Chapter 35 Lillian
Lillian was sleeping like a log these days.
Maybe it was the strenuous days on her feet at the Pink Pony or the serenity of the island at night, or just the calm that
came from no longer planning a wedding she didn’t want to go through with.
Though still captive to many fears, Lillian had at least freed herself from marrying someone with whom the happiest she could
ever hope to be was not too bad . The most passionate thought she’d ever had about Alex was, What a good guy. I hope nothing bad ever happens to him.
Lillian had been the something bad to happen, though she told herself it was good she’d walked out now rather than years down
the line with kids and a mortgage to sort out.
She’d been a perpetual insomniac with Alex, working late into the night, rising for early-morning workout classes before returning
to the safe bunker of her office. Productivity was her coping mechanism, her distraction from that screaming voice inside.
And when she did have a free night to ruminate on the fact that something big and pivotal was missing in her relationship,
she tossed and turned.
Alex had suggested they get separate bedrooms so her restlessness didn’t keep him up too.
“Is that healthy for us?” Lillian asked.
Alex shrugged. “Better than the alternative.”
And that was more or less how Lillian had thought about it too. Better to be with Alex, married and sleeping in separate rooms, than risk the life that came with following her heart.
Follow your heart was so trite anyway, so removed from reality. The issue was Lillian did believe in love, something titanic and technicolor
and far too original to ever be flattened into an aphorism. It was this romantic streak that ruined her and saved her, ruined
and saved. A cycle she couldn’t break even with all the breaking.
Because here she was, trapped again with James, a new cage of her own making.
For their own reasons, they were both scared to end the charade. So they bickered about how they shouldn’t be bickering because
they weren’t even together.
Even with all this, Lillian had been plunking into a sleep too deep for dreams. When she awoke in the mornings, she felt jet-lagged,
her head foggy like after she’d smoked marijuana. She hated being high, the way her judgment felt so slippery, like it might
glide away and never come back. She needed the tracks, needed the treads.
***
“Take the day off,” Trina said when Lillian came down to breakfast a week or so after the Fourth of July frenzy. “Go to the
Lakeside Spa and book a massage.”
“You don’t like massages.”
“I was raised to think they were a waste of money,” Trina said. “But you have money, Lillian. What you don’t have is peace.
You’re carrying so much tension in your shoulders.”
Lillian figured she must look very bad for her workaholic mother to be letting her off the hook. “I don’t mind. I like keeping
busy.”
“Is there anything you need to tell me?” Trina’s dark eyes circled Lillian’s.
Lillian’s pulse quickened. Had someone overheard her conversation with James and told Trina? Maybe this wasn’t the worst thing.
It would be better than having to break the news cold.
“You’re not pregnant, are you?” Trina said.
Lillian registered the question and realized her secret was still safe. “No,” she said. “I’m not that.”
“Good. Then rest today and back to work tomorrow.”
Lillian accepted the day off.
She knew how she was going to spend it. A massage wasn’t going to fix things. A talk with Gigi might. It was only fair to
James.
Lillian put on a fitted tennis dress and a visor. Carrying her racket and a water bottle, she headed over to Thistle Dew.
Lillian knew this half-mile walk well. She’d made it many times in elementary school when she and Gigi were “best friends
forever,” with beaded bracelets to prove it.
Lillian rang the bell twice before the door opened. Gigi was standing there in an oversized T-shirt and boxers. Her hair resembled
a haystack. She had clearly just woken.
“What’s going on?” Gigi asked.
Lillian tried not to make her voice too bright. “I came to see if you wanted to play tennis.”
“I don’t play tennis.”
“We could just rally. Very casual.”
Gigi was squinting, whether from sleep or animosity, Lillian wasn’t sure. “Why don’t you play with James?”
“He’s working. And there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?” Gigi asked.
“I’ll tell you when we play.”
“You’re being cryptic.”
“I know.”
Gigi contemplated, then gave her answer. “I’ll hit with you, but don’t try to give me any tips.”
“That works.”
The tennis courts at the high school were full of pickleballers. Gigi’s grandmother was there, trying to recruit them.
“Let’s play at the Grand Hotel instead,” Gigi told Lillian. “I’ll text Clyde to get us a court.”
Lillian noted how comfortably Gigi said this. She’d thought Gigi might disapprove of Clyde, given how she had always idolized
her dad. Perhaps that dynamic had changed. Lillian knew that Gus still came to Mackinac now and then, still strung Eloise
along. As far as Lillian was concerned, Gigi and Eloise were both too good for him.
***
Clyde met them outside the hotel’s tennis facilities. He had water bottles and towels for them and told Gigi to put lunch
on his tab afterward, encouraging them both to order whatever they wanted.
