Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
The sun was warm against my skin as I stretched out on the checkered picnic blanket.
My fingers trailed through the overgrown grass, while George lay nearby, sniffing lazily at a butterfly hovering just above his nose.
He huffed, batting at it with his giant paw before rolling onto his back with a dramatic groan.
Trisha laughed. “I swear, Dean’s dog is part human.”
I smiled, watching George fondly, but my mind was somewhere else, spinning with thoughts of Dean and his entire family losing this place.
Emma was in front of us, twirling in her dress, arms outstretched like she was trying to fly. Her laughter carried on the breeze, light and unselfconscious, tugging at something deep in my chest.
“Careful,” I called lightly as she spun a little too close to the blanket. “You’ll take off if you don’t slow down.”
She stopped mid-twirl, eyes wide, and looked at me with utter seriousness. “Do you fink so?”
I nodded solemnly, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “If you twirl any faster, we’ll have to tie you down with George’s leash to keep you from floating away.”
She burst into giggles and collapsed onto the grass, kicking her feet in the air until George perked his head up to watch her, his tail thumping against the blanket like he was in on the joke.
The sound of her laughter lingered, sinking into the quiet places inside me I usually tried to keep locked away.
“You’re good with her,” Trisha said softly, breaking through my thoughts.
I turned around and lifted a brow in her direction. “She makes it easy.”
She tilted her head, watching me for a moment before casually asking, “Do you want kids?”
The question landed heavier than it should have, pressing into old wounds.
I looked away, because long ago, a nineteen-year-old girl had convinced me I didn’t deserve a second chance.
She’d whispered that if I couldn’t handle motherhood once, I had no right to try again—that my failure was permanent, proof etched into my skin like tattoos.
For years, I believed her. I carried that shame like it was truth, letting it shape every answer, every excuse. I told myself what I always did: that I could barely keep myself alive some days, let alone a child. That some people just weren’t meant to be mothers.
But this time, the words caught in my throat and wouldn’t come out.
Because now, I could see it differently.
Maybe it wasn’t as simple as failing or not failing.
Maybe it was about circumstances—the choices you make when your back is against the wall, when survival outweighs every other dream.
Maybe being nineteen, broke, and alone wasn’t the same thing as being here, now, older, wiser, and with someone who would hold me up if I started to drown.
And for the first time in a long time, I realized my view had shifted. It wasn’t black and white. It never had been.
My throat tightened as I stared down at the grass, swallowing hard against the image that filled my mind—Dean in the yard, sleeves rolled, chasing children across the grass while George bounded after them, Dean’s laugh carrying through the air like something too good to lose.
And me, standing at the porch with my arms crossed, smiling so hard it hurt.
The thought nearly undid me.
Trisha must have noticed the shift in my expression because her voice softened. “Vivienne?”
Before I could respond, Emma plopped onto the blanket with a dramatic sigh. “Your dog snores louder than my grandpa.”
Trisha and I both laughed, and the heaviness between us scattered.
We packed up not long after that, heading back toward the lodge. Emma skipped ahead, talking about ice cream before we’d even reached the kitchen. Inside, the cool air hummed with the sound of people moving about, grabbing popsicles from the freezer.
That was when I saw him. A familiar profile. A voice I knew as well as my own.
John.
My heart stuttered, then crashed hard against my ribs. He stood near the counter, deep in conversation with one of Dean’s aunts, his posture alert, watchful, on edge.
For a second, I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Then panic kicked in, hot and sharp, propelling me forward across the room in a rush.
He turned just as I pulled him into a hug, his expression tight with concern.
“Em,” he muttered under his breath, low enough for only me to hear. “What the hell is going on?”
I forced a bright smile, looping my arms around him before anyone else could hear the panic rattling inside me. “Please, play along,” I whispered quickly, my lips brushing his ear. “I’ll explain everything when we’re alone. Just—please.”
When I pulled back, Vivienne’s smile was already fixed on my face—bright, untouchable, the kind that hid the panic clawing at my ribs.
Dean’s aunt studied us, her brows drawing together.
“Oh, Vivienne! Of course,” she said suddenly, her expression easing as if she’d just solved a puzzle.
