The Days Between

CHAPTER NINE

Wednesday, March 29

Kathryn

Dusk settled over Hollywood Beach as Kathryn squeezed into a too-tight corner spot—the jackass beside her had parked over the line, and her passenger door brushed against the shrubs.

She flipped down her mirror and checked her teeth, her makeup. The thought of seeing Andrew face-to-face again had left her so jittery she’d wiped away her eye makeup twice to retrace her eyeliner with a shaky hand. Her mind careened with everything she had to tell him. And everything she could never share.

Don’t do it to him, Kathryn. Not again. Harper’s words burned. It had been so long, but Harper still had precise aim. And fucking Regina. Their accusations only strengthened Kathryn’s resolve to keep her relationships distant.

With two minutes to spare, Kathryn shut off the engine and tapped a text message to Max: Let me know if you’re not coming home tonight.

It was a lost cause. If she held her breath for Max to answer, she’d die of asphyxiation. What had she done for him to punish her this way? All she needed to know was that he was safe. Why couldn’t he be a sweet, cooperative kid like Emmy?

Kathryn had hoped having Emmy in the house would be a distraction from her encounter with Andrew, but the girl seemed content to keep to herself. Aside from their conversation on Sunday morning, Kathryn had caught only glimpses of Emmy’s messy bun as she scurried between the kitchen and guest room. She had suggested to each of the kids they have dinner together that week, but her text to Max had also gone unanswered, and Emmy seemed to be satisfied eating cereal in her bedroom.

Sunday afternoon, when Kathryn had peeked out her bathroom window and spotted Emmy sprawled on a pink towel by the pool, the image had jarred her, and bright flashes of the summers she and Harper had spent lounging beside the glittering pool of the Delray Country Club had rushed back. Suddenly Kathryn could taste a sharp, bubbly sip of Coke on her tongue, could feel her wet fingertips sticking to the pages of a gossip magazine. Kathryn should have known then, the way Harper was giddy some days, morose and snappy others, that something was amiss. By sixteen, Kathryn had learned to read men. She’d learned to give a wide berth to those whose eyes lingered a few seconds too long, leaving her with a dirty feeling, as they had since the summer of her twelfth year, when her body had blossomed against her will. By the end of high school she’d learned to harness the power she had, to wiggle out of a speeding ticket or into a movie for free by tugging her blouse a little lower on her cleavage, while shy, shaped-like-a-breadstick Harper frowned at her.

At sixteen, when Kathryn had lost her virginity, an awkward, surprisingly sticky exchange with her neighbor’s grandson who was visiting for the summer, it was hardly the earth-shattering event her Cosmopolitan had led her to believe. Kathryn had buzzed with excitement to autopsy the event with Harper, but Harper’s disapproving frown had struck Kathryn with a barb of judgment. So, for the remainder of that summer, when Kathryn had engaged in casual bed-hopping with said neighbor’s grandson, she failed to mention it. She’d enjoyed the sex as much as she liked cheeseburgers or a pedicure, and she hadn’t been about to let Harper, or anyone, judge her for it.

The following summer, when Kathryn had worked the hostess stand at the Delray Beach Country Club, she’d scrounged cash and treated herself to a mail-order electric-pink swimsuit from Victoria’s Secret. When it finally arrived, she’d admired herself in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door, the way the color made her sun-kissed skin glow, the way the hip-hugger bottoms accentuated her curves. One of the lifeguards, Sam, had been smirking at her, and she’d known he’d appreciate it. She’d worn her hair down that day, donned her oversize sunglasses, but when she’d approached Harper, all her friend had said was, “This is why everyone at school thinks you’re a slut.”

The words had sliced deep. Maybe Harper’s period was due, Kathryn reasoned, because just as Harper had sunk into her dark mood, the bubble popped, and she’d asked Kathryn to go shopping like nothing had ever happened.

Harper’s mother, Nora, had one unrelenting message to her daughter: nothing she did would ever be good enough, so Kathryn gave Harper grace, instead choosing to skim over their bumpy moments to enjoy those carefree days of turquoise pools and aggressively air-conditioned malls.

