“You’re right,” Ryan said. “Let’s run.”
We both threw ourselves into it now, eager to leave the topic behind, our feet lifting and falling fast.
As the day went on, I found myself wondering if Ashley was pretty, and what they’d done when they were together. Did she like Wes Anderson movies, too? Had Ryan cooked for her? I knew I was being crazy, but what was a relationship without a little insanity?
I needed to talk to someone about it. Jessica was out of the question. She was a good friend, but she loved drama and would have a field day with my jealousy. And her love of gossip might mean I’d learn more about Ashley Miner and Ryan than I ever wanted to know. But I wanted to know something.
After Ryan left one morning, I got a text from Grace saying that I had the next few days off. She’d been in a strange mood recently, which made me suspect she had a male visitor coming to stay with her. She’d gone to get her hair colored, and had been playing jazzy torch songs, singing along to the sad lyrics but in an upbeat way. It was very Grace.
I decided that if she wasn’t writing, then I would take a crack at it. I’d kept working on the unbreakable bones story and started a totally new one, too, as the cartographer had rated no word from Grace. But between the stories and my false starts on Eliza’s vows, my mind kept drifting to Ashley. I wondered how I’d never heard of her before. Maybe she hadn’t lived here that long. I started to imagine her as a new girl at Harborville High, and Ryan offering to show her around. Would they have walked the halls, Ryan giving her tips and tricks about surviving the school? Would she have looked up and laughed at his funny observations? Had they caught hold of one another’s eyes and felt a mutual attraction? I had Ryan and Ashley’s story more developed than anything I’d been working on today, and I didn’t even write real romance stories.
I gave up on the writing and headed downstairs. Becca was sprawled out on the couch, half watching an atrocious yet addictive Katherine Heigl movie.
“Has she ever been in anything good?” Becca said, clicking the mute button on the remote. “And why am I watching this?”
I flopped down next to her. “I have no idea.”
She sat up straight, like she’d had a burst of energy. “Do you wanna do something?”
I paused, considering. Should I let my little sister in on just how crazy I was feeling over a guy? Especially over a guy who’d done absolutely nothing to make me feel insecure?
“Do you want to spy on Ryan’s ex-girlfriend with me?” And there it was. I hadn’t even tried to stop the question from spilling from my lips.
But Becca didn’t judge. She grabbed her laptop from the coffee table and immediately went to Facebook. “Have you looked her up?”
“I’ve been resisting,” I said. Even though I could clear my history, I felt like Ryan would somehow know if I’d used my computer to look up his ex. But Becca’s computer was another story. . . .
“Ashley Miner. Miner with an ‘e,’ ” I instructed.
Becca typed the name into the search box and an Ashley Miner in Harborville was the first result. She had two mutual friends with Becca—Pete and Garrett Landry. So, Ryan’s brothers must have liked her enough to add her. Of course, they were friends with me on Facebook, too, but I’d known them since we were kids.
Ashley’s profile photo was of a flower and her cover photo was a shot of the empty beach at sunrise. “Um, can you say generic?” Becca asked. We clicked into her “About” section but Ashley’s privacy settings had most of the information blocked. None of her other photos were visible, either.
I sighed in defeat, watching Katherine Heigl argue with her love interest on the TV. “Do a Google search,” I said.
Becca typed her name into the search bar, and tons of results came up, but almost every click showed an Ashley Miner in Omaha, Nebraska, who owned a sugar-cookie bakery that had catered the Omaha mayor’s inauguration.
“I know she works at Ships and Clips,” I offered helplessly.
“I don’t think getting your hair cut by your current boyfriend’s ex is a good idea,” Becca said. “In fact, that’s probably the worst idea of all time.”
She closed her laptop and gave me her most mischievous look. “But I have a better one. Come on.”
We were in the kitchen of Landrys’ Restaurant. I was red-faced and sweating—and not from proximity to the fryer.
“What if Ryan sees us?” I hissed.
“He won’t,” Becca said. “Thursday afternoons, he goes to the Provincetown Farmers Market to pick up supplies for the weekend. He’s so into it. He never comes back until the evening.”
