by Sarah Dessen
“Not good,” I said. “I know I should text him, but I’m so embarrassed. He must hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” she said automatically.
“Bridget. I almost got him arrested.”
“Almost,” she said, like this was hardly anything of note. “Not the same thing.”
I watched a motorboat pass by, a girl with long hair gripping the float as it bounced over a wake. Fun in the sun, all summer long. I sat back down on my made bed.
“Anyway,” Bridget said now, “have you talked to Ryan? I can’t get through to her except an occasional text. All she’s thinking about is that show! And the girl in that show.”
So there it was. “She told you,” I said.
“After telling me she called you first!” She sighed again. “This is HUGE. And as the romance expert among us, it stings a little bit that I’m the last to know.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“I’ll get over it. What’s important,” she continued, “is that she told us. I just hope this girl’s good enough for her. If she’s not, she’ll hear from me.”
I laughed. “I think Ryan can take care of herself.”
“True.” She thought for a moment. “Really, it’s ironic. I was the one who was so sure this summer was going to be fabulous, full of amazing potential. And now you guys have romance for real, while I’m left standing, unkissed.”
“I have a feeling you’ll be fine in that department, though.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed. “But it better happen soon!”
I laughed. “I’m so happy for Ryan, though,” I said, thinking of how she looked in the pictures she’d sent. “She’s, like, giddy.”
“No kidding. God, I feel so bad about all the times I dragged her along, trying to meet up with the twins. Assuming she’d want that.”
“I feel the same way,” I said. “Like we should have known or something.”
“Ryan’s always been private, until she decides not to be. And she told us when she was ready, which is all that matters.”
It was true. I’d had two more top-of-mountain texts from her, and they were all about dress rehearsals and tech runs. There’d been a couple more pictures as well, of her hanging at camp with her castmates. Liz was beside her in every single one.
“Do you think they’ll stay together when she’s home?” I asked her.
“Long-distance? Oh, man. I don’t know. Does that ever work?” she replied. “I mean, in the movies, summer romance tends to be location-specific.”
I had a flash of Roo, then immediately pushed this thought away. We didn’t have a relationship. And now, thanks to me, we never would. “My mom and dad remained a couple during the year,” I pointed out.
“Yes, but they were only two hours apart. Ryan’s dealing with entire states between her and Liz. It’ll be a challenge.” She was quiet for a minute. “But if it’s meant to be, it will be. Things work out, that’s what I’m saying. Look at Sam and me!”
“True,” I said, choosing not to mention that right now what she had was an invitation, not a relationship. Which was still more than I could claim at the moment.
“Just promise,” she said, “that even with all these new cousins and boys and everything else, you won’t forget about me. When my time comes, you guys have to listen and be excited.”
“I can’t wait,” I said. “I’ll scream from the rooftops.”
“Okay, that might be a bit much,” she said, laughing.
“You think?”
“I’ll let you know.”
When I hung up, I looked at the digital clock on the bedside table: it was only ten a.m. Then again, I’d been awake since six, tossing and turning as I went over the events of the previous days. Normally I would have just slipped downstairs to walk over to the Larder for a copy of the Bly County News and a muffin. But I wasn’t even allowed to do that. Because now, there were rules.
My dad had been clear: from now on, I couldn’t go to North Lake. I couldn’t go to the raft. Really, all I was allowed was to sit in the hotel room, which got boring quick. Which was why I’d found myself reorganizing my sparse belongings: folding and stacking shirts in my drawers, lining up my two pairs of shoes in the mostly empty closet, and making my bed the way Trinity had taught me, sheets pulled so tightly I could barely wedge myself beneath them.
It was in the midst of this routine—now repeated a few times—that I’d found the family tree I had begun my first day at Mimi’s. I’d immediately sat down, flipping it open to read over the names that had once sounded like strangers, but were now as real to me as my own face. Now, I looked at those Calvanders, neatly organized on the page, then at my shoes, lined up against the wall, and shut the notebook again.
Suddenly there was a soft tapping on the other side of my closed door. When I opened it, Nana was there, a Bly County News in her hand.
“Come have some food,” she said, giving it to me. “I want to talk to you.”
When I nodded, grateful, she smiled, pulling her lavender robe a bit more tightly around herself as she made her way down the hallway. There, on the table by the window, was her daily breakfast—already delivered and arranged by a Tides employee—as well as a plate of toast and butter for me. Lately it was all I’d been eating each morning, and of course she noticed.
“Thank you,” I said, sliding into the chair beside her.
“You’re more than welcome,” she said. “I just feel like we haven’t had a proper catch-up since . . . everything happened.”
She was right: after the night of Taylor’s party, I’d only left my room a handful of times, and each one I’d been so concerned about how my dad would react—not speaking to me, as it turned out—I hadn’t had time to think about anyone else. Nana and Tracy had basically been tiptoeing together in the spaces between us, shooting me sympathetic looks he couldn’t see. This also meant I hadn’t formally apologized to her for causing all this trouble and tension, something I wanted to remedy now.
