Chapter 3
Déjà Vu
Wyatt
As soon as I saw the table set for three, I became suspicious.
Since my mom died, my dad usually ate straight out of take-out containers or a Costco tub of mixed nuts.
My mom had been the one to make meals and fuss over table settings.
She loved pretty dishes and tablecloths.
But when I arrived for dinner on Saturday, a red-checked tablecloth covered the picnic table, plus three place settings and cloth napkins. Cloth napkins! What was happening?
My father attended the grill, whistling.
I hadn’t seen him this cheery in years—not since before Mom’s diagnosis.
I had this weird sinking feeling. Could he be dating?
And why did that idea irritate me? My mom had been gone for six years.
Lots of men would be remarried by now. I knew that.
But Dad had never mentioned any interest in dating.
“Are we expecting someone else?” I asked.
Dad looked up from the grill, his bald head sweating in the June sun. He appeared a little guilty. So he was dating. And why not? I took a deep breath. I wanted to be supportive, even if I wasn’t feeling it.
“Yes, she should be here soon.”
“She? So you’re dating?” Despite my good intentions, my voice came out accusatory and a little hurt.
“No, me date? Never.” He held up his left hand, his well-worn wedding band glinting in the sun. “I’m already married.” My eyes flicked to the table set for three, complete with a bunch of daisies in a jar. Who had my dad invited?
The doorbell buzzed.
“Will you get that?” he asked. “I’ve got to keep an eye on the meat.” I highly doubted that. But I was curious about this female friend. He said they weren’t dating, but it had to be serious if he had invited her to dinner—to meet me.
I opened the door. The shock jolted me. I froze.
My thoughts were running wild, frantically trying to make sense of seeing the last person I ever expected.
The moment felt surreal and a little like déjà vu.
.. the daylight version of the last time Caroline Bingham stood on my doorstep.
Once again, her hair glowed softly, though instead of reflecting moonlight, her blonde waves were lit gold by the setting sun.
“Caroline Bingham?”
It had been nearly a year since I ran into her in Placerville, but not long enough for me to forget the proper tongue lashing she gave me.
I probably deserved it. Caroline was slightly unhinged that day, but she was honest, and I admired that.
I felt terrible about the whole incident.
I sensed the rawness of her pain and wished I’d kept my mouth shut.
She was right; I had no business trying to comfort her.
I didn’t talk Greg into dumping her. Not exactly.
But I also couldn’t stand by and watch my jerk of a cousin marry someone like Caroline Bingham.
What she said that night at my cabin had stayed with me over the years.
Not the words exactly. As declarations of love go, what she said was fairly generic.
But the sincere emotion in her voice and the look in her eyes revealed the depth of her devotion.
Caroline was not marrying Greg for his money.
She loved him wholly and unconditionally, the way we all want to be loved.
Meanwhile, I had a decent idea of the flimsy nature of Greg’s attachment.
It seemed a shame that a woman with such a generous heart should devote herself to such an insecure, selfish, deceitful man.
So I didn’t regret my part in ending their relationship.
And to be fair, I didn’t do that much. Just when Greg asked my opinion, I gave it.
“You shouldn’t get married for a car. No matter how fancy the car is. Caroline deserves someone totally devoted to her.” He took umbrage with my comment.
“Are you suggesting I’m not good enough?”
“She deserves not to be cheated on or taken for granted.”
Greg looked at me funny. “You better not be thinking of her. She’d never date a mechanic. You know that?”
I did know that. I also knew better than to think of Caroline Bingham. But knowing better hadn’t really stopped me. I had been trying not to think of her ever since the first summer Greg brought her to Tahoe.
A bunch of us had gone to the Emerald Pools to cliff jump. We stood at the top of one of the highest cliffs, Cal, Josh, and I, hiding our nervousness with stupid jokes, none of us wanting to go first. Then Greg showed up with his girlfriend.
“Cousins, this is Caroline.” Our heads swiveled to see a girl with a high blonde ponytail, wearing a red swimsuit and jean shorts. She was compact with the muscled arms and legs of a gymnast. “Caroline, meet the cousins.” She gave us the briefest head nod. Not even a smile.
