Chapter Three Burns, OR Present Day #2
Chrissie felt her cheeks burn. The bright pink string bikini she wore left little to the imagination—and lots to the powers of gravity. “I couldn’t find mine, so I had to pack one of Kat’s. It was either this or a horrible white crocheted thing that I definitely didn’t buy her.”
Scarlett’s laugh sounded again. “I know you didn’t. I did.”
“Scarlett!” Chrissie cried again, this time without either heat or surprise.
Since Scarlett was also the source of Kat’s septum piercing, a brush with purple hair in the seventh grade, and a promised tattoo the day her daughter turned eighteen, Chrissie should have known that her friend wouldn’t balk at a buying a bikini that was literally holding on by a thread.
“Do you have any idea what happens to white yarn when it gets wet?”
“Well, you’re not supposed to get it wet. It’s a lounging suit, not a swimming one. I bet she looks amazing in it.”
She did, but that wasn’t the point. Everyone looked good when they were sixteen. Their skin still had all its elasticity.
“Here. Stand next to that towel rack and give me a pouty look. I think we should send Kat a proof-of-life photo.” Scarlett snagged Chrissie’s phone and gestured toward a cedar panel with puffs of steam billowing out from a grate on the floor.
“And if she happens to realize her mom is a serious smokeshow in the process, so much the better.”
The last thing Chrissie wanted was to preen against the splintery side of the building wearing a bright pink piece of floss, but Scarlett started shouting out commands in a way that brooked no argument.
As she also knew all the best ways to pose a half-naked body—Jut that hip!
Show me a little cleavage! Run from the camera like it wants to bend you over the table!
—Chrissie knew she’d get results. Especially since that last one made her laugh out loud.
“Oh, yeah. That’s the one.” Scarlett returned Chrissie’s phone. “I wish you’d laugh in pictures more. Even if you’re in your stupid sweatpants and Crocs, your laugh always makes you look like you belong on the cover of a fashion magazine.”
Chrissie sucked in a sharp breath as she glanced at the picture in question. With her hand on her hip and her head tossed back in laughter, the steam wrapping around her as if she’d just popped out of a genie’s magical lantern, she looked… What exactly? Confident? Beautiful? Sexy?
Happy, she realized with a start. I look happy.
“Uh-oh. What’s wrong? Did I give you a double chin or something?” Scarlett made a motion as if to grab the phone, but Chrissie snatched it out of her reach.
“No, it’s perfect,” she said, her lower lip wobbling—not in a sexy pout, but with the sudden urge to burst into tears. If Scarlett had asked her, two hours ago, the last time she’d felt truly happy, she’d have had a half dozen replies ready to go.
Watching Kat’s volleyball team sweep the semifinals last month had been exhilarating.
The one—and only—time Rufio had willingly crawled into her lap in a bid for affection had delighted her so much that both of her legs had fallen asleep under the cat’s reassuring weight.
She’d even taken herself out to a movie last week when one of her regular massage therapy clients had canceled at the last minute.
But Scarlett would have roundly dismissed each of these claims as a paltry offering on the altar of self-sacrifice. And Chrissie, though prepared to defend her life choices in almost every other setting, would have eventually been forced to agree.
Here, however, was concrete proof that she still had joy inside her—and that with the right coaxing, joy was ready to come out and play.
“I’m sending it to Kat right now,” Chrissie said as she typed into her phone. “She’ll probably just text something back like, ‘Ew, now I can never wear that suit again,’ but that’s what the wine is for.”
No sooner had they gathered up their towels and headed out to the first of the hot-spring pools when her phone chimed back.
I know I said you didn’t have to pay me for taking care of Kat, but if this is how you plan to reimburse me, I take back every word.
“Oh-god. Oh-my-god. Oh-dear-god, what-have-I-done?” Each word came out of Chrissie in a staccato burst. Her hand shook as she shoved her hair out of her face and looked closer at the phone.
Sure enough, the recipient of her photo wasn’t her sarcastic and wholly unappreciative teenager, but the man she’d basically coerced into taking care of her.
“No, no, no,” Chrissie moaned. Scarlett opened her mouth as if to demand enlightenment, but Chrissie beat her to it. She shoved the phone in her friend’s face. “I can’t believe this. I sent the photo to Walsh instead of Kat.”
