Chapter Nine
Lucy
Lucy and Harrison stay at the Pond for a little while longer, talking, kissing, and looking up at the stars.
“I’ve had a really great time with you tonight,” he says, delivering a long, languid kiss as his fingers slide into her hair. “Let’s go out again soon?”
She savors his touch. She didn’t anticipate how much she’d miss that as a single person.
“Yeah, I’d like that. I’d stay out longer tonight, but I know you have a long drive ahead of you.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll put on an audiobook and I’ll be home before I know it. How long is the drive back to your place?” he asks as they walk to the parking lot.
“Not bad, maybe twenty minutes. It’s on Fox Hill Lake.”
“Wait, really? I didn’t realize you’re on that lake.”
“Well, kind of—not year-round. It’s my dad’s place.” Her sinuses ache. She only has to hold it together for another thirty seconds. “It’s a long story,” she adds in a tone that signals she’s done with the subject.
He nods. After a beat, he asks, “What are you up to for the rest of the night?”
“Not much. Maybe I’ll watch a movie with Vivian—that’s my half-sister, she’s here from New York for the summer.”
He furrows his brow. “Oh?”
“Honestly, I’ll probably only make it halfway through.”
She leans in for a kiss goodbye, yearning for something passionate. Instead, his lips barely graze hers for a peck. The rejection stings. He steps back, watching her get into her car.
“Good night,” he says stiffly. “Drive safe.”
Vivian
While lounging around on the boat is relaxing, it’s also prime breeding ground for ruminating over Oscar, which makes it harder to ignore his frequent, groveling apology texts. Vivian needs other ways to fill her time, so she asks Caleb if she could give the ropes course a whirl. When she arrives on site, a clearing in the forest down a winding dirt road, Caleb greets her with a hug. Up close, he smells a little bit earthy and masculine. She likes it. He’s in cargo shorts and a close-fitting T-shirt that accentuates his biceps. Today, she decides, will be fun.
“Stay here, I’m going to grab our equipment and then we can get going,” he says.
“Sure.”
As she waits, she occupies herself on her phone. The first photo that pops up on Instagram practically reaches through the screen and punches her in the throat. It’s Carla and Oscar showing off a sonogram. She’s cradling a hint of a bump, and he’s serving up an excellent impression of a beaming father-to-be, though Vivian doesn’t miss the hint of tension in his jaw. (Can Carla see that? Vivian knows Oscar better than anyone. Or at least she thought she did.) “We are so over the moon to share our sweetest secret ever,” Carla wrote in the caption. “Two more Delgados are on the way! Our twins will arrive earthside in February! We’ve dreamed of this for so long and can’t wait to meet our little ones.”
Twins. Twins! Oscar hadn’t bothered to mention that detail. “You two are going to be the world’s best freaking parents,” one person wrote. “Double the trouble, double the LOVE,” another commented. Someone else asked how Carla’s feeling. “The morning sickness has been 24/7. Oscar’s been taking amazing care of me,” she replied.
Well, then! Let Oscar be the world’s best freaking parent. Let him take amazing care of Carla while calling and texting Vivian a combined twenty-seven times this week alone. (She ignored them all.) She’s busy building her empire and scaling trees with a criminally hot bartender.
Caleb is back with an armful of harnesses and helmets. “Ready?”
She straightens up. “Bring it on.”
He leads her down a series of trails outfitted with plank walkways. Every few hundred feet, there are signs hand-painted with coils of white ropes to reassure visitors they are, indeed, heading the right way for the ropes course.
“How’ve you been? I heard you decided to stay for the rest of the summer.”
“Yeah, did Lucy tell you why?”
He winces. “She did. I’m sorry about your breakup.”
“Did she tell you who he is?”
She doesn’t care about discretion. Not anymore. Carla’s carrying twins and Oscar didn’t even think to mention it.
He flashes a guilty look. “Your boss, right?”
“He is—or was, I don’t know.”
Caleb nods, seemingly sympathetic—not judgmental. “How are you doing?”
Still fixated on him. His absence throbs. “I’ll be all right. I was the one who ended it.”
“Yeah, but still. That’s tough.”
Something about his sincerity makes her want to open up—which, when it comes to speaking about Oscar, is foreign to her.
“Honestly, yeah. It is. He really…” She exhales hard. “He turned out to be a selfish, lying piece of shit.”
“I’m really sorry, Vivian.”
“It’s not your fault.” Then the vulnerability hangover hits—that was enough for one day. “Anyway, we don’t have to get into it now.”
They reach the course, which features a knotted web for climbing, a catwalk, and narrow platforms jutting out from tree trunks. A dizzying zip line completes the course.
“Wow.”
“What do you think?”
