Vivian
This, at least, she can tell the truth about. She’d planned to keep quiet about it to spare Lucy’s feelings, but her prying was so irritating that Vivian no longer cares.
“At the pub. I was having a drink, he was bartending,” Vivian says.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Lucy asks, annoyed.
“I…We…” Caleb tries.
Vivian jumps in. “I’d just told you about Dad. I figured that was enough stress for one week.”
Lucy cocks her head. “Why would this be stressful for me?”
There’s no tasteful way to spell this out. Caleb’s eyes widen with panic, but he doesn’t speak. Vivian’s customer-service skills kick in, and in a calm voice, she tries to smooth the situation over.
“You’re right, that was a misjudgment on my part. I’m sorry.”
Lucy huffs. “Any other surprises or secrets you want to drop on me?”
Vivian holds up her hands. “That was the last one, I promise.”
At least the last one she can stomach sharing.
Four years ago, Vivian took a week off work for her annual Maine trip. While she was there, Hank had a client emergency pop up and flew home for a night. She’d never had an evening to herself in Fox Hill before, and decided to eat dinner at Foxy Roxy’s. It was something of a novelty; she’d had their takeout before, though she and Hank had never actually stayed for a meal. As it turned out, Caleb—not that she knew who he was yet—was working that night.
“This your first summer here? I haven’t seen you around before. I’d remember you.”
His amber eyes actually glittered. Up until then, Vivian thought that phrase was a cheesy exaggeration, but no, sure enough, there was an unmistakably flirtatious twinkle. He was so clearly giving her a line, something he dangled in front of every out-of-towner to get a good tip. She didn’t mind. She wanted to flirt right back. Liven up the evening. See what could happen.
It would be embarrassing to tell him she’d spent every summer of her life in this tiny town while barely setting foot in its most popular establishment. Feeling brazen, she swiveled on her bar stool and said, “You must have been busy chatting up other girls. I was here just last week.”
He reddened, then recovered. “Miss, I’d never be so unprofessional as to flirt with pretty customers on the job.” He tossed her a wink. He could actually pull off a wink.
“And I’d never be forward enough to distract you from your work.”
“This is your version of shy?”
“Something like that.”
“Where are you from?”
“New York.”
“Oh, that explains a lot.”
She just laughed.
“You’re not a Giants fan, are you? ’Cause if you are…” He slid away from her.
She squinted. “That’s football, right?”
“Thank Tom Brady,” he muttered. “Though we’ve got a lot to go over.”
“Good thing I’m staying for dinner.”
She ordered a basket of fish and chips and a pint of Allagash. In between serving other customers, he’d come chat with Vivian, leaning over the bar on his elbows. He asked how a New Yorker wound up in Fox Hill, and she said her family has a place on the lake. He mentioned he knew some people out there. She didn’t bother to ask exactly who or where—it wasn’t like she knew anyone. She asked if he resented the influx of summer people into his hometown, and he hesitated for two seconds before saying, “Honestly? Yeah, a little bit.”
He didn’t seem to resent Vivian, though. She liked the way he lit up whenever he returned to her spot at the bar. As she ate and drank, they covered the basics of the NFL, her life back at home, and his disdain for big cities. (“How are you supposed to see any stars?”)
And then, once the pub had mostly emptied out, he said, “So…I close up at nine.”
It was somehow already 8:45. She drained the last of her pint.
“You don’t have to leave,” he added, a touch quieter than he’d been all night. “Not if you don’t want to. It’s just me on closing duty tonight.”
She felt victorious: She had set out to experience something new in Fox Hill. Here it was!
She smiled. “Okay.”
He poured her a second pint—“On the house, don’t worry about it”—and one for himself. She hung around as he wiped tables clean and transferred the contents of the cash register into an envelope. They were alone.
Drinking and talking turned into kissing, which turned into making out, which turned into—well, Vivian had wanted to shake up her usual Fox Hill routine, hadn’t she? She liked the ease with which he lifted her onto the bar. She liked how his fingers instinctively trailed over her tan lines. She liked the playful kisses he nipped along her collarbone and the deeper ones that spurred her to wrap her thighs even tighter around him. And she liked that afterward, it felt completely natural to chat, passing a glass of beer between them.
“When can I see you again?” he asked.
“I leave the day after tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“I can’t.”
Hank would be back on the first flight the next morning.
He squeezed her hand. “Then next summer.”
“I’ll know where to find you,” she promised.
Except next summer, she was hooking up with a chef back in the city and wasn’t particularly motivated to seek Caleb out, and then the one after that, she had no free nights alone. The following year, there was only one person she wanted an illicit bar-top tryst with, and it wasn’t Caleb. She never thought she’d see him again. She kind of likes that she was wrong.
