Chapter 8 #2
"You didn't forget," Lori said. "You just stopped."
They drifted out to the Sandbar, hoping for air, but it was just as packed. People crowded around the outdoor bar, sand underfoot.
They'd barely found a spot when Lori grabbed Meredith's arm and ducked behind her.
"What are you doing?" Meredith asked.
"Don't turn around. Whatever you do, don't—"
Naturally, everyone turned around.
John had just stepped out onto the Sandbar, scanning the crowd. He wore a chambray button-down untucked over jeans, his ponytail loose against his collar. A woman Meredith didn't recognize was beside him. Fifties, silver earrings, put together in a way that looked effortless.
"Oh wow, is that him?" Jen craned her neck. "The bookstore guy?"
"Stop looking!" Lori was trying to make herself smaller, which wasn't easy when you were five-eight. "Why is he here? He doesn't seem like the OD type."
"Maybe he contains multitudes," Olivia said. "Who's the woman?"
Lori peered around Meredith's shoulder. John and his companion had found a spot near the bar, their heads bent together in conversation. "I don't know. She looks like she has her life figured out."
"So do you," Carrie said.
"I'm sweaty and my hair is doing something tragic and I have beer on my shirt." Lori looked down. "When did I get beer on my shirt?"
"You look great," Meredith said. "Like you've been having fun. That's allowed."
"I didn't want him to see me like this. I wanted—" She stopped, shook her head. "I don't know what I wanted. I hadn't gotten that far."
"You like him," Jen said.
"I barely know him. I've talked to him twice. Three times if you count buying a book."
"And yet here you are, hiding behind Meredith," Jen said.
Lori straightened up, attempting dignity. "I'm not hiding. I'm just... not making myself obvious."
"Honey, you're the opposite of obvious right now," Jen said. "You're acting like a teenager."
"I'm aware." She risked another look toward the bar. John was laughing at something the woman had said, his whole face animated. "She's probably his girlfriend. Or his wife. Someone like him doesn't stay single."
"You don't know that," Carrie said.
"I don't know anything. That's the problem."
Inside, the band started their second set, the music drifting out through the open doors. Lori was still watching John, trying to look like she wasn't watching John, when he glanced up and caught her eye.
For a moment, neither of them moved. Then he smiled—a real smile, warm and surprised—and raised his glass in her direction before turning back to his companion.
Lori whipped around to face the group, her cheeks flushed. "Did that just happen?"
"That happened," Olivia confirmed.
"What do I do?"
"Wave back? Go say hi? Act like a normal human being?" Olivia suggested.
"I can't go over there. She's right there." Lori pressed her hands to her face. "I need a minute. I'm going to the bathroom."
She was gone before anyone could respond, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the bar.
Jen watched her go. "Should someone...?"
"Give her a minute," Meredith said. "She'll be fine."
But after a few minutes, Jen went anyway. Meredith and Olivia and Carrie stood in the warm night air, the bass from inside thrumming through the sand beneath their feet.
"She really likes him," Carrie said.
Meredith nodded. "I know."
Carrie shook her head. "I haven't seen her like this since... I don't even know. Before Kevin, maybe. Before everything went sideways."
"She's scared," Meredith said. "You can't blame her."
"I don't blame her," Carrie said. "I just hope she doesn't talk herself out of it before she even gives it a chance."
Jen came back with Lori a few minutes later. Lori had splashed water on her face and fixed her hair, and she seemed calmer, more like herself.
"I'm fine," she said before anyone could ask. "I was being ridiculous. He's allowed to have drinks with whoever he wants. I barely know him."
"You could go say hello," Carrie offered.
"I could. But I'm not going to walk up to a man I find attractive and make small talk while his date watches. I have some pride left."
"We don't know she's his date," Meredith said.
"We don't know she's not."
The band finished their song, and the lead singer announced a fifteen-minute break. The music cut out, and suddenly they could hear themselves think again. Lori glanced toward where John had been standing.
He was walking toward them.
