Chapter 35 Pippa
PIPPA
As clouds chase us southeast, my body goes numb from nerves. It’s slow going in the rain, but a couple of hours later, I arrive at a classic Cape Cod beach home with clapboard shingles and a gambrel roof.
The rain lets up just in time for the sunset to appear over the bay. The driver helps me with my belongings.
I follow him up the walk and he leaves my bag by the door. I press the bell when a torrent of water gushes from overhead.
The driver hurries back, asking if I’m alright.
Wiping my eyes, I look up to see a shadow cross behind an open window.
“Miss, my apologies, I thought it had stopped raining,” the driver says.
“I’m okay. It’s not your fault.” I glance up again, but no one stands in the window.
“Perhaps a gutter busted loose?” he suggests, following my gaze.
“Or someone pulled a prank, dumping water over my head,” I mutter, probably Marlow at it again.
Mrs. Collins answers and fusses over me. “I’m so glad you came. Chase has been in quite the mood and his father is worse. They’re at loggerheads. Come along, dear.”
I thank the driver and then follow Mrs. Collins inside.
Chase is nowhere to be seen. Red-faced, Rhett sits in a chair with his arms crossed. Marlow lounges on the couch, browsing on her phone. The room is silent except for the squelching sound of my shoes from the rush of water that came down on me.
“Oh, dear. You’re soaked. I thought it had stopped raining,” Mrs. Collins says.
“Me too.” I narrow my eyes in Marlow’s direction.
She sniffs the air. “Smells like wet dog.”
“That would be me, Poo-pa,” I say, beating her to the punch before she can tease me.
“Well, let’s get you out of that wet sweater, for starters.” Mrs. Collins tries to help me out of the cashmere sweater, but it catches on my necklace and a cool breeze pebbles my skin.
Afraid I’m exposing myself, I start to turn, but my shoe catches under the edge of the sofa and I lose my balance and fall forward into the room.
Marlow laughs.
“That’s enough, young woman,” Ruth scolds sternly.
“What is she doing here?” Rhett asks.
“You pipe down, Rhett,” Ruth says firmly. “The poor dear fell over.”
“Leave it to my weird luck to make a grand entrance,” I mutter.
“Are you okay?” Chase’s mom asks as she helps me up.
“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Collins.”
“You can call me Ruth.” She pats me gently on the back.
“Pippa always was a klutz. Or maybe she just wants attention. Did you ever tell Mr. and Mrs. Collins about the email you accidentally sent to the whole school?” Marlow chuckles. “I think I have it here somewhere.” Marlow swipes the password on her phone.
I can’t help but notice it’s simply 1-2-3-4. If she does have the incriminating email, I argue with myself about sneaking onto her device later and deleting it.
“Here it is. Wow. I saved it for all these years. Let’s see. ‘Dear Chase,’” she starts. “You were always so formal. Prissy Pippa. Ooh. That’s a good one.”
I rub the rug burn on my arm where I landed on the carpet. “Marlow, don’t you think you humiliated me enough in high school?”
“Humiliated you? Hardly. It was all in good fun.” She brandishes an innocent smile.
“Then what exactly are you trying to do right now?” I ask, standing my ground.
“Have a laugh.”
“At my expense.” I’m done being Miss Manners.
“Come on, if you can’t laugh at yourself then—” She shrugs. “Well, that’s just sad.”
I’m plenty familiar with laughing at myself, so I don’t cry. But Marlow has been out of line for too long. As far as I’m concerned, she just stepped over it.
Marlow presses on. “Where was I? Oh yes, ‘My Dearest Chase—’” She bursts into laughter.
“I can’t read it. It’s so cringy. She wrote him a sonnet professing her love.
It’s absolutely ridiculous.” Marlow snorts.
“Okay, here I go, if I can keep a straight face and keep from laughing. ‘Oh, handsome boy, you inspire my sight. How I adore the way you sprint on the rugby pitch. Bouncing into my dreams day and night. Ever the one to scratch my heart’s itch—’”
I recall the deep embarrassment, frustration, and righteous indignation when the email surfaced school-wide as a reply all and had somehow been associated with me, even though I didn’t write it.
Yes, I penned The Crush List, but not a sonnet.
I cross my arms in front of my chest. Rumors spread like wildfire at Hinnifin that it had been from me—probably because I’d been the one to originally send the notice to students as deputy activities director, requesting votes for the next school spirit day theme.
I march over to Marlow, face-to-face. “Chase did inspire my heart, but I didn’t write that. If I were going to write a sonnet about Chase, I would’ve just recited it to him.”
“Enough,” Rhett interrupts, as red as a swollen tomato, ready to burst.
I startle and realize it was a mistake coming here.
“Why don’t you freshen up in the guestroom, Pippa? Upstairs, third door on the left. I need to have a word with my husband.” Ruth gestures to the stairs and then glowers at Rhett.
I’m surprised I’ve lasted this long, bouncing from one exhausting social experience to another, and am all too happy to retreat.
Upstairs, I find the room easily and take a quick shower, washing the rainwater from my hair and then smooth some moisturizer over my arm where I’d hit the rug.
I wipe my face and breathe deeply. The citrus scent is refreshing, but beneath that is another odor.
I sniff the bottle and wonder if it’s gone off.
Considering the Collinses probably only come here a few times a year, Ruth may not replace products in the guest bathroom when items expire.
I close my eyes, wishing away Marlow, Rhett, and what has become a complicated and ugly situation. But no amount of wishing will change things. Instead, I pray.
Shortly after, the scent of rosemary and other fresh herbs filter through the window over the back deck. I smell the grill and imagine it’s nearing dinnertime. Not wanting to be rude, I reluctantly go downstairs.
