Chapter Fourteen #2
missed the bottom step. “I think so. I don’t know.” I close my eyes, rubbing my forehead. “God, that’s a terrible thing to
say.”
“It isn’t if it’s the truth,” Nathan says.
I open my eyes and look at him, but he’s staring out at the ocean again, cigarette between his lips.
The brass band finishes with a flourish and another cheer goes up from the pier. A single red firework shoots into the sky
from somewhere out on the water, like a lonely signal flare, bursting with a sharp bang into a halo of sparkling light in
the dark. Another firework follows, and then another, and another, until whole groups are going off. Greens, whites, glittering
golds and reds, their reflections shimmering in the ocean. Explosions shatter the air, one after another.
For a disconcerting moment, I feel like I’m back in Cambridge, standing on the grassy strip that runs along the Charles River,
leaning back against Jackson, while fireworks bloom over the skyline of Boston, mirrored in the still water. I catch myself
wondering if he’s standing on that grassy strip with Rika and Yasmin right now.
And maybe it’s just to push away that familiar tug of loneliness, but I move closer to Nathan. Close enough that my arm brushes
his.
He doesn’t move away. He stays where he is, warm and solid and here.
A spray of silver goes up into the sky.
Nathan takes a slow drink from his beer. “That was a good one.”
“Yeah.”
Another spray goes up, and then another and another, until the fireworks display reaches a climax that’s so bright I have
to squint and the beach lights up practically as bright as day. I glance back once, toward the group we left behind on the
beach chairs, and I think I see Dina watching us. But when the next volley of fireworks goes off, lighting things up again,
she’s looking up at the sky.
My ears are ringing when the last flashes wink out and all that’s left is a faint cloud of smoke drifting over the ocean. The cheer that goes up from the pier and the beach around us sounds oddly muted and underwhelming compared to the finale’s volley of bangs.
Nathan takes a last sip from his beer and then drowns the end of his cigarette in the bottle. We turn and walk back to the
others, who are slowly rousing themselves from their beach chairs, bundling up blankets and collecting empty cans of seltzer.
“I think that was the best show I’ve seen yet,” Meryl says, pulling a sweatshirt over her head. “I swear they get more ambitious
every year.”
“And more crowded every year,” Bill says, glancing toward the pier, where crowds of people are already drifting in waves toward
the parking lot. “We better start walking if we don’t want to get stuck in that.”
“Oh, husband.” Dave pats his arm. “We always get stuck in that. We’ll live.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out. Rika has sent me a slightly blurry picture of fireworks exploding over the
Charles. A second later, another message comes through: Happy Fourth. Missing you.
I pause, staring at the message, at the picture, thumb hovering over the screen. I start to text back Miss you too and change my mind and hit the backspace key. I’m afraid of sounding like I wish I was there with them. Like I feel like
I’m missing out.
And I don’t.
I’m almost sure I don’t.
In the end, I just send a quick heart and tuck my phone back in my pocket, glancing around for Nathan. I spot him with Dina,
a few feet away from everyone else. She’s leaning close to him, eyes intense, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Whatever
it is, he looks annoyed about it.
“Harlowe, you want some leftover cupcakes?” Yan asks.
I jerk my eyes away from Dina and Nathan. “Um. Sure. I’ll take cupcakes.”
“Excellent. Hang on, Meryl packed an extra Tupperware in here somewhere . . .”
I glance again at Nathan and Dina. They’ve broken apart now, Nathan wandering away a few steps, running a hand through his
hair. Dina is coming toward me.
“Harlowe,” she says, “I’m wondering if I can ask you a favor. Would you be good enough to drive my nephew back to my house?”
I blink in surprise. “Oh. In . . . your truck?”
“No, no, his car is around here somewhere.” She clears her throat awkwardly, hands on her hips. “I just don’t feel terribly
comfortable with him driving.”
I glance at Nathan, who’s picking up his Birkenstocks from the beach towel. He doesn’t seem drunk. “I think he just had a
beer,” I say.
Dina’s mouth thins. “Harlowe,” she says, quietly but firmly. “Could you please drive him for me?”
Her eyes search mine, desperate in a way I don’t understand.
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course. Sure.”
“Thank you.” She looks relieved. “Just head back—he can crash at my place overnight. He’s done that plenty of times before.
I just want to stop by Queer Punx and inventory a couple things, and then I’ll head back too.”
I nod and she turns away, helping to gather up the beach towels. I grab my shoes and walk over to Nathan.
“Should we get out of here?” I ask.
He looks ruefully at the paper bag in his hand and then sighs. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s go.”
The party is moving from the pier to the rest of Provincetown as we head for Cuppa Cove, where Nathan left his car.
Laughter echoes into the night air. Music plays from portable speakers and thumps out from clubs.
Gaudy flashing necklaces blink red, white, and blue lights in the crowd.
A group of laughing, tipsy people get briefly between us, and after that, Nathan reaches back a hand.
Maybe he’s aiming for my wrist, or just my T-shirt, but he finds my hand, and I let him have it. Our fingers twine around each other.
Nathan leads me around behind Cuppa Cove, past a random dance party happening in the middle of the street, to an alley behind
the row of shops. A very old Pontiac Grand Am sits parked next to the dumpster, rust eating through its bumpers, its gold
sides faded to white from permanent salt stains. The hubcaps are long gone and the headlights have clouded over. One of the
side mirrors is black, probably a replacement from salvage parts.
