it’s a very big deal! We need to go shopping. Immediately.” Susannah clasped her hands together, her gaze already distant, envisioning fabrics and colors. “A proper gown. Shoes. The whole production.”
Laurel sighed, a weary, practical sound. “This sounds expensive.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Laur, it’s on me,” Susannah said, waving a hand. “My treat. A proper coming-out for our girl.”
Laurel set her mug down with a definitive click. She turned to Belly, her expression softening into concern. “Belly, are you sure you want to do this? It doesn’t seem very… you.”
The words hung in the air, honest and sharp.
“It’s not.”
Conrad’s voice cut through the room. He had said it quietly, almost to himself, as he recapped the orange juice. But in the sudden silence, it was louder than a shout.
They all looked at him. He didn’t flinch, just put the carton back in the fridge, his movements careful and precise.
“Conrad,” Susannah said, her cheer faltering into mild reproach. “Could you please be a little more supportive?” She turned back to the table, business-like. “Now, the practical matter. Who’s going to be Belly’s escort to the ball?”
“Not me,” Conrad said, his back still to them as he stared into the fridge’s cool light. “I went last year.”
“Yeah, and I swore off balls after the tuxedo-rental fiasco of ‘09. Never again,” Jeremiah added, shuddering dramatically.
“I’m going for a swim,” Conrad announced, shutting the fridge door. He didn’t look at anyone as he walked out of the kitchen, his bare feet soundless on the floor.
Belly watched him go. Through the window over the sink, she saw him cross the dew-damp grass toward the pool. He stopped at the edge, pulled his thin grey t-shirt over his head in one fluid motion, and dropped it on a lounger. The morning sun caught the defined lines of his back, the faint tan lines from a summer already in progress. He dove in, the water parting with a clean, silent splash.
“Here you go,” Jeremiah said, sliding a full bowl of cereal in front of her, the milk threatening to slosh over the rim.
She looked away from the window, her throat tight. “Thanks.”
“Hurry up, eat,” Susannah chirped, already rifling through a kitchen drawer for a pen to make a list. “We have shopping to do. This is going to be so fun!”
The dress shop was a hushed universe of chilled air and rustling tissue paper, a stark contrast to the salty chaos of the beach house. Racks of gowns stood like silent, opulent soldiers under the clinical glow of overhead lights. Belly felt utterly out of place, the fading bruise on her cheek a purple anchor to a different, realer world.
She tried on seven dresses.
The first was all tulle, a cloud of pink that swallowed her whole. The second was too tight, the zipper a malicious grin stopping halfway up her spine. The third made her look, as Laurel put it, “like a very expensive lampshade.” The fourth was a slip of silver satin that felt like someone else’s skin. The fifth had bows. The sixth was simply sad.
Then, she found it. A beautiful white gown. The fabric was a heavy ivory silk, not shiny but deep, like light absorbed into cream. It was simple at first glance—a fitted bodice, straps that were almost whispers. The magic was in the back, which she couldn’t see, and in the way the skirt fell from her hips in a clean, weighty column.
“Okay,” she said, her voice muffled by the curtain. “This might be the one.”
She turned around.
Susannah’s hand flew to her mouth. Laurel’s sharp inhale was audible. “Oh, my,” they said in unison, their voices blending into a single chord of awe.
Belly looked at her reflection in the triple-panel mirror. The dress didn’t wear her; it emerged from her. The silk captured the light from her shoulders, and the open back plunged in a deep V, held together by a single, delicate silk cord. The skirt moved with a solemn, graceful rustle. “Yeah,” Belly breathed, almost to herself. “It’s something.”
“You look like a princess,” Susannah whispered, her eyes glistening.
She got up and came over, her fingers hovering just above the intricate beading that edged the low back. “Look at that detail. Everyone’s eyes will fall out of their heads when they see our girl.”
“I love you so much,” Laurel said, a smile breaking through her practiced reserve, “but you’re ridiculous.”
Susannah wrapped an arm around Laurel’s waist, resting her head on her shoulder as they both gazed at Belly. “I love you so much, and I know I’m ridiculous.”
The celebration required ice cream. They walked down the main street of Cousins, the afternoon sun warming the pavement. Belly was carrying the heavy garment bag over her shoulder, its plastic sheath crackling with every step. As they passed the old-fashioned movie theater, its marquee advertising a superhero film, a voice called out.
