18. Vivian
eighteen
Vivian
I don’t realize that I’m standing on Miss Wendy’s doorstep until I see her seashell welcome mat beneath my sandals. Since I don’t usually visit on Friday evenings, I knock instead of letting myself in like I would on a Monday morning when I deliver her weekly fresh flowers.
My lips downturn, hearing heavy cane-assisted steps toward the door. Wendy didn’t tell me she was having issues with mobility. I hadn’t thought to ask since she’d been seated in her cozy sunroom with a cup of coffee when I’d been by earlier this week.
“It’s about time.” The door flies open, Carol Cook’s tattooed eyebrows slashing low with disapproval. “Vivian.” Her expression softens. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Come in.”
I shouldn't be surprised to find Carol here on a Friday evening. Her and Wendy have been best friends since their moms used to sit on town council together. This was before the town was fully absorbed into the larger city beyond and council members became social figureheads instead of those who held elected power. Young Wendy split her piece of gum in half, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.
Carol pulls me inside with a surprisingly strong grip, the door closing behind us with a snick. “Wendy’s waiting for Nick to stop by and fix her bathroom sink, but he’s late.” She grumbles something unintelligible that sounds a lot like good-for-nothing louse.
“Carol, stop.” Wendy breezes around the corner in a bespoke sundress similar in color to the one I’m wearing.
It effortlessly complements her faded blue eyes and the long white braid over her shoulder.
“Nick added me on after he finishes work for the day. He’ll get here when he gets here.
You know that boy won’t charge me, anyway. ”
Nick Watson, a foreman for WB renovations, has a notorious soft spot for sweet old ladies. He’s even fond of Carol, though she’d rather run him over with her white Pontiac.
Carol harrumphs, pushing back the lace curtain to peer into the lane.
“What brings you by?” I’m enveloped in a rose-water-scented hug so warm and firm that my eyes mist.
It’s not until I’m wrapped in Wendy’s comforting embrace that I realize I’m here to spill my guts about everything. My ocean wish. The whole situation with Atticus. The covert dress collection. My weird entanglement with Finn. The still-secret plan to get off the island for the first time ever .
I can’t talk to Brynn without spilling the beans about the Oceanside Artisan Fair and ruining everything. Wendy has always been a good listener. It was her who I first started speaking to after Brynn and Aunt Tammy, though I’ve never fully unburdened myself like I want to now.
“It’s, um…
Wendy pulls back, surveying me with a soft gaze.
“I’m just so confused.”
I thought Finn and I were friends. But a friend wouldn’t press into my space with a flirty smile, or stare at my skin like it’s buttercream icing, or call me gorgeous in a way that vibrates into my bones.
What’s a woman to do?
No, what am I supposed to do? Because an average woman might have a ghost of a chance in this situation, but I have absolutely no defenses against someone as inconceivably attractive as Finn, especially when he’s acting like I’m the person who lights up his day.
Because in that moment, I wanted his lips back on mine, his hands in my hair, his firm chest flush against me. And I’m not allowed to want those things. Those things are impossible. Finn is not mine to have.
Thank goodness Letitia showed up and stopped me from embarrassing myself.
Fiery indignation licks at my agitated muscles the more I think about it.
I’ve asked Finn not to toy with me—more than once.
And what’s with him pretending to be upset whenever I mention Atticus?
As if Atticus isn’t the whole reason that we’re even spending time together.
It was Finn that suggested this…this arrangement, not me.
I’d call the whole thing off right now if I wasn’t dependent on him to get to the fair tomorrow.
The words are seconds from exploding from my mouth. Who cares that the town’s gossip queen is within earshot?
My lips part, but I’m saved by the literal bell when Miss Wendy’s old-fashioned doorbell rings.
Carol—it seems—had been solely focused on us and missed Nick’s truck pulling up in front of the house.
When I catch her hovering beside Wendy’s antique tea table—obviously eavesdropping—instead of by the window, she simply shrugs before marching toward the door.
“You’re late,” Carol barks in greeting.
“Carol. Always a pleasure.” Nick’s broad grin widens as he steps into the house with his tool bag.
The sight of Nick makes me suddenly bereft for a relationship I’ve never had. Nick’s girlfriend, Summer, has tried a few times to connect with me, as have a few others over the years, but I’d always stuck to my old patterns of solitude and silence.
What would my life be like if I had even one more person to lean on? So when I have things I want to hash out, I could? Summer had once confided in me when things were murky between her and Nick, and now look at them. They’re so sweetly in love it makes your teeth ache.
A single thought jolts to the front of my mind. I should add a part four to my plan—make new friends. I’ve got Summer’s phone number from when I replaced the zipper on her favorite holiday dress last Christmas. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind an invitation to meet me for coffee next Saturday.
“Hi, Vivian.” Nick’s smile relaxes into something gentler. “Good to see you.”
“You too.”
“Wendy, I hear you have a misbehaving sink.” He runs his fingers through his hair, displacing sawdust.
“ Nicolas ,” Carol scolds. “Can’t you dust yourself off before coming inside?”
“It’s fine.” Wendy collects Nick by the elbow, tugging him toward the downstairs bathroom. “Tomorrow is cleaning day, anyway.”
They’re halfway down the entry hall when Wendy looks over her shoulder. “Vivian, do you mind waiting a minute?”
“Actually, I need to get going.” My hands grip the tote bag still slung over my shoulder.
“Stay, dear. It won’t be any trouble.” Carol’s smile is just short of devious.
Though Carol has always been kind to me—or kinder to me than she is to most—I know that speaking to Wendy with her present will only spread my news faster than a fire in a paper factory.
I’m this close to selling my dress collection, to everything being different.
My lips clamp tight as I shake my head.
Carol tuts as I take my exit, but once I’m back outside in the fresh sea air, everything feels clearer.
The answer to this crazy day is right there, waiting.
I trade the asphalt of Wendy’s street for the deck boards of the dune cut-through leading to the beach.
Seeing the steady roll of the waves as I crest the walkway loosens my nervous tension.
I kick my sandals off and tuck them next to the beach posting with all the other shoes. Several beachgoers pack up while those who just got home from working on the mainland take their evening walks. I set my tote in the dry sand and wade straight into the waves, fully clothed.
It’s not the first time I’ve sought solace in the sea.
Brynn won’t even blink when I come home sodden, I’ve done this so often.
Once I’m deep enough to dunk my head below the waves, true calm sluices down my spine.
I push beyond the wave break and tread water, thinking about everything.
My dress billows up around my arms, but the soft sensation of the fabric brushing my fingertips is soothing.
A squadron of pelicans soars along as I tilt to float on my back.
The sky is endless while drifting like this—a bright, beautiful blue.
Water fills my ears, limiting extraneous sound and softening the noise inside my head.
A slow exhale leaves my open mouth as I revel in the buoyant calm that comes with being supported by water.
Some people find peace by hiking through trees or clinging to rocks, but my first love will always be the ocean.
The water swells beneath me almost in a reciprocating caress, and an easy smile splits my lips, my confidence returning.
I can keep my secret one more day. And if I freeze up at the fair or something goes horribly wrong, I’ll deal with that then.
I’ve done all the preparation and planning I can.
Now, I need to believe in myself. I’ve already done things I’ve only dreamt of over these last two weeks. I can do this.
And when flirty Finn texts me at ten-thirty tonight, I know just how I’ll set him straight.