“How much do you think it might hurt us if she goes through with it?”
“There’s no way to tell yet,” Cole says. “But the fact that we’re the only option is what has always made the inn work.”
I close my eyes, rubbing my fingers along the bridge of my nose.
“You okay?” he says.
I tilt my head from side to side. “I just . . . My mind is . . .” I stop and sigh. “She’s told me so many crazy stories about her life, and I believed most of them. I really felt sorry for her. And now . . .”
“I know.”
“I just feel like I’ve been conned,” I say. “Again.”
He reaches out and I step toward him, wrapping my arms around him and resting my head on his chest. I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat, trying to steady my breath in time with it.
“This hasn’t exactly been the smooth and easy transition we had anticipated, has it?” he says, his breath tickling the top of my head.
“No,” I say. “No, it hasn’t. Remember when we thought our lives were messy in DC? Everything was good, in retrospect. We just worked too hard.”
He laughs. “Do you want to go back?”
My body tenses against his, and he notices it and starts to rub his hand across my shoulders.
“We can’t,” I say.
“But would you?” he says.
I think back to what our lives were a year ago, before I lost my job. “I don’t even know what our lives would look like there,” I say. “It seems like another lifetime. And we couldn’t, Cole. We couldn’t do that to your parents.”
“They’d understand.”
“Your mother?” I raise an eyebrow. “Honestly, Cole, I don’t feel like it’s an option. In some ways, the past feels more like a movie I once saw than it does my own life, like the people we were are distant acquaintances and not our former selves. Does that make any sense?”
“Yes,” he says. “It does. Listen, I know this hasn’t been easy for you. And I haven’t said it outright, but I really appreciate the effort you’ve made here, Bess. I know it hasn’t been the most welcoming . . .”
“Thank you,” I say. “It means a lot for you to acknowledge it.”
“I do believe that despite the past few months, it’s going to get easier.”
“I can always count on you for that.”
“What?”
“To see the silver lining, to be the positive to my negative.”
“Bess, you’re not like that.”
“I don’t want to be,” I say. “It certainly hasn’t done me any favors.”
“So what are you going to do about the story? When are you going to talk to Noelle?”
I groan. “I don’t know. My fear is that if I tell Noelle about Susannah’s plans, she’ll want me to write about that, too. I guess before I do anything, I need to go back to Susannah to find out whether this is real or a scheme she’s cooked up.”
“Do you really think she’d lie about it? I feel like if she’s already called the mayor’s office, she’s moving forward.”
“But I wouldn’t count on her to be that rational, Cole. You should have seen her today,” I say. “She’s not okay.”
I turn back toward the house, where I can see Livvie and Max through the kitchen window, getting ice cream from the gallon of mint chocolate chip I bought a few days ago. Livvie hands the scoop to Max, and I watch as he licks it before digging it back into the container. Oh, Max.
“You know, the one bright spot about this move is that I think Max has adjusted well,” I say, watching as he retrieves the whipped cream from the refrigerator and hands it to his sister.
“That’s true,” Cole says. “And I think Livvie’s starting to have an easier time.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Did she tell you? She and some of the other girls in her class are going to dress up together after school on Friday for the fall festival. She said she’d come find us somewhere on Maple. I told her it was okay, as long as she was at the inn around five o’clock.”
“The festival!” I say. “I’d completely forgotten about the festival.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Excellent timing. Just what we need, to have the whole town gathered together in one spot to pelt us with questions about Susannah’s plans.”
“You think Eva’s already told people?”
“Bess . . .”
“Right,” I say. “Stupid question. Did Livvie say anything about who the friends are?”
“No,” he says. “But I assume it’s the usual crowd.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Bess . . .”
“Don’t,” I say. “I know. I know she needs to make her own friends, and I know I can’t control who they are. I just wish I could.”
“I know,” he says. “But she’s got a good head on her shoulders.”
“Do you think so?” I ask. “I mean, I know she does. I just sometimes get stuck on what Mindy said that night, calling her kind of a mean girl, and this phase she seems to be going through. I worry that we’re not seeing everything we should.”
“I think she’s going to be fine,” he says. “And even if she makes mistakes, which she will—we both did—we’ll be here to catch her fall.”
