He pulls me against him, fingers threading into my sodden hair. “Are you all right?”
“I—I think so.”
I cling to him as long as I can, until he draws back to scan me for injuries.
His eyes fill with horror when they find my shoulder: A golf-ball-size lump protrudes where there’s normally a smooth curve.
“Jesus,” he breathes.
He makes me sit on the soggy lawn, cradling my arm, while he calls Lucy.
“She’s hurt,” he says into his phone. Then, tersely, “I don’t know. Just come home.”
She arrives as the clouds part, inviting the moon to peek at the night. She kneels in the grass, spouting questions like a geyser. What, when, where, how, how, how?
“I don’t know,” I say.
“It was an accident,” I say.
“I’ll be fine,” I say.
Tucker keeps quiet.
Lucy examines my shoulder, cringing at the swollen knob. “You couldn’t be less fine. You need to see a doctor.”
“Aunt Lucy—”
“This isn’t up for debate, Callie!”
I flinch because, holy shit, my aunt has never yelled at me.
Tucker squeezes my hand. “I should go,” he says.
That’s it. He’s crossing the yard, pushing a hand through his wet hair, unlocking his car’s door. I’m left empty, wanting; my heart longs to follow.
Just before he gets into the Woody, he turns to meet my gaze. His pale eyes are penetrating in the darkness. His mouth turns up in a slight, secretive smile, and I know …
Everything’s going to be okay.
50
I drag myself into the house and sit in the kitchen while Lucy calls the urgent-care clinic in Shell City, where she took me to have my arm stitched up last summer. Buddy jumps onto my lap. I scratch under his chin with my usable hand, trying not to launch into a panic attack at the thought of returning to that clinic. But my shoulder throbs like a beating heart; I need to see a doctor.
Lucy helps me into the passenger seat of the Range Rover. Our trip to Shell City is quick because it’s late and the coast is deserted. A bespectacled physician’s assistant conducts an exam while my aunt looks on critically. He asks a lot of questions as he pokes and prods.
“I tripped,” I tell him. “My friend caught me before I hit the ground. My shoulder didn’t cooperate. Old swimming injury.”
Lucy eyes me with blatant skepticism.
The P.A. resets my shoulder. I nearly bite my tongue off trying to keep a howl in, but as soon as it’s done, the ugly knot is gone and I can move my arm without tearing up. Once I promise to use ice and stay out of the pool for a couple of weeks, I’m released.
Lucy’s quiet during the drive home. It’s not until we’re headed up the hill to Stewart House that she says, “I want to know what happened.”
“I told you. Tucker caught me when I tripped.”
“What were you doing outside?”
“Taking a walk.”
“During a thunderstorm? I’m not stupid, Callie.”
I sigh, exhausted. “It’s a long story—a private story.”
She turns onto the gravel lane. Her mouth is a grim line, and her eyes are shrouded in worry. When she parks in front of the house, she kills the engine, then twists in her seat to face me. “I’m going to ask you a question,” she says. “I want a truthful answer. Got it?”
I nod, trying to figure out why she’s so worked up when, really, she should be relieved.
“Did Tucker hurt you?”
I gape at her. “No. Why would you think that?”
“Because he was the only person here. Because he couldn’t look me in the eye when I showed up. Because your story about tripping is weak. What am I supposed to think?”
“You know Tucker better than that.”
“I thought so. But the fact is, I misjudged Isaac. He broke your sister’s heart—yours, too. What kind of aunt would I be if I had suspicions but didn’t ask questions?”
“Isaac isn’t a bad guy, Aunt Lucy. I know that now. And you can ask questions, but you can also trust me. Tucker was here when I needed him. I really did fall, and he really did help me. He would never hurt me.”
Indecision skips across her face like a stone on smooth water. She’s wrestling with conjecture, reassessing her instincts, reconciling the facts with the story I fed her.
And then her expression changes. Her mouth rolls into a smile, and she pulls me into a gentle hug. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
* * *
As soon as Lucy goes to bed, I sneak up two flights of stairs to the attic, phone in hand.
I flip on the light, a bare bulb hanging in the center of the room.
I call Isaac.
He answers immediately, like all he’s done for the last year is wait for me to get in touch.
“Please, Isaac,” I say without preamble. “You have to stop calling.”
“Yeah, I know.”
I’m dumbstruck. I’ve prepared counterpoints for all the reasons he might offer for why we should try again, or why we should, at the very least, stay in touch. I sit down on the floor, tucking my feet beneath me. “You do?”
His response follows a long exhale. “I’ve been hanging on to something that’s long over. It was good in the beginning, but after your sister died, you only came around because you felt obligated. I should’ve seen that.”
“I didn’t feel obligated—”
“I think you did,” he says, not combatively. He speaks with fondness, as he always has.
