Chapter 5 #3
I was brushing up on New Zealand’s roundabouts when Kev pulled up a chair across from me.
I didn’t ask him why Mike would care if I knew what to do at roundabouts when Woodville didn’t even have any.
Instead, we swapped pleasantries (my flight, the weather, the birthday party here yesterday) before Kev worked his way to the question he really wanted to ask.
“Does Caroline know you’re here, Lyssa?”
“We keep missing each other,” I half lied. “I’m waiting until later tonight to call her back. Because of the time difference.”
“Call her at eleven,” Kev suggested. “That’ll be about seven p.m. for her, which is after she’s eaten and fed their rabbit—is it called Pickles or Tickles?
I forget—but before she has to start getting ready for one of her shows.
But if you want to talk to Chase at the same time, that gets a bit harder, because he’s usually at his games place when Caroline is home. ”
I definitely didn’t want to talk to Chase. When he found out what I’d done at Bossi, he would lecture me to death. Maybe he’d technically be right, but I didn’t need it rubbed in.
That said, even a lecture from Chase would be easier to bear than Caroline’s hurt that I had never told her about Paul.
“To catch both of them, I think three a.m. would be your best bet,” Kevin finished, like that was a perfectly normal time to make a call. I guess for him, it was. His daughter had been overseas for a long time. “How long are you planning on staying?”
“Maybe a few weeks.”
Kevin Holliday leveled a teacher-ish look at me, and I predicted his next question before he asked it.
“Do your family know you’re here on the other side of the world, staying with a man they don’t know?”
The idea was laughable.
“I’m grown. I don’t need to notify anyone if I take a vacation.”
“Caroline said the apartment you two lived in belongs to your mum?”
When you weren’t close with your parents, it was easy to forget that people who were told them everything.
“Yes. She bought it when I moved to the city. Even though she wasn’t happy about me moving there.
” Kev’s expression was without judgment, and without meaning to, I was elaborating.
“We’re not estranged or anything. My mom and I are just…
different. She wasn’t happy that I pursued fashion even though I had sponsorships and a lot of my tuition was covered. She wanted me to go into academia.”
“What does she do?”
“She’s a professor of English literature. My stepdad Charles is a poet.”
“Wordy folk.”
“Yeah.”
We were quiet for a while, finishing our drinks. Other than when he felt obligated to interrogate me based on some kind of international-parent accord, Kev was an easygoing guy.
I finished my mug and stacked our dishes. I would have bussed them properly but I didn’t know where to take them. The chef, Aroha, had eyed me very suspiciously yesterday, so I wasn’t going to walk into her domain uninvited.
“Did Mike give you that?” Kevin nodded at the road manual on the table.
“Yeah. He pitched a fit about my driving yesterday.”
I thought Kev would laugh at this, because he and Mike often made fun of each other. Instead, he looked serious.
“Make sure you read it carefully. Stay left. Every time you pull out, I want you to recite stay left . Say it in a silly voice, then you’ll remember it, okay?” Kev put on a squeaky voice. “ Stay left .”
“I will, I promise.” I mimicked his voice. “ Stay left .”
My giggle cut off as it abruptly dawned on me why Mike and his widowed father might be so intense about road safety.
My hand flew to my mouth.
Kev was looking away now, studying cars flying past on the main road.
I should have realized.
Without worrying if it was appropriate or if I was being too intense, I leaned forward and caught Kevin’s hand in both of mine.
“I will be extremely careful,” I promised, staring into his eyes.
“I got all A’s in drivers ed, and I drive every summer in Connecticut.
I won’t forget to stay left or give way to the right if I come to a four-way stop.
And now I know if I ever face a roundabout that I have to indicate before the entry and exit, unless I’m going straight, then that’s just the exit.
I will be very careful behind the wheel, I promise, Kev. ”
“Good.” Kev cleared his throat. “I know my son is a bit overzealous about it. And you can’t really get around without a car. But you need to be very careful.”
“I will.”
“There you go.” Kev patted me on the hand and stood. He was down to a single crutch now and looking pretty steady on it. Caroline would be pleased to hear this. She always worried that Mike and Kevin played down her dad’s health issues so they wouldn’t scare her.