Lori saw it the same moment everyone else did. She went still.
"Ladies," John said, stopping in front of them. "I thought I recognized you." He was looking at Lori. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Likewise." Lori's voice was steadier than she felt. "We were just—celebrating. Old times. College nostalgia."
"The band's good for that." He glanced back toward where his companion was waiting, checking her phone. "That's my sister. She's visiting from Portland for the week. I promised her a night out that didn't involve me talking about books."
"Your sister," Lori repeated.
"Jill. She's a pediatric surgeon. Considerably more impressive than I am at dinner parties." He smiled. "I should get back. But I'm glad I ran into you. The fisherman talk is in a few days, if you're still interested."
"I am. I'll be there."
"Good." He nodded to the rest of the group and headed back to his sister.
Nobody said anything.
"His sister," Carrie said.
Lori laughed. "His sister."
"You're an idiot," Jen said affectionately.
"Shut up."
But she was smiling now, really smiling, and when the band came back for their final set, she was the first one on the dance floor.
They closed out the bar.
The walk back was long and loud, all of them taking up the entire sidewalk, singing fragments of songs they'd been dancing to, stopping every few blocks to catch their breath or point out something in a shop window.
The night had cooled just enough to feel comfortable, and Sea Isle had gone quiet the way beach towns do when the families go to bed and only the stragglers remain.
By the time they reached 59th Street, Meredith's feet ached and her voice was hoarse and she didn't care about either.
"That was fun," she said, as the house came into view. "That was really fun."
"We should do it again," Carrie said. "Before the summer ends. Make it a thing."
"Make it a thing," Olivia echoed. "I like that."
The house was still when they came through the door.
Tom was asleep on the couch with the TV still on, the teens presumably in their rooms, the only sound the distant crash of waves through the open windows.
They separated with whispered goodnights, Lori and Carrie heading upstairs, Jen into the kitchen for water, Meredith gently waking Tom to guide him up to bed.
Olivia stood in the hallway, keys still in her hand, not quite ready to go upstairs.
The night had been good. Better than good. For three hours she hadn't thought about Dan, hadn't checked her phone, hadn't wondered what Michael was doing or whether she should call him back. She'd just been herself. She'd forgotten that was allowed.
She wanted to hold onto that feeling. Wanted to carry it upstairs and fall asleep before it faded.
But as she turned toward the stairs, she noticed the light.
Lily's door, cracked open, the soft glow of a reading lamp visible through the gap.
It was nearly one in the morning. Lily was a night owl, but this was late even for her.
Olivia hesitated. The beer was still in her system, making everything feel removed and dreamlike. She pushed the door open instead of walking past.
Lily was sitting up in bed, book open in her lap, but she wasn't reading.
She was staring at the wall, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her expression distant.
In the soft lamplight, she looked younger than fifteen, the way she was worrying the corner of a page, her knees pulled up to her chest.
"Hey," Olivia said. "You're up late."
Lily looked up, eyes startled. "Couldn't sleep."
"Want to talk about it?"
A pause. Then: "Not really."
Olivia should have left it there. Should have said goodnight and gone to her own room and dealt with whatever this was in the morning, when she was sober and clearheaded and better equipped for difficult conversations.
But Lily was just sitting there. Waiting.
Olivia crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, leaving space between them. "What's going on?"
Lily didn't answer. Her eyes stayed on the wall.
"I thought maybe it was just being fifteen. Or being away from home." Olivia kept her voice even. "But it's more than that. Isn't it."
Silence.
"What is it?"
"You're going to be upset."
"Maybe. But I'd rather know than wonder."
More silence. Somewhere outside, a car door closed. Footsteps on a neighboring porch, then quiet again.
"It was in January," Lily said at last. "Before you and Dad started acting weird. Before you stopped talking to each other at dinner."
January. A month before Olivia had found the texts.
"I couldn't sleep," Lily continued. "I kept having these dreams about—it doesn't matter. Anyway, I went downstairs to get water, and I heard a car pull up outside."
