Chapter Thirteen
Vivian
Vivian storms into the pitch-black kitchen. Oscar’s loafered footsteps scramble behind her, less sure of where they’re going.
“Come on,” he groans.
He doesn’t deserve a reply.
“Vivian, seriously.”
She finds his duffel and yanks the zipper closed. “Here,” she says, thrusting it into his hands.
She’s a little embarrassed that Lucy and Caleb are probably listening to all of this from the other room, but her adrenaline and anger quash that.
“You’re overreacting.”
“I will email you my formal resignation letter tomorrow,” she says, high on the power of acting like a stone-cold bitch. After everything he’s done, he’s earned it.
“But I came all this way to see you.”
He reaches for her waist, and she slaps his hand away.
“I’m sure you can find a hotel.”
She senses him crumbling. He’s out of cards to play.
“You want to give up everything you’ve worked for back home? Everything you deserve? Fine.”
He’s never taunted her like this before, all wounded ego and bitter anger.
“You want to mess up your kids? Fine. I don’t want to be involved.”
After a steely silence, his voice turns low and threatening. “You’ll be bored by tomorrow—bored of wasting away in the middle of the woods, bored of this isolated life, bored of mucking around with Goody Two-Shoes and your bartender friend. You’ll be irrelevant.”
“Better than being with you.”
They burn in silence for one long moment. She can’t get enough air.
“I thought you were special,” he says.
Vivian opens the door. The wind howls. “Goodbye, Oscar.”
Lucy
The power went out while Lucy was searching for Loved Up in London, the book she’s halfway through and wanted to take back home. In the darkness, she carefully made her way down the spiral staircase to retrieve candles, praying that muscle memory would save her from a nasty fall. She and Caleb got stuck in the living room, not wanting to interrupt Vivian and Oscar’s heated argument. They sat by the fireplace, illuminated just enough to have an entire silent conversation with their eyes. Caleb was impressed by Vivian’s backbone; Lucy was begrudgingly grateful that Vivian was kicking Oscar out. They both cringed at his comment about “mucking around with Goody Two-Shoes” and her “bartender friend.”
In his wake, Vivian heaves a sigh. She shuts the door, cutting off the furious splatter of rain. There’s the scrape of pulling out a chair and the thud of her elbows on the table.
“Should we say something?” Caleb mouths.
Lucy dreads the prospect of inserting herself, but continuing to eavesdrop isn’t much better.
“Hi,” she says, coming around the corner with Caleb.
She’s using her phone as a flashlight for now, but her battery is running low. She shouldn’t waste it.
“Oh my God, hi. You’re still here.”
“I was just about to leave.”
Vivian takes a shuddery breath. “Sorry you heard all that.”
“You’re really done with him?” Caleb asks.
“Completely.”
“Congratulations,” Lucy says limply.
Vivian stands and excuses herself. “I’m sorry, I—I need a minute.”
Lucy digs around in the kitchen closet. The flashlight is dead, so she lights a few chunky pillar candles for the first floor. Caleb puts another log on the fire. From upstairs, there’s a faint sniffle.
Then the front door slams shut hard enough to rattle in its frame. Oscar’s shoes squelch as he stomps inside.
“There’s a tree down in the middle of the road. I can’t get out.”
Overhead, Vivian yelps. “What?”
Guided by a thin stream of light, she races down the stairs.
“How long until someone moves it?” he asks.
Filled with dread, Lucy says, “The road might be clear tomorrow. Or the next day.”
“You’re kidding me,” Oscar says.
Caleb stifles a laugh. “Nobody’s going out there to move it now .”
Oscar pounds his fist into the counter. “Great.”
As Vivian approaches, he glares at her with cold fury.
For the first time ever, possibly, Lucy actually feels bad for her.
Vivian
Nobody knows what to do next. Oscar plucks at his clothes, soaked and plastered to his body from just the run to his car and back. Vivian shifts her weight again and again, unable to find a remotely comfortable, natural position. Lucy cajoles Caleb into Scrabble by candlelight. He protests—“You beat me, like, four hundred to twelve last time”—but gives in, if only to remove himself from the corrosive tension between Vivian and Oscar. She doesn’t blame him.
“Help yourself to whatever you need,” Vivian says tightly. “You can sleep on the couch.”
There are extra beds. He doesn’t deserve them.
“Got it.”
“And don’t waste water with a shower.”
“Fine.”
She’s never seen him so cold.
“Well. Good night,” she says, pointedly taking an Allagash from the fridge and leaving his wine untouched.
It’s 9:30, much earlier than she normally goes to bed, but she’ll gladly take two or three hours of lying awake if it means avoiding Oscar.
“Night,” she says, passing Lucy and Caleb.
She doesn’t get into bed. Instead, she leans against it, quietly sipping her drink and taking in the night sky through the picture window. It’s impossible to tell where the lake ends and the horizon begins. She ruminates over the day’s chaos, still stunned by how quickly Oscar slid from gallant to arrogant to petulant. He couldn’t take no for an answer. It’s hard to recognize him as the man she loved. Has he always been so smug and selfish? That night, she doesn’t sleep. Instead, she tosses and turns until she’s entombed by the duvet, wondering what or who had changed—Oscar? Or Vivian?
The next morning, the power is still out. Her phone is dead. They can’t make coffee, and the only bananas left are bruised and brown. Fat clouds hang in a bold blue sky. The water is so still that the trees along the shoreline are perfectly doubled, reflected in the mirror of the lake. Vivian sulks on the back deck, examining her flaking-off home manicure and letting the beautiful day mock her misery. She’s made a mess of things: She could’ve resisted Oscar to begin with, or been honest with Lucy. None of these decisions felt like choices at the time, but they were.
Lucy is reading on the docked boat, and Caleb is out on the water, zipping around on their Jet Ski. Every thirty minutes, Oscar drives a half mile to check on the tree (God forbid he walk). They speak as little as possible.
Lucy heads to the kitchen, barely cracking a smile at Vivian; it doesn’t reach her eyes. When Oscar returns from one of his runs, Vivian is close enough to eavesdrop on their conversation.
“You’d think someone would bother moving that thing,” he says.
Vivian can practically hear his eye roll.
“You’re more than welcome to,” Lucy says.
Vivian snickers.
“Ha,” Oscar says flatly. “Want to help? Doesn’t seem like you’re thrilled to be here with her, either.”
“I’m not planning on leaving,” Lucy says. “Not until I have to.”
“Good luck hanging around here with her,” he mutters.
“Strange way to talk about someone you claim to love.”
“I blew up my life for her.”
Vivian can’t imagine how devastated Carla is right now, and for that, she is truly sorry.
“She deserves better than you,” Lucy says.
That catches Vivian off guard. If anything, she’d expect Lucy to say something like You two deserve each other.
Oscar barks a cool laugh. “She’s wrong about you, you know? Told me you’re so sweet and sheltered. You’re a piece of work just like she is.”
With every word, Vivian feels even more confident in her choice to leave him. He’s nauseating.
“Must run in the family then,” Lucy says.
After his next hopeful jaunt outside, Oscar returns with his duffel packed and his hands shoved into his pockets.
“The road’s clear. I’m leaving.”
It’s bright enough that Vivian has to squint up at him. “Okay.”
He doesn’t move from the doorway. “I guess this is it.”
Her heart pounds. Two years of loneliness, adrenaline, and stolen moments, and it all ends here, in broad daylight, in the same spot she once strapped on a kid-sized life jacket and ate popsicles. This is it. Okay. Goodbye to all that.