thirty-five | will
THIRTY-FIVEWill
Five minutes after Emberly leaves, my phone starts chirping.
Did my friends plant surveillance cameras in my house when I wasn’t looking?
It’s almost eleven, but I can tell my brain isn’t going to shut down anytime soon.
I don’t know why I thought that inviting Em inside was going to change that. Her smiles are like a shot of epinephrine directly to the heart.
Another chirp. It could be Bright. Or Lexi.
Or Em, with another idea for Cab’s birthday.
I pull it out of my back pocket. Nope. It’s Reeve.
I’m surprised she waited this long.
Reeve: I know you guys are still awake. How did my brothers do? Is the Grill still in one piece?
Knox: Your dad stopped by, so I think that helped. No casualties other than a burger that was torched instead of rare.
Reeve: Will? We know you’re there. Stop hiding.
Knox: Yeah. Come on. Show yourself.
I roll my eyes.
But he’s right. I am hiding.
Me: Thanks for your help today.
Knox: It’s what we do (halo emoji)
Reeve: Mom and I made ten pounds of potato salad. I smell like boiled eggs. And onions.
Knox: (Green-face nauseous emoji) Don’t talk about food. I ate my weight in pudgy pies.
As far as segues go, my buddy isn’t subtle.
I wait for Reeve’s warning. Knox teasing me about holding Emberly’s hand.
Reeve: I need a shower. See you tomorrow at church.
Knox: (Thumbs up Emoji)
Unlike Pinehart, the Grill is closed on Sundays. Knox might lose out on some business, but his argument is pretty solid. Even God took a day of rest.
The messages stop but I know better. I send a private text to Reeve and beat her to the punch.
Me: Okay. Let me have it. Even though I know what you’re going to say.
A minute goes by. And then another one.
Bubbles suddenly appear and just when I think she’s writing a novel, or all the reasons I shouldn’t spend time with Emberly, her message appears.
Reeve: I like her.
Okay. I was wrong about what she was going to say.
But somehow, this makes things worse. I’ve been counting on my friends to agree with me that a relationship with Em is impossible.
I start to type a message and then delete it. I repeat this two more times, because seeing the words in black and white makes it real. And it can’t be real.
Because what I really want to say is that I like Em, too. Way more than I thought I would.
Way more than I should.
So, I type this instead. Because if my best friends aren’t going to remind me that I’m heading straight for a broken heart, I will.
Me: She’s leaving after the party.
Thank you for the pancakes.
Way to change the subject …
Then I realize the message wasn’t from Reeve.
It’s from Emberly.
And now I’m imagining her curled up on the couch, bare feet tucked underneath her, and I want Saturday night pancakes with her every night for the rest of my life.
I set my phone down without answering and hope she thinks I fell asleep.
“Stocking up for a zombie apocalypse?”
Stan grins down at me from the back of the delivery truck.
This is the third time he’s stopped at Pinehart since Cab agreed (very enthusiastically) to let Em take over as the party planner.
“Not an apocalypse.” I reach for the cardboard box and Stan hands it over. “Cab’s birthday party.”
Stan whistles. “Thirteen. That’s a biggie.”
So I’ve been told.
“What’s the theme?”
A question I can actually answer.
“It’s a surprise.”
Stan looks offended. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”
“No … sorry. That’s the theme. Surprise. Because Cab doesn’t know what we’re going to do.”
“Good idea. Takes away the pressure.”
I glance down and see Emberly Lockwood, Pinehart Resort printed on the label. “Thanks, Stan.”
“Hang on. There’s a few more.”
Stan’s definition of a “few more” turns out to be five.
I have no idea what’s in these boxes, but I add them to the three that showed up last night.
“Emberly is a trust fund baby. We work … she shops. Perfect Emberly with her perfect little life.”
The Sixteens comments cycle through my head.
The resort provides a decent living, but I’m never going to be able to afford a private jet. Or travel. Or live the kind of “perfect” life the Suite Sixteens seem to want … and resent.
I’m not so na?ve that I think money makes life perfect, but I’m also not stupid enough to believe that someone like Emberly would be happy here.
Monday, she’d disappeared for most of the day.
I’m guessing it had something to do with Samantha Ward’s new vacation home.
