Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
florence
Something has been bugging me all afternoon like a little wasp, zipping back and forth in my skull, distracting me. When this happens, I run through the alphabet. Sometimes, it works, helping me remember a tiny, forgotten detail.
No luck today, and as the hours ticked by, a swarm infested my skull. The cure? A day at the beach, reading smut and napping.
I spread out on a towel, the sun warming my back, my Kindle cradled in one hand and a smoothie in the other.
Hidden behind long reeds and steep dunes are the pink sands of Piper Beach. Unless you’re out at sea or high up on the bluffs, the secluded spot is a mystery to out of towners. Tourists flock to the larger beaches on the other side of Acadia National Park, leaving us this sliver of land.
With June around the corner, New England summer is finally here.
My skin is delightfully sun-kissed, slathered in coconut sunscreen.
I’m in a pair of denim cut-offs, my raggedy Rolling Stones T-shirt off to the side, leaving me in a bright yellow bikini top.
I’ve been out here for a couple hours, and after a much-needed break from doom-scrolling, I take my phone off Do Not Disturb.
Mom: Don’t forget about the dress fitting.
Mom: Why is your phone off?
Mom: Did you forget?
Jo: Hey, did you want a ride?
Quinn: We’re outside. Are you home?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Sand explodes around me as I scramble off my towel. Snatching my belongings, I sprint across the beach, phone tucked between my shoulder, the ringing tone loud like my guilt.
“Where’ve you been?” Patrick answers curtly.
That “tiny” detail I couldn’t pinpoint wasn’t so tiny. It was big.
“I know, I know,” I cry. “I’m at the beach. Can you come and get me, please?”
The sigh he releases magnifies my shame. “I’m on my way.”
Ten minutes later, my dad’s beat up blue Chevy pulls up along the boardwalk. Wearing my biggest smile and apologizing profusely, I climb in. Patrick shakes his head, and before he can start his rant, I say, “Save the lecture. Just for today.”
He puts the truck in drive. “How did you forget? We literally discussed it last night.”
“I don’t know, okay? Can we change the subject?” I dust the sand off my legs.
The conifers whizz by as we meander the winding roads on the short drive to Jacob’s Bluff, the neighboring town. It’s bigger than Sutton Bay and has more amenities—like the bridal boutique I was due at two minutes ago.
Patrick drums his fingers on the steering wheel, casting me a glance. “Do I need to remind you about dinner tomorrow?”
Pain needles its way into my heart, sharp and deep. The backs of my eyes burn. “Seriously, Pat? You think I’d forget Dad’s anniversary?”
“Shit, Flo. I didn’t mean it like that.” Regret laces his features.
I might have forgotten the bridesmaid dress fitting, but the day we lost Dad is a nightmare I’ll never forget. None of us will. It’s cruel of him to suggest otherwise.
Needing something to do with my hands, I twist my fingers together, only to find them bare. My rings. I frantically search the footwell, and then remember where I last saw them. On my towel.
The faded silver jewelry was nothing sentimental, only a comfort. Their absence, along with my brother’s patronizing words, leaves me completely exposed.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, noting my quick intake of breath.
“Everything,” I whisper.
“Florence.” Patrick’s voice filters through the roaring in my ears.
We pull up outside the small boutique, but I don’t make a move to get out.
Out of all my brothers, Patrick’s the most like our dad: warm, paternal, and always looking out for everyone. He would never intentionally hurt me, but his words cut deep. Everything recently feels bone deep, strike after strike.
“You know you can talk to me,” he says softly.
I refuse to let the tears fall. “I’m trying.”
“Trying to talk to me?”
“To be someone you can be proud of.” I finally look at him, lip wobbling.
“Someone Daddy would’ve been proud of. The last few months have been tough.
You think I want to be late all the time?
I’m not good at accepting help or listening to advice, but it would make life a lot easier if, for once, you’d be my friend and not the disappointed big brother. ”
His face drops. Before he responds, I’m jumping out of the truck, his shout drowned out by the passing traffic.
