Chapter 22 Hailey
Hailey
in the tiered series of lots. Hailey shaded her eyes from the sun, zeroing in on the license plates, but, after fifteen minutes
of low-gear rumbling, it was clear there was no green Outback with Rhode Island plates here.
As the roadster neared the map kiosk, she said, “Stop here, I’ll post a flyer.” Jack braked, and she hopped out. She pinned
up a flyer, studying her dad’s smiling face for a second as the paper and her hair fluttered in the breeze. Where are you? she asked him silently, but there was no answer. (Not that she’d expected one; she wasn’t Reese.) In the distance was the
postcard scene of the white lighthouse and blue ocean, tourists wandering, children asking for ice cream, and she wished for
a second that she could be part of some other family, not her own, having a normal summer day.
When she got back into the car, Jack reached over to rest his hand on hers, surprising her again. She was conscious of her
engagement ring, gleaming near where his thumb rested. She should pull her hand away.
But maybe not right this second.
“What now, Hales?” he said, and she quickly got her head in the game. What now? They’d been searching since six a.m. They’d
gone to Pemaquid Point Lighthouse, checked twenty more trailheads, posted fifty more flyers at parks and gas stations and
post offices from Pemaquid to Portland. Cody had gotten Kelsey Grimes to go out with him in the Jeep, saying they could cover
more ground that way, while still sticking to their mom’s demand that nobody go out alone. All day, Hailey had barely heard
from any of her family. That had to mean they’d had the same luck as her and Jack: none.
So, what now? She didn’t know. She was hungry and exhausted, sunburned and bereft. She’d rescheduled her wedding dress fitting for tomorrow,
since the shop had said that was the latest she could schedule it and still hope to get alterations done in time for the wedding.
But was she seriously going to go through with it? Hard to imagine, unless her dad suddenly showed up with some funny story
about where he’d been. She was falling further and further behind on the rest of her to-dos, too.
And Noah hadn’t offered to help. With anything. Not even with looking for her dad.
It occurred to her: Out of the entire wedding to-do list of a couple hundred items, there were only about five assigned to
Noah, all relating to planning the honeymoon. He’d taken care of them months ago. The rest of the tasks had been assigned
to Hailey and her mom.
Maybe that was traditional, but they were not exactly in a traditional situation right now!
That was it. If Noah wanted to keep the wedding on for 8/7/10, he would need to step up. Help her out. If not with the search
for her dad, then with the wedding, at least.
And, okay, it was weird to be thinking all this with Jack Westfield sitting beside her with his hand on her hand, looking at her like she was a locker whose combination he was trying to remember.
And it was weird that, in spite of everything, she was feeling not only content to be sitting in this car with Jack with his hand resting over hers, but also slightly fixated (though she didn’t mean to be) on how a couple of his fingertips were spilling over, radiating heat through her skirt onto her thigh.
And it was weird, too, that this heat was not unwelcome, and that she’d only managed to get to sleep last night by barring from her mind the realities of her present life and imagining she was seventeen again, snuggled into Jack’s bed with him beside her.
“Maybe we should get something to eat,” he said. “Regroup?”
Even that his eyes were so blue felt wrong. She extracted her hand, making sure his hand didn’t collide with her ring. “I
need to make a phone call,” she said.
She paced on the grass in the shade nearby, her phone pressed to her ear. “You’re at Fort Williams?” Noah was saying. “And
you didn’t bother stopping to see me?”
Yes, she was only minutes from the apartment. But showing up with Jack? That would not have made Noah happy. “You still don’t seem to understand. My dad is missing.”
“I’d help out if I could, babe, but we’re slammed at the restaurant. I’m working twelve days in a row. I mean, I told you.
I can’t take time off right now when I’m taking time off for the wedding next weekend.”
“About that.” She told him about the to-do list, her need for him to take over some of the tasks.
“Babe, I’m working twelve hours a day here, give me a break,” he said. “Our plan was for you to take care of all that. That’s
why you quit your job early, right?”
Her teeth clenched. “We didn’t know my dad was going to go missing.”