This morning, I saw her pink convertible drive away while Cab and I were eating breakfast. And since I have an errand to run that takes me within a mile of that address, I decide to stop by and see how things are going.
Find out if she needs any help with the birthday plans.
Casually mention that my budget is a little smaller than the one the country club spent on their masquerade ball.
Cab was invited to go fishing with one of the Drummond families, so I leave a note just in case she comes back early (while ignoring the inner voice that points out a text is a more efficient way to communicate) and check my messages.
The guests this week are a lively bunch, but now that they’ve settled in, things are going more smoothly.
I decide it’s safe to slip away for an hour.
“Truck, Junie.”
I don’t have to say the word twice. I open the passenger side door and wait for her to jump inside, but she looks at me and whines.
“Cab isn’t coming with us,” I tell her.
Juni plants her furry behind on the grass and barks at me.
And then I understand. Juni always knows where Cab is. She’s waiting for someone else. Which explains why she’d moped around yesterday like she’d lost her best friend.
I’d felt kind of mopey myself, so I understand. When Emberly isn’t around, it’s like the sun is hidden behind a cloud. There’s a grayness to the world.
“Let’s go find Em.”
Juni launches herself into the cab, leaving a cloud of dog hair suspended in the air.
I’m not sure where the Wards are building on Sunset Drive, but the road that winds to the lake isn’t very long. I begin to see signs stuck on the ground, the ones the locals use to advertise their businesses.
I anticipate having to jockey around the workers’ vans and trucks for a parking spot, but Rosie (I have no idea when I started to think of Emberly’s rental by her—its—name) is the only vehicle at the building site.
I exhale when I see the shell of a house rising from the piece of ground.
The Wards ended up with a choice piece of property to build their new home.
When I was a teenager, I’d seek out construction sites the way some kids would sneak away from the house to go to a concert.
Not that I had to sneak. Mom and Dad were supportive about my dream of becoming an architect from the beginning.
I would find a place to watch where I wouldn’t be in the way and watch as the footings were poured, the walls set.
Critique the layout and decide what I would do differently and the elements I would keep.
I’m relieved Samantha and Marcus didn’t copy some of the other vacation homes I’ve seen cropping up in the area. Duplicates of suburban McMansions, right down to the Roman columns and faux brick.
I don’t see Emberly anywhere, so I let Juni out and she follows me to an opening that will eventually be a door.
We walk through a large foyer into the living room. It’s an open floor plan and the first thing I see is Emberly sitting in the middle of the room, cross-legged, a tablet balanced on her lap.
She’s wearing the Dairy Den T-shirt again, paired with a skirt and her sparkly sandals. A pair of studious looking glasses are perched on her nose.
Juni gives away our position with a joyful I-found-you yip.
Emberly’s face lights up. I want to think she’s happy to see me, but it’s more likely because of Juni, who almost bowls her over in her never-ending quest for attention.
“What are you two doing here?” She is hugging my dog, but I figure the question is meant for me, the one who can actually talk in complete sentences. Most of the time.
“I had to run an errand and thought I’d drop by. See how things are going.” It sounds lame when I say it out loud. And kind of stalkerish.
“Things are going.” Emberly rises to her feet and stretches, a movement that lifts her T-shirt a quarter inch, revealing a ribbon of sun-kissed skin. She glances at her watch and her eyes widen. “I can’t believe I’ve been here two hours.”
Three, but I don’t mention that. Because, you know, stalkerish.
“Do you want to see the house?” she asks. “They’re just starting on the interior walls, but you’ll get a feeling for the layout.”
“Sure.” The structure, the house’s bones, is what I’m interested in anyway.
Someone drew the footprint of the kitchen in chalk, outlining the island and the placement of the appliances.
Emberly pauses and slides a look at me.
“Is this where you would have put the kitchen?”
I instantly shake my head and point to the sliding glass doors. “Over there. Natural light. A great view of the water.”
She smiles. “I thought so.”
There are four bedrooms, each with its own bath, and a walk-out basement with a wood burning fireplace.
“Sam mentioned they’ll be having a lot of company, so I’m going to suggest they add a kitchenette down here,” Emberly says. “People like to have a space of their own to make coffee or a snack without disturbing anyone.”
