Chapter 7
Opinion: No one’s opinion is ever the right one. Least of all mine—according to my ex.
—Delilah Dune, opinion writer
W hen you didn’t have a proper ladder at your disposal, you made do.
Lyla balanced while standing on her parents’ countertop, using the tiny brush of her Wite-Out container to paint the dark spot on the ceiling. She’d briefly considered going to Mr. Tibbs’s hardware store for real paint and a real brush, but the Wite-Out seemed like an acceptable hack, and it was actually working.
She could have called Travis, but he’d made it clear he wouldn’t accept payment, in which case, she didn’t want to take advantage of their friendship. If they were even considered friends again.
“There.” Lyla lowered her Wite-Out brush. “Good as new.”
Her ex, Joe, would’ve had something to say about the job she’d just done. He’d probably call it amateur or insufficient, feeding her endless insecurities. She’d never been insecure until him, and some part of her hated that she’d allowed a guy to affect her so deeply that she questioned her hair, her writing, the way she did anything, including covering this dark spot in the ceiling. Some part of her had thought that’s just what people did when they were in love. They compromised who they were. She’d seen her mom do it a million times. Her dad too.
People in love didn’t cheat, though. That was the final big red flag that had opened her eyes.
She wasn’t sure if it was Joe’s influence eating away at her inner voice, but the struggle to form a decent opinion was real these days. She’d started to stick to safe topics, like food and pets, instead of stirring the pot and riling up readers the way her editor, Bob, loved. Readers enjoyed dogs—who didn’t?—but they loved controversy more.
Finished with one job on her to-do list, Lyla headed down the hall toward her old bedroom. She needed to box up some more stuff and either put it in the trash or the donation pile. Where do I even start? Her vast collection of stuffed animals seemed like a good place. She’d never once wanted to part with any of them, but what thirty-year-old had nearly one hundred stuffed animals? She couldn’t keep them all. Maybe just one. She picked through them and finally settled on a brown bear that she’d gotten as a baby. It was her first stuffed animal, and it had seen her through her whole childhood.
Hugging it against her body, she sucked in a cleansing breath. The bear stayed. The rest could go.
Later in the day, Lyla angled her body from side to side, as she checked herself out in front of the mirror. Why had she agreed to going to the movie tonight with Travis? It wasn’t a date. They were just friends, but that was the problem. He was right, earlier. She had been afraid of something. There was nothing worse than falling in love with your best friend and knowing it wasn’t reciprocated. That it would never be reciprocated.
Correction. Worse would have been if he had reciprocated, because, according to her mother, a person had to choose between love and their dream. You could only chase one, and more than anything, Lyla had wanted to make a name for herself. And she had. She was Delilah of “Delilah’s Delusions.” It wasn’t exactly the name she’d dreamed of. She’d wanted to be a serious author who wrote books that made people feel deep emotions. She wanted to use her words to reach inside of readers’ chests and rip their hearts out.
Maybe that was a bit graphic, but it was the way those books that had served as early inspirations for her had felt when she’d first read them. Those books had done that with surgical precision and then neatly tucked her heart right back into its space, changed forever by a story that wasn’t even real. She’d wanted to do that too. She’d wanted to make a name for herself by writing books that made a difference, not clickbait opinion columns.
“I should cancel, shouldn’t I?” she asked, talking to herself. “I can tell Travis I have diarrhea.”
She’d done an article on that topic once.
Opinion: If someone claims to have diarrhea, they’re most definitely lying to get out of being with you.
Lyla pulled out her phone. “I’ll tell him I have a headache.” She’d done that opinion write-up as well.
Opinion: When a woman claims to have a headache, she’s just not that into you.
It was a crummy excuse. Travis read her column. He would know she was lying.
As she debated, a text pinged on her phone.
Allison: Are you still coming tonight? The Dinnerware Party starts at six, but you can come over early and hang out. It’ll be fun!!!
Triple exclamation points. Her editor, Bob, would cringe at the extra punctuation. She’d never actually intended on accepting Allison’s invitation, but now she had a legit excuse to cancel on Travis.