It’s exactly what she needs to forget about Oscar and Carla. “I can’t wait. Get me up there.”
“You think you can handle it?” With a straight, concerned face, he adds, “I’ll warn you now, it is more complicated than a barbecue.”
She squeals and swats at him. “Caleb! Do you haze all your customers like this?”
He winks. “Only my favorites.”
He gives her the smaller of the two harnesses. She remembers perfectly well from summer camp how to orient the various straps and buckles and step into the leg holes but asks for his help adjusting it securely around her waist and thighs anyway. Caleb remains utterly professional as he slips two fingers under the waist strap to ensure the gear is snug. His teeth graze his lower lip as he concentrates. He slides the buckle taut, creating a tug of pressure across her hips.
“Thanks for helping me.”
“I gotta make up for the hazing somehow.”
“I think I can forgive you.”
“Really?”
“Since I’m about to trust you with my life, let’s say yes.”
“Will you leave me five stars on Yelp if you don’t plummet to your death?”
“You think you deserve five stars for doing the bare minimum of your job? Men. ”
He holds out his arms proudly. “Full service here. Top-notch.”
His playful enthusiasm is hard to resist. “Fine, five stars.”
“See, now I have a good incentive not to drop you.” There’s that smirk again, the one that reminds her why she stayed past closing time that one night at the pub.
If I were a stepmother to newborn twins , she thinks, I wouldn’t have time to flirt with outrageously charming ropes course instructors. It’s good to be single. It really is.
He puts on his own harness. Vivian cannot resist a glance at the way it outlines the territory between his waist and thighs.
Hooking her harness to the belay rope, he says, “All right, you’re good to go.”
Vivian puts one foot on the bottom rung of the ladder, testing out how it sways. Not bad. She grabs another rung and starts to climb. It’s not necessarily easy—she hasn’t used her muscles like this in years—but it’s not scary, either.
That is, until she steps from a sturdy wooden platform to the catwalk’s first plank. It shakes violently under her weight. She yelps and grabs a rope in front of her to stay upright. She didn’t realize each step would swing independently of each other. On the ground, she felt like hot shit bantering with Caleb about plummeting to her death, but now she’s frozen with fear. She steels herself to look down. The drop only dials up her panic.
“You okay up there?” Caleb asks.
She swallows her pride. “I’m freaking out a little bit. How high up are we?”
“Forty feet.”
“Uh-huh. Cool.” She clings tighter to the rope. “I’m just going to turn back for a sec.”
But as her weight shifts, the plank swings even more wildly. Her stomach drops faster than it did at the sight of Carla’s pregnancy announcement. Twins. How could Oscar not tell her? Fury sucks up too much of her mental energy, threatening her balance.
“Oh, no, no, no, I’m going to die,” she croaks out.
“You’re not going to die. Pinky promise.”
“I can’t reach your pinky.”
“Guess you’re gonna have to come over here then, aren’t you?”
She scowls. “I’m not usually afraid of heights.”
“You’ve got this,” he says breezily. Then his face softens. He adds, “I’m right here with you every step of the way. I won’t let you fall.”
She nods, scanning the length of the catwalk. There are twelve steps to the other side.
“Ready? You can hold on to the rope for balance, if you want, and take a step.”
Vivian squeezes it as she makes her first move. It is terrifying. Caleb encourages her with a whoop and offers advice as she slowly creeps across the next eleven steps.
“Try holding your arms out for balance,” he suggests.
“And let go? Are you nuts?”
“Do you trust me?”
She takes in the practiced way the equipment slides through his hands, and at the pulleys and ropes tethering her body directly to his. “Yes.”
“Then let go. I got you.”
With an exhale, she lets the rope dangle freely in front of her…and then she takes a step. She sways, but thanks to a tilt of her arms, she doesn’t fall. Caleb was right.
“Yeah!” he cheers. “I knew you could.”
Part of her can’t believe people do this kind of shit for fun—but part of her understands the exact appeal. It’s the same adrenaline rush she used to get from being with Oscar. Could she pull it off without getting caught? Without getting hurt? There was only one way to find out. With Oscar, she never felt like she was on completely solid ground. She reveled in the challenge.
Vivian takes the final step from the swinging plank to the fixed platform.
“You did it!” Caleb whoops.
She feels invincible. It’s not lost on her that she’s barely cracked a smile since she arrived in Maine, but Caleb is responsible for half of them.
“What’s my reward for getting across this thing in one piece?”
The side of his mouth quirks up. “Oh, I’m sure I can come up with something interesting.”
She zings down the zip line toward him, feeling weightless.