Without giving us a second look, she walked to the edge of the cliff. She turned back to the four of us. “Is it okay if I go first?” she asked coolly.
“Go for it,” I answered. Her eyes met mine; I smiled. She did not smile back. She turned back to the cliff edge and peered down. We were nearly thirty feet above the water, looking down, it felt much, much higher.
I figured she knew what she was doing. But standing on the edge, she looked so small and fragile compared to the towering granite cliffs and the distant green water. It was a long way down.
She bent over to take off her shoes. A strange protective urge came over me.
“Um,” I blurted. “It’s best if you keep your shoes on.”
She glanced up at me with a fierce stare.
“I know.” She tightened her shoelaces, then stood up, her shoulders squared, her head held high.
She got a running start with three fast strides, then jumped up high.
We watched with awe as she gripped her knees and then flipped backwards once, twice, then did a twist and cut through the water feet first toes pointed, making hardly a splash.
I let out the breath I had been holding and whooped with approval.
When her head popped up out of the water, laughing, we all cheered.
“She was the regional diving champion,” Greg bragged.
“No kidding,” I answered. That was the first time I ever felt jealous of my cousin.
Seven years later, she was waiting for me to find my words on my dad’s doorstep. She wore a simple, light-blue sundress that appeared soft to the touch. As always, she looked pretty and classy and perfect.
“Caroline!” I stammered. “What are you doing here?”
It was her turn to look surprised.
“Your dad didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what? I thought he was introducing me to his new lady friend. I can’t say how relieved I am that he’s not.”
“How do you know I’m not his ‘lady friend’?” She said just awkwardly enough that I couldn’t tell if she was joking.
“Your face!” She laughed. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”
“I mean... it didn’t seem likely. But you being here at all... it’s so weird.”
“I’m here for a job.”
“Oh! So my dad does want to start dating. And you’re here for his makeover?”
“Wrong man,” she answered, trying her best not to laugh.
“Wrong man?” I repeated, noting her smug, not-quite smile. She had that same expression when she held a particularly devious hand of cards.
“Yes, your dad wants me to help you.”
“I don’t need a stylist. I’m a mechanic.”
“And according to your dad, an entrepreneur. I had no idea, Wyatt. What other secrets are you keeping?” She stepped toward me. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“Sorry, I’m still processing that you are Dad’s dinner guest.” I waved her into the living room. She passed so close I felt the summer air move between us.
“Good surprise? Or bad surprise?” she asked, tapping her three-inch heels in the small hall that served as our entryway.
The side table still displayed the silk flower arrangement my mom put out the spring before she died.
There were also the same ceramic bunnies she set out for Easter.
The only update was a framed photo of my mom.
“Both?” I answered honestly. I had mixed feelings about Caroline. I couldn’t help but like her. But I wished I didn’t; I knew I had no chance. She had a type, and I was not it.
“Hmmm...” she said, eyeing me critically. She looked me up and down, making me feel completely inadequate in my jeans and sneakers and faded tee. “Is there a reason you lean into being a mechanic versus a business owner?”
I could give her the pat answer, “I am a mechanic.” But for some reason, I wanted to tell Caroline something closer to the truth.
“You’ve met my family.” I shrugged.
“I see. So, you’re sticking it to the Scotts. Making it clear you’re not one of them.”
“That and I don’t want anyone to confuse me with my cousin Greg.”
She immediately lost her playful smile. Her face went blank, and she cleared her throat. Her dramatic change in expression highlighted what I just said.
“Oh! Sorry, I wasn’t referencing that night... I wasn’t thinking of it at all. . .” Not the full truth, but this was not the time for nuanced honesty. “It’s just... I’m always trying to make it clear that I’m not my cousin.”
“I know.” Caroline’s eyes flashed. “Believe me, I know.” I was curious what she thought now about the end of her engagement. Was she beginning to see that she was better off without Greg? I was smart enough not to ask.
“While I get your whole bad boy vibe,” she said with derision as she slowly circled me. “And can acknowledge that it works for you—on some level. May I suggest that this ...” She waved a hand at me. “Is selling yourself short.”
“Aren’t you full of compliments?” I said sarcastically.