Vivian isn’t dumb. She knew hiking with Lucy would be a challenge, but she hoped that Caleb would serve as a neutral buffer—with him there, ideally it would be harder for them to snipe at each other. The more she wins Lucy over, the easier it’ll be to deal with her—as long as Vivian can keep her temper in check. Dancing around her fling with Caleb was a petty mistake, but Vivian had been thrown off her A-game by Lucy asking too many questions about her personal life. She wanted a small slice of revenge.
She’s grateful when they hit the last, most intense portion of the climb. They’ve reached the point of exertion where conversation fizzles out. Instead, the only noise floating through the forest is the sound of their breath.
“Almost there,” Caleb promises.
Vivian’s thighs burn and her heart hammers against her ribs, but she refuses to take a breather. If Lucy can do this in one go, Vivian will, too, even if it kills her.
When they reach the top, she doubles over and exhales an awestruck “Whoa.”
There’s a steep drop to a clear river winding through a valley, and beyond that, rolling green hills dotted with wildflowers. Farther in the distance, rocks give way to tree-topped mountains underneath a brilliant sky. There isn’t a road or a building or a single soul for miles between here and the horizon.
“Like the view?” Caleb asks.
“It’s gorgeous,” she says.
And it is. But she can’t fully appreciate the scenery. All she can think about is the long trek down the mountain with Lucy, the car ride home, and however many days they’re going to be stuck together under one roof. She isn’t sure she can do this much longer.
Lucy
Lucy has Caleb drop her off at Paige’s house. It’s chaos, but comfortable, familiar chaos. She feels lighter the moment she walks in. A plastic bucket of toys overflows next to the heinous plaid love seat Paige inherited from her favorite uncle (who was, it must be said, color-blind). There’s a blond wood step stool with Nora’s name carved in multicolored blocks; the green R has been missing for weeks. A copy of Tell Me Lies, by Carola Lovering, last month’s book club pick, is splayed open, unfinished, on the coffee table alongside Nora’s sippy cup and two mugs of Lucy’s favorite lemon-ginger tea. (Paige keeps a box of it in her pantry. When Lucy lived with Patrick, there was always a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in her kitchen for Paige.) Her home used to be neater, but that was in the BCE—Before Child Era.
“I’m so glad you were home. Thanks for letting me escape here,” Lucy says, blowing on her tea to cool it off.
They’re on the couch while Nora plays on the floor.
Paige snorts. “Right, because I’m home so rarely.”
Once Nora was born, she quit her dental-assistant job. She misses it, but her salary would barely cover the cost of childcare.
“Did Eddie get back to you about working part-time?”
“Don’t change the subject. Your life is falling apart, not mine. How are you holding up?”
Lucy recounts the day’s misery, beginning with two-faced Caleb ruining their plans and ending with the bizarre revelation that he and Vivian know each other.
“Do you think Vivian and Caleb were ever a thing?” Paige asks, wrinkling her nose.
“Like a couple? Caleb’s never committed to anything more binding than a seasonal ski pass.”
“Okay, but, like, maybe they hooked up?”
Lucy tries to banish that image from her mind. “I didn’t want to ask too many questions.”
She does vaguely remember Caleb once telling her about a fling with a “hot city chick” years ago. She prays that wasn’t Vivian.
“Like, it’s not enough that she grew up with both of her parents under the same roof and had all this money and is selling the house out from under me. She also has to prance around Caleb in spandex? They hung out yesterday, too.”
Paige winces. “I hate to even suggest this, but you’re the only two people who are fully going to get what the other is going through. Maybe it’s worth giving her another shot?”
“No,” Lucy says firmly. “She’s cold, snooty, entitled, obnoxious, she drinks too much…” (Lucy can only guess how many drinks she’d downed at the bonfire. But that was just one bad night.) “So, no.”
The nicest thing Vivian has done for Lucy is let her sleep in her own bed.
Paige holds up her hands. “Okay, I hear you. Fair. For the record, I’ve never liked the sound of her.”
Lucy knows she means well, but this just makes her feel worse, as if she should’ve known better than to keep a sliver of hope all these years. Paige witnessed Lucy break down over and over, comparing herself to Vivian’s online persona and constantly falling short. Nothing Paige could say would ever make that hurt less. Hank picked his life with Vivian over his life with Lucy, and no matter how hard she tried to be the perfect daughter, that would never change. She would always be second best.
“I really wanted to like her,” Lucy admits.
Paige softens. “I know. I wish this had turned out differently.”