“I’m sorry,” I told her as she poured coffee into a mug. “I know you hate conflict and seeing Dad upset. So this must be your worst nightmare.”
She reached over, giving my hand a squeeze. “Don’t you worry about me, I’m fine. And your dad will be, too. He’s just adapting. It’s what we parents have to do, even when we aren’t feeling up to it.”
“I shouldn’t have had those beers,” I said, feeling embarrassed even saying these words in front of her. But I knew she was aware of the whole story. “I really let him down.”
“Your father loves you so much,” she said, pushing the plate of toast over to me. “He’s always been overprotective because of what he went through with your mom. But you aren’t Waverly, and he knows that. You just gave him a scare, is all.”
This was classic Nana, the ability to break down anything to simple phrases that made sense and helped you feel better. She was like the original five sentences.
“I feel like I messed everything up,” I said. “If I’d just waited a bit, he probably would have let me go back to Mimi’s whenever I wanted.”
“Maybe,” she agreed. “But I think you’re aware now that how your dad sees North Lake and how you do are very different things. For him, it was always just about your mother, her family, and her problems. He couldn’t separate them. But you’ve had your own experience now, and redefined it accordingly. He’s still looking with the same eyes. You have to remember that.”
“So, what?” I asked. “I should try to show him it’s not what he thinks?”
“Ideally, yes, that would be good,” she said. “But I think we both know he might not be so fully open to it. Which is why even before this happened, I was thinking of ways to ease him into it.”
I chewed my toast, which was delicious, as I tried to follow this. Then it hit me. “Oh, the dinner? Is that what you mean?”
She pointed at me, smiling. “Yes. It was my hope that by bringing Mimi and the rest over here to thank them for their hospitality,
we could maybe begin a dialogue about something other than Waverly. A fresh start, as it were.”
“And then I screwed it up,” I said glumly. “I’m so stupid.”
“Now, now.” She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin, then folded it and put it back in her lap. “It’s not too late.”
I put down my toast. “You’re going to invite them all over here, still? Really?”
“Well, yes,” she said. “The planning will just require a bit more finesse, as we have to get your dad on board.”
Immediately, I felt the wind go out of every sail in this plan. So to speak. “Yeah, well. Good luck with that. He hates them.”
“Nonsense.” There was an edge to her voice as she said this. “Your father doesn’t hate anyone. He’s just worried and frustrated.”
“You’re right,” I said quietly.
“So,” she continued, “what I’m thinking is we give him a bit of time. We could all use that, I think. So I’ve been looking at July thirteenth. Next Friday.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Friday the thirteenth? Seriously?”
“Oh, now, don’t be superstitious,” she said. “By then enough time will have passed since what happened between you and your dad for clearer heads to prevail. I’ve already spoken to the concierge about getting a table at the Club.”
I wasn’t surprised that Nana had thought things through to this extent. Her attention to detail was legendary. But it was one thing to design a good plan, another for everything to come together to make it work. Factor in several different people and personalities—and a dinner at the Club, no less—and disaster seemed even more possible, if not likely. But what was the other option? Sitting here in this suite stewing and angry until it was time to go home?
“I’m in,” I said. “What can I do?”
She smiled. “For now, follow your dad’s rules. Can you do that?”
“Yes.” I nodded. “Thank you, Nana.”
“Of course.” She pointed at the Bly County News, which was next to my plate. “Now, tell me what you love so much about that paper. I glanced at your copy the other day and it seems to be nothing but ads and classified listings for boats.”
“It’s the obits, really,” I said. “In the paper at home, there are at least eight to ten obituaries every day. Here, because it’s smaller, usually they only run one or two. But they do a lot more In Memoriams, I’ve noticed.”
“In Memoriams?”
I opened the paper. “They run on what would have been the person’s birthday, or the anniversary of the day they died. They talk about how much they’re missed and loved and all that. Like a letter to the beyond, but in the paper.”
“Interesting,” Nana said. “It’s similar to lawsuit settlements, when you’re often required to post terms in the classifieds. If it’s in the public record, everyone sees it.”
“Even the dead,” I said.
“Even them.”
As we sat there together, eating and reading in companionable silence, I thought of Mimi’s kitchen, far across that water just outside the window, and my mornings there. It was possible I’d never get to wake up again to the smell of toast, arguments over butter, and a day of housekeeping ahead of me. But maybe I would. Even with all that had been taken from me, I still had time.
Twenty-One
The one good thing about being in the same place all the time is that you’re easy to find. Or, you know, call.
“How bad is it?” Bailey asked, skipping a hello. She’d been texting me nonstop since the night of Taylor’s party, but I hadn’t had the heart or energy to reply, so she’d been forced to reach out to me with an actual call. Which she hated. I was kind of touched, to be honest.
“Well, I’m grounded,” I said. “I can’t go anywhere.”
“At least it’s a nice place,” she replied. “What else?”
“My dad is pissed. He’s not talking to me. Still.”
“Did you cry?”
“Yes. Didn’t help.”
“Damn.” She sighed. “How long are you punished for?”
“He didn’t say,” I told her. Another loud exhale. “Is that bad?”