It was cute, picturing Ryan choosing produce and talking to the farmers. I felt a twinge at being so sneaky while Ryan did something so completely harmless.
The kitchen was bustling. No one even noticed me standing there. I watched, impressed, as Becca navigated the thrumming space. “I have an order going out, people,” she said. “It’s urgent.”
Garrett nodded a hello to me and squinted at Becca. “I didn’t know you were here today,” he said to her.
“My sister and I were grabbing an early dinner and I saw the rush. Just helping with one order and taking off.” Becca grinned. “What can I say? I’m committed.”
“You should be committed somewhere,” Garrett answered, pinching Becca’s waist teasingly. She laughed, and again I wondered if something was going on with them.
He walked off, but Becca’s grin didn’t dim even as she carefully boxed our skewers of grilled shrimp and rice pilaf.
“Okay, let’s go,” she told me. Becca’s—completely idiotic or mind-blowingly genius—plan was to bring a fake delivery to Ashley’s house.
“I know which street her house is on, but I don’t know the exact address,” I said.
“Oh, done a little stalking already, have we? Don’t worry, she’s in the system. I have her home address and her work address,” Becca said. I checked my phone. It was five-thirty. Hair stylists didn’t pull late hours, did they?
“Let’s try her house first,” I said. “And let’s get out of here before Ryan gets back.”
We raced our bikes toward Ashley’s street. Becca held the plastic bag of food in one hand, where it kept banging against her handlebars.
“The food is going to be all messed up,” I complained, straining to be heard over the noise of the boardwalk and our bikes’ spinning tires.
“She didn’t even order it,” Becca said. “I’m not too worried that she’ll complain about the quality.”
We stopped one house over from the correct address. The plan was for me to wait on the sidewalk while Becca went to the door.
There was nothing for me to stand behind, so I felt totally naked, holding my bike and trying to act like I just hung out on this block all the time. But Becca was completely at ease. She strode to the door and knocked like the most competent of delivery girls.
An older woman, probably my dad’s age, answered. Not Ashley. Or at least I hoped and assumed not. Probably Ashley’s mom.
She gave Becca an awkward smile and turned into the house. I heard her call for Ashley. A few seconds later, a short, curvy girl with long dark hair came to the door. She was physically my opposite. Her head would have come up to my shoulder, and I was no match for her in the chest. I could tell from here that her nails were painted hot pink and probably not chipped. Her hair looked photo shoot–ready. I always let my hair air-dry and hoped for the best.
When Becca handed her the food, I could hear Ashley’s voice go up several decibels. “I don’t eat at Landrys’ anymore,” she said, pushing the bag back into my sister’s hands. “I don’t know who put you up to this, but it’s not funny. I am not paying for that, and if you don’t leave, I will report Landrys’ and Ryan Landry to the Better Business Bureau.” She was wagging a scolding finger at Becca, and then she looked right at me
.
“What is going on here?”
My eyes locked with hers for a solid five seconds and then I was on my bike, literally backpedaling. This was a horrible idea. Ashley came down a few of her front steps and watched me. She must have been privy to Harborville gossip, too, because she shot me a look that said she knew who I was and didn’t like my presence one bit.
Becca played it cool, walking back down to her bike. “I’m sorry, wrong house. This is for 4712, not 4217! I think our phone operator might be a little dyslexic.”
“Becca, come on,” I said, already down the block. Ashley clearly didn’t believe Becca’s cover-up.
My sister pedaled to catch up with me, looking back at Ashley, who was on her cell phone in her front lawn.
“Now I just have to hope she doesn’t call the Better Business Bureau,” I said over the sound of our spokes as we pedaled crazily along like our lives depended on it. “Or worse, Ryan.”
“She won’t,” Becca said. “What if the operator really does have dyslexia? She’d look like such a jerk.”
“And of all the numbers to mix up, he sent us to Ryan’s ex’s house?” I laughed.
“Ha, didn’t think of that,” Becca said. We reached our house and dropped our bikes to the ground, running inside like Ashley might be chasing us.
At the kitchen counter, we made sandwiches and devoured them, without even waiting for the bread to toast. Spying took a lot of energy apparently.
