Chapter 18
Tyler
I used Meredith’s map to get us halfway back into town until Katie, phone clutched, announced she had service again. By the
time we’d printed our pages at the library and made it back to Meredith’s, the gates were closed, so we left our work in her
mailbox with a note.
“What do we do now?” I whispered. We were a hundred yards from the porch, and still, I’d kept my voice down. I wasn’t going
to make that mistake again.
Katie shrugged. She was still holding that picnic basket and, given her obscenely short and inexplicably aproned sundress,
looked a bit like she’d bought a Sexy Dorothy costume at a pop-up Halloween emporium, forgotten to wear it to a party in October,
then decided it was perfect for a work meeting at the end of June instead.
“I think,” she said, “we’re supposed to . . . eat?”
I laughed. Katie did too, wiping a little sweat off her collarbone. And then I tipped my head toward the marshy beginning
of a weathered dock opposite Meredith’s gate that led us straight to Jule Pond. I knew that for sure because I’d seen it on
Google weeks ago—and because it’d been noted on Meredith’s map, which was still creased into the palm of my hand.
I shoved the card into my pocket, and a minute later, we settled onto the edge of the dock.
Both of us, letting our legs dangle. Letting our bodies, finally, drop.
The afternoon sun sparkled off the still water.
A couple of ducks floated, and a single horsefly zipped.
In the distance, across the pond, more marsh.
More green. More impossibly huge mansions and an endless blue sky.
Katie pulled out our plates and filled each one. “This meal probably could’ve paid off your student loans. I think the wine
alone is worth more than we’ll make all week.”
I chuckled, reaching for a medallion of butter. And then I lowered my voice and turned to her a little more. “Are we ready
to talk about how insane she is yet?”
Katie frowned. She’d been wearing a different pair of sunglasses today—aviators, and a pinkish gold. Those, too, were sliding
down her nose. “I feel like that’s not very nice. She was probably just having a bad morning.”
“A bad morning? She locked us out of her house because we didn’t properly follow instructions she never gave us! She left
us out there with no ride home, no way to contact the outside world. And the cat! The cat! He ate a whole crab cake and a
slice of cantaloupe at brunch the other day, and we just never talked about it again. Something is off in that house. Something
is—”
“You’re being crazy. She’s just rich. Those crab cakes were incredible. Would you eat cat food?”
I looked at her then. “No, Katie. I would not eat cat food. Because I’m a human.”
“All I’m saying is there’s a long history of people feeding really nice cuts of meat to their pets. She has unlimited money.
It makes her happy. I don’t see the big deal.”
“You are completely missing the point. Which is that nothing about her makes any sense. I mean, let’s talk about the tropes.
Let’s talk about the salad bowl. Let’s talk about how the last ones we just so happened to pull out were Girl Next Door and Brother’s Best Friend.
There isn’t a chance in hell I’m here by accident, Katie.
There just isn’t. She has to know who we are. ”
At that, Katie took her sunglasses off completely. Her legs, which were still kicking over the dock, came to a stop. “Are
you really that self-absorbed?”
“Huh?”
“Those are not, like, original tropes. We’ve discussed this.”
“Okay, I know, but explain . . .” I rubbed my wrist. “Explain Kissing in the Rain.”
She looked away for a moment—past the pond and into the distance. Something worked through her mouth, her shoulders, her shins.
But then it was over. She was back to rolling her eyes. “Uh, water makes kissing hotter? It’s not rocket science. Just additional
proof you desperately need to watch The Notebook.”
“I’m just saying, it’s—”
“We’re not renovating an inn, are we? I’m not the daughter of a storied Hamptons family, am I? This is just confirmation bias.
You’re just being a snob, and you can’t believe your luck, that a few coincidences prove the whole genre is dumb. So stop
looking for reasons the book we’re writing is beneath you and start taking notes about the way the sun feels on your shoulders.”
At that, I ripped off a hunk of roll—Jesus, was this what it was like to have money?—and decided to shut the fuck up and enjoy
my day.