Chapter Five
Lucy
Lucy is too hungover to put her dad’s closet back together but does it anyway out of spite. It keeps her hands busy while waiting for Patrick to reply to her text: Thanks for taking care of me last night. I’m sorry I was such a mess.
She isn’t exactly embarrassed that he saw her drunk and vomiting (he saw her in college, after all, and with at least two stomach flus), but she’s ashamed that her desires are so out of sync with his. Since Patrick left her, Paige has been a fount of pep talks and inspirational Instagram quotes, and according to all that, Lucy is going about this completely wrong. She isn’t supposed to want him back. She should walk away with her head held high. Love herself. Know her worth. Honor her boundaries. Have the dignity and strength to embrace the future, however unknown, instead of crawling back to her ex. It’s like there’s something unfashionably retro about wanting her own husband back. What happened to their promise to grow old together? She feels as if there’s a heartsick madwoman on one shoulder and a drill sergeant with a bullhorn full of tough love on the other.
feeling better?
My head is killing me, but I’ll live. Can we talk? Do you want to come over?
good
idk if i should
i want to be there for you but i don’t want to lead you on
Her chest crumples like a soda can.
You said we should talk in the morning.
you remember that?
I do.
i feel really bad
i don’t want to hurt you
She watches with shallow breath as he types and deletes and retypes and deletes.
i will always care about you
i can come over as a friend, if you want
Her last hope for her marriage dies here, on her dead dad’s bedroom floor.
Don’t worry about it.
Lucy had tried to prevent her marriage from sliding downhill. She really had. She made valiant efforts to plan date nights he’d enjoy: First up was an axe-throwing bar. On the way home, he rested his hand on her thigh and, exhilarated, recounted their epic misses and one perfect bull’s-eye. She thought, This is exactly right. We’re fine. I shouldn’t have worried. She took him around Portland for a brewery tour and got tickets to a Sea Dogs game. Nothing was in their backyard; each trip required a real drive. But to Lucy, it was worth it.
Patrick had started off strong with a bowling night, and she liked his next idea, going to the pub for wings and pool. They’d done it a thousand times, but there was still something a little sexy about him helping her line up the right shot. She was less interested in their next date, seeing the new Marvel movie. Sitting side by side in silence for three hours was not what she’d had in mind. Overall, Friday nights felt fresh again, though each date was also tinged with anxiety. Conversational lulls felt magnified; each silence seemed to deliver a verdict on the strength of their bond.
Just seven weeks in, Patrick forgot to plan a date. When she reminded him about it and kissed him goodbye on her way to school that morning, he said he’d come up with something, though he had the enthusiasm of a sullen teenager. On her lunch break, she texted, Where should I meet you tonight? He wrote back three hours later: i’m tired, let’s just do something tomorrow instead.
She got home from work earlier than he did, arriving to the unpleasant surprise that their heat had cut out. She was able to get a repairman to come by the next day, but they’d have to make do with blankets and space heaters for the night. It was cold for October, but they’d be fine. Although Lucy was annoyed by his lack of planning, she also saw a silver lining. She imagined them nestling under a pile of thick blankets, cuddlier than they normally were. Maybe they could make the night a fun novelty—set up sleeping bags in the living room and watch a Halloween movie marathon.
Patrick had a different vision for the evening. After work, he plopped down on the couch and played Call of Duty in a sweatshirt and parka. He answered her questions with clipped responses and his eyes on the TV. His day had been “fine,” and “nah,” he didn’t care what they had for dinner. Sitting next to him in the den, she felt superfluous, an unwanted distraction.
But Lucy didn’t want to give up. She couldn’t—according to the nagging voice inside her head, if she couldn’t rescue date night, that would be another tally mark against her relationship. She changed into her pretty white lace teddy, a bridal shower gift from Paige, and draped a gray fleece blanket around her shoulders like a cape. It trailed behind her as she sauntered into the den.
“The best way to stay warm is through each other’s body heat,” she said, attempting to sound seductive.
He glanced up from his game. “Luce, put some clothes on, it’s like an igloo in here.”
First of all, it wasn’t. Second, and more importantly, she hadn’t anticipated rejection. Who’d rather pretend to shiver in front of a video game instead of steam up the house with their scantily clad wife?
Lucy leaned over the couch, cleavage dangling toward him, and nuzzled his earlobe for a kiss. “You always know just how to warm me up,” she said in a husky voice.
All he said was “Come on, Luce, it’s like fifty degrees in here.” That was it.
The following spring, Patrick asked for a divorce. In his words, they’d lost their spark. Lucy didn’t necessarily disagree. The difference was that she believed they could find it again, if only he’d try.
