CHAPTER THIRTY
Ironically, I slept better that night than I had in weeks.
Georgie came over and watched movies with me and my mother after Fallfest, such a rare occurrence that I might’ve thought I was dreaming if we weren’t scarfing down a box of apple cider doughnuts.
Apparently, word spread about my departure, and my very own batch of highly coveted pastries had been set aside with a particularly heart wrenching note.
My mother brought burgers and Coke floats—her favorite drink, she said.
I’d learned more about my mother in a few days than I had my whole life. It was as if, slowly, the lights flickered alive behind her eyes for the first time in years.
We stayed up so late working through a few of Georgie’s DVDs, I was glad I changed my flight to a later one. My body needed a break from the college-freshman-amounts of caffeine I consumed on Serena’s wedding day.
I slept from the second my head hit the pillow to the moment my alarm blared.
As I dressed, I couldn’t help the occasional glance out my window and into the alley.
I had to continue reminding myself that I was Margot Wade, the former youngest acquisitions editor on record at Sterling Publications and future best-selling novelist. Fairytales didn’t exist—Georgie’s romantic comedies were incompatible with real life.
No one appeared at my door on a white steed. And that was perfectly okay.
Life, it seemed, was prettier with all the wrinkles and incongruous bits. How else could I see just how good the good parts were?
I stared down at Georgie, mouth wide open, neck craned at an odd angle, sprawled on my mother’s decades-old couch. She insisted on sleeping over, even if we had no air mattress and the apartment was too small for a guest bedroom. She was grossly sentimental like that.
A chainsaw-esque snore tore from her throat. I fought the urge to pull out my phone and record.
As if on cue, her eyes flew open and she yelped, kicking her legs in the air and successfully hurtling herself onto the floor. She groaned on impact.
I raised an eyebrow. “Gee, you didn’t have to jump for joy. It’s just me.”
Georgie rubbed her hip and glared at me. “Sorry, something about waking up to someone watching me from above puts me in fight-or-flight mode,” she muttered flatly.
“And you chose flight.”
“Ha-ha.”
“Do you think Rhett’s aware of the medical bills in his future?” I asked, helping her up. She flicked my shoulder, which I brushed off and nodded to the kitchen with my chin. “C’mon, my Mom’s making pancakes,” I said.
Later, we sat around the dining table, the only thing left on our plates being tiny pools of syrup.
“When’s your new flight?” my mother asked.
I checked the time. “A few hours. Rhett should be here any minute now.”
Georgie sighed and dropped her chin in her hands. “I wish I could come with you guys,” she murmured.
“You have to close the shop today just to catch up,” I replied with a smile. “When are you finally going to hire some proper help?”
“I’m finishing the application tonight,” she said, sitting up straight and sending me a mock-salute.
“Good.”
A knock sounded on the screen door in the alley. We all rose in tandem, the two of them helping me with my suitcase down the stairs. Georgie greeted Rhett with a hug and a kiss before he heaved my bag over his shoulder and secured it in the bed of his truck.
I rubbed my palms on my pants and gathered a long breath. The clouds overhead were swirled with shades of dark grey, threatening an impending storm. Smiling, I turned to Georgie and my mother, wrapping my coat tighter against the biting gust.
“Well, this is it—” I hesitated, clearing my throat. “I’ll see you both soon, okay?”
That time, I really meant it.
They each pulled me into a bone-crushing hug, separately making me swear that I’d be careful and text them religiously with updates. I laughed away the tears that threatened to spring to my eyes.
“I’m proud of you, darlin’,” my mother said, gripping my shoulders. “Always have been.”
I sniffled. “Thanks, Mom.”
When I climbed into Rhett’s truck, she was smiling wider than I’d ever seen. I watched them in the rear view until we pulled out of the alley and onto Main Street.
We rumbled down Main, tires humming against the pavement.
A mist of rain began to coat the windshield, as if Bluebell Cove itself was protesting my departure.
He had the radio low—something classic and fuzzy.
I kept my eyes on the window, grateful for something to fill the silence, watching the town pass behind glass.
The bakery was already open, a line out the door.
I could just make out the silhouette of Rachel slinging drinks through the Morning Bell’s window.
Joe lingered on the stoop of Gulliver’s Books, teacup held to his lips as he observed the swarms of passersby.