“I’m sorry that Mike or I aren’t free to show you around today.
It’s pretty much just this one road though.
” He pointed at the pub. “That’s the pub.
” And then in the direction of Cilla’s place.
“That way is the river. If you go past either of those, you’re not in Woodville anymore. What day is it today?”
But he answered his own question, and we said together, “Thursday.”
Kev snapped his fingers at me, like a dad version of jinx.
Suddenly, I felt giddy. I wasn’t used to dad-age men caring about me (unless I was fucking them.
And even then, it turned out they didn’t actually care.
They were using me. I digress). My stepdad cared about me in a perfectly appropriate, non-creepy way, but he was often lost in his own ennui—his word not mine—or drowning in my mother’s aura.
But Kevin Holliday had zero interest in fucking me.
The idea would be abhorrent to him, I could tell.
And he didn’t just care, he was joking with me and giving me advice and just generally being wonderful.
I had to blink to clear my vision.
“Mike doesn’t work on Saturdays, so after his game he can take you for a look around the neighboring towns,” Kevin was saying. “Danestown has minigolf now.”
I wasn’t sure what the right reaction to that was, but Kev wasn’t waiting on it. He ducked behind the front counter and pulled out a blue container. He shook it and the resulting rattle was merry. “Can you take this to Mike for me, please? They’re nuts for Mini M.”
“They’re what?”
“Horse pellets.”
“Oh.”
I took the bag and Kev went back to work with a wave.
My good mood lasted all afternoon. It even withstood when I went into the first antique shop and the person behind the counter and the two customers stopped talking and stared at me.
The same thing happened in both cheesecake shops.
And the grocery store. Every time I entered a business, lively conversations ground to a halt.
At first, I thought it was because they’d all watched the livestream where I confronted Paul.
It wasn’t uncommon for me to be recognized by a follower in public, although in New York, people were often too cool to say anything in the moment—they’d send a message afterward with unnervingly accurate details of what I’d been doing or saying.
It wasn’t a normal way to live, but I was used to it.
Once the panic stopped flooding my body and I was able to reassure myself that none of these Woodville people were the ones sending me horrible DMs from fake accounts, I realized they were just staring because I was new and this was a small town.
Clearly, Woodville didn’t get a lot of overnight guests, and it was unusual to make impromptu trips across continents to come here.
A few people asked why I didn’t visit one of the cities instead.
I smiled and told them I wanted to stay with my friends.
Calling Mike a friend wasn’t exactly accurate, but I didn’t have a better word.
Each conversation at each shop followed the same pattern.
I smiled and tried to be interesting, but not too interesting, and vibrant but not blindingly so.
I memorized an interesting fact about the local train service and rambled it whenever I got a chance, and people kept refusing my tips, which was bizarre.
Like, I knew New Zealand didn’t really tip, but people were acting like it was a crime to take my money.
The lady from the bakery actually chased me down the street to give my tip back when I got some pastries.
I’d been so caught up planning my redemption arc that I hadn’t considered what it would be like to vacation in such a small place. People here might not know me now, but once they knew I was an influencer, most of them would look me up and the news would spread.
By the time I stuck my head into Woodville’s tapered candle shop, the vendors were pretty much expecting me. No one said as much, but I knew they were waiting for me, and they knew that I knew .
Still, I smiled, I waved. I didn’t film anything, but I scouted the locations. Later, I’d come back and pretend I was walking into all of these places for the first time so I could ensure the best order of shots and outfits.
By midmorning, my camera roll was full of test shots. For the first time in ages, I was excited about making content.
After lunch, I drove out past Cilla’s construction site to the picnic area by the river.
I sat for a while and finished reading my road code, then shot some pretty b-roll of water running over the river rocks and wind stirring the trees.
It was very different from my usual content.
Afterward I wandered down the marked forest path and gawped at a massive tree, which the sign on the trail said was one of the oldest in New Zealand.
Back at the river, I impulsively stripped to my underwear and waded in.
I should have set up my tripod first, but I’d left it in the car.
Plus, this setting really needed a white slip dress, not the Velma Dinkley fit I’d left in a heap on the rocks.