“I can’t do anything about that, babe. I’m sorry.”
“Would you please just call the bakery and give them your credit card for the rest of the payment on the cake? And call the
caterer and tell them that salmon crostini is fine? The phone numbers are on the list on the fridge.”
A heavy sigh, like she’d asked him to give a section of his liver. “Yeah, okay, babe. Sure. That’s fine. I gotta go.”
“What is it you like about this guy, Hales?” Jack said, popping a potato chip into his mouth.
While she was on the phone, he’d ordered them lobster roll lunches from the food truck that was parked nearby.
Now they were sitting at a picnic table with an ocean view, and she was chewing a delicious mouthful of lobster drenched in butter and mayo complemented by a toasted brioche bun.
Jack, apparently noticing that her face was getting burned, had found a floppy straw sun hat of his grandma’s in the Z3’s trunk and given it to her.
She felt silly wearing it, but his thoughtfulness made her feel cared for, too, which was a nice change of pace.
As before, it felt odd to be so hungry and not to be nauseous, but she wasn’t going to question it.
And, just for the moment, she was not going to feel guilty for enjoying the flavors of the lobster roll, the sunshine on her bare arms, the ocean breeze, Jack’s smile.
And, yes, she had probably told Jack too much already about her phone call with Noah, but she’d been so frustrated after hanging
up. She’d always known Noah was rigid in his routines and that he put his own needs first, but somehow none of that had seemed
like a problem before. The first year of their relationship, they’d been in school (of course they both had deadlines they
had to stick to). The second year, they’d been working (of course they both had obligations: hers to the legislative office;
his to the upscale restaurant in downtown Augusta where he’d worked then). The third year, they’d been engaged and living
an hour and a half apart. They’d never been through an emergency together—but she’d certainly never imagined that, when one
arose, he would end up being so clueless, so selfish. She’d never imagined anybody would.
She swallowed her bite of lobster, feeling the need to defend her choices. “He has a lot of good qualities! He’s smart, ambitious,
talented, charming . . . What?” Jack had cocked an eyebrow like he thought she was bullshitting one or the both of them.
“Nothing,” he said, with a little smirk, taking a bite of lobster roll, chewing thoughtfully.
“I’m serious,” she said, reminding herself, too.
“And he’s fun!” She grabbed a potato chip out of the bag, flourishing it as she made her next point.
“The first Thanksgiving we were together, senior year, there was a snowstorm, so none of us could go home, and he made this amazing feast for like ten of our friends. We had the best time.” She bit into the chip and chewed, relishing the explosion of salt and oil on her tongue.
“I guess it’s none of my business,” Jack said. “I just want to see you be happy.”
The corners of her mouth tipped up, even as she chewed, then swallowed. “I’m happy now,” she said, because it was true, despite
herself, despite everything.
The corners of his mouth tipped up, too. “Let’s play the ‘what if’ game.”
“Oh! Okay.” She would’ve thought he’d have forgotten all about that. Those summers at The Cove, they used to take turns creating
scenarios to make each other laugh or dream big. What if you were a walrus; what if you had ten million dollars; what if you lived in Rome? She sat up straighter, anticipating being amused.
“What if you’re married to someone who’s an unsupportive asshole?”
“What?” Her anticipation was punctured, a balloon popped. The spirit of the game seemed wrecked, suddenly.
“What if you have kids? What if one of the kids gets sick?”
“I don’t think I like this game anymore.”
“What if your husband won’t take time off work to help out? What if he says it’s all your problem?”
Hailey set down her lobster roll. “You’re ruining our game.”
“I’m not trying to,” Jack said, but the look on his face was very serious.
She tried to laugh. “You’re ruining my whole life.”
“I’m not trying to,” he said again. “I know it’s none of my business.”
“It is definitely not.” Unfortunately, the minute he’d asked the questions, she could see the whole scenario playing out in
her mind. It was the way the game always worked, even if you knew nothing about the subject. If I were a walrus, I’d eat a lot of fish, I’d sun myself on any rock bigger than me. If I lived in Rome, I’d drink espresso, I’d spend more time appreciating art, I’d be aggressive in traffic circles.
