Chapter 12
Before the noise erupted from the porch, Augie had felt surprisingly at peace. Once they’d finished serving and returned to
the kitchen, sitting down to eat with Chat and the kids, she felt oddly safe, giddy—she loved listening to Zami tease Chat
about his sweet tooth, claiming he ate an entire cheesecake in an afternoon.
“It was two afternoons.” Chat raised two fingers while chewing.
“Not to mention you set the record for pieces of baklava.”
They continued to talk and joke as they passed plates of food. Augie had forgotten how delicious Zami’s cooking was. She was
suddenly starving. Without meaning to, she also kept hitting Chat’s thigh with her own—lightning bolts of contact that were
strong enough to overtake her full spectrum of emotions; in those seconds, she forgot Mrs. Crawley entirely.
When they were done eating, Zami and Teuta went to the van to grab supplies, and for the first time all night, she and Chat
were alone. They were both pretending to ignore the energy between them, but she knew they each felt the pull. And as they
stood at the sink washing dishes (Chat insisted on helping after setting the kids up with tablets), they didn’t speak. But
minutes later, as Augie handed him a plate to dry, he lowered his head toward her.
“So, are you thinking it or what?”
“What?”
“‘I was never supposed to see you again,’” he said jokingly. “It’s kind of your mantra now. Though I’ll give you, I didn’t
see this one coming. I did not expect to run into you here, of all places.”
Augie pretended to be unaffected as she grabbed another dirty plate. “How do you know what I think?”
Chat took the plate from her and scraped the leftovers into the disposal.
“Fine.” Augie sighed. “‘I was never supposed to see you again.’” She matched his tone. “But I wasn’t thinking it, because
I kind of knew you’d be here.”
Chat’s face lit up. “I’m going to take that as a good sign. The fact that you came anyway.”
“Don’t be too flattered. This is still my job.”
She felt his eyes move over her.
“I’ve known Zami a long time. He used to work at the Club, you know.”
“Have you known Teuta a long time, too?” Chat said, glancing away.
“Yeah, since I was sixteen. So, six years. God, that makes me feel old.”
“So you guys are pretty close?”
Augie hummed in thought. Again, she wondered if he had a crush on Teuta, too. She felt suddenly eager to change the subject.
“We’re friends, yeah. Like I said, I’ve been helping them out for years. That’s why it makes sense that I’m here tonight. That’s why you are the one who is”—she tilted her head—“happenstance.”
“I’m happenstance?” Chat threw a towel over his shoulder and crossed his arms, smiling.
Augie tried to keep her face serious.
“You are.” She dried her hands on the towel hanging off his shoulder. “You are purely coincidence. I was never supposed to see you again.”
Chat laughed a big, raspy laugh. “If it makes you feel any better, I never expected to meet you at all. Or to even be here
this summer.” He picked up another plate. “So, I guess you’re right. It is happenstance.”
“On that note”—something shifted inside her as she moved against the counter—“how did you end up at this job? Where are you
from, exactly?”
Chat nodded as if he’d been waiting for this question, then explained about the Savvy Sitter website, how his friend was a
manny last summer, how he was from a town near St. Cloud. Augie sensed a hesitation in his voice, and she was about to pry
further when he asked her where she was from.
“How do you know I’m not from here?” Augie said.
“Your accent. Or lack thereof. You don’t have our cool Midwest ohs. You don’t go out on the ‘boht’ or carry a ‘bayg.’”
They both looked up and caught each other’s eyes in their reflections in the window. Outside, the sky was turning from purple
to royal, velvety blue, a color like the inside of a ring box.
“Well, you’re right. I’m not from here.”
“So, home is?”
The question threw Augie. Home was here, wasn’t it? It didn’t always feel that way.
“I’m from Maine. But we moved when I was thirteen, so I don’t know.”
Typically, Augie avoided sharing details about Maine, afraid of having to explain the reasons for their move. It all led back to her dad, memories of the restaurant and the waitress, how she hadn’t spoken to him since she was ten. These were things she didn’t share.
“Ah, Maine. That’s one of my favorite states, at least of the ones I’ve been to. A few years ago, during spring break, I hiked
part of the Appalachian trail with some hockey guys. Ended at Mount Katahdin. It was amazing. I’m really glad we went when
we did.” An air of sadness hovered around his words.
“Why’s that? Pandemic?”
Chat went quiet as he grabbed a pitcher from the counter and turned the faucet on, rinsing the pitcher by tipping it up and
down, up and down, as if it were an hourglass.
“I mean, yeah. I also got injured my sophomore year. I was in a coma for a few days, then couldn’t play hockey anymore. Couldn’t
do anything, really. I don’t usually mention it—I got so tired of everyone feeling bad for me, and it’s difficult to explain.”
Augie studied him. “That’s awful.” It was the first and truest thing that came to mind.
“Yeah.” He set the pitcher down. “It was awful. But it worked out in the end. Like I said, I was going through the motions before. I didn’t like how intense hockey
was becoming. It was just the only way I thought I could get to Europe. I have an uncle out there, and a friend from college.
I’ve been sick of St. Cloud for years. I didn’t want to end up like my dad, who has never even been to Canada. Can you believe
that? It’s so insane. It’s only like three hours away. He was too lazy to get a passport.”
Augie didn’t know how to respond. She’d been so snappy with him before, judging him for his take on college, for everything.
It made more sense now. She, of everyone, understood feeling stuck. She, of everyone, understood not wanting to be like one’s
father. She’d never seen Chat so solemn. It felt jarring and intimate.
“Of course, I couldn’t feel too sorry for myself,” he continued, talking faster.
“COVID hit not long after my concussion, and everyone was knocked off course. No one could play hockey—or travel. I had to do PT on my own, couldn’t get into the right hospitals.