“You’re right. I know you’re right,” I say. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I wish I could go back in time and freeze her at three or four, when things with her were so much simpler.”
“Remember the things she used to say?”
“Fridge-a-later for ‘refrigerator,’” I say.
“How she’d say it’s winding when it was windy.”
“Last year yesterday,” I say.
“I’d forgotten about that one!” he says. “Everything in the past was last year yesterday.”
“Yes,” I say, wiping a tear from my cheek, feeling the bittersweet ache in my chest. “I miss last year yesterday.” Cole wraps his arms around me again. “I miss everything about that.”
Twenty-Seven
The Greyhill Fall Festival on Maple Street is an annual tradition as old as the town itself. It’s a typical harvest celebration—lots of apple cider, candied apples, bobbing for apples, and apple desserts, plus pumpkin-carving contests and hayrides. The town tradition is to block off the main artery through town, and all the local businesses participate.
When I arrive at the inn, Cole is already standing behind a skirted table out front, doling out cups of apple cider and mulled wine while his mother, standing next to him, offers bags of caramel popcorn. Bradley is sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch, his cap pulled low over his face.
I take a quick hop up the stairs toward him. “Hey,” I say, tapping his arm.
He looks up at me, grinning, his eyes half-lidded like he just woke up from a nap. “Hey, Bess,” he says, sitting up in his chair. “How’s it going?”
“Trying to take a little snooze?”
“Yeah, you know, gotta sneak it in when I can.”
“I’m impressed that you’re able to out here,” I say. From the porch, I can see hordes of people, masses of families, and kids running zigzags through the crowds. “This is crazy.”
“Always is,” he says. “Every year.”
“So, listen, Bradley . . . ,” I start, taking a step closer to him so we can have a little bit of privacy.
“You don’t have to say anything, hon,” he says. “Cole told me everything Susannah said. I’m just sorry you had to deal with all that.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You haven’t heard from her, have you?” Every time I’ve called the house over the past few days, nobody’s picked up. Today, when I broke down and went over there, no one came to the door and I didn’t see Cindy’s car in the lot. The more time goes on, the more anxious I get—about the article, about the hotel plans, about Susannah . . . all of it.
“No, I haven’t,” he says.
“I think she’s . . . I don’t know how to put it.”
“
She’s troubled,” he says.
I nod.
“To a certain extent, Bess, she always has been. I always thought it had to do with the way she was raised, I really did, but now . . .” He shakes his head. “I just hope that a few weeks of listening to whatever she laid on you hasn’t changed our relationship in any way.”
“No, of course not,” I say, my eyes on the crowds because it’s easier that way. I never want to admit, even to myself, that there was a moment when I considered taking her word over his.
“We’re going to be okay,” he says. “Stop worrying about the inn.”
“I’m not,” I say, though of course I am.
Cole catches my eye, waving me over to join him.
“Looks like the boss is calling,” he says.
I give him a look, and he starts laughing. “Just kidding,” he says. “I know who’s really in charge when it comes to you two. Same way it goes in my marriage.”
I lean down and punch his arm playfully before I start to walk away. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
The air smells like cinnamon and cider, and a live band is playing bluegrass music in front of Dahlia’s. I recognize lots of familiar faces—Carol passing out candy in front of her shop, the agonizingly slow bag boy from the supermarket, a group of sleek moms from school huddled together with lattes from William’s. Whitney steps out from behind the group, one arm cupping one side of her belly like she needs to hold it up, and waves.
“Hey, Bess!” she says, waddling over.
“How are you feeling?” I say. “Aside from being tired of answering that question? I’m sorry, I should know better.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m okay. How are you? Is this your first festival?”
“It is,” I say, spotting Max dashing out of the bookstore.
“Max!” I yell.
He turns and sprints up to us. His cheeks are flushed. He takes a second to catch his breath. “This is the best day! Look at what I just got from the bookstore!” He holds out two big handfuls of candy. “Mom, you can have some of my chocolate.”
I laugh and reach out to rub his shoulder. “That’s generous, buddy. Thank you. Have you seen your sister?”
“Yeah, she’s somewhere over . . . There she is!” he says, pointing.