Lyla: Of course I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it!!!
She triple-exclamation-pointed back. How bad could a Dinnerware Party be? Certainly not as bad as hanging out with your former best friend, who you almost fell in love with and ghosted for the last decade.
Pulling up her text message thread with Travis, she tapped her finger along the screen, not giving herself time to second-guess.
Lyla: Hey. Sorry, but something came up for tonight. I can’t hang out after all .
There. Done. It was safer to spend an evening with Bernadette, a woman who undoubtedly despised her, than Travis Painter. She’d left him in her past with good reason—one that only she, her diary, and Sonny, the heel-biting, bike-chasing, good-listening dog knew.
At 6:00 p.m., Lyla pulled into Allison’s driveway. The house was smaller than she remembered, but still bigger than the house where Lyla had grown up. Allison’s parents had both been well off, and Allison was their only child. She had everything she could ever want, including the affection of the most popular guy at school.
Pushing open the driver’s-side door, Lyla stepped out. She yawned as she headed up the driveway. Allison had a picture-perfect porch, with two white rocking chairs flanking the front door. She had hanging plants on either side and a huge wreath full of flowers and garlands at the center of her royal blue-colored door. It was like Allison had pulled her porch straight off a cover of Martha Stewart magazine.
Lyla pressed the doorbell and waited for what seemed like forever. She tapped the button again and finally heard footsteps inside. A moment later, the door opened and Allison stared back at her.
“You came!” Allison said as if she hadn’t thought Lyla actually would.
Lyla glanced back at the driveway. Her car was the only one here so far. “I thought you said the party started at six.”
Allison reached for Lyla’s arm and tugged her inside the house. “You’re right on time. We’re going to have so much fun.”
Fun was a subjective thing. Lyla’s idea of a good time usually involved her laptop and solitude. “Thanks again for inviting me. Everyone can use good cooking ware.”
Allison seemed to study her, as if she was trying to decipher if Lyla was being sincere.
Lyla wasn’t, but the kind intent was there. In all honesty, Lyla didn’t own any pots or pans. She used paper plates and got a lot of takeout.
“Dinnerware is something everyone needs. That’s the beauty of it.” Allison was practically beaming, her skepticism gone. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
“Do you have decaf?” Lyla asked. It was too late in the day for caffeine, but never too late for coffee.
“Of course. I have muffins too. I just put them in my new Dinnerware container. They’re still warm if you want one.”
“Yes, please. I’m starving.” Lyla followed Allison inside her house and into the kitchen area, where Allison gestured to a small farm-style dining table with a charming bouquet of wildflowers at its center.
“Have a seat. Make yourself at home.”
Lyla looked around, noticing the framed pictures on her walls. There were two kids in the photographs, prominently displayed everywhere. Not a wall in the home was bare. But there was no evidence of the children in the house. No crayon marks on the walls. No toys. Were they Allison’s niece and nephew? Lyla knew that Allison was divorced from Ernie. Did she and Ernie have kids together? Had Ernie gotten custody?
After a minute, Allison stepped over to the table and slid a plate in front of Lyla. “Here you are! One carrot muffin and one zucchini muffin. They’re amazing. Trust me.”
Lyla turned her attention to the muffins. They were picture perfect, just like this house. Like Allison. “These could be on the cover of a foodie magazine,” Lyla joked as she reached for one. “They’re almost too pretty to eat.”
“No such thing,” Allison said.
Without thinking, Lyla looked at the pictures on the wall again. She wanted to ask, but she didn’t want to pry. She’d never even considered going into real journalism because she wasn’t a prier. Putting her nose in other people’s business had never been comfortable for her. Fiction is actually what she preferred, and her opinion column wasn’t too far from that most days.
Allison followed Lyla’s gaze and took an audible breath. “Ashley Grace and Ethan Mark.” Her eyes instantly grew shiny, and her smile wobbled, as if she no longer had the strength to hold it up.
