The Summer Pact

Chapter 11 Hannah

We are twelve hours into the Texas leg of the trip, and so far, things haven’t been smooth sailing. To say the least. Our meeting with Ashley was a disaster; Tyson dropped a bomb that he and Summer were romantically involved; and Lainey just had sex with a random guy she met in the hotel bar.

As I listen to Tyson and Lainey argue, I feel a sense of overwhelming guilt. Mostly I feel guilt that it was my idea to come here in the first place, but I also feel guilt toward Tyson. I know it’s not my fault, but I feel like I should have somehow intuited that he was dealing with another layer of grief about Summer.

Deciding I need a minute alone, I excuse myself, go downstairs, and wander into a courtyard where a bustling waitstaff is setting up for an event. Based on the lavish centerpieces of white roses and pale pink peonies, and candles, I have a strong hunch that it’s a wedding.

As I sit down on a small bench, a wave of loss crashes over me, along with a barrage of questions. What would have happened if I hadn’t caught Grady in the act? Would it have happened again? Had it happened before? Was she the first? Does he have feelings for her?

I tell myself that none of it matters. What’s done is done.

I learned that lesson in futility when we lost Summer. For years, I’ve struggled to understand why she took her life. Even if the cheating rumor were true, why had she felt the need to make such a drastic decision? I have replayed our final conversation hundreds of times, wishing I could go back. I know exactly what I would tell her.

So what if you do poorly on one stupid test? The world will keep turning. You will still go to medical school and become a doctor. You will still get married and have children. You will still have a beautiful life.

Would it have made any difference? The what-ifs were excruciating, and now, knowing she and Tyson had something going on, I have even more questions. At the top of the list is why hadn’t she confided in me?

I told Summer everything, including troubling things about my mother—things that I’d held back from my high school friends, too worried that something might get back to my mother via one of their mothers. I thought she had told me everything, too. The fact that she hadn’t both confuses me and hurts my feelings. Maybe she didn’t trust me the way I trusted her. I try to talk myself out of those doubts.

I tell myself there are other reasons she might have kept that secret from me. Maybe she feared my reaction. I like to think I would have been supportive and happy for her, but maybe I would have worried that my friendship with one or both of them would become less important. Maybe I would have made their relationship about me. Maybe that’s what I’m doing now. The mere thought of that makes me feel petty, small, and ashamed.

I think back to Lainey and the scene I just witnessed upstairs in our hotel room. I wonder what she would say about this news. It’s so hard to know. Lainey and I are such different people. As much as I love her, it’s sometimes a real struggle to understand her.

I flash back to the time I was most confused by Lainey. It was the immediate aftermath of Summer’s death, when her parents came to Charlottesville. They reached out to me upon their arrival, asking if Tyson, Lainey, and I could meet with them to talk. They were looking for any small clue or insight we might have.

The following day, thirty minutes before we were due to meet them at their hotel, Lainey came back to the apartment that she and I shared. It was three in the afternoon, and she was already wasted.

What the fuck is wrong with you? I remember Tyson yelling at her as she insisted in a slurred voice that she’d only had one drink.

Needless to say, we went without her.

When we arrived at the hotel, I told myself that I had to be strong. As we sat down, Tyson gave our condolences. I nodded, noticing a bleach mark on Mrs. MacFarland’s navy sweatshirt. I recognized immediately that it was one of Summer’s sweatshirts—the same one she was wearing the night before her final exam, when we last talked.

Her mother caught me looking at it and said, “It was in her hamper. It still smells like her.”

She extended her arm, offering me the sleeve. I lowered my head and inhaled the familiar scent of my best friend. Tears filled my eyes. I did my best to fight them off, but I couldn’t. As they rolled down my cheeks, Tyson had to do all the talking for us. I still remember the lost look on his face after he’d answered all of their questions and it was time to go. There was a group of Summer’s track teammates standing in a cluster in the lobby, clearly waiting to speak with her parents next.

“We loved your daughter so much,” he said as we got up from the table. “Lainey did, too. She’s sorry she couldn’t be here with us.”