The courts were gorgeous, newly resurfaced with the paint still vivid and crisp. Lillian fed Gigi some easy balls. Gigi whacked
them hard. She was athletic but inconsistent. Her grip on the racket was terrible. One little tip and she could be so much
better. Lillian refrained from saying anything.
“It’s too hot out here,” Gigi said after a while, but before Lillian had managed to broach the topic of conversation. “Let’s
go to the pool.”
The pool and hot tub were tucked away in the lushness of the grounds. Hotel guests were tanning, reading, and ordering poolside
sliders.
Gigi plopped onto a chaise lounge and made herself comfortable, ordering a mimosa and a very posh portobello burger, happily
telling the waiter to put it on Clyde’s tab. She looked like she was used to this life. It made Lillian wonder about the adventures
she’d had since high school, the identities she’d strapped on and then taken off again.
Clyde was sitting nearby, scribbling in his journal while spooning peanut butter straight from the jar. He was sprawled out,
wearing only a Speedo.
“Is that really necessary?” Gigi asked Clyde, cringing at the Speedo. “We could get you proper swim trunks from the hotel
gift shop.”
“But why ruin the view for the hotel guests?” Clyde said with that infectious grin. “Speedos are quite liberating. Americans waste too much time being self-conscious, I must say.”
Lillian agreed with him. She could tell Gigi, too, admired his confidence.
“I’m thinking of moving to Europe,” Gigi said. It sounded very vague, like she was testing Clyde to see what he might say.
“That could be wonderful,” Clyde said. Gigi seemed to like how he took her seriously. “Who would you want to be over there?”
Lillian thought that was a good question—who a person wanted to be, not what they wanted to do.
“Someone who can scam the system and sit at a pool all day and make enough money to live in a fancy hotel,” Gigi said, slurping
her mimosa.
“You certainly have the creativity for it,” Clyde said. “The resourcefulness too.”
“Don’t forget the charm,” Lillian added, and she loved the way it made Gigi smile. It made her feel like they were in this
together, both trying to figure out how to shape their lives after this summer.
She thought of the long letters Gigi used to write her and how packed with imagery they were. Lillian still had a few of them
in her memory box under her bed.
“Why not write a book of your own?” Lillian suggested.
“I would get bored after five pages,” Gigi said. “I can’t stick with any one thing too long.”
“Every weakness is also a strength,” Clyde said. “If you work better in short bursts, perhaps a short story or poetry collection
would suit you.”
“You could write little vignettes about all the places you’ve lived over the years,” Lillian suggested. “Maybe make it a satire,”
she added, knowing Gigi’s style.
Gigi seemed to be thinking about it. “I’d rather have someone else write a book about me than write one about myself,” she
decided.
Clyde chuckled. “Fair enough. On that note, I know I promised not to feature your mam in my book,” he said. “But the heroine I keep seeing has her same regal posture and silk chiffon laugh. I do hope Eloise isn’t upset.”
“She shouldn’t be offended about being your muse,” Gigi said. “Comes with the territory of dating an artist.”
Lillian thought back to the art she had once created for Gigi. The art she had never shared with her or anyone else. Music
had always been Lillian’s first love. Not the strict sheet music for band recitals. The free-flowing lyrics that oozed out
of her in the middle of the night. She didn’t write songs anymore, but she had once. When she was a teenager, many of them
were inspired by Gigi. She’d told herself back then that it was natural to write about your best friend turned nemesis. Only
looking back did she see how searingly sapphic it all was.
They changed into their bathing suits. Gigi wore hers so well. The shape of a mannequin, the gait of a woman who would blow
such a figurine to smithereens.
Lillian became aware of how she’d put on a few pounds. She’d gotten out of her workout routine this summer and eaten too many
of the Pink Pony’s chili cheese fries.
“So,” Gigi said as they dipped into the pool, bathwater warm. “What did you want to talk about?”
“It’s about James,” Lillian said.
“I already gave you my blessing.”
“It’s not that.” Lillian moved closer, her voice drowned by the trickle of the pool’s waterfall. “We’re not together,” she
went on. “I don’t actually like him like that.”
“What do you mean?” Gigi said. “He’s exactly your type.”
A laugh husked out of Lillian. “No,” she said. “He’s really not. We’ve been pretending to be a couple, but we’re just friends.”
Gigi’s eyes flashed. “Why would you do that? Just to spite me?”
Lillian hated that this was Gigi’s first thought. “No, he’s been helping me out so my parents don’t exile me.” Silence radiated
out. “So the whole island doesn’t exile me.”