“Isabella? Isabella Conklin?”
She turned. A guy stood near the ticket booth, squinting at her. He had a familiar, open face and sandy hair cropped close. It took her a second to place the older version of the boy who’d sat behind her in Mrs. Granger’s third-grade class, the one who’d once traded his whole lunch for her packet of Fruit Roll-Ups.
“Cameron?” she said.
“Wow. Yeah! I thought that was you.” He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was taller now, lanky in a vintage band t-shirt. “You’re here for the summer?”
“Same old,” Belly said, feeling suddenly self-conscious of the bruise, the fancy dress bag. “Visiting the Fishers.”
“Right, right.” He nodded, his gaze flicking to the marquee. “So, hey. I was just about to catch the six o’clock. You want to? For old times’ sake? It’s just me.”
Laurel and Susannah had paused a few feet away, pretending to examine a store window. Belly could feel Susannah’s encouraging energy like a physical nudge.
“Um, sure,” Belly heard herself say. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”
“Cool.” Cameron’s grin widened. He pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number, so I can text you the details. Unless your… escort committee needs to approve the plans?” He nodded playfully toward the mothers.
Belly laughed, a real one that made her cheek ache. “I think I can manage.” She rattled off her number, and he tapped it in.
Back at the house, the kitchen was empty. A note from Jeremiah on the table read, Gone for provisions. Don’t eat the last Pop-Tart. – J. The silence felt dense, charged with the morning’s unresolved tension. She laid the garment bag carefully across the living room sofa, the plastic glaring against the worn fabric.
Upstairs, she peeled off her clothes. She stood for a moment in her bra and underwear, staring at the faint yellowing edges of the bruise in her mirror. Then she pulled on her favorite ripped jean shorts and a soft, faded striped top. The casual fabric was a relief, an anchor.
She tied her hair into a loose ponytail and slipped her feet into sandals. Her phone buzzed on the dresser.
Cameron: Hey it’s Cam. Movie starts in an hour I’ll meet you at the fishers your there yeah?”
Belly tapped out a quick reply: Sure. See you then. She placed the phone face down, its screen darkening against the wood. The house held its breath around her. She could hear the faint, digital sounds of gunfire and rumbling engines seeping from the living room.
She headed downstairs. The wide-plank floors were cool beneath her sandals. The living room was washed in the blue-grey glow of the massive television, where two cars onscreen screamed around a neon-bright curve before erupting in a fireball. Jeremiah, Conrad, and Steven were sprawled across the sofa, controllers clutched in their hands.
“See you guys later,” she said, her voice cutting through the game’s soundtrack.
Jeremiah’s head swiveled. His eyes, reflected in the screen’s light, tracked her from the doorway to the center of the room. “Damn,” he said, the word drawn out and appreciative. He paused the game with a click, throwing the room into sudden quiet.
He unfolded himself from the couch and crossed to her in three long strides. He took her by the shoulders, his hands warm, and spun her in a slow, deliberate circle. The striped cotton of her top fluttered. “You look hot,” he announced, a grin spreading across his face.
Belly laughed, the sound a little too bright in the halted atmosphere. “Shut up.”
“Hey, hey,” Steven said, not looking away from the frozen, explosive tableau on the TV. “Stop flirting with my sister.”
“Shut up, Steven,” Belly shot back, rolling her eyes.
“No, you shut up,” Steven retorted, finally glancing over. He gave her a slow, appraising nod. “You do look good though. For you.”
Jeremiah released her shoulders, his gaze still on her. “You driving with us or meeting us there?”
“I’m not going to the book meet,” Belly said, smoothing her ponytail. “I’m going to the drive-in.”
“With who?” Steven asked, his tone sharpening into genuine older-brother curiosity.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a short, tangible vibration. She pulled it out. The screen glowed: Here. A smile touched her lips before she could stop it. “Okay, bye,” she said, tucking the phone away.
She walked over to the gilded mirror that hung by the front door, its edges frosted with seaside tarnish. She adjusted a stray piece of hair, her fingers deft. Her own eyes looked back, wide and lit with a nervous energy. She smiled at her reflection, a private, tentative thing.
She turned and walked to the front door, her sandals whispering against the floor.
Conrad looked at her. He had been silent, a shadow in the corner of the worn armchair. His controller lay abandoned in his lap. He didn’t speak. His ocean-blue eyes followed her, then moved to the empty space on the rug where she had just stood, as if he could still see the impression of her there.