Lucy can’t stop crying while showering off last night’s stench. She’s insulted by Patrick offering himself up as just a friend. No friend has ever caused her this much pain. And he didn’t have the strength to say any of this in person—or even over the phone. No, he thought a text would suffice. He didn’t even use periods at the end of his sentences. She was stupid for thinking he’d change his mind.
Between her hangover and Patrick’s gut punch, Lucy spends the rest of the day in a miserable stupor, lonely, emotionally wrung out, and exhausted. When Vivian breezes in, Lucy barely has the strength to acknowledge her. Later, she parks herself outside to watch the sun set and sits there until the sky deepens into a velvet wash of midnight blue. She stays past the point of comfort—the Adirondack chair’s hard wood makes her butt go numb—and only retreats inside once the mosquitoes come out. Thankfully, Vivian leaves her alone.
The next morning, Lucy doesn’t want to get out of bed, but—fortunately or unfortunately—Caleb is on his way over. They’d made plans for a hike before she knew Hank had died, back when he only wanted to help take her mind off Patrick. How appropriate. She’s lacing up her hiking boots on the couch when Caleb beeps in the driveway.
“Who’s that?” Vivian asks, finishing a plate of scrambled eggs.
“Caleb. He’s picking me up.”
“Where are you going?”
“Out.”
Vivian rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Where?”
“On a hike.”
With a look of contempt, Vivian says, “Have fun.”
Lucy snatches her water bottle from the table. “Thanks.”
She doesn’t want to say much more in case Vivian gets the wrong idea and tries to fish for an invitation. Shoes on, Lucy fills her backpack with sunscreen, a baseball cap, and energy bars: blueberry for him, chocolate peanut butter for her. Hiking is their thing; they have a whole routine down pat.
Caleb comes through the front door, lighting up at the sight of Vivian. Lucy wishes he stayed outside.
“Hey!”
“I was coming out,” Lucy says, annoyed.
“Wasn’t sure you heard me beep.”
“Morning,” Vivian says, more brightly than anything she’s said to Lucy since yesterday—or perhaps ever.
“Are you coming with us?” he asks.
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
“It’ll be fun. Perfect weather.” His tone sounds dangerously close to an invitation.
Lucy makes a mental note to push Caleb off the mountain later.
Vivian peers outside. “It does look gorgeous.”
“Yep,” Lucy agrees. “Anyway, ready, Caleb?”
“You sure you don’t want to join?” he asks Vivian.
Lucy doubts Vivian will say yes, but her hand curls into an involuntary fist anyway.
“Well…how hard is the hike? I’m not much of an athlete, but I do live in a fifth-floor walk-up, so…”
“I don’t know, I’d say it’s pretty easy. Three miles, maybe? Not too bad,” Caleb offers.
“Oh, no,” Lucy counters. “It’s a trek. Steep, too. Half of it is basically a vertical scramble.”
Caleb’s brows knit together in confusion. “I don’t know if I’d—”
Lucy shoots dagger eyes at Caleb until he shuts up.
With a dark laugh, Vivian says, “Maybe I should give it a try. Gotta keep the heart healthy, right?”
“How was the rest of your shift?” Vivian chirps from the back seat of Caleb’s car.
In the passenger seat, Lucy watches the scenery roll by with her arms crossed tightly. The question needles at her. Rest of?
“Eh, a little busy, but fine.”
“I bumped into Caleb at Foxy Roxy’s yesterday,” Vivian explains. “I didn’t realize he’d be working.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
Lucy can imagine Vivian sitting coquettishly on a bar stool, twirling her hair, venting to Caleb about what a stick-in-the-mud Lucy is. She slumps in her seat. Lucy and Caleb have been friends for twenty-five years, and all sense of loyalty goes out the window the minute a pretty girl shows up? She doesn’t understand it.
“Lucy, did you and Dad ever hike together?” Vivian asks.
“Sometimes,” she says curtly.
It’s the first real question Vivian has asked her since their argument yesterday.
“On this trail?”
“A few times, yeah.”
“I didn’t know he liked to hike.”
“It’s not the worst thing he kept from you,” Lucy says, sucking the air right out of the car.
After a minute of tension, Caleb turns on the radio.
“That really big mountain way north of here—you know which one I’m talking about, right? Have you hiked that one?” Vivian asks.
“Katahdin? Yep.”
“With him? How was it?”
“What is this, a game of Twenty Questions?” Lucy complains.
In the rearview mirror, she sees Vivian cross her arms and peer out the window.
