by A. S. Green
“Oh,” Calloway says, finally comprehending. “The summer girl? Soon as I got here, her and some fella took off like a shot. Got the eight o’clock ferry off the island.”
I stagger backward. I understand. I apologize for the intrusion.
The morning air is cold. Too cold for August. I wrap my arms around myself. I move away from the lighthouse. More slowly now. There is nothing to run toward. There is simply nothing. The beach is empty. No Katherine. No Sam.
In truth, I’m not even here. Not really.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
KATHERINE
The car ride home is excruciating, but order and security and predictability are the itinerary for the day. Going home is the logical thing to do. I’d been wrong about Bennet. Apparently we weren’t based on anything real. There would have never even been an “us” if not for coincidental timing.
I mean, what were the chances? How is it that I even heard about a job where Andrew’s estranged brother just happened to live? But then I remember Calloway telling me that a “kid” in town had recommended posting the ad in his old college newspaper. One of the nameless kids in town. Bennet.
Still, what were the odds I would be the one to answer the ad? It’s like the gods were against me.
Or for me, needles a tiny voice in my head. It’s then that my chest swells with the urge to tell Andrew to turn around, to go back. And step on it! But no sooner does the thought cross my mind than it leaves me. Bennet still should have told me the truth. He should have come.
There will be no Jane Austen ending for this girl. This is real life. Time for me to start acting like it.
Andrew talks incessantly for the first hour about all that I missed while I was away. Eventually I lay my head against the window and doze off. When we finally pull into my driveway at three o’clock in the afternoon, I have a raging headache and a dangerously full bladder. Mom comes running out of the house, her eyes worried and her arms wide in anticipation of a hug.
“Katherine!” she exclaims. “How’s my birthday girl?”
Despite her enthusiastic words, the corners of her eyes wrinkle. I get the distinct feeling that Andrew called to give her a full account of last night. He unloads my bags and carries them into the house while I bypass Mom and run for the bathroom, locking the door. I can barely make out their conversation in the hallway outside.
Mom: “Is she okay?”
Andrew: “Yeah, thank God.”
Mom: “Do you think she needs to see a doctor?”
Andrew: “No, she just has some bruises and cuts on her hands. She’s pretty shook up still, though. I think sleep is the best thing for her right now.”
Taking that as my stage direction, I come out of the bathroom to find them still standing by the front door where I left them. “I’m going to go to bed, Mom. Can we talk later?”
“Sure,” she says, but she sounds disappointed.
“Thanks. I’m exhausted.”
She reaches toward me. I give her a quick hug and kiss before I pull away and hit the stairs at a run.
There are a few footsteps in the downstairs hallway, then Andrew says, “I’ll come back and check on her in a couple hours.”
“In that case,” Mom says, “maybe you’d like to join us for dinner? I’m making my husband’s favorite, chicken divan.”
From upstairs, I cringe. Why does she have to bring Dad into everything?
“Maybe next time?” Andrew says.
I can’t hear Mom’s response, but at least thirty seconds pass before I hear Andrew’s car pull away. With that, I go into my bedroom and close the door. I flop down on the bed and pull the blanket over my head.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
KATHERINE
I sleep straight through to morning. When I wake, there’s a text from last night. It’s from Natalie, and she’s pissed.
Natalie: What the hell, Kate??? You get taken down by a freaking BEAR and now you’re gone? Just like that?
When I hadn’t responded, she’d come at me again.
Natalie: I’ll have you know the 4:30 ferry left at 4:37 today. Did you read that right? 4:30-SEVEN! I was late returning the twinkle lights to the party supply store. I lost my deposit. What the hell did you say to Bennet? He’s a freaking DISASTER!
I stare at that second text for a long time. Natalie can sure pack a lot in. But she’s wrong about one thing. I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t even say good-bye.
There’s one more text. It came in around midnight.
Natalie: Fine. Don’t answer me. Let Ben go ape-shit all over town. Even Alli’s afraid to get near him.
At first I’m confused by her text. Why should he go ape-shit? He didn’t even come to check on me, and he was doing that sort of thing long before our first kiss. Then I feel sorry. I shouldn’t have left so quickly. If Bennet wasn’t going to come to me, I could have gone to him.
Shoulda, coulda, woulda.
No. I have to trust my instincts. Bennet taught me that. That, and so many other things.
I think I’m going to be sick.
I wish I could call Macie. But she won’t be back from Tibet for another two weeks.
Natalie’s texts are still up on my screen. Macie would tell me to delete them. As if that could make it all go away. As if I could erase my memory of Bennet and Little Bear with just a click. It’s not going to be that easy.
I thought I’d found easy. I thought I’d found it with Bennet. But nothing is ever easy. I learned that lesson when Dad walked out, and there’s no reason to unlearn it now.
Me: Sorry, Nat. Things got out of hand. Obviously. Calloway came home, and I just needed to get away. I’ll text later once I know what’s next for me. Enjoy the rest of your summer, what’s left of it. Kiss Lu for me if you see her. Sorry if I ruined your party.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard for a while. I consider acknowledging her comments about Bennet. Maybe I should have her pass on a message to him, too. But I can’t go there.