Kathryn remembered the exact moment she’d met the man who would become Emmy’s father. The summer they were eighteen, Kathryn had been promoted to waitress at the country club. The day Lucas had arrived, buttoned-up in his server uniform, with his warm skin and light eyes, a silent competition had initiated between the waitresses to see who could earn his attention. Kathryn had ignored the chatter; she had one month left to scrounge away her tips for college, had her sights set on bigger things than what Delray Beach held. But when she had spotted Lucas in the dancing sparks across a staff bonfire one night, she’d been taken aback when he crossed the sand to sit beside her. And she’d clocked the way he didn’t gawk at her body like other men did, a simple act that set her at ease. They’d chatted for hours, her skin warm from the fire and the buzz of rum.

And then something shocking had happened. Lucas had met Harper. Kathryn had watched the transformation in her friend; as she fell for Lucas, Harper held her head high for the first time, even seemed resilient against Nora’s criticism. Pride had swelled in Kathryn, and she and Harper had maintained their sisterhood well after Lucas and Harper had married, well after Kathryn and Andrew had collided, when the plans the two couples made had nearly come to fruition, until the fingers of jealousy had pried the cracks wide open. Looking at Emmy basking in the sun, the memory had left a tight knot in Kathryn’s throat. The girl was the physical manifestation of everything they’d all lost.

But she had more pressing problems at the moment. Seeing Harper in person had dragged back memories of Lucas—compounded by her run-in with Andrew—it had all left Kathryn pouring her anxious energy into cleaning all day Sunday until her body ached. It occurred to her, as she’d stood barefoot in her spotless kitchen late in the evening, that getting her house in order had done nothing to remedy the fact that her personal life remained a disaster.

She’d run a hot bath and slid the cork from a bottle of cabernet with a satisfying pop, then sank into the warm water, her lips meeting the delicate rim of the glass. She’d closed her eyes as the first sip of sweet, acidic wine ran across her tongue. Her phone had buzzed angrily against the cold marble of her vanity. An unknown 561 number. She’d answered with a shaky hello .

“Kathryn. It’s Andrew.” That voice. She’d nearly dropped her phone in the bathwater.

Andrew had spoken in a hushed tone, his voice heavy with hesitation, and asked her to meet him the following night. And within her, that flicker, like the spark of a match. When she’d hung up, she’d closed her eyes and rested against the porcelain. He’s married, she’d reminded herself. You aren’t the same people you were all those years ago.

They’d agreed to meet at a nondescript taco joint forty-five minutes south. A safe distance from inquisitive eyes. Now Kathryn opened her car door and stepped out into the night. There was a noticeable shift in the atmosphere the last week of March as it slipped into April, when the heat no longer dissipated when the sun went down. Kathryn ran her fingers through her hair, the strands getting coarse and wavy, and realized it was a lost cause; the hour she’d spent styling it had been a waste of time. Motels lined the street, giving the neighborhood a worn-down beach-town feel, a more relaxed vibe than Delray Beach. The lot was full, littered with a colorful array of license plates from northern states and Canada.

Andrew appeared from between the parked cars a few rows away, and her pulse quickened. He paused, seemed to consider her for a beat before he slid one hand into his pocket and strode across the asphalt. Then he was in front of her, occupying the same space, the sleeves of his pale-pink button-down cuffed at the elbows, and he leaned in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

They swapped obligatory how are you s and how was your drive s as they made their way up the stone path toward the restaurant patio. Fans stirred the heavy air, and the hollow legs of their chairs scraped painfully across the concrete. Kathryn took in the brick wall beside them, where a weathered mural featured a large mahi of greens and blues. Andrew settled, but his tight smile told her he was nervous, too.

While Andrew spoke to the server, Kathryn studied him, the way his subtle South Carolina accent slipped through, though it wasn’t as pronounced as it had been in his twenties. He stood an inch or so taller than Max and had twenty pounds on her son, but their faces were eerily similar. Kathryn found herself marveling at the wonders of DNA. But physical similarities aside, Andrew’s mannerisms unnerved her. His smile and Max’s were the same, as was the tilt of their heads when asking a question. She’d forgotten how perfect Andrew’s teeth were.