The following morning, Lainey left for Myrtle Beach. Going there the week between exams and graduation was tradition at UVA, and it was what the four of us had planned to do before Summer died.

I didn’t judge Lainey for still going—particularly because we couldn’t get our money back on our rental—but Tyson was outraged. I did my best to calm him down, pointing out that staying in Charlottesville was too painful.

“She could come with us,” he said, as we were planning to stay at his parents’ place in D.C. for a few days.

“I know,” I say. “Everyone handles grief in their own way.”

“Handling grief? Is that what we’re calling drunk sex at the beach?” Tyson asked.

“You don’t know she’s going to do that.”

“Oh, yes I do,” he said. “And so do you.”

Looking back, I don’t know how I got through that week. I couldn’t have done it without Tyson, that’s for sure. While his mother fed us the most delicious homemade meals, he and I sat in a dark room, watching movies for hours on end. Everything made me cry—comedies and dramas alike—but Stand by Me hit me the hardest. Tyson and I had both seen it before—it was one of our favorites—but the death of River Phoenix’s character broke my heart in a whole new way now. In the last scene, Richard Dreyfuss, playing a grown-up Gordie Lachance, reflected back on his childhood friendships. I burst into tears as I watched him type on his computer screen: I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12. Jesus, does anyone?

As the credits rolled and that haunting Ben E. King song began to play, I looked over and saw that Tyson was bawling as hard as I was. In that moment, I realized how much we take friendship for granted when we’re young, unable to grasp its significance until later in life. For Tyson and me—and Lainey, wherever she was tonight—that “later” had come. Our perspective would never be the same. That’s the thing about innocence…. Once it’s gone, it’s gone forever.

By the time we got back to Charlottesville for graduation, Tyson had let go of his anger toward Lainey. Or maybe he was just too exhausted or numb to show it. It took enough energy just to walk up the Lawn and collect our diplomas. After the ceremony, we hugged one another goodbye and left the campus for the last time. None of us has ever been back.

In some ways, Lainey’s life has changed so much since then. In other ways, though, she is still the same old Lainey. A bull in a china shop. Breaking things. Breaking herself. As I think about the way she just looked upstairs, cradling her knees on a hotel bed after having drunken sex with a stranger, I no longer buy her “I am woman, hear me roar” routine. I don’t know why it has taken me so long to see her bravado for the fa?ade that it is.

I feel a sudden rush of worry that borders on fear—fear that something really bad might happen if we don’t find a way to help her. I take my phone out of my purse and pull up Instagram, desperate to do some kind of damage control. I type as fast as I can:

Hi Olivia, I’m Lainey’s best friend, and I was with her today at your sister’s house. I just wanted to apologize for how we handled things and for the hurt we have caused your family. We didn’t know your parents were going to be there. Lainey is a wonderful person, and I hope one day you have the chance to get to know her. Please extend my apologies to the rest of your family. Sincerely, Hannah

My first thought after I hit send is that Lainey is going to kill me and maybe rightly so. My intentions are pure—just as they were with Ashley—but they had still backfired in that case. Badly. Why would I think that this effort will turn out differently? I try to remember how to unsend direct messages on Instagram. I know there’s a way. Before I can figure it out, a response comes in.

Hi Hannah, I think you must have the wrong Olivia??

I stare at the screen, confused, returning to her profile, reading her bio. Could there be two people named Olivia Sheffield who went to the University of Texas and have a reference to tennis in their Instagram bio? It seems highly unlikely.

Does your sister have triplets? I text back, thinking surely that narrows it down to one person.

Her reply is immediate: Yes. But are you sure this matter concerns me? My sister and I lead very separate lives.

I read the message twice, parsing every word, trying to decipher the meaning. One thing seems certain: Olivia doesn’t know about our visit today.

Having a voice-to-voice conversation is pretty much the last thing I want to do, but I text back: Yes, I think I should probably explain. I then type my phone number, asking her to please give me a call if she can.

My phone vibrates within seconds.