Anyway”—his voice swung an octave higher—“that’s my little sob story.
Things are looking up. Now that I’ve graduated, I can finally make plans.
And hey, I’m finally out of St. Cloud, too.
Can you believe this is the first summer I’ve lived somewhere else?
Not exactly Germany, but I’m going to book my flight this week. So that’s something.”
“That’s great.” Augie sucked in a breath. “Really. I’m glad it’s working out.”
On instinct, she reached out and put her hand on top of his. Then he put his other hand on top of hers, and she felt lightheaded,
like sunlight was shooting from their stacked palms. Her hand burned with electricity, her whole body buzzing like it had
on the boat.
Everything felt different after that—like they’d moved past some hurdle. They talked easily as they finished cleaning. They
discussed what they had studied in college (Augie: communications, Chat: business); how they usually spent summers (Augie:
the Club, Chat: a landscaping company, though it didn’t pay well and the noise hurt his head after the injury); how many siblings
and pets they had (Augie: zero, Chat: two younger sisters and a bunny named Mr. Bun Bun). Augie was so wrapped up in his presence,
she was disappointed when Zami and Teuta reappeared, arms filled with covered trays. She felt Chat’s mood fall, too.
“Egg bake tomorrow.” Zami nudged Chat with his shoulder as he slid a tray into the fridge. “With za’atar and feta. You’ll
love it.”
Augie didn’t like to imagine Chat being there all week. She also wished she had asked him more about Mrs. Crawley, what it was like living with them—why she was so horrible to Augie—but they’d been so caught up in their own world, she hadn’t thought of it.
It wasn’t until the last dish had been stored, the last surface wiped, the last cutting board packed away, that they heard
the screams from outside—and all froze in unison. Even the boys looked up from their screens.
Before anyone could register what was happening, Zami was off and running. For a large man, he was quick on his feet, and
he raced to the deck and back again, lunging for the fire extinguisher. Chat rushed to follow, pausing down the hall as he
remembered the boys. He whipped around to Augie. “Max, Cooper, can you?” he yelled as he chased after Zami.
Things moved in a whirlwind from there. Zami hosed down the table, turning it to a mess of white dust; the guests and Crawleys
were equally disheveled, and eventually they all split off to their rooms to regroup.
Augie also wanted to scream when she went to the porch and saw all they were now responsible for cleaning. It took a whole
extra hour to get rid of the fire extinguisher residue—to sweep and vacuum and strip the table, to run the dishwasher again
and again. Zami tried to keep them in good spirits as they worked—he said they were lucky the fire hadn’t caught the table,
that these things happened, that the Crawleys would pay them extra—but Augie was tired. When they were finally finished, the
clock was pushing nine and all she wanted was her bed.
Of course, she still wanted one more moment with Chat.
She wanted to say goodbye. So as they packed the last of the bags and began running everything back to the car, Augie lingered by the stairs, listening for him.
She hovered against the banister until she finally heard his laugh echoing from somewhere nearby.
She listened closer as Teuta and Zami walked past.
“Coming?” Teuta held open the front door.
“One second. I think I forgot my water bottle. I’ll be right out.”
As they left, Augie heard Chat more clearly from down the hall. She walked toward the sound, arriving at the front sitting
room where they’d started the evening. She’d thought he was alone with the boys, but now she heard another voice.
Mrs. Crawley.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chat said, his tone light. “It’s all good. People love a story. Everyone still had a good time.”
Augie stood outside the door. Mrs. Crawley sighed—and was that a sniffle? Was she crying? Augie desperately wanted to inch
forward and look inside, but she was afraid.
“So chaotic,” Mrs. Crawley said.
A rumpling of movement—were they sitting on the couch together?
“Did you know Abby wasn’t even invited?” Mrs. Crawley continued, her voice muffled, as if she were talking into a napkin.
“Incredibly rude. And I just, I don’t know what has gotten into Bill. I can’t believe he even invited everyone up here. Especially,
you know, him.”
“Josh Mike.” Chat’s voice had an unfamiliar harshness. “Such a fucking dick.”
Augie straightened. She had never heard Chat swear before. He and Mrs. Crawley were speaking their own language—their own
practiced back-and-forth.
“I loathe him,” Mrs. Crawley agreed.
There was another muffled sound. Augie imagined them on the couch, Chat’s arm around her for comfort. She felt ill.
“Hey, they’ll be gone tomorrow. And the weather’s gonna be good. We’ll relax. Whatever you want to do.”
“I can’t believe I was mostly worried about the weather before,” Mrs. Crawley scoffed. “This is such a disaster. I’m so glad
you’re here.”
It went quiet. Augie pictured his hand on top of Mrs. Crawley’s, as he’d done with Augie an hour earlier.
“Augie?” Augie suddenly heard from down the hall.
She staggered against the wall.
“Hey, Aug?” Teuta called louder as Augie pushed away, her feet clapping the hardwood as she rushed toward the foyer, her face
hot.
In her wake, she felt the room go silent.
“What?” she whispered as she moved forward.
“Your water bottle’s in the van.” Teuta pointed behind her, confused.
“Oh. Thanks, let’s go.” She ushered Teuta back toward the door, desperate to leave before anyone caught her spying.
Still, as Teuta stepped outside and the cool air rushed over them, Augie heard footsteps, and she stopped. Part of her knew
she should leave right then—that she should race outside and disappear—but another part of her held out hope that Chat wanted
to find her.
She made the mistake of turning around.
Mrs. Crawley’s eyes turned to slits, her mouth a straight line. Her whole demeanor was disheveled yet restrained, her clothes
wrinkled, her hair tangled, but her expression and stance were stone. She didn’t flinch until finally, she pursed her lips
and spat the words that would haunt Augie the rest of the night:
“Get the hell out of my house.”