Chapter 34 Pippa
PIPPA
With everyone staring, I feel like I’m in the high school dining hall all over again. Someone even has their phone out—probably recording the whole thing. With my luck, it’ll spread online like wildfire and instead of #BruiserButt, #PippasProposalFail will be trending.
Standing there frozen, as Chase leaves, I wait for the laughter, for onlookers to point and whisper.
Instead, my brother’s booming voice says, “Show’s over, folks.
Go back to your meal, and if I find any of that online, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer.
” Then, in a lower voice, to me, he says, “I don’t quite understand what’s going on, but I know heart fluffies when I see them. ”
“What do you know about heart fluffies?” I ask in the smallest voice.
“Just because I was a bit of a tough guy in high school doesn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention.”
With Phoebe still on the video call, Freddie and I return to the table—Rhett and Marlow disappeared after Chase and his mom left.
“What are you doing in Boston? I thought you were island hopping,” our sister asks through the phone.
“Just call it twin-tuition.”
“Seriously?” I ask.
His shoulder lifts and lowers. “I also had a layover between here and Hawaii. This place makes the best clam chowder in the city, so I had to stop. Well, technically, the little pub in Chatham by Chase’s family’s beach house has the best chowder, but I don’t have time for that.
Although, give me a heart fluffies update. ”
“What do you mean?”
“If Chase hurt you, I’ll make time to head out to Chatham and see how far he can swim...”
“The heart fluffies were fluffing just fine until Marlow inserted herself into the situation. A remote island sounds good right now. Or a cave. That would do too.”
“I’d invite you to come, but it seems you have unfinished business,” Freddie says.
“Chase’s father did mention something about business. From the moment we sat down, something felt off and Marlow’s appearance only confirmed that, but I cannot fathom why he’d want Chase to marry her.”
Through the phone, Phoebe says, “I’d like a full rundown.”
Liquid pierces the corners of my eyes and my voice wavers when I say, “Well, you know about the crush.”
Phoebe interrupts. “Wait. Close your eyes and visualize this. My arms are around you, hugging you. I have a slab of sticky toffee pudding, and I’m here to listen. Better yet, Freddie, hug her.”
He does. It’s like being wrapped in an old quilt, comforting and warm.
“Okay, now we want a full rundown.”
The clatter and chatter in the restaurant resume and I fill in my siblings about the last few weeks.
“The truth is, I want to be with Chase. I always have, but now it’s too late.”
“It’s never too late,” Phoebe says.
“He went to his family’s beach house for the weekend. On top of that, I really should be there because I’m his teacher. I have to report back his etiquette, interactions, and everything.”
“This seems like an exception,” Phoebe says.
“You need to head out to the Cape, but not because of work,” Freddie says.
“Does that count as an island? Do you want to go with her?” Phoebe asks.
I balk. “I can’t just show up there.”
“Lady Libby the Love Liaison thought you were a match meant to be,” Phoebe adds. “But do you?”
Staring at my hands, Chase’s comment about wanting to be with me floats back, and I say, “Yes, so much.”
“Then there’s only one solution. Go after him,” Freddie urges.
“You’re telling me to go after your best friend?”
“I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see my little sister marry.”
“Did you get hit in the head with a coconut while you were island hopping?” I ask.
“No, but I know when my sister needs her siblings and when she needs to be brave.”
I start to shake my head because that’s not in my rulebook. “I can’t chase him down.”
“Who says?” Freddie asks.
“Nothing in my manual from Blancbourg prepared me for this.”
“Heart fluffies, rah, rah, rah!” Phoebe shouts as though doing a cheer and shaking pom-poms, encouraging me to go after Chase.
But it’s no longer about that. As Rhett said about having business to conduct, I’m the coach, not a team player. Although I don’t have a real cave to retreat to, I wrap my heart up and hide it away, thrust my shoulders back, and order some mozzarella sticks.
After my siblings help me patch up my wounds, I say a prayer. Right there on the sidewalk, I ask God to show me what I’m meant to learn from the situation.
A yellow taxi halts by the curb and I jump back, afraid it’ll run into the puddle and splash me.
The tire misses it by mere inches. Freddie gives me the address for the house in Chatham.
I get the highlights of a wild weekend visit several years ago.
He and I say a hurried goodbye while I get in and he waits for the next cab to bring him to the airport.
First, I go to the brownstone for my belongings.
I half expect Chase to be here, but it’s only the workers fixing the leak.
The house next door is silent and no one answers when I knock.
Sitting on the stoop, I rest my head in my hands as I have second thoughts.
Should I get on the first flight to Hawaii?
Go back to Concordia? Crawl into an actual cave?
My phone rings, startling me.
It’s Phoebe. Without preamble, she says, “What’s her last name again?”
“Who’s?”
“The meanie. Marlow.”
“Dwight.”
“No, I don’t think that was it.” The clicking of computer keys comes through the phone.
“That’s what Rhett Collins said. Marlow Dwight. Her father is Warner Dwight, the head of Dwight Drilling in Texas. Big money or something.”
“Are we talking about the same Marlow from high school?”
“Yeah, Mean Marlow.”
“Ah. Found her. Her last name was Dunlop and she was a scholarship student.”
“Maybe she moved up in the world,” I say.
“I don’t know. This seems strange. I’m going to see what I can find out. In the meantime, you ran away from Chase once. Now it’s time to run to him.”
I consider calling Rhiannon, my short-lived dating coach, but she’s also Chase’s sister. A long-held breath escapes as I grapple with what to do.
Can I show up at the beach house when Mr. Collins doesn’t want anything to do with me? I honor my parents and Chase does too, but it’s not up to them who we marry. Chase said he chose me.
Me?
Me!
I’m not sure what the future looks like, but I won’t let him fail the Blancbourg program and lose his career.
I shoulder my bag as a car pulls up to the curb. The driver gets out and gazes overhead as if concerned about incoming clouds. Then he says, “Miss Thompson, Mr. Collins sent for you. He’s at the beach house in Chatham.” The older gentleman refers to the same town Freddie did.
Biting my lip, I waver between whether to stay or go. But with renewed hope, I follow the driver to the car.
Perhaps everything will work out. Yet, as the car turns onto the main road from the maple tree-lined street and hits the highway, a pit of foreboding carves out my stomach.