“Hey, you owe me one,” Becca said, seeming perkier than I’d seen her all summer. “Can we take the boat out?”
“You got it,” I promised. “But let’s make sure to check the boat for holes first. Ashley seems like she has a taste for revenge.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
IT TURNED OUT that the best thing about a beach wedding—or at least about Eliza’s beach wedding—was that the bridesmaid dresses were not going to be the multitiered taffeta stuff of nightmares.
One of my mom’s friends, Lucy Jennings, was a dress designer on the Cape, and her specialty was custom-made sundresses. She was tailoring Eliza’s wedding dress and hand-making the bridesmaid dresses. Lucy had been ecstatic to do something for the daughters of Lanie Sommers.
Now we were at Lucy’s small studio, in Provincetown, seeing sketches of the designs and getting measured so Lucy could get to work.
“This is what I was thinking for each of you, based on your heights and different looks.” Lucy opened a huge sketchbook to a page where she’d drawn renderings of me, Becca, and Tea. “For Tea, I did an A-line party dress with a sweetheart neckline and some light seashell beading.” She showed us a drawing of an aquamarine dress that would nip in at Tea’s teensy waist.
“Becca, you have curves and should show them, so I put you in something strapless and a little more fitted.” Becca’s dress was turquoise, and would adhere to her hourglass frame to the hips, where it let out into ethereal wisps of fabric. Becca actually gasped when she saw it.
“And, Kate, you’re so athletic, so you’re in a halter to highlight your great shoulders and it’s a little shorter, to show off those runner’s legs.” My dress was a not-quite navy, but darker than my sisters’, with a tie-back halter on the top and a swirling skirt that hit several inches above my knees. Tiny shells were stitched into the halter straps. I loved it and couldn’t help imagining what Ryan would say when he saw me in it.
“And I’ll be working the lace from your mom’s old dress into each one. Then the rest will go to making Eliza’s wedding dress—she should have it on by now. Eliza, honey, do you need help with the rest of the buttons?” Lucy called to the back of the studio.
“No, I’ve got it,” came Eliza’s reply.
Eliza emerged from the dressing room in the corner. My sisters and I cheered. Not just because she looked beautiful—she did—but because she looked so much like our mom. From her tan skin and blond hair to her uncertain half smile, she was almost the spitting image of my mom from her own wedding photos. Lucy had taken a basic sheath dress for the bottom layer and then stitched a gauzy overlay out of soft white tulle and lace from my mom’s old dress. As Eliza stood in front of a huge window, the sun shone in behind her and rays of light funneled through the dreamy fabric. Tea burst into tears.
“You look just how you’re supposed to look,” she said, blubbering as Lucy handed her some Kleenex. “You look just like Mom.”
Eliza crossed to the standing mirror next to Lucy’s large worktable. She looked herself over in one quick glance and said, “Yeah, it’s great.” Though she could be blasé and less than emotive, her nonresponse was strange even for Eliza. “Can someone unbutton me?”
Lucy went to help her. “Make sure it’s what you want. We still have time to change things.” I could tell she’d been expecting a bigger reaction, so I crossed to stand near the two of them.
“The detail is amazing,” I told Lucy. Here and there, the overlay had little stitches with tiny, shimmery beads laid in. They weren’t overpowering, though; instead, they gave the dress a subtle glow. I’d never been the kind of girl to imagine her own wedding day, but this dress almost made me. “I wish our mom could see it.” Mom would have loved the art of the dress and that it wasn’t a carbon copy of anything you’d see in a bridal magazine. “Eliza, don’t you love it?”
Eliza smiled. “Of course I do, it’s beautiful. Thank you for all your hard work, Lucy.” I believed her words, but there was no emotion behind them. “Besides, there’s no time to change things! I still have to put in the catering order, decide on cake, do the seating charts, make sure we have music. . . .”
Holding her unbuttoned dress tight around her chest, she stalked back toward the dressing room. The obvious stress was not like Eliza at all. She thrived in overwhelming situations. I exchanged a look with Tea and Becca. Maybe all the wedding stuff was too much for her. I’d been offering to help more, and so had my sisters, but Eliza hadn’t taken us up on our offers. The only responsibility she’d given me was her vows.
