8. Ashley
ASHLEY
M y mom, sister, and niece were all staying in a villa rented by Whitney’s new boyfriend, Oliver, who had brought his son, Ryan.
I wasn’t sure what to make of them. Ryan was four, fairly well-behaved and actually pretty cute, but Oliver came off as a bit of a saint—which made me suspicious. Whitney had become more discerning as she closed in on thirty, but from the time she’d turned up pregnant in high school, she always seemed to have a man of some kind hanging around and they weren’t always top shelf.
Whether that made my older sister a blind romantic or a codependent, I wasn’t sure, but I had returned from three months in Australia to discover a stranger had a key to our apartment. I hadn’t cared how nice Oliver seemed . Especially because he’d leaped on the wedding in Hawaii idea almost as fast as Whitney had, insisting on reserving a villa and paying for it. Granted he owned a plumbing company and seemed to be doing well, but he had an ex-wife and paid her support. Where did all his money come from?
According to Whitney, his divorced had been very civilized. No one yelled. Teachers never reported anyone to the authorities and the police had never come to his door.
Even so, who signed up for a week of living with his girlfriend’s mother after only a few months of dating? Oliver’s claim that it was ‘a great chance for everyone to get to know each other better’ sounded shifty. I wanted to know what he really wanted.
My mom, Joanna, had gone along with the villa proposal because it meant she would have a full kitchen. “We’ll barely afford groceries at those prices,” she had declared after reading reviews online. “In American dollars,” she stressed. “We are not eating out.”
So we had crammed ourselves into this villa yesterday evening after twenty hours of travel and a stop at the market for a week’s worth of food.
Fliss, who was twelve going on forty, let me in. She had gone through a growth spurt while I’d been in Australia. She was almost as tall as me now, stick-thin with subtle curves. Whitney had said she could start wearing make-up, but Fliss wasn’t in the hurry to grow up that Whit had been.
Fliss kept her ash-blond hair in a careless clip and preferred shapeless hoodies rather than tight jeans or dresses. She was academic and introverted and sarcastic. I adored her to pieces, but she was giving me the cold shoulder. Disappearing to Australia for an extended holiday was one thing. Moving there was a betrayal of our bond. She would probably take the news that the wedding was off better than anyone.
I could stand my niece being pleased by my misfortune. The smug ‘You should have known better’ from Mom was going to kill me. Quitting a good job and booking a three-month trip to a foreign country last year had been reckless and pointless. Marrying a man I barely knew? One who ran a surf shack—her words—and didn’t have a trade or profession? One who lived in a money pit of a beach house and disappeared up the coast with his boys’ club at a moment’s notice? Nothing good could come of this.
And nothing will, Mom. You were right all along .
Fliss poked her head out the door after I came in, hesitating to close it.
“Isn’t Shane with you?” Her eyes widened as she realized I’d been crying. “Are you okay?”
“Not really.” I moved further into the two-bedroom bungalow and smiled weakly at Ryan on the sofa. He held a game controller. “Are you two here by yourself?” There was no one in the kitchen and both bedroom doors stood open.
Ryan pointed his elbow toward the door to the patio. “They’re outside. Can we keep playing?” he asked Fliss.
“In a sec.” Fliss might have been about to ask me what was wrong, but the screen door abruptly scraped open.
“Hi!” Whitney appeared in a bikini top and short-shorts. Her blond hair was freshly blown out, bangs cutting a wispy line across her graceful eyebrows. She wore full make-up and sandals with a low heel. “We were just saying you two ought to be here by now. Where’s Shane?” She glanced around with a welcoming smile, then responded to a questioning voice on the patio, “Yes, they’re here. Come out,” she urged with a wave as she ducked back outside.
I bit back a groan of frustration and forced myself to walk out to where the red brick patio was surrounded by thick, well-watered lawn. The grass ended abruptly between the trunks of a pair of palms that framed the azure waves crashing onto a tiny, private beach. A warm breeze came off the water as a fine, cooling mist. It condensed on the table and chairs that sat beneath an open yellow sun umbrella.
Mom and Oliver rose. Everyone wore a welcoming smile and looked beyond me to the empty space where Shane was supposed to be.
As I searched for the words I needed, Whitney asked, “Did Shane go see his parents?”
“No.” I hugged myself a little harder.
“Nap?” Oliver took off his cap to scratch his balding head, waiting for Joanna and Whitney to sit before he sank back into his own chair. “How long was his flight?”
I unclenched my jaw and admitted, “He didn’t get on the plane. He’s not here.”
Whitney snorted in exactly the way I had when Fox had said it. Like it was a joke. Except it stung so deep when she did it, I couldn’t help but glare at her.
“Seriously?” Whitney sobered. “Did he miss it?”
“He doesn’t want to get married.” Saying it aloud sent a fresh wave of humiliation through me, one that nearly closed my throat. This is what I get for reaching too high .
Mom snapped her spine straight, nearly coming out of her chair again. “I don’t understand.”
Me, neither. “He stayed in Sydney. The wedding’s off.” And saying it aloud made it so real .
“Are you being serious right now?” Whitney’s eyes were round with disbelief.
“Well, you knew he didn’t want to marry in Hawaii,” Mom scolded. Scolded . “I told you?—”
“Mom!” I bit out. “Can we save the post-mortem for after the body is cold? God .”
“What are you going to do?” Whitney asked, frowning with confusion. “About moving?”
“I don’t know, do I?”
“Don’t yell at me. It’s not my fault.”
“Can I do anything?” Oliver wore a concerned frown. “Talk to the hotel for you?”
Oh, God. I dropped my head into my hand. I hadn’t even thought of that.
“Yes,” Mom said decisively. “Get your money back. Whitney, call to change our flights?—”
“No!” Whitney cried. “This is our vacation. We’re here. We’re staying. But are you moving back in here with us?” Whit wrinkled her nose. It had been fine for a night, but, “Maybe you and Fliss can share the pullout and Ryan can have Fliss’s bed in Mom’s room? It was fine for him to be in our room last night, but not all week.”
“My stuff’s in the hotel.” I had walked it over before I left for the airport. I had registered and asked them to leave it in our suite, anticipating that Shane and I would be going straight up there when we got back.
I was going to have to quit thinking this day couldn’t get worse, because it definitely could.
“I’ll come with you,” Fliss offered. She was suddenly right beside me, pushing in for a hug the way she had been doing all her life.
I automatically closed my arms around her wiry frame. For one second, I let myself cling to the youngest, slightest, most supportive person here.
“I’ll do it myself,” I said into hair I’d been combing since it had first grown in. It took everything in me to keep from breaking down. “I need to be by myself for a bit.”
“Are you sure?” Fliss’s mouth was pulling down with deep empathy.
I scraped the heel of my hand beneath each eye and nodded, then walked out, struggling to see the paved pathway into the hotel.