Chapter Eleven
Ten years, one month, and two days ago
Tyler’s hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. Normally he drove with his left hand at six and his right hand in
his lap, relaxed but ready. Helen wished she could kiss away the tension in his hands, but no matter what reassurances she
gave him, it didn’t seem to make a difference in his mood.
He flipped on the blinker and took the exit for Chuckanut Bay, in the southern part of Bellingham where he’d grown up. Helen
and Tyler had been dating for six months now, and tonight they were staying at a bed and breakfast he had booked for them.
Tomorrow, Helen would meet Tyler’s father, stepmother, younger brother, and younger sister at a gathering at his father’s
house. She’d already met his mother and grandmother in Portland: both lovely women—funny, warm, endearing. It was no surprise
to her that he had such a cool mom, but he’d been hesitant to introduce her to the rest of the family.
“You want a latte?” Tyler asked.
“Sure,” Helen said. “Let’s split one.”
She wasn’t really in the mood for a latte, but she could tell he was, and she wanted to lift his spirits.
He pulled into a drive-through espresso stand off the exit. The girl in the window who leaned out to take their order was
a gorgeous little sprite, probably a college student at the university in town. The fall quarter was just beginning. The girl
brightened when she made eye contact with Tyler.
“Can I please get a vanilla latte?” Tyler asked. That was their normal order.
“Of course you can!” The girl smiled at him, and she held it a beat longer than normal. Helen knew the girl was appreciating
how attractive he was. Girls often did that, but for the most part, he seemed oblivious to it.
When Tyler and Helen had started dating, she had expected to see him move through the world with the same charm he’d given
her that first day when they’d roamed the entire floor of his company looking for a pretend Daphne. But instead of a playful
charisma, she’d seen him exhibit a reserved kindness and politeness with most people. He’d told her he used to be a shy kid,
and the more time she spent with him, the more she realized he really was on the quieter side with most people and didn’t
go out of his way to charm strangers. His humor was appreciated by his closest friends and family as private asides that made
you feel like you’d been invited to an exclusive party. He rarely put his jokes on public display. He said he’d been that
way with Helen that first day in the office building only because he’d felt an irresistible pull to her. Something about her
had made him feel comfortable joking right away. He’d never felt anything like that until her.
Those were the kind of words they used with each other: Never. Until you.
In her mind, Helen tended to categorize her past romances.
There were two ex-boyfriends she wished well, but those relationships had run a (somewhat) satisfying enough course and ended as preordained.
There was an off-and-on situation that had both excited and confused her and stretched on far too long but now only gave her feelings of indifference.
A messy handful of disappointing dates, initial attractions that fizzled before things ever got going, and one asshole that she hoped would fall off a mountain face.
This romance with Tyler wasn’t like any others. It was the love story she had always wanted to live. When she’d brought him
to her family’s Fourth of July picnic and introduced him around the lakeside gathering, she’d observed a curiosity and attentiveness
among her relatives that neither of her ex-boyfriends had ever inspired. Helen’s aunt had literally spooned the potato salad
into a bowl for Tyler and wiped the tines of a fork on the front of her own T-shirt to make sure it was clean. “Sorry, picnic
dirt,” she’d apologized. That day was the second time Helen’s parents had seen Tyler, and when Helen had commented that everyone
seemed to like him, her mother had said, “Of course they do,” as if it were a foregone conclusion.
Helen hoped Tyler saw her as a foregone conclusion too. She knew he found her energy irresistible: her outbursts of enthusiasm over how soft fleece
was and how fascinating the gorillas at the zoo were and how simultaneously sweet and bitter real black licorice was. He said
life was a million times more interesting with her in it. He was always saying sweet things to her.
As he pulled away from the espresso stand, she reached for the latte.
“Wait, it might be hot,” he said, not relinquishing the cup. He brought it to his lips and took a small sip. “It’s not too
bad,” he said, and passed the cup to her.
She was only going to drink a little bit. She had a hard enough time falling asleep as it was. Getting caffeinated in the
afternoon wouldn’t help matters, and she didn’t want to feel and look exhausted the next day when she was to finally meet
the rest of Tyler’s family.
A couple of months ago, when Helen had broached the topic, Tyler had said, “It’s always drama with them.”
“So?” she replied. “Isn’t that family?” As an only child with just a few cousins, she thought the chaos of a big family sounded appealing.