It’s probably true, but Emberly says the words as casually as a person might suggest adding a throw rug to the entryway. Except a kitchenette is going to cost a lot more money.
Which gives me the perfect opening to bring up the awkward but necessary topic I should have broached on Saturday.
“Stan dropped off some more packages this morning.” Okay, yes. I’m taking the long way around.
“Great!”
“Em … I appreciate you taking over. I really do. But we didn’t talk budget.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Emberly says cheerfully. “I won’t go over it.”
“You don’t know what it is.” And judging from the number of boxes showing up at my door, she already has.
“I’m keeping things simple. Promise.”
I remember the swag bags (why do I remember they’re called this?) Emberly put together for her friends. The bracelets with the silver charms.
“Maybe we should get together again and you can tell me what you have planned,” I say slowly.
Emberly’s emerald eyes glow. “That would be great. I haven’t wanted to bother you with the details because I know how busy you are, but I could really use your input. You’re the person who knows Iris the best.”
What Emberly is proposing sounds like more than one conversation.
My heart swells. My head tells me This is a Very Bad Idea.
My head also tells me that I can’t take out another mortgage to cover whatever Emberly is planning, so that’s the one I listen to.
Not only does my heart accept defeat, it pounds loudly in agreement.
“It’s Cab’s party,” I hear myself say. “I don’t mind helping.”
“Should we get together tonight? I can come over after Iris goes to sleep.”
My eyes narrow. “You want pancakes, don’t you?”
“Maybe?”
After a day of dealing with various crises, I’m ready to be alone and recharge. Ready for the quiet. I’m used to it. But now, the thought of all that solitude leaves me feeling restless.
Our phones beep at the same time.
Emberly takes hers out first and glances at it. Smiles. “It’s from our group.”
“Our what?” I pull out my cell.
“Reeve suggested we start a group chat about the party. Just in case I needed her or Knox for anything. She added you, too.”
Emberly is part of a chat. With my friends. And how nice of them to include me.
I scan the first message.
Reeve: My brother is taking my place on Friday. I can supervise the scavenger hunt.
Emberly types a quick message and I see it pop up on my screen under the name Em.
Em: Thanks so much! Knox, status on the food truck?
“Knox doesn’t have a food truck.” I don’t have to type this.
Emberly taps out another message. I watch the bubbles in fascination, even though she’s standing less than two feet away.
Em: Never mind. Will says you don’t have one yet. I’ll see what I can do about a kitchen.
Knox: Sounds good.
He punctuates the message with four thumbs up emojis.
Four.
I never get more than one.
“What’s this about a food truck?” I try not to get hung up on the ‘yet’. Emberly has to know that’s not in the budget. Mine or Knox’s.
And a scavenger hunt? When did this discussion take place?
Emberly went to both the outdoor church service and the potluck afterward on Sunday, but I didn’t see her talking to Reeve or Knox.
She spent most of her time talking to Mrs. Raleigh, who taught art at the high school before the entire department became a casualty of budget cuts.
“I thought the girls would have fun with a choose-your-own-topping smash burger bar and Knox offered to do the grilling.”
“On Friday? That’s one of the busiest days of the week.”
“He offered. I think he wants to be involved.”
Emberly hasn’t known Knox as long as I have. He likes to watch me squirm.
“And Reeve?”
She loves Cab, but Reeve has made it pretty clear that she’d rather navigate whitewater rapids than deal with kids of any age.
“A photo scavenger hunt. Reeve’s a natural leader. She knows the woods … and first-aid.”
I can’t argue with any of those things.
“It sounds like you’re packing a lot into a few hours.” It’s a subtle warning not to go overboard, but Emberly smiles.
“I’m trying.”
Okay. Maybe too subtle.
She glances at her watch. “I told Samantha I’d call her and go over some of my ideas, but I should be home in a few hours.”
The air seizes in my lungs.
Did Emberly refer to Pinehart as home?
My heart and my head start wrestling for control again.
I’m losing it. Control that is.
The minute I’m back in the truck, I send a private message to my other text loop.
Me: Really?
I’m not surprised when my two best friends, who were chatty with Emberly a few minutes ago, completely ignore me.