Max was five when everything collapsed between Harper, Lucas, and herself. It was then Kathryn realized she couldn’t protect her son from the darkness life dealt, no matter how she ached to. As his childhood sped on, Kathryn had done everything in her power to shield him from anything that might harm him further. Max was resilient, sure, and as he grew into his own person, Kathryn had marveled at him, in awe of the way he learned and grew, at the miracle of his existence. But their gears never aligned, and the friction between them only intensified as Max got older.

The summer Max turned sixteen, he’d accompanied her to Publix, and while Kathryn had waited for her half pound of sliced turkey, Max had leaned against the shopping cart, wearing his teenage boredom. A girl in a pale-blue sundress had passed, and Kathryn had watched a playful smile lift her son’s face. Max had recently reached the end of his package of pricey dental aligners and had just aged out of his early-teen lankiness and was now six feet tall. He’d spent the summer surfing, and a smattering of freckles had appeared on his nose and shoulders. The girl’s cheeks had flushed, and Kathryn had realized her son wasn’t shy or awkward. He was aware of his charms, and how to use them to his advantage. Anyone who fell for him was going to be in trouble. It was then she looked at him and saw not her son, but Andrew.

It was the following fall that Max’s behavior abruptly changed, seemingly overnight, when her son guarded his life like a fortress. Kathryn always looked back to that afternoon at the store, worried Max had sensed a shift in her that day, that her regret for everything she’d done to Andrew had surfaced and poisoned her relationship with her son as subtle as mold spores, only visible when the fruit was rotten.

Andrew sipped his iced tea. “So you’re a lawyer. Like you planned.”

Andrew was more direct than Max in the way he spoke, maybe something that came with maturity. Her fingernail loosened the label on her beer bottle, separating it from the glass. “Yes. Real estate lawyer. Mostly corporate, very boring.”

“It can’t be more boring than being an investment banker.”

There was something there, in his eyes and tone. A grittiness. Was it regret? Resentment?

Andrew cleared his throat. “Don’t get me wrong, I like my job. My colleagues are tolerable, I guess, but if I never saw them again, I wouldn’t miss any one of them. And the work, after all these years, it’s very ... one dimensional.”

His words conveyed how she felt about her own career. She brushed the condensation off her beer bottle, and in a flash, she was entwined in his arms all those years ago, mapping their life. She had seen it then, tangible: the house. The pool. And she lived it again, the way Andrew had laced his fingers with hers and pressed a kiss to her earlobe, sending that tingle through her body. “I can’t wait to share my life with you,” he’d said, his breath warm in her hair. He’d rolled her onto her back and met his mouth with hers, and as he melted into her, she’d believed they’d never spend another moment apart.

How naive they’d both been. She sipped her beer. “Did you end up going to grad school?”

His forehead pinched. “No.”

“Oh.” Surprised, she recalculated. “Well, I’m glad we both found the fulfilling, world-changing careers we dreamed of when we were in school.” She peeled the label from the bottle in one clean sheet.

Andrew’s smile was resigned. “It pays the bills, though.”

“I suppose it does.” With her beer nearly finished, her body felt lighter, and a swell of camaraderie washed over her, a fleeting moment in which, despite the time and distance between them, they had something in common. But apprehension swirled in her stomach. “I have a question.”

Andrew nodded. “Sure, go ahead.”

“How did you take it when I left?”

Andrew tore a shred of his napkin, rolled it into a ball between his fingers, his expression hard. “It was tough,” he said, guarded. “I’m not going to lie; I wasn’t okay for a while.”

“You look good now,” she rushed. “No, I mean, you look—you’re successful. You have it together.” It was what had struck her that day outside Starbucks, how normal he looked. It was what had planted the seed inside her. But she couldn’t ask him for a favor yet.