Cam’s car was an ancient, boxy Volvo that smelled of warm vinyl and spearmint gum. The drive to the outdoor theater was filled with easy talk about third-grade teachers and what had happened to everyone since. The conversation was a buoyant, surface-level thing, and Belly let it carry her.
They got to the drive-in, a vast, asphalt field dotted with the ghostly hulks of other cars. The screen was a giant white monolith against the deepening plum of the sky. He paid, found a spot, and hooked the heavy speaker onto his window. The previews glowed, painting the interior of the car in shifting colors.
“Are you sure you don’t want something to drink or?” Cam asked, gesturing toward a small convoy of kids walking back from the snack bar with towering cups. “My treat.”
“Yeah, I’m okay, thanks,” Belly said, settling back into the passenger seat. She watched the silhouettes move across the screen, but her mind kept drifting to the silent living room, to the weight of a specific gaze.
At the book meet, Conrad poured a cup of beer from a sloshing keg into a red plastic cup. The foam fizzed and died. He brought it to his lips and drank it all in three long, continuous gulps, his throat working. The beer was cheap and bitter.
He was thinking about Belly earlier in the living room. The way she’d smiled at her phone. The careful adjustment of her hair in that old mirror. The purposeful click of the door shutting behind her.
He crushed the empty cup in his fist and tossed it into a nearby bin. It missed, rattling on the deck boards. He went over to the couch, where Jeremiah and Steven were now listening to a guy in boat shoes expound on the symbolic use of water in a recent bestseller.
Conrad dropped onto the cushions beside Jere, the springs groaning. The noise of the party—the clinking bottles, the overlapping conversations—felt like sand in his ears. He stared at a knot in the wooden deck floor.
“This is so boring,” he said, his voice flat and loud enough to cut through the literary analysis. “Can we go somewhere else?”
“Can we go somewhere else?”
Steven looked over from his debate about nautical metaphors. “Yeah, we’re going somewhere else? This party is dead, man.”
“We could go into town,” Steven said, already standing up and stretching.
Jeremiah’s eyes lit up. “We could go to the drive-in. That new monster movie is playing. It’s supposed to be so bad it’s good.”
Conrad stood up, the decision solidifying in his gut, heavy and undeniable. “Let’s go to the drive-in.”
Steven paused, his keys halfway out of his pocket. “Like, actually?”
“Yeah,” Conrad said, already heading for the door, the buzz of the cheap beer a hollow static in his veins. “Why not?”
They piled into Steven’s car, the interior still holding the day’s heat. The night air through the windows was cool, smelling of cut grass and distant bonfires. No one mentioned their real destination. The drive-in’s massive screen appeared on the horizon, a glowing postcard in the dark.
Conrad spotted the boxy Volvo immediately, parked a third of the way from the front. His jaw tightened.
“Bingo,” Jeremiah whispered, a grin in his voice.
Steven killed the headlights and coasted slowly, the tires crunching on the gravel, before slotting the car into the empty space directly beside the Volvo’s passenger door.
Inside the Volvo, the monster movie was reaching a crescendo of rubbery special effects. Cam’s hand, resting on the console, shifted. His fingers brushed against hers, then closed around her hand, intertwining with her fingers.
Belly looked at their joined hands, then quickly back at the movie screen. She could feel the warm, slightly damp pressure of his palm.
They watched the movie. Or, Cam watched her. She could feel his gaze on her profile, a tangible heat on her cheek. She forced herself to keep looking forward, at the giant, pixelated creature trampling a model city.
He slowly started to lean in.
He’s not going to, is he? The thought was a bright, panicked wire in her head. She heard a car pull up beside them, gravel scattering. She looked out her window.
Jeremiah’s face was pressed against the glass of the driver’s side window of Steven’s car, grinning wildly. Steven gave a little wave from behind the wheel.
“Umm,” Belly said, pulling her hand from Cam’s as if she’d been shocked. She faced him, her voice high and strained. “Could you maybe actually get me a drink? Like a cherry slush or something?”
Cam blinked, the moment shattered. He followed her glance to the car next to them, his smile fading into confusion. “Yeah. No problem,” he said, opening his door.
The dome light made her flinch. She waited until he was halfway to the concession stand, a bewildered slump in his shoulders.