“Who . . . are they?” As soon as the question left Lyla’s mouth, she instinctively knew she probably shouldn’t have asked. Tonight was supposed to be fun for Allison. Judging by Allison’s sudden tears, this wasn’t a happy topic.
“You haven’t kept up with the gossip around here in Echo Cove, have you?” A small laugh tumbled off her lips. Something told Lyla that Allison’s laugh was more sad than humorous.
“I was never one for gossip, I guess.” And Lyla’s mom had never brought up what was happening with the people in the community.
Allison stepped away to prepare a mug of coffee. She returned a moment later and slid it in front of Lyla, then took the seat beside her at the table. “Two years ago, we were in an accident. Ernie was driving. I was in the front passenger seat. We both walked away without a scratch, but my two angels never woke up.”
Lyla felt a wave of nausea. As a writer, she was supposed to have words for every situation, but there were none for this. “I’m so sorry, Allison. I had no idea.”
The muscles of Allison’s neck visibly tightened as she swallowed. “Our marriage was already suffering, but that was the straw that broke us. The kids were the glue that held us together anyway. I got pregnant with Ethan Mark before Ernie and I were married. I’m not sure we ever would have married if not for that. At the time, I thought getting pregnant was fate stepping in to ensure that Ernie and I stayed together.” Regret worked its way into her expression, making subtle lines and indentations in her otherwise smooth skin. “I don’t believe that anymore. Anyway, after the accident, Ernie started drinking, and I became depressed. The folks I thought were my friends around here really weren’t. Those folks who I looked down on at one time are the ones who pulled me up.” She blew out a breath. “I guess if there’s any lesson in all this, that’s it. True friends show up when times are tough, while those who aren’t true disappear on you.” She pointed at Lyla. “Now there’s an opinion for that column of yours, although I think it’s more fact than anything.”
Lyla wasn’t sure what to say. “I don’t know how you’re still functioning.”
“Trust me, I still have my down days, but for the most part, I’ve learned to pull myself up on my own. Even when it’s hard.”
Lyla tore a piece off her muffin, not to eat it but because her hands needed something to do. “I’m so sorry for what you’ve gone through, Allison.”
“Thanks.” Allison looked past Lyla to the framed pictures on the wall. “Those two kids were my entire world. It’s been a long road to building a new world. New friends. New job. New everything.” She sighed softly.
Lyla was rebuilding her life too, although her story wasn’t nearly as traumatic as Allison’s. In comparison, Lyla’s life had been a cakewalk. “I’m glad to count you as a friend. You’re inspiring.”
“Why? Because I lost my kids and my marriage?” Her tone was almost sarcastic. Lyla guessed that Allison had gotten the same comments from others before.
“No. You’re inspiring because you survived what a lot of people wouldn’t. If it were me, I might still be in bed.”
It had been hard enough to get out of bed after Lyla’s breakup with Joe. Or actually, the air mattress, seeing that Joe had kept the bed. What bothered Lyla most was that Joe had to be the one to end the relationship. After his indiscretions, she should have left him . She’d known it was time. She’d discovered the affair a week earlier. She’d wanted to leave, but the fear of being on her own was stronger than her desire to go. The fear had been like quicksand. If you stood in it for too long, it became harder and harder to step away.
“A good friend wouldn’t allow you to stay in bed,” Allison said. “ I wouldn’t allow it.”
Lyla reached for Allison’s hand and squeezed. “I wish I could have been there for you.” She and Allison barely knew one another, but Lyla wouldn’t have let Allison down during such a tragic time. At least she’d like to think she wouldn’t.
Allison patted Lyla’s hand. Then she cleared her throat, sniffled, and tipped her head at the muffins. “So? How are they? Good? Was the coffee to your liking?”
Lyla pulled her hand back from Allison’s and broke another piece off her muffin. This time she popped it into her mouth and chewed. “Mm, they taste as delicious as they look.”
“Thanks. I guess no one else is coming to this Dinnerware Party. We should probably just reschedule.” She pushed back from the table and stood up, her movements rushed. Then the doorbell rang and Allison’s whole demeanor lit up. She practically ran to her front door like an excited child.