Olivia's heart had started to beat in a strange, arrhythmic way.
"It was late. Like, two in the morning. I looked out the window because I thought maybe someone was picking something up, or there was an Uber, or—I don't know what I thought."
She stopped. Olivia waited.
"Dad was outside." The words came out flat now, rehearsed, like she'd been waiting to say them. "He walked out to the car. A woman got out. They kissed. For a long time. Like, really kissed. And then they talked for a while, and she got back in her car, and Dad came back inside."
Olivia could feel the beer souring in her stomach.
"I went back to bed," Lily said. "I convinced myself I'd imagined it. Or that it was someone else. Or that I'd been sleepwalking and dreaming the whole thing." She finally looked at Olivia, and her eyes were wet. "But I know what I saw. I've known for months."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I was scared." Her voice broke. "I was scared that if I said something, you'd get divorced. That everything would fall apart. And I kept thinking maybe I was wrong, maybe I didn't see what I thought I saw, maybe Dad just—"
"Just what?"
"I don't know." Lily wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I kept hoping it would go away. That things would get better. That I wouldn't have to say anything."
Olivia didn't move. Everything she'd told herself since February—that Dan had made a mistake, that they could fix it, that she could forgive—was falling apart.
Dan had kissed Rachel.
Physically. Actually. In the middle of the night, in front of their house, while their daughter watched from a window.
He'd looked her in the eye and sworn it was only emotional. Only texts. Nothing physical.
And she'd believed him. She'd wanted to believe him.
"Mom?" Lily looked up at her. "Are you okay?"
Olivia reached for her daughter's hand and held it. Her own hands weren't shaking, which surprised her.
"I'm glad you told me," she said. "I know that was hard."
"Are you going to leave him?"
"I need to think," Olivia said. "I need—"
She didn't finish the sentence. Didn't know how to finish it.
Lily was crying now, and Olivia pulled her close the way she used to when Lily was small and scared of the dark. Held her until she was still.
"You should sleep," Olivia said eventually. "We'll talk more tomorrow."
"What are you going to do?"
She kissed the top of Lily's head. "Whatever happens, it's not your fault. None of this is your fault. Do you understand?"
"But if I hadn't said anything—"
"Lily. Look at me." Olivia waited until her daughter's eyes met hers. "I already knew something was wrong. I found some texts back in February. Dad and I have been... working through things. So this isn't you telling me something I didn't know. It's you telling me something I needed to hear. Okay?"
Lily stared at her. "You already knew?"
"Not what you saw. But I knew there was a problem." She squeezed Lily's hand. "You didn't break anything. I promise."
Lily nodded, though she still seemed shaky.
Olivia stood. Walked to the door.
"Mom?"
She turned.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"I'm sorry you had to carry it at all," Olivia said.
She closed the door behind her and stood in the hallway, listening to the sounds of the sleeping house. Somewhere down the hall, someone's phone buzzed against a nightstand. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Outside, the waves kept coming.
Dan had lied. He'd looked at her across a marriage counselor's office and sworn that nothing physical had happened. And the whole time, he'd been lying.
She walked to her own room and sat on the bed without turning on the light.
Her phone was on the nightstand. Three texts from Dan, sent hours ago, still unanswered.
Miss you. Hope you had fun tonight.
The house feels empty without you.
Call me when you can. Just want to hear your voice.
She stared at the words until they blurred. Then she turned the phone over and lay back.
She thought about Michael. How he looked at her. How he listened. How she'd felt on that trail at Cape May, guilty but also alive.
She'd been torturing herself over a few hikes and some texts that never crossed any lines. Meanwhile, Dan had been crossing every line there was and making her feel like the one with something to apologize for.
Then the anger hit.
She welcomed it. She'd spent so long trying to understand, to forgive, to be the bigger person. And for what?
For a man who couldn't even give her the truth.
She picked up her phone again. Not Dan's texts this time. Michael's. She typed Hey, then deleted it. Set the phone down. Closed her eyes.