“Just trying to, I don’t know, have a nice conversation with you. That’s all.”
Normally, this is one of Lucy’s favorite hikes. The trail is lush, a quietly beautiful landscape of tall, slender trees and mottled rocks. A soft bed of pine needles rustles underfoot. The stream’s steady trickle is soothing background noise. Today, though, none of it diffuses her agitation. It only makes her miss her dad. Vivian keeps stopping to take pictures of the scenery, which prompts Caleb to stop, too. Lucy catches his gaze lingering for a second too long on Vivian’s strappy black tank top and matching bike shorts.
Vivian pants on her way up the first major hill. “I shouldn’t have quit my barre studio.”
“Bar?” Caleb echoes. “I hate to break it to you, but a drink won’t do you any favors here.”
Vivian swats at him. “You’re clueless.”
Caleb smirks. “At least I know how to use a barbecue.”
“I understand the general concept! I just happen to lack firsthand practical experience.”
The more they flirt, the more painfully alone she feels.
“Luce, can you barbecue?” Vivian asks.
“It’s Lucy. And yes, of course.”
Vivian glances at Caleb. “Right.”
As they climb, Lucy charges ahead solo. Hank should’ve known better than to keep her and Vivian separate all these years. Now she has to face the fallout without him. If he were here, would he side with Lucy against Vivian? Could he see the kind of daughter he raised?
Behind her, Caleb and Vivian chat side by side. She can hear him talking about his dream backpacking trip. He wants to trek through the lush jungles of Laos, hit up hawker stalls in Singapore, and watch the famous sunrise over the Mount Bromo volcano in Indonesia. To cap it all off, he wants to take the ferry from the Thai mainland to the island of Ko Phangan for the Full Moon Party, which draws tens of thousands of people every month into an all-night frenzy of music, dancing, glow paint, and even fire-eaters on a pristine white sand beach. The whole trip will take two or three months, but first he needs to stock up on gear: new hiking boots, a mosquito-netted bivvy, an astronomy headlamp for stargazing. Every shift at the pub gets him a tiny bit closer to it.
Lucy used to think she’d miss Caleb when he traveled, but in this moment, she wants to buy him a one-way ticket.
Vivian reels off stories about working her way up through the shockingly grueling world of fine dining—a verbally abusive manager, crushing schedules, handsy customers, the painfully old-school industry where women still aren’t taken seriously.
“I’m actually planning to leave my job soon and open up my own place,” she tells Caleb.
“Whoa, really? That must cost a fortune.”
Lucy gives Caleb a piercing glare. “About the same price as a four-bedroom lake house, I hear.”
Vivian purses her lips.
Lucy can’t resist pushing further. “It’s not really all on your own, though, is it? It’s with your boyfriend, right?”
She senses Caleb deflating. Finally.
“Yeah, we’re doing it together.”
A taunting voice squeaks in the back of Lucy’s mind: Vivian has a boyfriend and Caleb’s following her around like a puppy, but not even your own husband wants to be with you.
“You haven’t told me much about him. What’s his name? How did you meet?” Lucy presses.
Vivian squirms, tightening her ponytail. “Oh, the story’s not that interesting.”
Her discomfort piques Lucy’s interest. “Please, I’d love to hear.”
Lucy has gobbled up every crumb of information Vivian has ever posted online, but she’s never seen mention of a boyfriend. No anniversary posts, no Valentine’s Day photos, nothing. Sometimes, she’d wondered if Vivian was ultra-private. Other times, she’d imagined Vivian being alone, and let herself indulge in the smug notion that she’d found someone but her half-sister hadn’t.
Vivian seems cagey. “Well, he works in the restaurant world, too.”
“And his name is?” Lucy prompts.
“He’s…a pretty private guy.”
“You can’t even tell us his name ?” Lucy asks.
After a beat, she says, “Oscar.”
“Do you live together?”
“Not yet,” she says coyly.
Good luck to him , Lucy thinks.
“Sounds like you’re serious, though,” Caleb says, possibly a smidge jealous.
Lucy considers that perfect payback for him dragging Vivian into their hike.
“We are,” Vivian concedes. She turns the spotlight toward Caleb. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Me? Not really, no.”
“No one interesting has wandered into your bar lately?”
He laughs. “Not in a long time.”
Vivian shoots Caleb an amused look.
There’s something going on here that Lucy can’t quite grasp. “What do you mean?”
He glances at Vivian, who hesitates, gives him a private nod.
“The bonfire wasn’t the first time Vivian and I met,” he says slowly. “We met once before, four years ago.”
Lucy gets a pit in her stomach. “Met? How?”