Whoever had decided to come to this party, Lyla wanted to give them the biggest hug. After all that Allison had endured, she deserved the world on a Dinnerware platter.
“Bernadette! I’m so glad you made it!” Allison called from the front of the house.
Lyla suddenly felt like shrinking. If she gave Bernie a hug, Bernie might knock Lyla’s head off her shoulders. Lyla briefly considered slipping out the back door and escaping.
“Lyla, guess who it is?” Allison called back to her.
There was no getting out of this. Resigned, Lyla headed into the living room and faced her nemesis.
Bernie didn’t even attempt to hide her disgust. “You invited her?” she asked Allison. “Why?”
Allison seemed oblivious to the tension in the air. “The more the merrier,” she said with a giggle that rolled easily off her lips. “Now come sit down, you two. I’ll show you all the summer Dinnerware selection. You’re going to love it, I promise.”
Opinion: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer—but never turn your back on either.
Allison lifted a large plastic cake carrier and flashed it at Lyla and then Bernie. “Everyone needs one of these,” she said dramatically, before proceeding to list all the carrier’s features.
Lyla couldn’t focus on anything Allison was saying. All she could think of was the tension radiating off Bernie sitting beside her on the couch. Why did Bernie hate her so much? Was it all about the sloppy joe?
“And the best part is that this cake carrier comes in several festive colors. Pink. Purple. Turquoise. Who doesn’t want a turquoise cake carrier?” Allison was practically bouncing on her heels.
“I’ll take one,” Bernie said politely.
“Really?” Allison set the cake carrier down on the couch and gave Bernie an impulsive hug. “Thank you. You’re going to love it.” When Allison pulled back, she looked at Lyla expectantly.
“Oh. I . . . well . . .” Lyla had never made a cake. Ever. “I guess I’ll take one too,” she said, feeling peer pressure akin to the kind that had run rampant in high school. Then she braced herself for Allison’s hug. Peeking over Allison’s shoulder as they hugged, Lyla caught Bernie’s eye. Bernie seemed to be laughing, but it didn’t feel like she was laughing at Lyla. Instead, it felt like they were sharing a laugh at this experience.
Allison pulled back. “This is going to be the best night. I just know it. I have something else to show you, ladies. Just a second.” Allison disappeared out of the room.
For a moment, Lyla and Bernie sat in silence.
“I can make up an excuse and leave if you want me to,” Lyla finally offered. “I can tell her that I forgot that I have other plans.” It wouldn’t have been a complete lie because Travis had invited her out tonight too.
“Why would I want that?” Bernie asked. “If I have to endure this party for the millionth time, you should have to stay as well.”
“Millionth time?” Lyla asked.
“Not literally, but that’s how it feels. Do you know how many cake carriers I have?”
Lyla didn’t mean to giggle, but the thought was funny. “You must be a great friend.”
Bernie looked down at her lap. “To those who deserve it.”
Lyla’s chest ached. She wanted to deserve that kind of friendship from Bernie. She wasn’t sure why, but she needed it suddenly. She hadn’t had a whole lot of friends in her life and most hadn’t stuck. In some cases, that was completely Lyla’s fault. In other cases, it was just life. Some friends weren’t meant to stay. They were only meant to drift in and out of your life, rolling in and out with the tide.
“Matching cake cutters!” Allison announced, walking back into the room. “Can you imagine having a cake cutter that matches your carrier?” she asked in disbelief.
Bernie slid an amused look toward Lyla. It felt like a glimpse into what it might be like to be actual friends with Bernie.
“Who wants one?” Allison asked.
Both Bernie and Lyla raised their hands. “Me!”
July 3
Dear Diary,
It’s surreal to think that in just a month I’ll be living somewhere new. I’ve lived in this house since the day I was born, but it’s all about to change.
Also, I sent one of my stories off to a publisher today! I am crossing everything that the editor loves my work and wants to offer me a contract. Wouldn’t that be awesome? All my dreams are on the brink of coming true and I am here for it.
Stay tuned, Diary!