Her vows. I thought about what Grace had said. I’d been so dismissive of her pronouncement on Eliza’s relationship, but what if she was right? Deep down, I knew Eliza could handle planning this wedding. My sister was someone who could have probably handled planning her own wedding and someone else’s in a short time span, while still having time to work on her tan. This was definitely more than wedding stress. Maybe she wasn’t being herself because she really wasn’t sure about getting married?
“I’ll talk to her,” I said, heading toward the fitting room.
I pulled back the soft cream curtain and poked my head half-inside. “Hey, E, do you have a second?”
The wedding dress lay half-crumpled on the floor. Not my sister’s all-hangers-should-face-the-same-way style at all. “Yeah, sure, what do you need?” Eliza was pulling on her T-shirt over her bra.
“Is everything okay? Are you stressed about the wedding? Or worried about something?” I tried to make eye contact, but Eliza turned away from me and checked her phone. “Eliza?”
She looked up like she’d just realized I was there. “It’s all fine. Just wedding stuff,” she said.
“Your dress is beautiful. You should be really happy with it.” It seemed like a way in. Maybe she actually didn’t like the dress, or maybe the dress was just one layer of a larger problem. She was only twenty-one; part of her had to be wondering if she was ready for such a huge step.
“Oh, I am, it’s so nice,” she said, as casually as if she were commenting an on-sale handbag. Then she perked up, as though an idea had just come to her. “Weren’t you talking about bringing Matt to the wedding?” she asked.
“Yeah, though obviously there’s a change of plans with that,” I said. After my run with Ryan, I had told Matt not to worry about coming to the wedding, but I still hadn’t told him that I was dating someone else. He’d joked that he could be my “in case of eme
rgency” date, and I knew that he was still hoping to get a last-minute call asking him to drive up, and that he was keeping the date open.
“Oh, well, yeah, I suppose there would be. So, you’re thinking of bringing Ryan?” She started playing with her phone again, as if she wasn’t the least bit interested in the answer.
“I mean, if it’s still okay to bring a date.”
“Of course, sure,” she said. “I just wasn’t sure if you guys were that serious.”
Was she serious? Ryan and I were spending all our spare time together and she knew it. She looked back down at her phone: another wedding checklist, no doubt. I tried another tactic. “The vows are going great, though. I’ve jotted down tons of ideas.” That was true, even if I’d thrown them all away. I had nothing so far, besides the sentence Grace had given me.
“I’m so glad you have that covered,” she said, her voice distant.
Really, I could have used more input from Eliza on why Devin was the one. As she fiddled with her touch screen, though, she was making it clear she wasn’t in the mood for heart-to-hearts.
So I lied. “They’ll be ready any day now.”
I’d taken an extra day off of work for the fitting. But to keep up with Grace’s Dining Room Table of Despair, I’d taken a bag of notes home with me to transcribe for the next day. After the dress store with Eliza, I’d put off working on them to take another try at Eliza’s vows. But I couldn’t get her behavior in the dressing room out of my mind, and I finally pulled out Grace’s folder, and headed for the house. Becca and Tea were out with the bus staff, and Eliza had gone to bed early after today’s wedding errands. My dad was home, but he’d decided to take a long walk after dinner. Ryan was with Morrison tonight. He’d subbed in for someone on Morrison’s softball team earlier, and had gone for beers with the team. I’d wanted to go watch the game, but knew I needed an evening in.
Grace wasn’t the hardest boss in the world, but I did want to get through the notes—with the hope of sparking an idea, and getting to help her with something more interesting. Fine, so I may have had a fantasy in which she put my name in the acknowledgments of her next bestseller, and then her agent asked who Kate Sommers was, and Grace said, “You know, she gave me some of her writing. . . .” Then she’d sort through the clutter on her desk and unearth the unpolished short story I’d given her. She’d hand the coffee-stained pages over to her agent, he’d read them and see my diamond-in-the-rough talent and sign me immediately.
The Summers Page 14