If I were married to an unsupportive asshole and our kid got sick, I’d have to deal with it alone. I’d feel guilty and resentful.
My career would take a back seat, if I even had a career. We would stop making love. I would disappear.
It seemed the only real question to consider now was, was Noah an unsupportive asshole?
Or had he just been acting like one?
Maybe it was all the pressure he was under, at work, and with the wedding coming up . . .
She wanted to think that could be true.
Either way, Jack had just driven her fear of getting pregnant, which she’d managed mostly not to think about for three whole
days, up another super-fun notch.
“What if you were on autopilot?” Jack said. “What if you were rushing into something just because it’s what society tells
you that, when you’re twenty-four years old, it’s what you should do?” He grinned slightly. “What if you were a victim of
the aggressive marketing campaign the wedding industrial complex has been assailing you with since you were five years old?”
“Stop.”
“I know it’s none of my business.”
“Says the man who continues to make it his business.”
“It’s just, I know you, Hales. I know who you used to be. And you’re not acting like the girl I knew.”
She sat up straighter. “That was a long time ago. I grew up. Unlike others of us at this table.”
He smiled. “I’ll tell you what I loved about you.”
“What?” she said, not to ask for the accounting, but out of pure astonishment. He had never told her he loved her, not back
then, not ever.
“Your sensitivity. You could always read my face and tell when something was wrong. And you always knew how to cheer me up. You’re kind.
Like, deeply, deeply kind, in a way that almost nobody is.
I’m guessing that’s what this guy, your fiancé, probably loves about you, too.
I’m guessing you’re as tuned in to him as you were to me, and as kind and generous to him, in a world where a lot of us haven’t experienced a lot of kindness. ”
“What a lot of rubbish,” she said in a mock British accent, to deflect him, to try to pretend his words weren’t basically
arrowing straight into her soul. Damn it. Her headache was coming back again.
Jack kept going. “But for me, it was more than that. More than just how you related to me. It was . . . how you moved through the world trying to make sense of everything. Your singular perception of it all. Your
ability to see shades of gray.”
She leaned back, whipped off Marjorie’s sun hat and rubbed the sweat from her forehead. She felt like he was chiseling through
a shell she hadn’t even known encased her, cracking it wide open. She kept up the British accent: “I practiced with the scatter
cushions at your grandmother’s cottage.”
He smiled but wouldn’t be thrown off-message. “I just really hate to think of all that being pounded out of you in some law
firm where you have to make life into black and white. Or, you know, in some marriage where your husband fails to see you
as a whole person with needs of your own.”
She flopped the silly hat back onto her aching head and returned to her normal voice. “How do you even know all this stuff
to say? Aren’t you just, like, some surfer dude?”
He laughed. “I have some experience being the kid in a marriage like that, remember? Also, I’ve been in therapy for, like,
nine years.”
“Oh, right, you’re from California and you’re rich,” she joked. She picked up a potato chip and contemplated it. “The rest
of us just have to muddle through.”
He shrugged slightly, his mouth quirked. “We all have our cross to bear.”
She needed to gather up the pieces of her broken shell and reconstruct it, piece by little piece.
She set the potato chip back down. “Okay, but listen. In all seriousness. My dad is missing! I can’t .
. . I can’t make some gigantic change to the whole plan I have for my future right now.
Because he’s going to come back. He’s going to show up.
Any minute now. And when he does, we’re going to have a beautiful wedding that he’s spending like twenty thousand real dollars on.
I am not going to have everything go up in flames.
I’m not going to have him come back to find out that he wasted all that money.
Just because you . . . just because you think I should become antiestablishment or something.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll point out that I didn’t say you should change your entire plan for your future.” He took a bite of his
lobster roll and chewed.
“Oh, please,” she said. “Don’t try to let yourself off the hook. You’re disruptive. You always have been. I hate that about
you.”
Jack swallowed. “I know, Hales,” he said with another little grin.