“And then there’s everything with Patrick…I know I’m supposed to move on, or hate him or something, but I don’t. I miss him.”
“That’s understandable.”
“He doesn’t miss me.” She picks at a stray thread escaping the couch. She feels so broken.
“He cares about you. He’ll always care about you.”
“He didn’t care enough to try fixing us,” she says with a snort.
Paige looks somber. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m not strong enough for this.”
“Of course you are. Think about how strong you were for your mom when she was sick. Think about…”
Lucy saves her from having to grasp for a second example. “I’m a mess.”
The tears begin to flow again; it’s become a regular function, like breathing and sleeping. Not that she’s getting much sleep these days.
Paige rubs her back. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You have us.”
Friendship isn’t a substitute for love. Happily married people forget that.
“And who knows who else is out there? Your options aren’t limited to Patrick and spinsterhood.”
Lucy wishes that were true. In a town this size, though, there are more moose than age-appropriate single men. The good ones are all taken. (The bad ones are, too.) Paige is wrong, plain and simple. Maybe she thinks it’s kinder to pretend Lucy has options, but it’s not. Nora pulls herself up to a standing position by the coffee table and wobbles over to plop a slobbery hand on Lucy’s knee. She giggles with a toothy smile.
Vivian
Vivian is barely out of Caleb’s truck when the idea occurs to her. Leaning on the door frame, she asks, “Do you want to come in?”
“For what?”
She hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Lunch? A swim? I don’t know, just to hang out?”
The tension had lightened considerably after Caleb dropped Lucy off. The rest of the ride was shorter than she’d expected, and pulling into the driveway felt too abrupt. It was the first time they’ve been completely alone together since the night they met.
Caleb unclips his seat belt. “My shift doesn’t start for another few hours.”
Vivian shuts the door, satisfied. Inside, she forages for ingredients that could add up to a respectable meal. As they eat, Caleb somehow talks her into going fishing, something she’s never tried.
“Not even once?” he asks after lunch, sorting through equipment in the dim basement.
“My dad wanted to teach me when I was a kid. It grossed me out.”
He blows dust off a fishing rod. “Are you squeamish?”
“I’ve been beheading and filleting my own fish for years.”
Caleb shivers. “You’ll be fine.”
She puts a bikini on underneath her clothing in case she can convince him to sunbathe instead. (It’s her most flattering swimsuit, and that’s on purpose. If Oscar were better about staying in touch, she might be more motivated to wear something else. She won’t stray, of course, but a little flirtation is harmless.) They take the boat out to a calm cove. Beside her, he assembles rods and hooks and all the other parts Vivian doesn’t know the names of.
“Don’t we need bait? Worms or something?” she asks.
“I’ll just toss you in,” he says casually, threading the line through the pole.
The thing is, he easily could. “Ha ha, very funny.”
“But no, we don’t need live worms. I found lures.” He flashes a handful of colorful doodads. “Although, actually, there are these guys down in Boston who use tampons instead.”
“No.”
“Swear to God, I saw it on YouTube. They float, don’t they? These big, burly fishermen had all these theories about which brands worked best.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Fine. But if you’re ever in a pinch and need to catch fish to survive—”
“A situation I’m in constantly.”
“ If it ever comes to that, now you’ll know what to do.”
In sixth grade, her science class was studying photosynthesis, so they took a field trip to some nature preserve north of Westchester to study plants and trees. Pretty much everyone was mucking around in the river, splattering mud up to their thighs, but Vivian didn’t want to ruin her shoes. She isn’t planning to glamp, much less camp anytime soon.
Caleb hands her a rod and picks up his own. “You want to have about two, three feet of extra line.”
He measures out his own and Vivian copies him.
“Like that?” she asks.
He leans back to eyeball it. “Yeah, good. But be careful with these. You see that scar?” There’s a small, crescent-shaped one along his pointer finger.
“Yeah.”
“It’s from a fishing hook. I was with Lucy, actually, and the line was tangled. We must have been, what, eight? She had this brilliant idea—for us to each yank one end of it so the knot would slide out. Instead, it snapped and the hook flung back at me.”
She winces. “Ouch.”
“I knew it was a dumb plan from the start, but she said she knew better because she was older. We’re not even a full month apart, but she’s never let me forget it.”
She purses her lips; she doesn’t want to comment on Lucy’s illogical stubbornness. “Okay, no fooling around with the line, got it. What’s next?”
“Put your index finger down like you’re holding a trigger, then flip the reel open.”
She glances at his example. “Like this?”
He reaches over to adjust hers. “When you let go, the line goes down. So you take a step back and…”
In one fluid motion, he flicks the pole overhead. The lure arcs and lands, bobbing, twenty feet in front of them.