“Well, it’s not good,” she said. “Personally I prefer a date range for all my punishments at the time they are given. Otherwise extensions get tacked on again and again for even the smallest thing, and the next thing you know, you have no life whatsoever.”
That was encouraging. I said, “My grandmother is trying to help, though. She wants to have you all over for dinner.”
“Who’s all of us?” she asked, sounding suspicious.
“Well,” I said, “Mimi and Oxford, I guess, and you and Trinity. Celeste and Gordon and Jack.”
“Is she thinking, like, a restaurant or something?”
“The Club, actually. She’s looking at next Friday.”
“The Club?” Now, I had her full attention. “Are you serious?”
“Yep,” I said. “Do you think you all will come?”
“I’ll be there,” she said automatically. “Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to eat at the Club. I hear they have specific forks just for oysters. Have you seen those yet?”
“I don’t like oysters.”
“Who cares? They’re specific little forks just for ONE FOOD. I mean, what is that?” She laughed. “Oh, God, and what will I wear? And will we come by boat, or drive? Because if we come by boat, then I might see Colin, and—”
Hearing this name, I realized I’d been so caught up with my experience at Taylor’s party I hadn’t even thought of hers. Who was selfish now? “What’s happening with Colin? Did you see him at the party?”
“Briefly,” she replied, her voice coy. “I mean, it was kind of hard for us to talk with my drunk cousin about to be busted by her dad, but—”
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s okay. I think me being busy was actually a good move. He, like, won’t stop texting me.”
“You’re welcome.”
She snorted. “I’m still mad at you for drinking. It’s one thing for me to be messed up, but I didn’t like seeing you that way. I need you compos mentis.”
“You need me what, now?”
“Compos mentis,” she repeated. “It’s Latin. Means of sound mind.”
“You took Latin?”
“Yeah, one semester,” she said.
“Wow,” I said, surprised.
“What? It’s not easy for lake kids to get into a good college. We need all the credits we can get.” So she was going to school, even if she never talked about it. I hated I’d just assumed otherwise. “Anyway, the point is you’re not a party girl, Saylor. It doesn’t suit you.”
“No kidding.” Just the thought of alcohol brought back a wave of shame that was hot and awful. “I’ve learned my lesson, don’t worry. From now on I’ll be the DD, every time.”
“But first you have to, like, drive,” she pointed out.
“Well, yes.” By now, even getting behind the wheel sounded appealing compared to drinking. “I’m working on that. Or I was, before all this.”
There was a chime sound, distant. “Oh, crap. That’s Mimi, telling me to come do turnover. With you gone, I’m the last one standing. Or cleaning.”
“I’d love to be doing that,” I said wistfully. “I miss it.”
“Are you crazy? You’re at the Tides, for God’s sake!”
“Grounded at the Tides,” I reminded her.
“Which is still a million times better than wiping pubic hairs off a motel sink.”
I cringed. “That was quite the visual.”
“I know.” Another chime. “God, I’m coming. I’ll text you later. Reply this time, you hear? You know I hate talking on the phone.” Then she hung up, again without a goodbye.
It was now two thirty, which gave me three hours until dinner. I was contemplating a nap, just to help the time pass, when my phone lit up again. This time, it was a HiThere! from a number I didn’t recognize. Normally I would have igno
red it, but what else was I doing? I hit ACCEPT.
There was that signature swooshing sound, and then a picture appeared. It was Trinity. Her belly, huge and rounded, took up all of the foreground.
“What is this I hear about you drinking?” she demanded. Did none of these Blackwood girls believe in greetings? “Are you crazy?”
“I made a mistake,” I said, sighing.
“Damn right you did,” she replied. “I expected more from you, honestly.”
I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or ashamed by this scolding, considering not so long ago, she couldn’t stand me. “I’m paying the price, believe me. I’m grounded until further notice.”
“At the Tides,” she said. “Boo-hoo. I’m here on the porch, a million weeks pregnant with a fan on me and still sweating.”
“What’s the latest on the Sergeant?” I asked, wanting to get away from this tit-for-tat topic.
“Supposedly,” she said, shifting slightly so that her belly eclipsed the entire screen, momentarily, “he is getting home on the eighteenth. Which is a week before my due date.”
“That’s great, Trinity,” I told her.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” She fanned her face with one hand. “At this point I honestly just want him here when the baby comes, even if he walks in the door when it’s coming out of me.”
I winced. “He’ll be there.”
“I hope you’re right.” She shifted again. “In the meantime, you need to come visit me. I need someone to paint my toenails.”
“I’m grounded,” I reminded her. “Maybe ask Gordon?”
She groaned. “Oh, God. No thanks. She’s terrible with polish. Gets it everywhere. Besides, all she’s doing is moping around since you left anyway. She’s so pathetic Roo had her holding a ladder for him the other day.”
I blinked. “A what?”
“I looked out there,” she said, “and he’s got her supporting the ladder while he climbs, like she’s going to keep it steady or something. As if! She’s ten. But you should have seen her face. You would have thought he’d trusted her with the world.”