Emily Franklin - Principles Of Love 06 - Labor Of Love Read Online Free PDF Page A

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    "Among other rumors," he says and reclaims his perch on the railing.

    "So, are you?"

    "I could be."

    I consider telling him about his legendary status among Hadley students and alums--and all the stories that go with him (catapulting from one girls' dorm to another, creating a zip line from his dorm window to the dining hall, tak ing the entire junior class of girls to the prom, that sort of thing--and all while getting straight A's), but I don't. Something in his demeanor--his ruffled hair, the tone of his voice--suggests a disconnect, maybe from the past, or maybe from everything.

    We stand there for a few minutes with only the sound of surf slopping onto the beach to break the silence."You're not going to say anything unless I ask, are you?"

    "Pretty much," he says. He lifts a beer from the deck with his feet and brings it to his hands, then sips. He offers it to me without any words, just a tilted bottle as the gesture, and for some weird reason, I accept it.

    "I'm not really a drinker," I say after swallowing and handing the bottle back."Okay? I don't even get why peo ple do it, really. It's fake freedom, an excuse to act without editing, breaking rules, rah-rah and everything, but it's not really for me." Did I just say rah-rah? Did I leave my mind

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    and vocabulary back in California? Parker hands the bottle back to me and I swig."So, not really much of a drinker--I did, before, and I wound up puking all over this guy I really liked, but then he turned out to be a raging jerk, so while I was totally embarrassed--I mean, shattered--at the time, I'm kind of glad I puked on him now."

    "You might not be much of a drinker, but you're one hell of a talker." Parker takes another sip, then hands the rest back to me. I recall another campus legend involving him: Supposedly one hot Sunday evening at dinner, he filled the overly sweet punch pitchers with rum, causing faculty members and students alike to show up soused for the non denominational chapel service.

    I overlook this warning sign as thirst and carelessness in the moment take over and I slide the rest of the beer down my throat. In my belly my body realizes I haven't had much to eat all day and sends messages to my limbs that alcohol has been ingested. "I do like my words," I say, putting on a southern accent for no good reason.Well, maybe one good reason: beer.

    "Want another?"

    I shrug and follow Parker inside, realizing I haven't yet discerned where Charlie is. I don't even have true confirma tion that Parker is Parker. But in the rush of getting back to the Vineyard, in the haze of maternal mysteries and roman

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    tic entanglements, it feels decent to suddenly go with the flow. Even if the flow is illegal and off the subject. Inside, my eyes begin to adjust to the dimness. I watch Parker in the kitchen and sit on the left side of the window seat.The entire downstairs of the cabin is one room--kitchen at the far end, enormous stone fireplace at the other, and around the whole curve of the main room is a window seat padded with long cushions.

    "Here." He clinks his bottle against mine and watches me drink as though we've known each other awhile or as if it's totally normal to meet someone--your brother's underage girlfriend--and give her a beer and not say anything else.

    "So, it just occurred to me--this isn't Charlie's cabin, is it?" I look around the room, my gaze pausing in front of the fireplace where Charlie and I made s'mores and kissed for hours. In my mind we were the only people ever to do that here, but I suddenly get that probably we aren't the first couple to wind up here after a proverbial walk on the beach. With a sting I realize also that I might not even be the first girl Charlie's been with here. Not that we've "been together" as far as that expression goes. But we could. Or, we've been semiclose. Semiclose-ish.

    "No," Parker says, pulling me back to earth. "This isn't his. He'd like to think