I consider what he said. Did I see him last summer and seek him out again at Christmastime because I felt like I owed the universe allegiance to him? Some sort of warped penance for instigating the chain of events that led to Chloe, snared in a rip current, inhaling lungfuls of salty water?
“You’re being very quiet,” he says.
“I’m thinking.”
“Thinking I’m right?”
I smile into the shadows. “Maybe. Except, why’d you try to stick it out with me?”
“Because I liked you. I think maybe I loved you and, God, I fucked everything up in the space of five seconds. I should’ve kept my distance with your sister. I swear to God, I didn’t mean to lead her on. And then after, I let you keep coming around even though I knew your heart wasn’t in it. I kept hoping that if you could stand to be in a room with me, then maybe what I did wasn’t unforgivable.”
In all the millions of moments I’ve spent in a spiral of shame and self-loathing, never once did it occur to me that Isaac might be coping with similar feelings.
“Isaac, what happened to Chloe … It wasn’t your fault.”
“I kissed her.”
“She kissed you. You pulled away.”
“Maybe not fast enough. Maybe I let her think there was something between us, even if I didn’t mean to. Maybe if I wouldn’t have come to Oregon, she’d still be alive.”
“She swam in the ocean a lot of times before you showed up. It was an accident.”
The line goes quiet but for his shallow breaths. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. “That’s really what you believe?”
“I have to. Otherwise, I’ll drive myself crazy what-if-ing. You have to believe it, too.”
He sighs, watery and thin, and I picture him in Seattle, on the porch where we used to hang out. I wonder how many times he’s cried over my sister. Over me.
“Thanks for calling,” he says. “For giving me a chance to unload.”
“Thanks for being so nice. For understanding.”
We spend a few more minutes catching up, school and parents and late summer plans, surface stuff I’d give anyone, and then, amiably, we hang up.
It’s easy to say goodbye.
* * *
I spend what’s left of the night in Lucy’s bed. Daisy and Buddy snooze between us.
I dream of my sister. She’s wearing her yellow dress, as always, but the panicky draw I used to feel
is absent. I’m an observer, watching her walk the beach, content. Exactly as I hoped she’d be.
I wake up early and indulge in a long shower. My shoulder’s still sore and it takes forever to scrub the dried mud from beneath my fingernails, but I leave the bathroom feeling revitalized, like the day is full of possibility.
In the kitchen, Lucy’s placed toast, fruit salad, and tall glasses of orange juice on the table. She’s already seated, sipping coffee. I join her, laying my napkin on my lap.
“Your dad called while you were in the shower,” she says, helping herself to a piece of toast. She butters it, and then she drops a bomb: “He’s on his way.”
My mouth falls open. If Dad jumped into the car to drive three hours to Bell Cove, then Lucy must’ve grossly inflated what she witnessed last night.
“I had to tell him what happened,” she says. “He’s worried, naturally. He wants to see for himself that you’re okay.”
“God, Aunt Lucy. What if he makes me go back to Seattle with him?” I’ll miss Bell Cove, Lucy, Stewart House. I’ll miss home improvement and long bike rides and swimming under the rising sun. I’ll miss Tucker.
Lucy points her fork in my direction. “I’ll do my best. I’ll make sure he knows that what happened to your shoulder was an accident. I’ll assure him you’re safe and promise not to take my eyes off you for the next few weeks, but you have to do some things for me in return.”
“Like what?”
“When you’re healed, you have to get back in the pool.”
I nod. Easy.
“You have to raise your grades next semester and start thinking seriously about college.”
“Consider me back on the honor roll.”
“Also, you’ve got to consider coming back next year. The B&B will be going strong by then, and I’d love your help with the summer rush.”
“Done.”
She grins. She has no idea how easily she’s letting me off. Her wish list—swimming, school, seeing the B&B through—I’d do those things anyway.
“Aunt Lucy, thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Out front, tires traverse the gravel drive.
“That’s got to be Tuck.” Lucy waves a hand at the front door. “Go on.”
I fake nonchalance on my way out of the kitchen, but my stomach’s simmering with nervous excitement. Through the window, I watch Tucker leave the Woody, hair like spun gold in the morning sunshine. He trudges up to the house, hands shoved into the pockets of his shorts, white T-shirt snug across his chest.
He radiates light.
I throw the door open and step onto the porch. The air smells of last night’s rain, but the sky is clear, infinitely blue.
Tucker climbs the steps and reaches for me, fingers whispering over my shoulder. “Better?”
I smile up at him. “Better.”
His arms come around me. He holds me like I’m made of snow crystals, but the heat of his skin is melting me. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. “For last night. For hurting your arm. I didn’t want to go, but your aunt seemed…”
“I know. My arm is fine. And, holy hell, Tucker. Thank God you were here.” I lean into him, running my hands up his back. “How’s your dad?”