I pat some color into my cheeks and strut into the store, my happy disguise firmly in place. Today isn’t about me. Lined on either side with a rainbow of fabrics, the quaint boutique is quiet, soft music tinkling through the speakers.
Four sets of eyes greet me.
Curtseying, I give them a toothy grin. “She hast arrived.”
My mother huffs. Johanna smirks. Quinn giggles. The store clerk is confused.
My good mood drops when my mom glances at her watch. “You’re late.”
In through your nose, out through your mouth.
“I’m sorry. The traffic was bad.” It’s a lie, but it’s much better than the truth.
“Now we’re all here,” the clerk begins, “we can get started. Johanna has a color theme, but otherwise”—she gestures to the rack of dresses—“she’s giving you free rein to choose your own outfit.”
Quinn claps, beaming at Jo. “Oooh, what’s your color scheme?”
Jo sweeps her long blonde hair over her shoulder and smiles. “Green. Any shade, I’m not fussy. I want you all to feel comfortable.”
She hasn’t stopped smiling since Patrick finally proposed a few months ago. They’ve known each other since they were in diapers, and after dancing around each other for way too long, they finally made it official last year after Jo moved back to Sutton Bay.
I blubbered like a baby when she asked me to be a bridesmaid. Much to my disappointment, she wasn’t interested in strippers or penis straws for her bachelorette party. Either way, it’s going to be incredible.
“Green! I love it!” I skip over to the rack, satin, silk, and chiffon kissing my fingertips.
Half an hour later, Quinn and I swish around in our chosen dresses. Harriet, who is the maid of honor, and Alessandra are also in the bridal party but couldn’t make it today.
Quinn admires her forest green off the shoulder dress in the mirror, her curves envious.
I, on the other hand, am an honorary member of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee.
The sage A-line dress gives the illusion of a waistline and makes my long limbs appear less lanky.
The hem floats below my knees, and with thin spaghetti straps, it’s not as restrictive as the other outfits I tried on.
“You both look so beautiful,” my mom croons.
“They really do,” Jo sniffles, and we all spin to find the bride-to-be with tears in her eyes. She fans her face. “Sorry. Hormones.”
Our gazes fall to her stomach, even though she’s not showing yet. Not only are she and Pat getting married, but they’re expecting a baby. Lottie’s ecstatic; she will be the best and bossiest big sister.
“Gosh, I can’t wait for another baby to join the family.” I smush my cheeks together. “They smell so good.”
“I’ll leave the dirty diapers and spit-up to you.” Jo grins. “So, are these the ones?”
“Yes!” Quinn and I reply in unison.
After the dresses are paid for, we head to the small coffee shop next door. I’m sipping my iced decaf mocha when my phone rings. I excuse myself from the table and click Accept.
“Hello,” I greet.
“Florence, hi. This is Kelsey from Better Recruitment. How are you?”
My lips twist, fighting off the nerves. “I’m really good, thanks.”
“Great. I’ll cut to the chase: I have a client who is keen to bring you on board. He thinks you’ll be a great asset.”
“Oh, wow.” Excitement blooms in my chest. “What’s the job?”
“PA work. It’s fast-paced, local to your area, and offers lodging.”
“When can I start?” I ask half-jokingly.
Kelsey doesn’t catch my desperate tone. “Some employers like to hire blind so they can hire without bias.” She types something on her keyboard.
“Would you be free this afternoon? It’ll give you the chance to meet him, see the accommodation, and then you can make your decision.
If you’re both happy, we’ll run some quick background checks, and then the job is yours. ”
My palms sweat. Surely, it can’t be this easy after months of searching. “Today. Yes. Absolutely,” I blurt.
“Perfect. I’ll text you the address. If you have any questions, call me. Speak soon.”
My eyes flit to the table to find my mom watching me curiously. Holding up a finger, I disappear out of view before doing a happy dance. Relief cascades over me, soothing the constant itch and irritation of rejection.
Now, all I need to do is meet my prospective boss and charm the pants off him.
I could float with happiness.
Then, Kelsey texts the address as promised, and my stomach drops.
Turns out, I’ve already charmed the pants off my prospective employer. Literally.