Chapter Five
Five
My suddenly chiming phone made my heart lurch.
It was a gorgeous afternoon in mid-June, so Inkwood Books had hit a lull—most people in town either soaking up the sun at the pool or down the shore—which meant I was allowed to read at the register.
I’d happily lost myself in another fantastical world, but I blinked to see that Gwen Carlisle, Queen of My Heart wanted to FaceTime.
Answering went against all proper bookseller etiquette, but the store truly was a snooze and I’d been missing my friends lately.
“Thanks a lot,” I said once Gwen and her signature smile-smirk appeared onscreen. “You just yanked me away from the man of my dreams.”
“Listen, if that High Lord is really the love of your life, he’ll wait a hot minute for you to return,” my friend said. She was on the subway, a banner ad for the latest iPhone above her head.
I laughed. “How’s life with the bunheads?”
A lifelong ballet fan, Gwen was interning in the American Ballet Theatre’s donor relations department this summer. It wasn’t shaping up to be as glamorous a role as she’d thought.
“Mmm, fine.” She shrugged. “More spreadsheets than I thought imaginable. What’s up with you?”
“Not much,” I said. “Just counting down the days to Erica’s family reunion next month.”
“Ah, I see we’re still thrilled about that,” Gwen noted drily, and when I didn’t respond, she laughed. “But come on, it’ll be cool to explore a new place, right?”
I conceded with a slight nod, because she wasn’t wrong.
The night I’d discovered Annie’s stash of Polaroids and paintings, something had come over me.
I became, as Lindsay Lohan so delicately phrased it in Mean Girls, “a woman possessed.” I’d fallen down an internet rabbit hole, learning everything I could about Martha’s Vineyard.
Reading its Wikipedia page (fun fact: there wasn’t a single vineyard on the island), scrolling through Google Images, and even skimming a Reddit thread on Martha’s Vineyard restaurant recommendations. Apparently, the Atlantic was overrated.
“Annie has been there,” I told Gwen. “She didn’t say anything after I first told her about the reunion, but then she randomly brought up Martha’s Vineyard when I was…” I hesitated. “A friend.”
Gwen was quiet. Her grandfather had died of Alzheimer’s, so she knew what I was going through and was supportive, but at the same time, she wasn’t.
She always waited for me to bring up Annie, and she never wanted to hear anything beyond an adjective.
Today’s visit with Annie was good/fine/difficult. Details were too much for her.
Which hurt, but I understood.
“I never knew she went there,” I eventually said. “She never told me, and there’s no pin on her globe-trotter map.”
“Have you asked her more about it?” Gwen asked.
“Yes, but…”
I trailed off when the bell above the entrance cheerfully dinged.
It was Erica’s friend Hilary. “I’m finally here to pick up that book!
” she said as I quickly paused FaceTime and put down my phone.
“I’m embarrassed that it’s been weeks, but things have been all go, go, go with the kids.
” Her eyebrows knit together when I handed her my recommendation, a romance set in Buenos Aires. “This doesn’t take place in London.”
“Hilary, it’s time for you to read about a new city,” I said lightly.
She skimmed the book’s cover copy, then sighed and handed it back to me to scan. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot!”
Gwen and I resumed our conversation once the bell rang again, Hilary back out on the mean streets of Haddonfield. “Olivia, don’t take this the wrong way,” Gwen said, “but I think it’s really good you’re going away soon.”
I affectionately rolled my eyes but also felt the hair start to rise on the back of my neck. Why did Gwen sound like my dad?
“I meant that it’ll be healthy for you to leave for a while. What you’ve been doing this year is so selfless, and I can’t express how much I admire you for it, but…”
My stomach dropped, the rest of her sentence turning to white noise.
But I imagined it translated to something like:
Olivia, you need to get a life.
* * *
Later, I couldn’t help but storm straight into Annie’s room with tears pooling in my eyes. My grandmother was relaxing on her bed with what vaguely sounded like a sappy Hallmark movie on TV and I didn’t even hesitate before collapsing next to her. “Oh, my,” she said. “What—”
My sudden sobs cut her off. I didn’t know if she recognized me, and I selfishly didn’t care; I cried.
Annie was the last person I should’ve been melting down in front of, but besides my dad, she was also the only person I’d ever let see me so low—the only person who made me feel better.
When a group of girls had nicknamed me “Stilts” in middle school, I’d come home crying after it had caught on with the rest of the seventh grade.
Annie grabbed her keys to her Mercedes and took me on a long drive to a small town up the Delaware River, where we wandered the streets and window-shopped and then couldn’t stop laughing over a five-course dinner at a dreamy historic inn. She’d turned it into the best day.
Now, I let it all spill out. How I didn’t regret taking a gap year, but also how restless, frustrated, and unhappy I was.
I was jealous of my friends, who’d started new lives at college.
I felt like Erica branded everything as “the Lupo Family” when the dynamic in our house was “the Lupo Family I needed to get a life.
I wanted to leave Haddonfield, and hated myself for it.
I hated myself for feeling this inexplicable pull to Martha’s Vineyard—now secretly wanting to go when Erica seemingly didn’t want me to go.
And I especially hated that I was leaving Annie for almost a month.
“I love you,” I told her at the end. “I love you so much, Annie, but…”
“You need time away from me,” she said simply.
Not sadly, but simply—matter-of-fact.
Heart wrenching and half-horrified, I didn’t know how to respond.
“Start packing, Olivia,” she whispered. “If not for yourself, dearest, then for me.” She took my hand and squeezed it. “Martha’s Vineyard is a magical place. Go fall under its spell.”