Chapter 11
It was hard to believe it was the Fourth of July.
More than three weeks had passed since Juliet and Danica had packed up that crappy car, left Manhattan, and driven to Bluebell Cove.
It had been three weeks of strained silences, working the front desk at the Eco-Lodge, and trying and failing to reconnect with Danica, Ivy, and Celia.
Juliet felt she was going insane. Sometimes she ached to hear the city, if only to forget about her own strangled thoughts.
Throughout this time, of course, maybe to prove to herself that she wasn’t done yet, Juliet had continued to apply for jobs back in Manhattan.
She’d even begun to sketch fashion ideas, things that she hoped would prove to potential employers that she still belonged in their world.
But on the job front, all she heard were crickets.
And when she reached out to people who’d once said, “Call me if you need anything! Any time!” their secretaries told her that they were out of the office and would call her back soon.
Needless to say, they never called back.
Against her better judgment, Juliet had continued to duck in and out of Danica’s blog.
She’d read a few of them almost all the way through and had been surprised—and pleased—at how good a writer Danica was.
She had a real talent for poetry, especially for sentence syncopation.
But Juliet wasn’t surprised that the blog content wasn’t entirely nice.
Danica wrote about how backward Bluebell Cove was.
She made fun of small-town living. She wrote little fantasies of returning to Manhattan, getting her own apartment, and falling in love with a wealthy prince, or a wealthy heir to some fortune, or a wealthy someone or another.
Money was always a major player in these stories.
And in some of Danica’s stories, her father returned to take her away from the United States and moved her to Singapore.
Underneath those passages, Danica wrote a brief: FYI, my mom won’t let me move to Singapore with my dad in real life.
So, this story is a little close to home.
He says he’s going to make it work for us soon, though.
I can’t wait to get over there and start living again! Imagine the stories I could write!
On the one hand, Juliet was pleased that Danica was pursuing her love of writing, trying to understand herself and her passion, and doing so in the safety of Ivy’s home, the door locked behind her.
On the other hand, Juliet wished that Danica would leave the house a little more, that she’d connect with her cousins, join one of the Bluebell Cove kids’ book clubs, or go for a hike.
She was dreadfully pale, despite the sunny days on the coast.
But each time Juliet invited her to the beach, Danica said no.
Now, sitting at the front desk after checking in numerous Fourth of July guests, Juliet dared herself to read Danica’s most recent blog post. Danica had fixated on Juliet again, describing her mother as a “loser” who was living in the past. Juliet’s eyes filled with tears, but against her better judgment, she kept reading.
The thing about Magnum X is that he gets having a mother who’s lost her mind.
I think that’s why we bonded so quickly.
It’s so cool to have a friend like him, someone who understands my soul or whatever.
It’s crazy that we don’t even know each other’s real names, but it’s like I’ve never been understood this well, not even by my best friend from home.
Juliet’s heart shifted in her chest. Magnum X?
Who was Magnum X? Danica had never mentioned him, although it was clear from context that he was nothing more than an internet friend.
Praying that he wasn’t dangerous, Juliet used the app to see Danica’s screen and read her messages.
But it seemed that Danica and Magnum X weren’t communicating via any of the channels Juliet knew about—not texting, not WhatsApp, not any DM on social media.
Juliet decided that this meant that Magnum X was little more than a character in the blogosphere.
Maybe he wasn’t dangerous. Maybe Juliet could put him out of her mind.
“Hey there,” a voice rang out from overhead.
Juliet nearly yelped with surprise, then drew up to find a handsome man in his mid-forties, a backpack over his shoulders, and his shaggy blond-brown hair over his ears. He smiled down at her, pleased. “I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said. “I didn’t know how to get your attention.”
Juliet’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I’m terribly sorry. I was, um, reading something?” Juliet got to her feet, abandoning her phone. “You’re here to check in?”
He was. He introduced himself as Hank Bartholomew, who was on a road trip across the lower forty-eight. “I heard hiking around here is to die for,” he said.
“It is,” Juliet said, surprised to feel her heart pounding harder in her chest. “But you must have seen a lot of amazing hiking during your travels?”
“I started down in Alabama,” he said. “I decided to go north first, see what I could see up here, before heading West.”