Then she got out and walked over to the other car. She leaned down to the open window. “What’re you doing here?” she hissed.
“Oh, just came to watch the end of the movie,” Steven said, his voice all false innocence. “It’s a public place.”
“Go, Steven.”
“Relax, Belly,” Jeremiah said, laughing. “We’re being sociable.”
She looked past them, into the back seat. Conrad was there, a shadow against the shadows, watching her. He hadn’t moved. His face was unreadable in the flickering light from the screen.
“Hey,” she said, her voice dropping, pleading and furious all at once. She looked directly at him. “Seriously.
“Seriously,” she repeated, the word sharp and final. Her eyes stayed locked on Conrad’s in the backseat, the reflection of the giant screen washing his features in artificial color. “Please leave.”
They looked at each other for a moment, a silent, charged exchange that excluded everyone else in the warm, popcorn-scented dark.
“Alright,” Conrad said, his voice quiet but clear. He broke the stare, looking forward. “Let’s go, guys.”
“What?” Jeremiah sputtered, his theatrical grin dissolving. “We just got here!”
“Steven. Drive the car,” Conrad said, not raising his voice. It was a command, flat and unarguable.
Steven shrugged, turning the key in the ignition. The engine growled to life. “You were the one who wanted to come, Conrad,” he muttered before pulling the car out of the spot, gravel pinging against the undercarriage.
She watched the red taillights recede, two glowing dots swallowed by the deeper blackness beyond the field. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped feeling. She took a shaky breath and got back into Cam’s Volvo.
The door closed, sealing her in with the tinny sound from the speaker. A moment later, Cam’s door opened. He slid in, handing her a large, sweating paper cup. “Cherry Coke,” he said.
“Thank you so much,” she said, her voice a little too bright. She took a long sip, the syrupy cold making her teeth ache.
They watched the rest of the movie. Or, they faced the screen. Belly didn’t process a single image. She was acutely aware of the empty space where Steven’s car had been, of the warm cup in her hands, of the awkward, fractured quiet between them now. The monster was defeated. The credits rolled, white text scrolling into a starry sky.
“Can I drive you home?” Cam asked as they pulled out of the lot, joining a slow river of departing cars.
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
The ride was quiet, the radio playing softly. He pulled up to the Fisher house. The porch light was on, a lone beacon in the deep coastal night. The second floor was dark.
“I had fun tonight,” he said, putting the car in park.
“So did I,” she said, reaching for the door handle.
He leaned over then, his movements tentative. He kissed her. His lips were soft, tasted vaguely of cherry syrup. Belly froze. Every synapse in her brain short-circuited, flashing a single, blinding name: Conrad. She didn’t kiss him back. She just sat there, stiff, until he pulled away.
He was smiling, a hopeful, uncertain curve of his mouth in the dim light from the dashboard. “Bye,” he said.
“Uh, bye,” she managed, fumbling for the handle. She got out, the night air cool on her skin, and walked quickly up the path without looking back. The door creaked as she opened it and stepped into the foyer.
She kicked off her sandals, the thud too loud in the sleeping house. She was halfway to the stairs when a voice came from the living room, slicing through the dark.
“How was your hot date?”
She stopped. Conrad was a silhouette in the big armchair, outlined by the moonlight coming through the sliding glass doors to the deck.
“Excuse me?” she said, turning to face the darkness where he sat.
“We were just having a little fun,” he said. His tone was light, almost casual, but it lay over something harder, like thin ice.
“You guys are assholes.” The words spilled out, hot and immediate. “You completely humiliated me.”
“Belly, come on.” He shifted in the chair, the fabric sighing. “It was a joke.”
“All I wanted was to go watch a movie with my friend, and you guys had to ruin it.” She took a step closer, her hands balling into fists at her sides. “You saw his car. You purposely parked right next to us.”
“And us showing up for two minutes really ruined that? Really?” Now his voice had an edge, the casual mask slipping. “Grow up, Belly.”
“Why couldn’t you let me have this one thing?” Her voice dropped, thick with a frustration that went deeper than tonight. “Admit it. You knew what you were doing.”
A long pause stretched between them, filled only with the relentless sigh of the distant ocean. She could barely see him, but she could feel his gaze on her.
“What was I doing?” he finally asked. His voice was low now, stripped bare of all pretense, and it demanded a real answer.