A blush rose from his neck to his cheeks. “Well, thanks.” Andrew didn’t meet her eye, just shrugged one shoulder. “It took time.”

Time. That word held so much.

The waitress set two plates between them. Kathryn lifted her fork but found she had no appetite.

Andrew poked at his food. “I’m not going to tell my wife about this, about him, just yet. I can’t—she’s just started a new job and she’s under a lot of pressure with some family issues; it’s not a good time to unload something like this on her.”

“Okay.” Kathryn leaned back. It wasn’t what she’d expected. Would this be the last time she’d see him? Would he get what he needed from her and then move on with his life, his wife none the wiser?

Andrew’s face shifted as he mulled his next question. “I have to know why you ran away when we were so—happy? It made me question everything, our whole relationship, it made me question myself. Did I miss something? Was it not what I thought it was? Weren’t we good together?”

Her throat was a tight, painful knot.

“I—I just have to know why you didn’t tell me you were pregnant.”

Kathryn drew a shaky breath. “I was young. I was confused. I didn’t know what I was doing until after I’d done it.” She’d rehearsed her answer, casting a tiny shred of light onto the truth.

“Was there someone else?”

“No.” She forced another painful swallow. Her eyes drifted to the parking lot. She wasn’t ready to open that door with him, shine a light onto everything that had happened between the morning she’d left him and the moment they’d locked eyes in Starbucks. “I had my friends, and my mom, until she moved away. And now it’s just the two of us, and that’s how it’s been for a long time.” Kathryn hadn’t realized how lonely her life was until she had to put it into words.

Andrew set his taco down. “When exactly did you get back in touch with Nick?”

Kathryn swallowed. “Two years ago? A few weeks after he moved to Delray. I was surprised when he said you two were still in touch. You never had much in common.”

“He stuck by me, even when I didn’t deserve it. He was the voice of reason when I was acting like a stubborn jackass. May have saved my life, even, if I’m being honest.” Andrew dropped his eyes. Shame. It prodded her deeply, and all she could offer was a nod. Andrew pushed his plate aside. “Tell me more about Max.”

Relief rushed through Kathryn when he didn’t ask any more about Nick. She’d braced herself for Andrew’s questions, reminding herself she didn’t have to tell him anything she didn’t want to, but her hands were still sweaty against her thighs. “What do you want to know?”

Andrew shuffled the salt and pepper shakers beside the hot sauce caddy. “I’ll take anything, Kat.”

She drew a deep breath, her thoughts churning. “Well ... he was an easy baby. He was so cute . But parenthood is hard. And the teenage years are no joke.” She gave a nonchalant shrug, though she knew it wasn’t convincing, and she bristled when Andrew’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t going to betray her son’s flaws to someone who didn’t know him. Kathryn collected her thoughts, then continued. “He’s like you, in a lot of ways.” Andrew was still fixed on her. “He was never as studious as you were, but in school everything came easily to him. He tested at a moderately gifted level and took some advanced classes.” Her tension eased as she spoke of her son, and she swelled with pride. “But being an only child wasn’t easy for him. His best friend, Javier, and his parents live down the street, and he spent a lot of time there. It took a lot of guilt off me, knowing Max had somewhere to go after school every day. He and Javi grew up on the water; they spent their whole life on boats, and learned to surf when they were in middle school. It was so cute, they’d get up at the crack of dawn and go down the street, barefoot, with their surfboards under their arms.” She felt lighter, drained, as if she’d finished a long cry. All of it almost made her seem like a good mom. Probably the biggest lie she’d ever told.

Andrew leaned back in his chair and exhaled, the sadness in his eyes stabbing the place reserved for the deepest of her guilt. “Do you think he’d be open to meeting me?”

Kathryn’s pulse doubled. “Andrew—”

“Please.” He leaned forward, his forearms on the table. “He’s a part of me. It’s driving me crazy—I can’t sleep—I just have so many questions.”

“I acknowledge this situation isn’t fair to you, but ...” If Max learned the truth about Andrew and slipped back into his reckless behavior, she could lose him this time. With each unanswered text, each therapist he’d written off, each night he spent out, he slipped further from her grasp.

