Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nothing Danny ever said has hinted at wealth, so I’m wholly unprepared when our Uber driver speeds past the plethora of modest Craftsmans peppering the wooded hillsides and enters affluent Lake Oswego, where long, gated driveways and thick privacy trees guard gorgeous estates with tightly shorn lawns that roll down to the water.
“Some neighborhood,” I say, sucking in my breath and wondering if I should have dressed differently. I’m in a cream turtleneck this time, with light-blue jeans and suede boots, tiny gold earrings dotting my ears, and my hair in a loose ponytail.
“Yeah, it’s alright,” Danny says, his dimple flashing.
The Uber driver parks in the horseshoe drive, and we climb out and walk up the cobbled pavers to the house. Danny doesn’t bother to knock, opening the ornate door to reveal a home buzzing with people.
“Is that my grandson?” A small sturdy woman in a brightly-hued floral dress enters the foyer, taking Danny in her arms.
“Happy birthday, Tutu,” he replies, kissing her cheek and presenting her with the bread.
“Is this …?” She brings it to her nose and closes her eyes, inhaling the sourdough scent, a smile dawning on her face. “Oh, you absolute menace. I don’t even want to know what you did to get this starter, but thank you. And you brought Lauren!”
“It’s lovely to meet you,” I say, extending my hand to shake hers. She links arms with me instead.
“Come with me down to the lake where the other ladies are relaxing. We’ve conspired to get you tipsy so you’ll forget your manners entirely, and we can learn everything about you. Come, come!”
Danny gives me a quick, apologetic squeeze on the arm as his grandmother whisks me away.
Several women of all ages recline on Adirondack chairs on the beach, relaxing with wine glasses in hand, watching the last of the sun dip below the horizon. A few children play in the sand, racing to fill a moat before the shore drinks it.
“Hello,” I say, and names are exchanged and, mortifyingly, immediately forgotten.
“Don’t worry about remembering all the names, dear,” Tutu leans in and whispers, like she read my mind, as she tops off my champagne. “There are too many damn people in this family, and even more back on Maui, so I just call everyone ‘dear.’ ”
Back on the balcony, Danny lights up the barbecue, barefoot and holding an iced tea, very comfortable despite the posh surroundings.
“Apologies for all the nakedness,” one of the women says, pointing at a pair of adorable twins in matching bucket hats, life jackets, and bare bottoms. “We’re in potty-training hell, so no pants allowed. If one of them pees on you, I have wet wipes.”
“No peeing on Lauren,” Tutu says, patting my knee. “We don’t want to scare her off. It’s not every day Daniel brings a woman home.”
“Oh, I’m not a woman,” I say quickly. “I’m just a life coach.”
Knowing looks are exchanged around the circle. Clearly, Danny and I have been the topic of conversation long before we arrived.
My phone buzzes in my purse, and I excuse myself to answer it, walking barefoot along the beach.
“Case? Are the girls OK?”
“What? Yes, of course they’re OK.” He laughs. “Why do you always think something catastrophic is about to happen?”
I don’t mean to. It just always feels like the next shoe is about to drop.
“Well, you were the one panic texting me after midnight this week,” I say instead.
“Minor lapse of confidence, but you got me through it, as always,” he says, and I can hear him grin. “I’m calling because we’re planning a little going-away party on Sunday, so we can say goodbye to everyone at once before we leave for the summer, and Helena needs a head count for the caterers.”
I frown, digging one of my toes deeper into the sand to feel the cooler granules beneath. Naturally, Helena would be the type to hire caterers for a backyard party.
“Case … I don’t know.”
“Come on, please?” His voice is lower now.
More intimate. The connection is so clear, it sounds like he could be standing right next to me.
“This is a big deal for me. My mom is flying in from Florida, lots of Helena’s scary friends from her firm are coming.
Call me codependent, whatever, but I’m not used to doing hard things without you. Please say you’ll come.”
“I can’t leave my client.”
“He can be your plus-one.”
My heart sinks. Casey was always my plus-one. Every office party, every wedding. It was automatic. It never occurred to me to invite anyone else. And here he is, casually telling me to bring someone else. How can he not see it? That he’s the only plus-one I’ve ever known?
I force the words out fast before I chicken out: “Your text the other night. Were you being serious? I need to know.”
Silence. My heart beats in my throat.
“I don’t know. What did I text?”
“That you couldn’t have waited around for me forever. I mean … is that what you’ve been doing? Waiting for me?”
“Jesus, Lauren.” He takes me off speaker phone, and I hear the screen door slam as he heads, I assume, out to his garden. Is Helena there now? Did she hear what I said? “Let’s not do this over the phone. Where are you? I’ll pick you up.”