Scarlett’s gaze flicked up along the rest of the text conversation, most of which included last-minute reminders about feeding Rufio and a profusion of thanks for Walsh’s generosity—a thing Chrissie felt sure she’d never be able to repay, even if she were to send him a hundred semi-scandalous bikini photos.
“Wait. Walsh is the volleyball coach, right?” Scarlett asked.
“Yes. Yes. What do I do?”
Scarlett ignored her and scrolled higher up the conversation. “The one who has the crush on you?”
“He doesn’t—I mean, that’s not—Scarlett, you’re not taking this seriously!”
“The one who said three days ago, and I’m quoting directly from the source here, ‘I’m tempted to cast the girls to the wolves and drive across the country with you?’”
If Chrissie were a woman given over to acts of petulance, she’d have stomped her foot right then and there. As it was, all the petulance had been mortified right out of her.
“Ooh, wait,” Scarlett breathed. “He’s texting again.”
Chrissie’s hands were shaking too hard to take the phone back, so she leaned over Scarlett’s shoulder as the three dancing dots gave way to text.
By the way, I stopped by your house to feed Rufio like you asked. He seems lonely. Are you sure you don’t want me to move him in with us until you get back?
That got Chrissie moving again. She yanked the phone out of Scarlett’s hands and prayed that autocorrect would make up for the tremors that rendered her typing incoherent.
Please don’t bring him into your house. He’ll pee on everything you own.
I don’t mind.
I MIND. I MIND VERY MUCH.
“Well, really, Chrissie.” Scarlett tsked lightly. “I don’t see what yelling at the poor man is going to do. He just wants to take care of your pussycat.”
“That is not funny. You have no idea how much I’m already asking of him.
If you’d ever been in a room with Kat and Lily at the same time, you’d understand.
It’s like playing passive aggressive ping-pong with two world champions.
Only instead of trying to hit the balls over a net, they’re aiming death blows at each other’s heads. ”
As if listening in, another text came through.
The girls are settling in great together, btw. I’m glad you’re having fun. You deserve it.
“Oh, he likes you,” Scarlett said as she read the words aloud. “And even better, he knows exactly how to handle you. I approve of this one.”
Chrissie resented the implication that she could be handled by anyone, let alone a man, but she allowed herself to be led into the warm, sulfurous pool without putting up much of a fight.
For one thing, the water felt heavenly, like a bath that had been poured out too hot and allowed the perfect amount of time to cool.
For another, well…
“I can’t date Kat’s volleyball coach, Scarlett.”
“Why not?”
Chrissie dipped lower into the water, letting herself sink until the steaming heat swirled around her face and hid the worst of her blushes. Scarlett would take one look at them and start circling like a shark detecting blood.
“Because Kat hates his daughter with the passion of a thousand fiery suns. Because she’s already mortified by my every word and action.
” Chrissie hesitated a moment before adding the last one.
“And because he’s the closest thing to a father figure she’s ever had.
Walsh has been her coach for over half a decade.
If I mess up that relationship for her, she’ll never forgive me—which would be fine, because I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.
You know how hard it’s been not having her dad in her life. ”
Scarlett groaned. “Ugh. Grimshaw. Don’t even get me started on that walking heap of pretention.”
Chrissie had no intention of doing so. The last time Scarlett had gotten started on Kat’s biological father, Chrissie had been forced to turn off her Wi-Fi so the police wouldn’t be able to trace the “how to hire a hit man” Google searches back to her.
“Besides, I think half the reason Walsh flirts with me is because he knows I won’t take things too far,” Chrissie explained. “I’m his safe space. The other single moms have been on the catch for him for years—and they’re none too subtle about it, either.”
“Hmm.” Scarlett pursed her lips before settling into a seat built into the rocky wall of the pool.
Chrissie was instantly on the alert. “What’s that supposed to mean? Why do you suddenly look so devious?”
“No reason,” Scarlett said in a voice so musical that Chrissie didn’t trust it for a second.
“I was just thinking that if I hadn’t pressured you every day for a month to be my best friend, the two of us wouldn’t be sitting here right now.
You’re not an easy nut to crack, Chrissie Thomas, but you’re well worth the effort once you do. ”
Scarlett’s smile took on a decidedly self-satisfied air. “And I think this precious Walsh of yours might already know it.”