She’d already stolen so much from Andrew, she could never let him find out what a terrible mother she was. Hot tears burned her eyes, and she closed them—closed them to the image of Andrew’s gaze on her probing her guilt, a reminder of everything her son had lost because of her decisions.

She felt Andrew rest his hand on top of hers. “Hey, it’s okay. Just consider it, please.” His voice was gravelly.

She opened her eyes as her hand jerked from his. “I’ve already told you no.”

Andrew’s hand fell to his lap.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “I should get home.”

“I’m sorry.” Andrew leaned closer, the thump of far-off music bouncing between them. “I didn’t mean to push you like that. Seeing you has brought back so much, things I never thought I’d think about again.”

That certainly was the truth.

“I’d love to keep talking to you. Let’s get out of here, take a walk?” he offered.

A short while later, in a convenience store, Kathryn plucked a can of beer from a bin of crushed ice before stepping out onto the pavement where Andrew waited. “I’ve never been down here before,” she said as they set off on the stretch of pavement beside the beach. The moon reflected in the ripples out across the water, and acoustic guitar flowed from a tiki bar. Families with squirmy children chatted on benches, eating soft-serve ice cream. The back of her hand brushed Andrew’s. She yanked it away and swapped her beer to her other hand. “You don’t drink?”

“No.” The stiffness in his tone made it clear he wasn’t open to any more questions on the subject.

When Kathryn had moved into the apartment Andrew and Nick had shared in college, beer had been a staple in their fridge. On weekends, they’d partied until early morning with friends, a cheap, greasy diner breakfast the cure for a hangover. But there had been fractured bursts of his bitter words, of arguments, of the darker side of himself that alcohol revealed.

“You don’t mind if I drink this?” She held up the can.

“No.” His voice was soft. Sad. Kathryn turned to look at his profile as they passed the warm glow of the restaurants. This Andrew, handsome in his early forties, had long shed his sophomoric college-boy persona, and in his maturity the gentleness she’d loved in him all those years ago had blossomed. He was exactly the man she’d pictured growing old with.

On an outdoor stage, a high school choir sang to a patchy crowd. They sat on a concrete bench in the last row, where they took in the night and each other’s presence in the ethereal bath of voices.

When they were finished, Andrew walked her to her car. “I’m sorry I pushed you that way. I won’t do it again.”

Again. This wouldn’t be the last time she’d see him. The thought warmed in her chest, and the little seed that had sprouted inside her cracked open. Maybe Andrew could be that missing puzzle piece that showed Max he would be okay, that he was worthy of the love she tried to show him.

“Thank you for dinner,” she said. From the restaurant, the quick, repetitive beat of house music floated to them on the wind.

“My pleasure.” Andrew stepped forward and took her in his arms, his body strong and welcoming, and she settled her head on his shoulder. Amid the sea spray, his cologne—a hint of cedar—clung to his shirt, and she drew it in, drew him in. His scent held a comforting familiarity, like she’d come home.

“I’m glad you called.” She sighed into his shirt. So much had changed in just a few days, and she was drained, body and soul.

“I am, too.” Andrew’s breath was warm on the top of her head. It may have been the sea air, but his voice was different, deeper, the facade of politeness gone.

His lips brushed her forehead, light as a whisper. Another memory flooded back. When they’d dated, he’d kissed her at the base of her part, more intimate than sex. She wondered how the memory had burrowed itself so deep inside her that she hadn’t recalled it in years, decades. Now it rushed through her, to her core; stirring something that shouldn’t be there. A concerned look passed over Andrew’s face. But she didn’t pull back, just stood, his face a few inches from hers, his eyes catching the light from the streetlamp, until his shoulders relaxed. He squeezed her hand. “Have a good night, Kathryn.”

When she closed her car door, Andrew’s scent lingered on her shirt, and she leaned against the seat. Oh no, she thought. Not again. But she sat alone with it in the quiet for a long time before she drove home.