24. Daisy
24
DAISY
I ’m so exhausted that my legs are sludge as I carry my board out of the water. I barely have the strength to peel off my wetsuit.
“My God, how long were we out there?” Oliver asks as we collapse on our towels. “I don’t have the energy to check my watch.”
My eyes close sleepily as the sun warms my wet skin, but I feel Harrison’s gaze and manage to turn my head toward him.
“Is something wrong?” I ask.
“Just making sure you’re okay. We shouldn’t have stayed out there so long.”
“You worry too much,” I tell him, and he doesn’t reply.
It’s as if the waves are slowly rising and falling beneath my towel. The imagined motion plus the warmth of the sand lulls me to sleep, and when I rouse again the sun is lower in the sky and Harrison is rolling a ball to this cute little kid in front of us.
I sit up, sleepily blinking at them both.
“Daisy,” says Harrison, “this is Lincoln, who’s just turned five and has been explaining to me why we don’t need to worry about leprechauns stealing our gold. ”
“They can only travel by rainbow,” Lincoln says.
“So, if there’s a rainbow…” I begin.
Lincoln nods. “Then you need to worry. That’s why I’m never going to Hawaii.”
“The double rainbows there,” Harrison explains to me with a grin. “Apparently, they’re just a four-lane highway of theft.”
I hide my laughter with a cough and lean back on my hands, as Harrison continues to roll the ball to Lincoln, and tease him. He’s so good with this kid, so natural.
And that’s exactly what he wanted, isn’t it? He never had a true family of his own, with his dad always gone and his mother in France. He wanted the perfect wife, the kids, the stability. He’ll find it with someone soon enough, and it breaks my heart that it won’t be me. That even if I managed to fake Audrey’s class and sophistication, the jig would be up in a month when I had to tell him I was returning to DC early and why I was returning early.
For everything Audrey did wrong, I guarantee she never got kicked out of school.
That night, the three of us make dinner together, though Oliver’s primary contribution is refilling everyone’s wine.
“Are you always this happy, Daisy?” Oliver asks, walking into the kitchen to top up my glass.
I hesitate before answering. I’d like to claim I am, but something went wrong with me last winter. I’m not sure I wanted to die, but I’m not sure I didn’t , either. Was it the situation? Was it some genetic frailty inherited from my dad? The fact that I don’t understand what happened means I can’t swear it won’t happen again. But I’ve been happy here. If I knew my life could consist of Harrison and surfing and sunlight and cooking, it would be pretty easy to tell Oliver that yes, I’m always this happy .
“We’re on vacation. It would be hard not to be happy,” I tell him instead.
Oliver’s gaze lingers for a moment, as if he knows it wasn’t exactly the truth, and then moves toward his brother. “Harrison manages to be quite unhappy on vacation,” he says with a soft smile, “though I’ve noticed he’s not at all unhappy on this one.”
After dinner, they handle most of the clean-up and remain behind to drink more wine while I’m so tired I can barely stay upright. I retreat to my room, lulled to sleep by the sound of Harrison singing in French to make Oliver laugh.
If we never had to leave, I can almost guarantee I’d stay as happy as I am right now.
I wake in the morning but opt not to run the blender. Based on the number of empty wine bottles in the trash, they’ll both be hungover, and I’d rather have them up and ready to surf by eleven than downstairs at eight but cranky all day. I’ve just finished exercising when Oliver strolls out, scratching his bare stomach with a cup of coffee in hand. “We might have had a bit too much to drink last night,” he admits. “Entirely Harrison’s fault.”
I grin. “Yes, I’ve noticed how conservatively you drink when left to your own devices. Harrison is the problem.”
“Speaking of my brother,” he says, taking a seat, “how long have you been in love with him?”
My eyes widen. I’m horrified that I’ve been too obvious and hoping that he just used the wrong word, though he speaks better English than I do. “I’ve known him since I was a baby,” I reply. “He’s family. So always.”
His grin is gentle, sympathetic. “This is not what I was asking. I imagine you know how lovely you are. Have you not wondered why I don’t hit on you?”
I brace myself. No woman is so secure that she welcomes a conversation about her flaws. “Harrison would argue that you’ve done nothing but hit on me all weekend.”
“Harrison is ridiculous, and you and I both know it.”
I shrug. “Then I’m not your cup of tea.”
He rolls his eyes. “Daisy, you’re every man’s cup of tea, believe me. What stopped me is the way he watches you—as if you’re all he wants in the entire world, and he knows that if he allows himself a single bite, he’d never stop.” Oliver is likely wrong, yet my heart flutters and spreads its wings anyway.
I’d give up everything I want from life in order to make what he’s said true. “He’s just looking out for me.”
Oliver stretches, then clasps his hands behind his head. “You know, our mother left him when he younger than that little boy on the beach yesterday?”
I wince. The thought of it pains me. It pained me even as a child. “I still don’t see how she could have done it.”
He sips his coffee. “But she’d have deprived the world of me and my younger brother Matthew if she hadn’t gone. If you think I’m handsome, you should see Matthew.”
I laugh. “I don’t recall ever claiming you were handsome.”
“It’s too obvious to even bother debating,“ he replies with a grin, which slowly fades. “But my point is this: Harrison lost the person he loved most and depended upon most at a very young age, and he thought marrying someone like Audrey, someone he didn’t care for too much, was an insurance policy. He wanted the appearance of a relationship without incurring the risks of one.”
“None of that means he wants one with me. The only reason I’m here is because he still sees me as the toddler who’s going to eat sand if he’s not watching.”
“He’d like you to believe that, yes,” Oliver says, leaning forward and dropping to a whisper as Harrison walks into the kitchen in nothing but swim trunks. “He’d like to believe it himself. But Daisy, he doesn’t stop watching you. Not when you’re surfing but also not when you couldn’t be safer. When you lie in the hammock, he watches. When you walk to the bathroom, he watches. Even when you fell asleep on the beach yesterday, his eyes went to you. I doubt very much he was concerned about you eating sand.”
My eyes move toward Harrison, fiddling with the coffee maker—his thick hair mussed from sleep, his eyes still drowsy. He’s so lovely that it hurts to look at him right now, and that makes what Oliver’s saying more terrifying than anything else. If someone as worthless as Christian could shatter me by ending things, how much worse would it be if the end came at Harrison’s hands?
But how amazing would it be if it didn’t end at all?
If I was the one he’d been waiting on all along?