“This is Hannah,” I say, my heart racing and my palms sweating, suddenly terrified that I might be making a bad situation even worse.

“Hi, Hannah. It’s Olivia,” she says in a low, raspy voice. Oddly, there is no trace of a Texas accent.

I take a deep breath and say, “So this is sort of a long story, but I’m just going to come out with it.” I pause, then force myself to say the rest. “Your father had an affair with my best friend’s mother. We went over to Ashley’s house today to tell her about it. It was a bad scene, and I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

There is silence on the end of the line, and I wonder if she’s hung up on me.

Then she clears her throat and says, “I’m confused. When, exactly, did my father have this affair?” Her voice is strangely calm.

“Um. Well…Lainey’s thirty-two now,” I say. “So I guess it started, like, thirty-three, maybe thirty-four years ago?”

“Ohh. So are you saying that…Lainey is my sister?”

“I’m sorry, yes,” I say, realizing I left out the most important part.

“Wow,” she whispers. “Wow.”

“I know this must be so hard to hear.”

“Yeah,” she says under her breath. “I can’t…I’m just a little shocked right now.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. About the affair and all.”

“It’s okay. That’s not your fault, obviously,” she says.

I stare into the distance, shocked by her ability to show any grace in this moment.

She asks me a few questions about our meeting with Ashley, and I tell her everything, right down to getting thrown out of the house.

“Yikes,” Olivia says.

“Yes. We should have left as soon as we realized your mother was there.”

“Yeah. I feel bad for her…. But I’m not surprised that Ashley handled it so poorly. She’s not one to rise to the occasion.”

I pause, then say, “So y’all aren’t close?”

“No. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Family dynamics can be so complicated.”

“Yeah. And politics don’t make it any easier,” she says.

“True,” I murmur noncommittally.

My political views have always been moderate—falling under the “why can’t we all just get along” umbrella—but in the past several years, I’ve discovered that middle of the road is no longer safe terrain. Both extremes will eventually come for you. The good news is that having a deeply self-absorbed mother has taught me a lot of survival skills. I know how to appease just about anyone on any topic, including politics.

“I’m not really speaking to anyone in my family right now,” Olivia continues. “In part because of politics.”

Trying to show empathy, I blurt out that I don’t get along with my mother. “She’s a bit of a narcissist,” I say.

“Are the two of you estranged?”

“No. But at the moment, she’s not talking to me.”

“Ah. The good ol’ silent treatment. Been there, done that.”

“With your mother?”

“No. With Ashley. But my mother enables her.”

“That’s what my father does,” I say, thinking about the years of manipulation I’ve witnessed. “Everything is always about my mother. It’s like he doesn’t exist apart from her.”

“Yes. Exactly. Ashley has to be the center of attention. She was always jealous if I was happy, but when I got upset about something, that was an issue, too. If I was tired, she was flat-out exhausted. If I was sick, she was certain she had inoperable cancer. And God forbid my feelings be hurt about anything she said or did. Because that made her feel bad.”

“Oh, wow. You’re describing my mother to a T,” I say.

“Yep. It’s all straight out of the narcissist’s playbook.”

“Why are they like that?” I say.

“I don’t know. I’ve read all the books. I follow all those accounts on Instagram. And I still don’t fully get it. Their mentality is so sick.”

I tell her that I follow similar accounts—and sometimes they just randomly show up in my algorithm.

“Do you follow Lee Hammock?” Olivia asks.

“Yes! Mental Healness! He’s a hoot,” I say.

“Yeah, he cracks me up,” she says, then does a perfect imitation of him.

I laugh as she continues, saying, “But no matter how much you study their behavior and analyze the patterns and employ the ‘gray rock method,’ you just have to accept that they’re never going to change. They simply can’t.”

“I know.” I sigh.

“Which is why boundaries are so important.”

“Yes,” I say, suddenly feeling a bit blown away that we are having such a deep conversation right out of the gate.

“So,” Olivia says, her tone brightening. “Please tell me Lainey isn’t self-absorbed, too?”