“This is me,” Nathan says. I half expect him to just walk around to the driver’s side himself—he seems no different from that
night he drove me back from Old Colony Tap, and it’s not as though Dina would ever know. But he pulls his keys out of his
pocket and tosses them to me, then climbs in on the passenger side.
The fabric seats are worn and the cupholders are stained and the whole interior smells musty. It takes me a couple tries to
start the engine and the brakes squeak as I ease us out of the alley and onto the road.
“Turn left,” Nathan says, as I pull up to Commercial Street. “We can go out the back way and avoid the party crowds.”
I can see why Nathan’s car was recently out of commission. I have to floor the accelerator just to get us up to speed when
we reach Route 6, and the whole car rattles around us like it’s about to shake apart. The engine seems to have a permanent
whine.
But Nathan doesn’t look worried. He rolls down the passenger window, closing his eyes and leaning his face into the breeze.
I roll my window down too, to keep the wind from thudding against my eardrums. The air is cool and fresh and damp, like I
can feel the dew coming in overnight.
We rumble up Spyglass Beach Way, the Pontiac bouncing over the dips in the gravel drive, and I pull up behind my little Honda.
The crickets are loud as we climb out of the car, a pulsing, whirring hum, while the ocean is just a gentle swish-swish underneath.
Scattered clouds drift across the stars, but the moon is still bright enough that I can see the steps on the
brick path in front of us even before Dina’s porch light sensor turns on.
“Oh.” I stop on the porch, rubbing my forehead. “Crap. I didn’t . . . I forgot to get Dina’s key.” I look at Nathan. “We could
hang out in my cottage, if you want?”
“I’ve got a key.” Nathan pulls a small brass one out of his pocket, but he hesitates, fiddling with it between his fingers.
“I could still walk you over to the other house, though. Just . . . for company.”
Goose bumps prickle up my arms in the chilly night air, but there’s a pool of warmth deep in my core. “Sure.”
The porch light switches off behind us as we go up the flagstone path, and I pull out my phone, turning on the flashlight,
throwing skinny shadows from the birch trees into the night ahead of us. Through the trees, I catch glimpses of the moonlight
reflecting on the ocean in white glimmers.
When we reach the smaller cottage, I pause on the front steps. “Thanks for the company.”
That quarter of a smile creeps onto his face. “Right, well . . . I had to be a gentleman. Make sure you weren’t eaten by bears.”
I blink. “Are there bears on the Cape?”
The smile widens. “I actually have no idea. It was just the first thing that came into my head.”
I smile back at him, hesitating, and then I say, “Any idea why Dina insisted I drive you?”
The smile fades from his face. He looks away, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.”
“I don’t have anywhere to be.”
His gaze comes back to mine, considering. And then he says, “I haven’t always made the best decisions. And Dina . . . still gets worried.”
“Should she worry?” I ask.
He looks at me for a long time, like he’s searching for an answer in my face, only I don’t know the question. And then, all
in one quick motion, as though on impulse, he steps closer, raises a hand to my chin, and kisses me.
It’s warm and soft and gentle, his mouth tasting faintly of alcohol and cigarettes, and it’s tender in a way that catches
me so completely off guard, it crushes the breath out of my chest.
This is different. The thought goes through my mind: This is so different than Jackson.
And then the thought is gone, vanishing like smoke, and all I’m aware of is that the pool of warmth in my core is spreading
up into my chest, growing into a tentative, aching flame.
We break apart at the same time, and I open my eyes. I don’t know when I closed them, but I find Nathan looking back at me.
“Do you want to come in?” My voice comes out a whisper.
For a second, he’s frozen, staring at me. And then something passes across his face—a shadow I can’t read. He drops his hand,
pulling away.
“I should . . .” He shakes his head. “I should go.”
Heat rises up my neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I don’t have expectations; I was
just asking if you wanted to come inside for a minute . . .”
But even as I say it, I’m not sure I believe myself. If he changes his mind—if he says yes right now—I think I might do anything
to keep this flame alive in my chest. To keep feeling the way I feel right now.
“No,” he says. His voice cracks, and it seems to catch him by surprise. He steps back, clearing his throat. “I should go crash. I have the morning shift tomorrow and . . . it’s late.”
“Nathan . . .”
But he’s already backing away. “I’ll see you later.” And he turns and walks away, melting into the shadows of the birch grove.
I hear his footsteps crunching distantly, and then Dina’s porch light turns on again. I can just barely see him through the
trees, pulling out his key and disappearing into the house.
Shit.
I close my eyes, running a hand over my face. How did I spectacularly ruin that? How did I make him run away from me . . . again?
I pull out my keys and unlock the cottage’s front door, kicking off my sandals and switching on the lamp by the couch. The
dining room door is open, just like I left it, and beyond, the room is dim. The glow from the lamp barely reaches across the
threshold.
The dining room is also silent.
“Professor MacAndrew?” I walk toward the dining room, but I still don’t hear anything—no sound of pages turning or the chair
creaking.
I flick the light switch. The hanging lamp over the dining room table switches on, filling the room with a soft yellow glow
and sending the shadows rearing back into the corners.
The room is empty.
The books sit silently on the shelf in the hutch. The dining chairs are pushed in around the table. There’s no one here.
Professor MacAndrew is gone.