It makes my heart hurt to hit send, but I do it. Then I cover my head with my pillow and go back to sleep.
That evening, Andrew and I settle into our usual table at our usual Italian restaurant and order our usual entrees. At first, I wasn’t really up for it, but Andrew thought it was best to get back to normal life as quickly as possible. I decided he was right. Time to get back in the game.
Still, I suggested we try someplace new. Mom mentioned a Thai restaurant down by the river, but Andrew said that Bella Luna had always been good to us, and “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” As someone else once said, Andrew was nothing if not predictable. That used to be a good thing. It could still be a good thing.
Top Three Reasons to Be Happy I’m Home
1.
The thought stops there. I’m not sure if it’s because I can’t think of a single reason, or if it’s because I’ve outgrown my lists. Maybe those reasons are one and the same. I bury my consternation with small talk. “The sauce is amazing tonight.”
“Super good. The owner has started a gourmet cooking club. My parents joined.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“Hmm-mmm,” he says over a mouthful of pasta.
“I was thinking about taking cooking classes myself,” I say. “It would be a good skill to have. For parties and stuff.”
“You could always hire a caterer,” Andrew says, while stabbing a Kalamata olive that’s rolling around his plate.
I narrow my eyes at him. He doesn’t get it. He keeps right on talking.
“We’ll be too busy with school, then jobs, for you to worry about stuff like that. Plus, I don’t think caterers are that expensive.” He catches the olive and pops it in his mouth.
“I suppose you’re right,” I say, not wanting to pick a fight tonight. “I just thought it sounded fun.”
Andrew nods, then sets his fork down and clears his throat. “So.”
“So.”
“We need to talk about us. And where we’r
e at.”
A rush of heat floods my chest, and my heart beats hard against my throat. I take a gulp of my ice water, and my hand shakes as I set the glass down. I’m not ready for this. But I need to be ready. We’re here. At our place. This is where I need to be. This is what I need to be doing. This is right. This is me. This is us. It’s hard, but I force myself to settle in.
Andrew clears his throat again and says, “A couple things. First and foremost, we should talk about salvaging your résumé. I’ve done some finagling, and Professor Schumacher is going to let you do an independent study this fall to make up for the internship.”
“Independent study?” I thought we were going to talk about us.
“Right. He’s set it up so you can work with an auditor to review a local company’s second-quarter financials.”
“Oh, yeah?” I swear the blood is draining from my head. I wonder if Andrew can see it, too, but he’s not stopping.
“It will be tough with a full course load, but I know you can do it, and it’ll keep you on track for when we apply to Stanford.”
“Stanford?” It comes out as a squeak. He hasn’t heard me at all.
“Law school. It’s one of the best, and Dad’s got some connections.”
The blood in my arms trickles cold through my biceps and down to my fingers. Stanford sounds expensive. And very far away. Very far from Little Bear.
I reach across the table and take a swallow of Andrew’s wine. His eyebrows pull together, disapproving.
“The second thing,” he says as a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, “I’d like to give this a real try. You and me.”
My eyebrows shoot up. Okay. Here we go. This is it.
“I’ve been an idiot. I’ve already been planning our professional lives—why shouldn’t we share our whole lives with each other? After law school, assuming things go well, we can…get married.”
I choke, though I’m not sure on what. I thought we were going to talk about dating. Did he seriously just jump into a proposal? My mind is reeling, and my ears ring as if I’m underwater.
Andrew laughs, probably at my stunned expression. “I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but when you think about it…haven’t we practically been dating since eighth grade?”
“You sound like my mom,” I say with a laugh, rolling my eyes. The restaurant has gotten more crowded since we first arrived, and there’s a growing din.
He doesn’t return my attempt at humor. Instead, he shakes his head and says, “Why are you always so critical of her?”
I feel a twinge of guilt at his words. Last night I hadn’t even come down for dinner. I’m making my husband’s favorite, chicken divan. Husband! It’s such a joke. It has to stop.
Does Andrew need reminding that this whole summer wouldn’t have happened if Mom hadn’t invested so much in her delusion that Dad was coming back? For years, she’s been one person living in a relationship meant for two. She’s foregone opportunities, holed herself away in the hope—no, the expectation—that her fantasy life would materialize.
What was she thinking? You can’t build a future on that kind of delusion. I bet if Dad walked back into the house tonight and confessed his love for her, she’d be ready to just forget all that—
With a jolt, I look up at Andrew.
“Katherine?” he asks, leaning in. “Are you all right?”
Ohmygod. Oh. My. God! I’m my mother. I’ve been my freakin’ mother! All these years, I thought I was in a relationship with Andrew—maybe not consummated, but definitely a relationship. Wrong! I’d been in a game by myself, smacking the ball against a wall, without a partner.
Now, he’s shown up. He’s lobbing the ball back to me. It’s everything I’ve always wanted. I’ve been hoping, dreaming, planning for exactly this. And now I’m not sure I want to play anymore.