“Aye, aye, captain.” She tries to mimic him.
“Not bad.” She gives him a skeptical look, and he adds, “For a first attempt. Now we sit.”
“And wait?”
“Yep.”
“That’s it? We just sit here?”
“That’s the whole point,” he says, amused.
“Oh. Isn’t that boring?”
Catching her eye, he says, “Depends on who you’re with.”
The air between them surges with energy. She keeps her gaze focused on the line in front of her. He flirts as naturally as he breathes, and she’s technically taken.
He keeps going. “You think you can sit still, Miss I-Walk-Thirty-Miles-Per-Hour?”
Of course a little banter isn’t much of a transgression.
“I do not . Maybe only, like, five.”
“Except when you’re trudging up a hill.”
“Come on! I was just taking in the scenery, that’s all.”
“And what did you think?”
“It’s earthy, rustic…all those trees…”
“A few more than in Central Park?”
“Well.” She pauses as a memory hits her. “Actually, there’s this spot in the park my dad used to take me to when I was a kid, the Ravine. It’s wooded and kind of hidden, so most people miss it. The trees are tall enough to hide the skyline, and the waterfalls block out most of the noise from the traffic. It’s nice. Kind of the one bit of nature we both agreed was perfect.”
Caleb listens quietly, respectfully. “That sounds beautiful.”
“It is.”
An uncomfortable lump begins to swell in her throat. She didn’t have to love him in order to miss him. The grief is still there.
She forces a smile. “But I mean, there were tourists in tacky horse-drawn carriages right around the corner. Thanks for taking me to see an actual forest today.”
“My pleasure.”
She squints out at the water. “So, how long does it take to catch a fish? What happens if you hook one?”
“I wouldn’t count on catching any, actually.”
“Why not?”
“Afternoons are usually no good for fishing. It’s too bright. They don’t like that.”
“Then why are we out here?”
He shrugs. “Why not? I just like hanging out with you.”
After days of Lucy making Vivian feel like the Wicked Witch of the West Village, his simple compliment genuinely touches her.
“We don’t have to keep sitting here, though,” he adds.
“Oh, no, I don’t mind.” Truly, she doesn’t want to cut the afternoon short. “This is nice.”
He rises and pulls his T-shirt over his head without hesitation. “Jump in with me,” he says, extending a hand.
She’s standing before she realizes what he asked. “What? I don’t get in the water.”
He drops her hand, dumbfounded. “But you have a lake house!”
For now , she thinks. “I like to sunbathe. It’s just like fishing—an outdoor activity, very little physical exertion. You might like it. We could try it right now.”
“Oh, no, you’re definitely getting in.”
She sits so he can’t topple her. “No, thank you.”
“Seriously?”
“I’m not stopping you,” she says, amused. “Go have fun.”
Caleb digs into the pocket of his board shorts and tosses her a carabiner with a half dozen keys attached. “All right, keep this safe for me?”
He stretches up, laces his fingers together, and dives in. He pops up fifteen feet away to slick his wet hair back. If he emerged in slo-mo, it would be a cologne ad.
“Whew!”
“Cold?”
“Not at all.”
He treads water, then floats on his back. Blissed out, his eyes drift closed. She’s suddenly aware of the sweat beading down her spine.
“Fine,” she says with a loud, dramatic sigh. She drops his keys into the cup holder with a metallic plunk. “I’m coming.”
She peels off her clothes. Ruffling her hair, she steps up onto the ledge, steels herself, and jumps.
At first, the lake feels frigid, but as she bobs up to the surface, she unfortunately has to admit that Caleb was right. The water is a goddamn delight. No frozen margarita at any rooftop bar is even close to this refreshing.
He swims over. “How’s the hypothermic shock?”
With a light splash, she says, “I think I’ll live.”
When Vivian’s had her fill, she climbs back into the boat. Caleb follows her.
“I probably have to get going soon,” he says. His mouth twists into a frown when he checks the time. “Yeah, mind if we head back?”
She leans over the side of the boat to squeeze the water out of her hair. “Not at all.”
The insistent sunshine nearly dries them off by the time they dock.
“What are you up to this afternoon?” he asks.
What is she up to? The peaceful swim really did clear her mind. “I should probably fix some stuff up around here.”
“Do you need a hand? I could come back tomorrow.”
She wouldn’t protest seeing the one friendly face in Fox Hill again, but she doesn’t want to seem like a useless out-of-towner, unable to do the most basic of DIY projects.
“I’ll be all set, but thank you. Really. Today was perfect.”