When I enter the kitchen, Marlow squawks with laughter. “You look like an orange on a popsicle stick.” I glance down at my blouse and then at my hands and arms. A burnt shade of orange streaks them.
I dash out of the room and back upstairs. I check the label on the moisturizer again. It’s a luxury brand, but there is only one thing that could turn me that hideous shade. Self-tanner.
I plop on the bed and then leap up, checking for booby traps and spiders. Is my weird luck back or is Marlow behind this? Was the mean girl the source of my weird luck from the beginning?
Grabbing the bottle, I march down the hall. As I pass another guest room, a phone beeps and vibrates on a bed with a coral and lavender quilt.
I peer down the hall and then step inside, picking up the phone. A series of text messages pop on the screen from someone named Joe with a heart and arrow emoji next to his name.
Channeling my twin’s youthful penchant for pranks, if Marlow is going to play dirty, I’ll play dirtier.
I type in 1-2-3-4 and open the text thread.
I’m about to write something stupid like You’ve successfully subscribed to the men’s diaper of the month club.
Text Reply to place an order. Text STOP to end these messages when my mouth drops open at the exchange between Marlow and a guy who is clearly her boyfriend.
But how does that work if she’s fixing to marry Chase?
In a text bubble that Marlow sent earlier today, she commented about how she nearly closed the deal and soon they’ll be rich.
I pad back to my room for my phone and take photos of the text exchanges.
Before I return Marlow’s phone, I decide to delete that awful email with the sonnet once and for all.
When I open the email app, a thread with Rhett Collins is flagged at the top.
It’s none of my business, but I break the rules and take a risk.
My pulse quickens as I skim the contents.
The first one reads more like a threat than a polite letter arranging marriage and it only gets worse as I continue. I take more photos of the emails and then forward them all to myself, not caring if Marlow finds out, because this isn’t a relatively harmless prank. It’s much worse.
Sweat dots the back of my neck as I return the phone and hurry back to my room, wondering how spies keep their hearts from leaping out of their throats or keep from drowning in guilt for snooping.
But this is for a good cause. My crush’s future depends on it.
Uneasiness swims in my stomach about what to do. But before I’m able to read the emails in their entirety, someone knocks lightly on the door.
Chase appears with a plate of food and an apologetic look on his face. “Sorry that I wasn’t here when you arrived. Took a walk. Had to cool off. Hungry?”
I lost my appetite after what I briefly saw in the email correspondence.
“I’m sorry about all this. I didn’t think it was a good idea for you to come here, but my mother insisted,” he says.
And there I’d held onto hope that he’d sent for me. Ruth probably thought that if she used his name, I’d agree.
“She’s trying to get my father and me to talk, but it’s complicated.”
“Yes, it is,” I say, unable to keep a tremor out of my voice.
“You don’t understand the stress and pressure I’m facing.” He gazes at his hands. “How do I handle it all with grace?”
“Are you asking me as your coach or—?” I’m not sure how to finish the sentence. As a friend? Girlfriend? Prospective fiancée? He’s right, though, it is complicated. After what I saw in the emails, maybe more so than he realizes.
I should keep things simple. “I think that it’s best for us to remain coach and client. I should leave in the morning, but I want you to know that you’ve passed this course with flying colors. If the headmistress or your coach have any questions, I’ll explain.”
“But I’m not quite done with the program. We still have twelve hours to go. And there’s something I have to tell you.”
Tension seizes me as my brain lists all the dire things it could be.
“It’s about the inheritance from my grandfather.
He owned the Miami Riptide and sold it the year before I started playing.
When I made the team of our biggest rival, it turned out Cap changed his will, leaving his fortune to me instead of my father.
I suppose it was because I’d chosen football, whereas my father had not.
Cap was a man of character, had a sense of humor.
..and made some mistakes too. But I’d bet he reasoned that I’d be in the poor house, playing for the losing team. ”
“But you brought the Boston Bruisers to the Super Bowl.”
“Three times and I’m as wealthy as I could ever dream of being without the inheritance, but there’s something more.
” Chase takes a deep breath. “As I said, Cap made some mistakes in the past, bribing players with money to join his team, along with a few other things, and my father knows about it. He’s threatened to expose them if I don’t marry Marlow. ” Chase scrubs his hand down his face.
“I see. Well, everyone makes mistakes. Learns and grows, right?” I say with as much grace as I can.
“But you see, I don’t want to spoil my grandfather’s legacy...and in a way my own.”
To a degree, I understand, but what I read in those emails would tarnish the family name further. I slowly get to my feet. There is no easy way out of the situation.
I take his hand, squeeze it, and close my eyes, preparing my goodbye. My heart sinks and the world goes from color to shades of gray. “I think Elvis Presley said it best…the ‘Sad thing is you can still love somebody and be wrong for them.’” I sniffle and try to let go.
Chase draws my hand to his lips, kissing it. “No, you’re right for me. It’s just the wrong time. I have to get this sorted out with my father and then—” His voice cracks.
“Chase, I don’t think we’re going to get our happily ever after.” Not if Rhett is involved. “I’d never ask you to choose between me and your family, your legacy.”
Chase’s flirtatious smile is gone. His dimple is nowhere in sight. His eyes dim and his expression dulls. Looking at him right now is like getting a glimpse in a mirror. He looks as torn up as I feel.
He smooths my hair and kisses my forehead.
Still orange-skinned and with a heavy heart, I gather my things. “I should go now. I don’t want any more of my weird luck rubbing off on you.”
He remains still. Unmoving.
I slouch down the hall as angry voices hiss from the living room below. I pause, wondering what I’d want if I were in Chase’s situation.
I’d want the truth. The whole truth.
I glance over my shoulder and Chase remains where I left him. “Please check your email later.”
Inwardly, I flinch, thinking about what might happen if the secrets are exposed...and worse, what will happen if they’re not.