The Fourth Summer. Kathleen Gilles Seidel

to be imported from Africa. That seemed wrong to Seth, snowboarding on something from a continent so dry and hot. The core of his boards was close-grained yellow birch from the High Country’s cool mountain slopes. His dad always had a couple of trees in the commercial forests flagged, and he and Seth would watch their growth. For Seth that was part of the magic, knowing the tree, feeling like it was your partner.

      He heard the faint chug of a trolling motor, and in a few minutes a fishing boat eased around the point of an inlet, its little motor making a ruffled wake on the surface of the water.

      “You must have visited your grandmother after you all moved to San Diego,” he said. “Why didn’t you ever stop by and see my parents? They liked you.”

      “Seth, you dumped me. I wasn’t going to go sit in your mother’s kitchen and have your sisters feel sorry for me.”

      He winced. “I didn’t really mean to dump you. I was a mess.”

      “There’s no need to rehash this. We were kids. It was a teen romance. Teen romances end. That’s what they do.”

      “Apparently your sister’s didn’t.”

      She shook her head. “The teen-romance part blew up the minute she found out that she was pregnant, but they had to stay in touch because of the baby. Years later they came together as actual adults.”

      Seth was twenty-five. In plenty of places that qualified for being an actual adult. He changed the subject. “On this gravity-heavy planet of yours, why are people using something as low tech as bullets?”

      “It’s not my planet. I’m just paid to make it gorgeous, and who says that they are people?”

      “Good point. How did you get into this?”

      “I started in college, doing it for other students. After I graduated, I got what should have been a dream job in Silicon Valley. The work was good, but even though people wore flip-flops and board shorts to the office, it was still totally corporate with insane office politics and people stealing credit for your work. So I decided to go out on my own.”

      “Is it going okay?”

      “It’s a bitch and a half, especially in San Francisco, which is beyond expensive, but I’m doing okay. Now I’m ready to get down.” She was clearly done talking about her life in San Francisco. “How do we do that?”

      “You can climb down by the same route, but I’m going to jump. It’s faster.” He switched his hand position and then lowered himself, extending his body so that he could drop and land lightly. “Now scoot down your branch and I will catch you.”

      “Are you going to look up my skirt?”

      “You bet.”

      She eased herself down to the branch. He got hold of her legs as she dropped and eased her down, sliding his hands up her body.

      “You don’t have a car in San Francisco, do you?”

      She looked surprised and started to step back, but a light pressure on her waist kept her in place. “I’m a freelancer. Even if I could afford a beat-up junker, a parking space is way out of reach. Why are you asking?”

      “I keep noticing how strong your legs are. Isn’t San Francisco pretty hilly?”

      “For sure. We all have gorgeous butts out there because we walk up and down hills all day.”

      How normal this felt, standing close to her, his hands on her waist. “You don’t really care that I saw your underwear, do you?”

      “Of course not.”

      He kept his hands at her waist. “It’s really good to see you again.”

      “Same here.”

      Were they going to play games? When they had been kids, she had promised that she wouldn’t do that. She had said she would be straight with him when she was ready. And she had been.

      She put her hands on his shoulders. He could feel the weight of her big watch. “I’d like us to be friends,” he said.

      She knew what he was asking. “With benefits?”

      “If that works for you.”

      “It works for me,” she said. Her hands started to move, caressing his shoulders.

      He bent his head and kissed her.

      And suddenly it was like being a boy again, that fierce magic, that ache, that overwhelming sense of desire, to smell the magic of her hair, feel the firmness of her arms, the trim curve of her waist and back, his fingers seeking the softness of her breast.

      He felt her hand on the hand of his neck, her fingers separated and moving slowly. Her other arm was curved around him, and it was as if no woman had ever touched him before, as if it was all as new as it had been back when they had been in the woods together before.

      “Do you want to go inside?” he whispered.

      She shook her head. “We have the blanket.”

      He took her hand and led her back among the trees. These trees were all younger than the oak, and their roots had dug deep into the light, sandy soil, leaving the earth smooth. He kicked aside a few pinecones, unfurled the blanket, and let it float to the ground. Then he unzipped her skirt and pushed it down over her hips. Her red bikini underpants weren’t designed to be sexy. They didn’t have lace or skimpy strings at the sides, but they curved under her crotch with a snug, neat fit. As soon as they were lying down, he put his hand over the curve, and he could feel the warmth there and then all through her.

      He knew that it would be all right to slip the panties off, open his khakis, and enter her now. She was ready. But then it would be over. And he didn’t want it to be over.

      Or so matter-of-fact. You wanna have sex? This ought to mean something. Things didn’t mean enough anymore.

      She was reaching for his zipper. He batted her hand away and sat up, pulling her with him so that she was straddling him, facing him. “Do you remember the first time you came?” This was how they had been that night, when they were sixteen and fifteen, her facing him, her knees on either side of him.

      “I guess...yes, yes, of course, I do.”

      They had already had intercourse, but they had never had enough privacy to be fully undressed together, and he still hadn’t been comfortable with her body. He hadn’t known any specific ways to stimulate her, and so when it did happen for her, it was almost by accident.

      He had been kissing the upper curve of her breast that night, and then she had shifted a bit—maybe by accident, maybe on purpose—and suddenly he was feeling the little firm tip of her nipple against his tongue, and her hands dug into his hair, supporting herself, and she moved against him.

      She had probably been wearing a T-shirt that night; she would have pulled it off over her head by herself. Tonight he unbuttoned her blouse. Her bra was flesh colored, lacier than her panties had been, but not matching them. When she had dressed this morning, this was not what she had expected.

      He unhooked the bra...and then was suddenly confused. How had this worked back then? Her pressing her crotch against him, and him being able to—

      Oh, right, of course. Even though he had started his growth spurt then, he hadn’t been finished. He had kept growing; he was taller now than he had been on that summer night so long ago. But he could make this work. His back was flexible and strong, and he was comfortable grasping her hips, bringing her closer to him, positioning her in a way that he wouldn’t have had the nerve back then.

      An instant later he was both a boy again, arousing a girl for the first time, and a man, sure and confident, cupping the breast he was kissing while teasing the other with his free hand.

      Was all this happening then or now? Both. The blanket was green wool; it was blue fleece. The afternoon sun was on his face; it was at his back. Her hair was pulled back; it was tumbling