“West, like the great travelers before you,” Juliet teased. “The next Jack Kerouac.”
Hank laughed and removed his backpack. “Am I really so obvious?” He removed a book from the back pocket of his jeans and flapped it on the front desk. It was Jack Kerouac’s On the Road. “I’d never read it before,” he explained. “But I figured now was the time.”
Juliet was grinning wider than she had in ages.
There was a sort of magic beaming off this man.
His bravery in leaving Alabama and trying to swallow the world was infectious.
She yearned to know what he’d seen so far and what he wanted to find out there.
She yearned to know what heartache he was running from—or toward.
A strange part of her thought, What if he stayed here with me?
And then she laughed off the thought and handed over his key.
But Hank was still looking at her as though he wasn’t done with the conversation. “Today’s the Fourth of July.”
“According to most major calendars, yes,” Juliet said.
Hank grinned. “Where should a guy like me see the fireworks?”
Juliet remembered being a teenager, sitting out on the dock with Callie and Theo, watching the fireworks explode in the inky black over the Atlantic. “There’s always a brilliant show over the cove,” she said, pulling out a map to show him where it was.
He marked the spot on his phone’s map and smiled. “You wouldn’t want…” He shook his head.
Heat rolled through Juliet. For the first time since the separation, since coming to Bluebell Cove, she felt like someone wanted to be with her. She felt like someone was looking at her with awe.
It was more than she could take. It was also addictive. She did not want this guy to go away.
“Maybe I would want that.” Juliet shrugged. “Maybe I would.”
Hank laughed. “Where should I pick you up?”
“I get off here at the Eco-Lodge at eight,” she said.
* * *
After Hank went up to his room, Juliet fell into a state of panic and adrenaline.
She pulled a mirror out of her purse and analyzed her hair, her teeth, and her makeup, trying to decide on a lip shade that made her look mysterious and also fun and charming.
After she’d rubbed off one shade and applied another, Celia came through, her heels clacking gently on the floorboards. She gave Juliet a quizzical smile.
Juliet wanted desperately to tell Celia about her date with the stranger upstairs.
But since she’d come to Bluebell, she, Celia, and Ivy had spent so little time together that they seemed even more distant than they had that first day.
Juliet now saw herself as one of Celia’s employees rather than her little sister.
“How’s it going?” Celia asked.
“It’s going!” Juliet sang back. There was such an emptiness between them. It made Juliet’s heart ache.
Before Juliet left with Hank for the fireworks, Juliet called Danica to check in. “Are you going out with your cousins?” she asked her daughter, praying that Danica could find the will to create a real-life story for herself, one that existed outside of the internet.
“Mom, fireworks are terrible for the environment,” Danica said. “Sophie and Celia are always talking about the environment. I can’t believe they don’t put a stop to this.”
Juliet rubbed her forehead and the bridge of her nose, willing the oncoming headache to back up so that she could pour her full, happy attention onto Hank Bartholomew. “I think Celia mentioned that some of the fireworks will be done by drones this year?” she said, hoping that this would help.
“Okay, great. Drones are so much better than fireworks,” Danica said sarcastically. “I think I’d rather be in my room doing anything else.”
“Counting down the days till we get back to Manhattan?” Juliet asked meekly.
“Um. Duh?” Danica sighed. “How’s work?”
“It’s okay,” Juliet said, although she wanted to tell her daughter that she knew what Danica saw when she looked at Juliet: a loser who couldn’t make her way through the world. A pathetic person who’d failed and failed and failed herself till she had no choice but to return home.
“Honey,” Juliet said tentatively. “I hope we can talk soon. About everything.”
Danica let out an ironic laugh that reminded Juliet too much of her own self, back in the old days. “Sure,” she said, and then she hung up.
But the woman Hank greeted at the front desk of the Eco-Lodge at eight sharp did not look like the defeated and divorced mother of one Danica made Juliet out to be.
Juliet had changed into a cool black tank top and a pair of jeans and a vintage belt, and she’d perfected her makeup so that it looked like she wasn’t wearing any at all.
Hank was wearing jeans and a white V-neck. His shaggy hair had been washed and brushed out again. He smiled easily and said, “You ready to go?” And Juliet thought she would have followed him anywhere.