“Oh my goodness, not at all! She has a huge heart.” I hesitate, then say, “It’s probably a little TMI, but my fiancé cheated on me, and Lainey was the first person I called. She came running to be with me, booking a last-minute flight to Atlanta.”

“God. That sounds traumatic,” Olivia says. “I’m really sorry.”

“Thank you. It was traumatic,” I say, taking a deep breath. “Thank God I have Lainey. She’s such a special person and dear friend. I couldn’t have gotten through the past week without her. Truly.”

“Oh, wow. This just happened?”

“Yes,” I say. “It’s part of the reason why we’re here. Lainey and I and another college friend. We realized that it wasn’t just me who needed to get away. Lainey had family stuff to confront—and our friend Tyson is also at a crossroads in his career and relationship. So the three of us decided to take some time to travel together.”

“That’s amazing,” Olivia says. “You’re lucky to have such strong friendships.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Hopefully the rest of our trip goes a bit smoother.”

For the next few seconds, we sit in a silence that should be awkward but feels strangely comfortable.

“So. How far is Dripping Springs from Dallas?” I finally ask her.

She laughs and says, “You really did your homework, didn’t you?”

“We did a little stalking, yes,” I say, feeling sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “I get it, under the circumstances.”

“Gosh. I wish we had gone to see you first,” I say.

“Yeah. I wish you had, too,” she says. “But if it makes you feel better, I’m actually out of the country right now. So I’m glad you didn’t drive all that way.”

“Are you in a tennis tournament?” I ask.

She laughs and says, “Excellent research. But no. I’m training with a new coach for a few months in Italy.”

“You’re in Italy?” I bolt up off the bench, then begin to pace excitedly around the courtyard.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll never guess where Tyson, Lainey, and I are going from here.”

“No fucking way,” she says, reminding me of Lainey with her casual F-bomb.

“Yes way!” I say, grinning into the phone. “We’re going to Capri. Where are you?”

“Northern Italy. In a little town called Bordighera. It’s on the coast near the French border.”

“Is that close to Capri?”

“Not that close. But nothing is that far apart in Italy, either. Maybe we could meet up?”

The wheels in my head start turning, but I catch myself and slow down. “I wish we could. But today was really bad. I don’t think Lainey would go for that. Not at this point, anyway.”

“Oh. Okay,” Olivia says. “So I take it she doesn’t know you’re calling me?”

“Correct,” I say.

“Would she be upset with you?”

“Yes. Probably. She really hates your father,” I say, realizing that there are nuances I haven’t explained, including that Lainey’s mother has passed away.

“Well, it’s hard to blame her for that,” Olivia says.

“How do you feel about him?” I ask.

“I love him. I love both my parents. But they’re problematic. I had to take a break from my whole family.”

“I get that.”

“Maybe you could tell Lainey that? It might make her feel better.”

“Maybe. I just need to think things through a bit,” I say, my mind racing. “Could I do that and reach out again?”

“Of course,” she says. “Anytime.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling a rush of unexpected affection for this woman on the phone. Lainey’s sister.

When I get back to our room, Lainey is passed out on the bed, snoring with her mouth wide open, while Tyson sits a few feet away from her, reading a book. I ask him if we can talk, then lead him out to the hallway.

“You’ll never believe what just happened,” I say, then quickly tell him the whole story, right down to Olivia being in Italy. “Maybe Lainey would want to see her?”

He grimaces, then says, “Hannah, no. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“But she’s so nice,” I say. “She’s nothing like Ashley. I really think Lainey would like her.”

“Maybe down the road. Way down. But for now, I really think we need to respect her feelings,” Tyson says. “If we tell her that her other sister is in Italy, she’ll lose her mind and go back to New York.”

I start to protest, but Tyson cuts me off. “Look, Han. I know your heart is in the right place, but trust me, we need to put a pin in this sister stuff.”

I sigh and nod. “You’re probably right,” I say, thinking of how my fairy-tale notions of love and family have contributed to my own problems, and wondering when I’ll ever learn.