But that’s so stupid. Everybody wants to play this game. And this is Andrew! My Andrew. What the hell is wrong with me?
The answer comes like a voice in my head. Nothing is wrong with me if I just hold the course.
My phone is on the table, and I bump it with my hand. The screen flashes with a photograph of the lighthouse. Behind it is the lake, navy blue and laced with silver. There’s one small boat anchored in the bay. I took the picture on one of my first days on the island, back when I realized my phone was going to be nothing more than a camera until I returned to civilization.
My mind shatters into memories of a sad watercolor painting and a happily-ever-after story. I shake my head.
Even if I follow my own plan, I can’t have the fairy tale anymore. I’ve done too much damage to have that again. I can follow my own path, but I’ll have to do it from right here in Minneapolis. This is where I’m supposed to be, anyway.
But “supposed to” never felt so flat and empty.
I’m hungry for home, and that place isn’t here. It isn’t with Mom, or in my house, or at my school, or even in this city. It’s not even with Andrew. Home is very, very far away right now. And worse, I’m not sure home even wants me back anymore. Oh, God. Bennet. I never even said good-bye.
Andrew’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “Um, Katherine? Hell-o? I’m talking about our future, and you’re checking your phone?”
A ragged breath scrapes through my teeth, and I squeeze my eyes so tightly they threaten to disappear into my head. I’m about to ruin everything I’ve dreamed of, everything Andrew has planned for us. Can I dash all his plans and still hope he’ll forgive me? Can our friendship withstand this? Can it?
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“I need to say some things,” I whisper.
“Okay,” he says, drawing the word out.
“First. I love you.” I teeter like I’m balanced on the edge of a knife.
He smiles and reaches across the table to hold my hand. “I like that.”
I close my eyes and pull my hand back. “Second. I need to tell you how truly, truly sorry I am.”
When I open my eyes again, the smile has fallen from his face. I suck in another breath, and the air chokes me.
“Kath—” he starts to say, but I shake my head to silence him.
“You’re my best friend, Andrew. You always will be. At least, I hope you will be. But I can’t do this.” I inhale noisily.
“You can.”
“No,” I say, allowing myself to really feel it. The tears come, unbidden. “I used to think we were perfect for each other, and I couldn’t understand why you didn’t see it, too.”
“Katherine, I did. I just—”
“But just because you love someone doesn’t mean you’re a fit. My mom and dad didn’t fit, and look how they turned out. I need to find that person who fits with me. I don’t know. Maybe you and me, maybe we’re from the same puzzle, but you’re an edge piece and I’m the piece that fell under the table.”
I try to smile, to ease the blow, but I have such an overwhelming sense of relief that I can’t look at him. I don’t want to ruin it by seeing how badly I’ve hurt my best friend.
Andrew puts down his wineglass. He sits back and opens the dessert menu. Damn him for being so self-possessed. “You know none of that is true. We’re exactly alike.”
I stare at him, silent, until he has no choice but to meet my eyes. “I hated Econ.”
“Okay.”
“And I hate accounting.”
He forces a laugh and looks out the rain-streaked window onto the black street. “Does anybody really love accounting?”
“Did you know that I wanted to be an English teacher?”
He looks back at me, his head tilted to the side. “Should I have?”
“If you’d asked, maybe.”
“Or if you’d told me,” he says, leaning his chest against the edge of the table.
I nod. “That’s fair.”
“Katherine, what’s really going on here?” He closes the dessert menu and sets it aside. He reaches across the table again and curls his fingers around my ha
nd. This time I don’t pull away, and he seems to take that as a more positive response than I intend. It’s just that his hand is so warm. I need warmth.
“Listen,” he says, getting down to business. “We need time to regroup, then we can hit it hard next semester. By the time we graduate we’ll be ready to take the world by storm.”
I look at him intently. It’s as if he hasn’t heard anything I said. “I told you. More than once. I don’t want to go to law school.”
“Katherine, there are certain things people need to do. To succeed. To make a life.” He reaches across the table with his other hand, and now he holds both of mine, anchoring me to the table. “Sometimes that means doing things that are practical, even if that’s not a very romantic notion. You can’t pay the bills with romance.”
“No, but you can make some heat,” I say, Bennet’s words on my lips.
“What?” he asks, pulling his eyebrows together.
“Never mind.” I pull my hands free and fold them in my lap. It’s my turn to study the street, but I know he’s watching my face.
“I do love you, Katherine. Obviously I suck at showing it, but I hope you know that.”
“What I know is that I’m not going to law school, and while I hope you will always be a part of my life, we’re never going to be more than friends.”
Andrew smiles as if I’m being cute. “Let’s just give you time to re-assimilate to civilization before we make any big decisions.” He moves his wineglass out of my reach. “You know, when Bennet came up to the lighthouse the other night—”
I rear back. “What?”
Andrew tips his head left, then right. “After the old man left and you went to bed—”
“Bennet came?” My voice is rising, and more than one person in the restaurant turns to look.
“Well, yeah,” he says, dropping his voice and leaning forward. “But you said you didn’t want to talk anymore, so I told him to go.”