“Oregon. So just tell me now. Was there ever a time when you thought of me as more than a friend?”
Casey exhales hard. “Of course. I thought about it all the time.”
Oh god. It’s the answer I hoped for, for so damn long, but it breezes through me as if I’m hollow.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“I don’t know. Ally, maybe. And the fear that it would ruin our friendship. You’re just so perfect, and I never knew if I could measure up.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“Oh, come on. Five AM runs. Life scheduled down to the minute. It’s not sustainable. At least, not for me. When you get busy with clients, it’s like I finally get to exhale, you know? Sleep in. Order greasy takeout. Leave dishes in the sink. Go goblin mode for a while.”
I have no clue what “goblin mode” means, but suddenly being called too perfect feels like the sharpest insult in the world.
“And you can do this with Helena? Go goblin mode?” I say it like an accusation.
“Helena?” Casey laughs. “God, yes. Her car is a disaster zone. She craves a cigarette after too much wine. She doesn’t even get dressed on Sundays, wearing the ugliest sweatpants you’ve ever seen.
Says her body deserves a weekly break from real clothes.
” He hesitates. “But she isn’t afraid to let me in. ”
It’s hard to breathe around the lump growing in my throat. “She sounds perfect for you, I guess.”
“Yeah.”
The lake is still, mirroring the cotton-candy sunset, but the beauty barely registers over Belinda’s words, repeating in my mind like a song.
Rigid things break.
“Look, call me as soon as you get back,” Casey goes on. “We need to talk this out in person, OK?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll be OK, Lauren. I promise.”
Casey ends the call, and I walk back the way I came, dodging the sharpest rocks on the beach, my head down.
“Everything OK, dear?” Danny’s grandmother says, meeting me halfway down the beach.
“Oh, yes,” I say, wiping some wetness from my cheek. “Just a phone call from a friend.” She waits for me to say more, and I fill the silence obediently. “He’s moving in with someone, but he’s a widower, so it’s delicate. But I guess love always is, right?”
“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head and accepting my hand for balance. “The opposite. Love is resilient. Only the cheap stuff falls apart easily. Like when I buy Eileen Fisher knockoffs from Shein.”
I smile and squeeze her hand, and we slowly make our way back to the light and merriment of her estate. Danny is aglow from the lighting on the balcony, filling everyone’s wines. He looks down at the beach and sees us, and raises his hand.
“Never thought he’d willingly only drink iced tea at a party,” his grandmother says. “You must be a miracle worker.”
“The trick is giving him five ounces of red wine per night to take the edge off.”
“I’ll admit, I doubted you. Believe me, I’ve seen what happens when someone tries to give my grandson rules. How did you ever get him to behave?”
My face flushes. “We found a workaround.”
“He really likes you,” she says. “I can tell by the way he looks at you. Do you like him too?”
“Oh, sure. I like him. Of course I like him. But, you know, as a client,” I say.
Danny’s grandmother gives me a knowing smile. “Whatever you say.”
I link my arm in hers again. “I will admit, he’s not at all what I expected, but that’s all you’re getting out of me.”
“Fair enough, dear. Fair enough.” She pats my hand as we walk. “Now that we’re alone, I need to ask you for a favor.”
My stomach ties itself into a tight knot. “Anything.”
“Help my grandson. I mean really help him.”
“Well, he’s doing great. Training is on point, ready for weigh-ins. Finally taking his defensive moves more seriously.”
“I mean with the punishing of himself.”
I stop walking, surprised. “If anything, he’s always rewarding himself with little treats and things. Boba, gelato, chocolate croissants.”
“Look deeper,” Tutu says softly. “When things go too well, he veers off the path. And I’m not only speaking about the fights, dear. I’d like you to fix him.”
I frown, considering. “Usually when people self-sabotage, it’s because they feel guilty about something.”
“His mother,” she says quietly, nodding. “She died of a broken heart, and Danny has never forgiven himself. He came to live with me here after she passed. I’d find him sleeping on the floor, no pillow or blanket to keep him warm. It was like he didn’t think he deserved the comfort of a bed.”
I picture Danny as a skinny teenager, curled up and shivering on the floor. “That’s so sad.”
Tutu nods. “Eventually, the pendulum swung the other way. He may say he chases pleasure, but he never lets himself find true happiness. I’m of the belief that you can change that.”
“But”—I hesitate—“I’m just here to keep him out of trouble.”
“It’s more than that. I believe you came into his life to heal him. Please say you’ll try.”
I smile. “OK. I promise to try.”