Lucy
It’s been nearly a month since Lucy was laid off, and her hunt for a new job hasn’t been fruitful. Her application to the one in Portland had gone unanswered, despite her polite follow-up email. She’d resorted to applying to every possible teaching job that fits her certification—English, grades seven through twelve, in Maine—even if that would mean relocating three hundred miles north to the true middle of nowhere in remote Aroostook County. She could wind up in Hammond (population: 91), Westmanland (79), or even Hersey (73). She’d rather not go that far, but she likely won’t have a choice.
One sweltering morning, Lucy and Vivian wake up to a fairly bare fridge.
“Let’s go to Miss Pancakes for breakfast,” Lucy suggests.
“Your mom’s place?”
“Yeah. It has central air.”
The house’s one meager ceiling fan makes no difference in this kind of scorching heat.
“Dad never let me go. He always said he could make a better breakfast himself. He’d make the batter into whatever shapes I asked for—hearts, trees, dinosaurs, whatever.”
“He just didn’t want to face her,” Lucy says flatly.
“Would your mom mind if I showed up?”
“No, of course not.”
“Really? I wouldn’t blame her for resenting me.”
Lucy tries a fib. “She never resented you.”
“Come on.”
When she was growing up, Dawn avoided discussing Vivian unless pressed, and even then, her expression was always one of resigned contempt.
“Okay, she no longer resents you. Seriously—she’s been asking about you. She’s curious.”
Vivian checks the fridge again. It’s still mostly empty. It hits Lucy: Is she nervous? She’s never seen Vivian like that before. She’s never imagined it was possible, to be honest.
“All right, I’m starving. Let’s go.”
With its formica tables and red vinyl booths, Miss Pancakes hasn’t changed since Lucy’s childhood. When she was in middle school and briefly mortified by her mom’s entire existence, she would sit with her friends by the door, as far away as possible from Dawn’s counter. As she got older, she preferred sitting right there so she and her mom could talk. Now she grabs two cushioned stools for her and Vivian, reveling in the cool blast of air-conditioning.
Customers look up as Vivian’s heeled sandals click across the room. She places her leather bag on a third stool, removes her enormous sunglasses, and leans her elbows on the counter.
“Is she here?” Vivian asks.
The double doors to the kitchen swing open, and Dawn emerges with two plates. She lights up at the sight of her daughter, then freezes as she takes in Vivian, like she’s seen a ghost—though maybe, Lucy realizes, Vivian’s likeness to Hank creates that exact effect.
Like Lucy, Dawn is tall and curvy with huge dark eyes. She has a blond ponytail and wispy bangs with a touch of gray at the roots. She wears a white Miss Pancakes apron over a yellow T-shirt and the thick blue eyeliner she draws on every morning. Lucy thinks her mom is beautiful, but does Vivian see that? Or is she evaluating Dawn’s naturally aging skin and plump middle, wondering what Hank saw in her?
“Jesus,” Dawn blurts out. “Hi!”
She abandons the plates and comes around the counter to give Lucy a hug.
Vivian offers a handshake, but Dawn looks at her warily and says, “Can I give you a hug? I’m a hugger.”
“Oh,” Vivian says, sounding a little embarrassed. “Sure.”
She gives Dawn a quick, stiff squeeze.
“Wow, you look so much like him,” Dawn says.
“It’s the nose.”
“And the eyebrows, too. I wish I hadn’t plucked mine all out in the ’90s. How are you holding up?”
Vivian shrugs. “It’s been sad. Hard. Weird.”
Dawn nods heavily. “I know.”
“And how are you doing?”
She opens her mouth but is clearly at a loss for words. Eventually, she manages, “I feel so sorry for you two.” Then, after an uncomfortable beat, “You hungry? What can I get you?”
They each order a short stack, plus lemon-ginger tea for Lucy and coffee with skim milk for Vivian (she initially asked for a cappuccino, to which Dawn replied, “Sure, you can get a great one about sixty miles from here”). Dawn asks Vivian about Hank’s funeral, but otherwise, the conversation is light and polite: Vivian’s life in New York, Lucy’s job hunt, Dawn’s spin instructor at the YMCA accidentally playing “The Boys of Summer” four times in a row and shrugging it off with “Technology—I don’t know.” Nobody mentions Hank or the house.
As they eat, Dawn pours coffee for a new customer at the counter, a man of about sixty who Lucy doesn’t recognize. That alone makes her peg him as a summer person.
“Are those your daughters?” the man asks her mom.
He’s in cargo shorts and a white polo with a Red Sox cap on over curly gray hair.
“The blonde is mine.”
“You’re like Goldie Hawn and Kate Hudson.”
Dawn snorts. “I’d give you another Splenda, but you’re already sweet enough.” With that, she grabs fistfuls of silverware and walks off to set a table.
