Chapter 17 #3
Lynn laughed. “Wellington Point has always had that effect on some. My late husband Dan felt the same way,” she said, leaving it at that.
“It’s not like this town is all bad. I mean, look at my mom; she thrives here.
It’s just—this place has always made me feel like I don’t belong.
Every time I come back here, all I can see is the hypocrisy.
In a town that prides itself on community, everyone is practically a stranger, and no one seems to care.
I’ve always struggled with the superficial nature of it all,” Annie admitted, unsure if that thought was meant for Lynn or herself.
“How come you and Dan stayed here if he didn’t like it? ” she asked quietly.
Lynn took a long sip from her almost empty glass.
“Because I was too afraid to plant my roots anywhere else. Wellington Point has always been my home. I’m a product of this sometimes fucked up tiny town, just like you are,” she said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
“But now, with the hindsight of age and experience, I can’t help but think that maybe I am meant to leave and plant my roots someplace else. ”
“There’s still time. If you could move anywhere, where would it be?”
Lynn gave her a long, assessing look—not a judgmental one, but one that let Annie know she was considering her question. “I have no clue.”
They sat together, the gentle creaking of the rocking chairs filling the space between them as Annie took the last sip from her iced tea. A question popped into her head, one she had wanted to ask Lynn months ago, but hadn’t found the right time.
“You knew who my brother was before Max and I started hanging out, didn’t you?”
It wasn’t an accusation, just an observation Annie had been piecing together about Lynn and her ability to know more than others thought she did.
That smile was back, the conspiratorial one that curled its way across her features, giving Annie a glimpse at what she might have looked like as a child who had gotten away with something.
“Guilty,” she said. “I told you, Wellington Point is a tiny town. Max doesn’t always see that because she’s not from here.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Annie pressed, genuinely curious.
“It wasn’t for me to say.”
Annie nodded, accepting her answer. She looked out over the hillside, peering towards the outlines of the buildings downtown as her memories of time spent in Wellington Point flashed through her mind along with everything this town represented to her—the good, the bad, and the ugly.
She set her glass down on a mosaic-covered side table. The heat of the day was rising, the humidity along with it. She gathered her long hair—a reminder that she desperately needed a haircut—and piled it into a topknot.
“Thanks for the iced tea and conversation,” she said, getting to her feet.
“Anytime. See you Thursday for Max’s surprise?”
Annie laughed. “You know what, I’m not surprised you know about that too.”
“I only know that it’s happening, not the details.”
“Well, it looks like we’re both in the dark on this one. See you around, Lynn,” she called, making her way up the steps leading to Max’s apartment.
* * *
That afternoon, Annie pushed through the front door of her parents’ house, the foyer smelling faintly of fresh potpourri like it always had. She slipped off her sandals, making her way barefoot towards the back of the house.
“Hello?” she called, stepping into the kitchen where the doors leading to the back deck were open, screen door pulled closed to keep the mosquitoes out of the house.
She could hear music and the sound of something sizzling on the grill, and when she stepped up to the doorway, Annie stopped, watching her parents for a moment.
Her dad stood at the grill, apron tied securely in place, metal tongs in hand.
But he was bouncing slightly, bopping along to her mom’s favorite Carole King song pumping through the outdoor speakers shaped like rocks dotted around the garden.
Her mother swayed with the music, a glass of white wine in hand, as she inspected the fluffy blooms of the hydrangeas encircling the pool.
Annie stepped through the screen door, closing it behind her. “Hi,” she said, a little louder this time.
“Banannie!” Her dad’s jovial voice carried across the deck from his position in front of the grill.
“Hello, sweetheart.” Her mother waved as she plucked broken branches from the nearest bush.
Annie waved back, moving towards her dad, stepping into the hug he offered. She inhaled, picking up on the familiar lingering hints of his favorite French roast coffee and black licorice.
“Whatcha cooking?” she asked, leaning against him.
“Lunch.”
Annie grinned at the back-and-forth wordplay they had indulged in since she had been a child. “I can see that, but what specifically?”
“A little of this, a little of that,” her dad answered nonchalantly, poking at a bratwurst with his tongs.
Annie laughed. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
Her dad’s low chuckle wrapped around her, comforting and warm. “Only on the days that end in D-A-Y.”
The sound of footsteps behind them drew her attention as her mom climbed the deck stairs, wine glass in one hand, a bunch of hydrangea clippings in the other. She bristled at her mother’s assessing gaze sweeping over her, bracing herself for whatever criticism she was about to deliver.
“I like that dress, the cut suits you.”
Annie looked down at her navy gingham-patterned sundress, then back at her mom. She understood that her mother’s compliment came as a quiet peace offering. A silent I’ve got nothing more to say about our argument.