“You’re the tall brunette he was looking for.
” She gave a quick laugh, shaking her head.
“When he was asking, he looked so serious, I immediately thought it was some kind of missing person’s case. Had me half ready to call the sheriff.”
My laugh slipped out, light and practiced. I tucked my arm through John’s, the gesture a little too tight. “Martha, this is my brother John. Sometimes he can be a little dramatic.”
Martha chuckled, sounding relieved.
John’s sharp eyes flicked to mine, full of questions I wasn’t ready to answer. “Right,” he said slowly, “Vivienne.” He said the name like he was testing it on his tongue.
I widened my eyes just slightly, the silent please hanging in the air between us.
Martha smiled, seemingly oblivious to the underlying tension. “I didn’t realize you were having visitors, Vivienne, I would have had a cabin ready if I’d known.”
“Oh, he’s not—”
But Martha interrupted me, her brow furrowing as though she were putting pieces together. “Didn’t you say you were traveling with your wife and baby?” she asked John, her voice light, curious, completely unaware of the storm she’d just dropped into the room.
John’s gaze slid to mine. “They’re in the car,” he said, his voice steady.
The words hit like a blow to my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. My smile faltered, brittle around the edges. Tuesday and the baby were here? My mind spun—why? Why had he come all this way, hours from home, with a newborn in tow? What did he think he would find?
I barely had time to catch my breath before Martha clapped her hands together.
“Well, it’s settled then!” she said brightly, beaming as though this were the best news she’d heard all week.
“We’ll prepare a cabin right away.” She turned to me with a pointed nod, her cheer unshaken.
“Vivienne, why don’t we show them the grounds while I have the staff get a cabin ready for them? What do you say?”
The next thing I knew, we were rattling across the grounds in Martha’s golf cart, her cheerful voice rising easily over the hum of the engine.
“This lodge has been in the McHenry family for more than forty years,” she said proudly, one hand steady on the wheel, while the other spread wide in a grand, sweeping gesture.
“Every beam, every brick—my brother picked out himself.”
She cast John a sideways smile, her eyes twinkling.
“And you’re in for a treat. Tonight’s a low country boil.
Crawfish, corn, potatoes, sausage—the works.
It’s tradition here at the lodge. Every summer, the whole family gathers out by the fire pits.
We roll the tables in paper, pile everything high, and eat with our hands.
Nothing fancy, just good food and even better company. ”
Her voice softened as though she’d slipped into memory. “It’s always been my favorite night. When the lodge feels most alive.”
I sat in the back with Tuesday, her baby bundled tight against her chest. George padded alongside the cart, tongue lolling, every so often darting into the trees before reappearing with that happy, bounding gait that made my heart ache.
John sat up front beside Martha, his silence heavier than the humid summer air. He didn’t smile at her stories. Didn’t even nod. Just stared out over the water as we passed the lake, the tall redwoods framing the horizon like watchful sentinels.
By the time Martha steered us down the narrow path toward the guest cabins, the pressure in my chest was unbearable. Each turn of the wheel wound me tighter, until it felt like I couldn’t draw a full breath.
She pulled to a stop in front of mine and Dean’s cabin, still smiling, blissfully unaware of what she’d just delivered to my doorstep. “Here we are,” she chirped.
I slid out first, forcing my expression to stay light, even as my insides splintered. George trotted ahead of me, tail wagging, as though this were any ordinary afternoon. But nothing about it was ordinary.
I ushered John and Tuesday inside quickly and closed the door behind us. The moment we were alone, and Martha’s cart rumbled away, the smile slid off my face like it had never belonged there.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
John’s eyes swept the cabin, his stance already rigid. “Don’t you think I should be the one asking you that question?”
The baby, who’d been quiet up until this point, stirred, her tiny cries cutting sharp through the room. Tuesday rocked her quickly, pressing soft kisses into her forehead as she whispered comforts.
A headache pulsed behind my eyes, the kind that made everything blur at once. I pressed my fingers to my temples, wishing I could untangle the mess with a single sentence—but where was I even supposed to begin? My voice cracked when it finally came. “I can’t believe you drove all the way out here…”
John’s jaw flexed. “What did you expect me to do, Em? You send some weird text—”