His shoulders rise in a shrug. “Okay. He sat me down this morning wanting to, like, talk. About everything you brought over yesterday. About my mother. About Nathan Stewart and his sister, Hannah, who still lives in Oregon, apparently.”
“She does—Eugene. The house was in her name before Lucy bought it.”
“That’s what my dad said, too. I’m gonna look for her online. Email her. See what she can tell me about my mother and Nathan. See if she remembers anything from back when my mom used to hang out here. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a good idea. What does your dad say?”
“That I should do whatever I need to do. He’s trying, Cal. This morning’s conversation was huge, and he was cool with me coming over here. That’s something, yeah?”
“Definitely.”
I take his hand and guide him to the two rocking chairs farthest from the door, where we first met. He scoots his chair closer to mine and reclaims my hand. “So your aunt … Do I still have a job?”
“Tucker, of course.”
“She’s not gonna send you back to Seattle early?”
“Nope. My dad’s coming, though. He’s driving here now.”
“Yeah? Are you gonna introduce me?”
“Obviously. But there’s a chance he’ll want me to come home. Lucy said she could convince him that staying’s best, but her power of persuasion comes at a price.”
He tips his chin, hair falling over his forehead. “What’s that?”
“She wants me to work on getting my grades up, and she wants me to consider college. She wants me to keep swimming.”
“You were gonna do all that anyway.”
“She also wants me to come back next summer. To help her with the B&B.”
He flashes a heart-stopping smile. “I fully support that idea, but I’d better see you a hell of a lot between now and then.”
My happiness is immediate and intense. He pulls me out of my chair and into his lap, enveloping me in his spice and cedar scent. He whispers, “Remember when I told you Bell Cove was the shit? Truth, right?”
“Maybe. But only because you’re here.”
He laughs and leans in to kiss me.
I meet him halfway.
Acknowledgments
I continue to count myself incredibly lucky to be part of the Swoon Reads family. Jean Feiwel and Lauren Scobell, thank you for fostering this remarkable community. Kat Brzozowski, I’m so fortunate to call you my editor. You were right—this book was supposed to be a sister story. Thank you for the nudge, the feedback, and the space to get it right.
Enormous gratitude, as always, to the entire Swoon Reads team, particularly Kelsey Marrujo and Emily Settle. Lauren Forte and Lindsay Wagner, thank you for lending your copyediting expertise to this book. Aurora Parlagreco, thank you for creating the most perfect cover. And to the Swoon Squad, you guys are the best, for too many reasons to list here.
Victoria Marini, your advice, knowledge, and advocacy have been invaluable for a lot of years now. Thank you so much for being in my corner.
Alison Miller, Temre Beltz, Sara McClung, and Elodie Nowodazkij, you’ve helped me grow as a writer and person. It’s a privilege to call you friends. Thank you, thank you, thank you. <3
I’ve worked on How the Light Gets In longer than any other manuscript on my hard drive; as a result, it’s been read in its various iterations by numerous savvy betas, over nearly a decade. So many people have had a hand in this book, and it’s better thanks to each and every one of them. Special thanks to Amie Kaufman, Mandie Baxter, Lori Wilde, Heather Howland, Ann Rought, Christa Desir, Erin Bowman, Karole Cozzo, and Christina June for the essential feedback they’ve offered in the way of this story, not to mention their tremendous kindness and overwhelming enthusiasm.
Mom and Dad, thank you, as always, for your love and endless championing. Mike and Zach, while this is a book about sisters, I drew great inspiration from your combined childhood antics. Bev and Phil, thank you for being awesome in-laws, and a constant source of support. Andy, Danielle, Grant, Reid, Caroline, Sam, Kacie, Brynnlee, Michele, Gabe, Teddy, and Thomas, your cheerleading continues to mean the world to me.
Claire, you are a gift. Your smarts, your wit, and your kind, kind heart amaze me every day. I’m so happy we’re sharing books now! Lulu, you have brought our family immeasurable joy. Always give supertight hugs, sing at the top of your voice, and giggle with your nose all crinkled up. Matt, thank you for letting me borrow your best qualities to bestow upon the love interests I make up. There’s no way I could write romance without such a fantastic source of real-life inspiration. Love you!
Also by KATY UPPERMAN
The Impossibility of Us
Kissing Max Holden
&nbs
p; About the Author
Katy Upperman is a graduate of Washington State University, a former elementary school teacher, and an insatiable reader. When not writing for young adults, Katy can be found whipping up batches of chocolate chip cookies, or exploring the country with her husband and daughter. Kissing Max Holden is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
How the Light Gets In Page 25