The man clears his throat and leans toward Lucy and Vivian. “I hope I’m not disturbing you. I’m up here for a family reunion, and there are so many kids and grandkids running around, I could use an hour or two away. What do you think my chances are if I asked her out for dinner?”
There’s an optimism in his soft gaze that Lucy can’t bring herself to crush. If history is any indication, luck isn’t on his side. Dawn hasn’t been on a date in five years.
“She’s single, but she doesn’t go out much.”
“So that’s a no?” he asks, leaning forward to snag a third Splenda from the dispenser.
Lucy isn’t sure what to say. “Well…”
“I think you should go for it,” Vivian cuts in.
A minute later, while he signs the check, he shoots Lucy and Vivian a conspiratorial grin, then scrawls his number at the bottom.
“In case you’d ever like to get dinner,” he says, sliding it across the counter to Dawn.
She glances at Lucy in alarm.
“I’m here through Sunday,” he adds.
Dawn reaches for the bill and flicks her bangs out of her vision. For a split second, Lucy thinks her mom might actually consider it.
But then, firmly and kindly, she says, “I’m sorry, I can’t. I hope you have a lovely vacation.”
He takes the response in stride. “That’s all right. Have a nice day.”
Dawn makes a point of refilling their water glasses so she doesn’t have to watch him leave.
As he retreats toward the door, he mouths to Vivian, “I tried.”
Dawn flits around the restaurant as if only just noticing a flurry of urgent tasks. By the time she returns to the counter, all that’s left of Lucy’s breakfast is the sticky residue of maple syrup and a bloated tea bag.
“Mom,” she says, her tone heavy with meaning.
“Mmm?” Dawn is making another coffee.
“Why did you turn him down?”
“Lucy Louise.” Dawn sighs, exasperated.
“He seemed kind of sweet,” Lucy pushes. “And into you. Very into you.”
“I didn’t want to go out with him.”
Vivian shakes her head sympathetically. “The cargo shorts, I know.”
“Okay, fine, it doesn’t have to be him,” Lucy concedes. “I’m just saying, it wouldn’t hurt for you to see who’s out there.”
Exasperated, Dawn cuts her off. “There’s been a lot going on lately. I need some time.”
After the breakfast crowd leaves, Dawn is pulled in fewer directions. Vivian excuses herself to the restroom to touch up her lipstick.
Once they’re alone, Lucy leans over the counter and whispers to Dawn, “What do you think of her?”
“Eh. About what I expected. Not terrible, but a little pretentious, just like her mother.”
“Wait, you’ve met Celeste?”
“No.” Then an impish grin curls on Dawn’s face. “One time, though, I created a Goodreads account under a fake name and left one-star reviews on every single one of her books.”
“Mom!”
It’s childish. Mean. And also, Lucy has to admit, funny.
“It was very cathartic,” Dawn says defensively.
Lucy can’t believe that her mom has been secretly cyberbullying her ex-boyfriend’s famous wife. On a public forum. On Goodreads . She chooses not to mention that she’s currently halfway through Buck Wild in Bali —and liking it .
When they pull into the driveway, another car is already there and the lights are on inside the house.
“Did you invite someone over?” Vivian asks, frowning.
“No, you?”
Vivian’s already halfway out the door. A moment later, Lucy hears a shout.
“Oh my God, Mom ?”
Lucy’s intrigued but anxious. She’s not ready to meet the woman her dad chose over Dawn. (And if she’d known Celeste Levy would be waiting for her, maybe she would’ve washed her hair this morning.) Steeling herself, she heads in.
Celeste is waiting for Vivian to walk, stunned, into her open arms. She’s dressed in a cream linen button-down with matching pants and smells like a magazine perfume strip.
“What are you doing here?” Vivian asks, sounding less than thrilled.
“You told me to come, so I did! I have a book tour stop in Portland later today.” Extending a hand, she says, “I’m Celeste Levy. You must be Lucy?”
“Yeah, hi.”
She’s caught between two impulses: hating her out of loyalty to her mom and a glimmer of starstruck excitement.
“Nice to meet you,” Celeste says, straining again for a pleasant expression.
Lucy can’t get over how strange Celeste looks here. She and the lake house aren’t so much apples and oranges as they are apples and elephants. It doesn’t compute to see her amid the kitschy plastic kitchenware and twist-tied bags of marshmallows and half-empty canisters of sunscreen. Her books are strewn around the living room; Lucy prays Celeste doesn’t spot them. She’d happily fangirl over any of her other favorite authors, but this one comes with more baggage.
“I thought you’d get back to me with some dates,” Vivian sputters.
Celeste frowns. “Is this not a good time?”
That’s when a man walks into the kitchen, holding a measuring tape. It’s Harrison.