Tyler’s mouth tightened. “They’re not like my mom.”
“What are they like?”
“The hot mess express.”
She laughed at first, but then she stopped when she saw how serious his face was. “What does that even mean?”
“Helen, one of my last girlfriends left my dad’s house in tears. My stepmom has a way of making people feel terrible, and
she does it on the sly—not in front of everyone—then acts confused when people call her on it. She’s diabolical. And my dad
believes everything she says. I’m serious when I say none of my ex-girlfriends could get along with Evelyn.”
Helen knew of a few girls that Tyler had dated before her, the usual backstory mentions. “Goodness, how many girls did you
introduce to your stepmother?”
“Just two.”
She wasn’t able to help but feel glad the number was low. “That’s not enough to be a trend. That could just be a coincidence.”
At the time, Helen hadn’t felt worried. She’d told herself she would shrug off anything unpleasant, not take it personally.
But now, sitting in the car with Tyler, seeing how tense he was, she was beginning to feel the tension herself. She knew his
dad had cheated on his mom with the Wicked Stepmother when Tyler was in college, and it had disrupted the family dynamics.
Tyler’s younger brother, Leo, had been fifteen at the time and had been crushed. Now, if anyone tried to call him out on his
apparent binge drinking problem or overly crass sense of humor, he played the child of divorce card as the reason for anything and everything. Bellingham was home to Western Washington University, and Leo was starting
his junior year there. There was no Greek system, but Tyler said Leo epitomized the concept of a frat boy.
Helen tried to reassure Tyler whenever he got worried. “I don’t mind inappropriate jokes. I kind of like inappropriate jokes.”
“Yeah, Helen. With your friends. With people you know. Not with my drunk brother you just met who can’t read a room.”
Secretly though, she was anticipating being great friends with his younger brother. Whenever Tyler described Leo, he sounded
troubled, yes, but he also just sounded deeply sensitive.
Tyler’s younger sister, Gracie, was a bit of an enigma, though. Every story about her seemed to contradict the last one. She’d
graduated from high school just a little over a year ago, so it made sense she was still figuring out who she was, but the
stories still gave Helen whiplash. At times, Gracie sounded softhearted and considerate. Other times, she was the storm cloud
that blew in with “some douchebag boyfriend.” Sometimes she was flaky and left texts and calls unanswered for a week, and
sometimes she stepped up and handled the hard things, like their grandmother’s heart attack. Gracie had moved in with Grammy
for three weeks to help her get back on her feet, though Tyler said it was probably because she just wanted an excuse to quit
the barista job she was working during her gap year. He called it a “quote-unquote gap year,” because he didn’t believe Gracie was actually going to enroll in community college this year like she claimed.
Tyler eased the car into the Ambrose Bed and Breakfast situated on the bay. It was a gothic Tudor-style mansion of red bricks
with ivy crawling up the front walls. A wraparound driveway circled a large fountain, and two stone lions flanked the front
door. Cherry trees were scattered around the front yard with strings of delicate golden lights crisscrossing their branches.
His face softened at the magic of it all.
Helen said, “Tyler, this place looks so romantic.”
“We were Chuckanut Bay’s original brothel,” the bespectacled woman behind the front desk said brightly.
“Oh?” Helen perked up. “Did you know this when you booked?” she asked Tyler.
He was signing the check-in form. His eyes smiled at her, but his face still looked tired as he shook his head no.
Helen turned back to the front desk woman. “Are there any working girls here still?” Tyler’s shoulders moved slightly, a ripple
of silent laughter.
“You’re over a hundred years too late. Not since 1907.” The woman beamed and adjusted the glasses on the bridge of her nose,
delighted to give the historical spiel. “This house was originally a brothel, then it was the private residence of a lumber
baron, a wedding venue, and now it’s a bed and breakfast.” She gestured to the hallway off the lobby. “There are historic
photos that show the house in different eras. You’ll notice much of its character has been preserved, including the English
gardens in the back.”
Tyler handed back the credit card form, and the woman gave them their room keys.
“If you go down that hall, you’ll find a lovely drawing room where we’ll be serving tea in . . .” She checked her wristwatch.
“Oh! About ten minutes. Your room is one of the ones off the drawing room. You’ll see the number on the door.”