Mrs. Henderson seemed to catch my gaze as she perfected the Cove Market display.
Every person felt like a landmark in their own rite.
I had to force myself to look away as we pulled onto the little two-lane highway leaving town. Amber trees turned to open fields, rolling hills, and the winding drives leading to farms like Frank and Janice’s.
We passed the water tower, faded and chipped, the one Teddy once climbed on a dare.
Fourth of July, the summer before junior year.
He’d sat up there waving a sparkler, hollering that he could see the whole world from the top.
I stood below, hands on my hips, pretending I wasn’t terrified that he was going to fall.
“Bet you wish you were up here!” he yelled.
“I’d rather die!” I shouted back.
He grinned. “But this is the entire point, Margot!”
I still didn’t know what that meant. Maybe he’d already been planning to leave.
The truck hit a pothole hard enough to yank my seatbelt. I gripped the door handle.
“Sorry,” Rhett said. “Forgot that one was there.”
“It’s fine.”
He glanced at me, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “You sure you don’t want to turn back for coffee? Might be your last decent one before the city.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You think gas station coffee qualifies as decent?”
“Compared to airport coffee? Absolutely.”
I gave in with a sigh. “Fine. One stop.”
He doubled back and pulled into the corner station at the very edge of town—the same one where Teddy procured our orange-soda-turned-tradition. I could still see him hop into his Jeep, sunburned and wild, spilling his Styrofoam cup all over his seat. The stain was still there.
Rhett hopped out to fill the tank while I sat watching the rain bead on the windshield. The chime from the gas station door sounded exactly the same as it had back then.
A few minutes later, Rhett came back balancing two cups. “They didn’t have your usual. Hopefully black coffee’s okay,” he said, handing one over. “Oh and—” He paused, digging through his pockets and retrieving a handful of creamers and sugar packets. “In case you want them. It’s, uh— reflex.”
I smiled despite myself. “It’s perfect.”
Back on the highway, the world opened up around us again—flat farmland, fences stretching forever, fields stubbled with the remnants of summer crops. Thick drops of rain pelted the windows faster now, the sky only growing darker the further we inched toward Port Camden.
Rhett drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “You nervous?”
“About flying?”
“About going back.”
I hesitated. “Yeah. A little.”
Rhett grew up in San Francisco and left a shiny career behind to pursue what he loved. If anyone understood what I was doing, it was Georgie’s stoic, quietly incisive boyfriend.
He nodded, eyes on the road. “You don’t have to go, you know.”
“I do, actually.”
He didn’t argue. He just nodded again, like the answer didn’t surprise him.
We passed the drive-in. The screen was still standing, white paint on its supports cracked and peeling.
Teddy and I spent half our senior year there.
The good half—before the lighthouse and the day everything fell apart.
One night he kissed me during the opening credits, right as a police siren blared in the movie.
I’d laughed into his mouth. He said, “That’s our cue to run. ”
I hadn’t realized until a few months later that he meant it literally.
Rhett must’ve noticed me staring. “You used to go there a lot?”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “With Teddy.”
He didn’t say anything right away, which I appreciated. For a while the only sound was the hum of tires against asphalt and rain against steel and glass.
“Guess I don’t have to ask what you’re thinking about,” he said eventually.
“No,” I murmured. “You probably don’t.”
Rhett looked like he wanted to say something else but didn’t. The restraint in his patience felt worse than anything he could’ve said out loud. It was as if I knew exactly what he would’ve said, and he knew that it wouldn’t change anything.
I drew a circle in the fog on the window and watched it vanish almost instantly.
We passed the same field of wildflowers where Teddy and I once got a flat tire after sneaking out to see a meteor shower. He’d spent an hour trying to fix it before realizing we didn’t have a spare. We laid on the hood and watched the sky instead, Teddy’s curfew came and went.
Being together made it easier to forget about the rules.
We merged onto the next section of our drive. The two-lane highway widened to four, the landscape flattening into gravel and road stands and rinky-dink diners and fast food restaurants. Each green mile marker felt like a countdown.
Rhett’s wipers struggled against the onslaught, smearing water across the windshield as he quietly hummed off-key to a country song.
The last vestige of Bluebell Cove disappeared in the rearview mirror—its lighthouse, its one stoplight, its familiar quiet—all swallowed by the rolling stretch of highway.