Livvie suddenly darts out of the post office across the street. She’s dressed in a sweater and jeans, with one of the silk scarves I used to wear to work tied artfully around her neck, the way that I’ve noticed the models in the J.Crew catalog are wearing them. To be honest, I’m bothered more by the fact that she looks so grown-up than I am by her swiping my scarf.
“Is that Lauren with her?” I ask, shading my eyes with my hand so I can get a better look.
“Uh-huh,” Max says. “Bye!” he yells, sprinting off.
“Do you think it’s wise for us to let all the kids run wild like this?” Eva says, wrinkling her nose at Max as she approaches us.
“You sound just like my mother-in-law,” I say.
Whitney giggles. “Lighten up, Eva. They’re having fun,” she says. “When did you become such a downer?”
“God, Whitney!” Eva says, making a face at her. “Hormones getting to you?”
“I don’t think so, Eva,” I say casually, rocking back and forth on my heels. “I think it’s just you.”
Both of their heads whip toward me.
“Damn, Bess,” Whitney says, breaking into a laugh. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”
I smile at them both. Eva rolls her eyes and walks away.
Almost two hours later, Cole and I have ladled out what feels like a thousand cups of hot cocoa, which we switched to when we ran out of cider, when Max comes racing down the street toward us.
“Mom! Dad!”
He’s running through the crowd, knocking into people like he’s being chased, his cheeks flushed like he has a fever. “Mom, Dad!” he pants. “Come with me!”
He gestures for us, waving his hands. “Come on,” he says, his eyes darting around. “It’s Livvie! Now! Come on!”
Livvie.
“What’s going on?” I yell, Cole jogging alongside me as we follow Max to the parking lot behind the inn. The crowd thins the farther we move from the center of town, but I’m aware that people are stopping and staring, and I can hear the murmurs.
“Max, where are you taking us?” I say. “What is going on?”
“Listen,” he says, his breath heaving. He slows down, breaking into a fast walk. “We need to get in the car!”
“Buddy, just take a minute and tell us what’s going on,” Cole says.
“A guy in my class . . . I don’t know if it’s true, but he just came up to me . . . He says those girls, they’re going to do something to Livvie.”
My heart flips in my chest. “Do something to . . .” I look at Cole. “What girls? What are they going to do to Livvie?”
Cole puts his hand out to me. “Bess, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s going to be fine.”
“He said they were taking her up on the Cliffs, Mom. He said they were going to try to scare her.”
“Scare her?” I say, my eyes meeting Cole’s. “Scare her how?”
“I don’t know, Mom,” Max says, his voice wobbling. “But, those girls . . . I think we need to get up there.”
We barrel up Old Vine, the road behind the inn that leads out of town and toward the Cliffs. “How much farther is it?”
“Just a couple of miles,” Cole says.
“How did they even get up there?”
Max clears his throat. “I think Brittany got one of the older kids to drive them.”
My heart starts banging in my chest. I feel like I’m going to throw up. “I hadn’t seen her in a while, Cole! I was looking, and I hadn’t seen her! I should have been—”
“Stop, Bess,” he says, pushing his foot on the gas as we turn onto a wooded incline.
“Mom?” Max says from the back seat. “I have to tell you something.”
I turn to face him. “What, Max? What is it?”
“Whatever those girls are doing to try to scare Livvie . . .”
“Yes, Max, what?”
“I know why they’re doing it.”
“What do you mean?” Cole says, looking at him through the rearview mirror.
“Livvie . . . ,” he starts. “I didn’t want to say anything. I’ve been trying to tell her to stop.”
“Stop what, Max?” I say, rolling down the window to get some air.
“She’s sort of . . . developing a reputation. She’s been picking on a lot of kids. I don’t know what’s going on with her—if it’s her friends or whatever—but she’s become sort of a bully.”
My stomach drops. Cole’s eyes meet mine. And then, just as we’re pulling into a clearing at the top of the hill, I see her.
The minute the other girls see me, they let go of her. She comes sprinting toward me, tears streaming down her face. “Mom!” she wails. “Mom!”
She collapses into me, her sobs racking her body. “Shhh,” I say, running my hand over her head. “It’s okay, honey,” I say. “I’m here. Everything is going to be okay.”
Twenty-Eight
“We didn’t mean for it to turn into anything crazy!” Brittany yells, screaming at her mother in the parking lot behind the inn, where Eva and Mindy were waiting for us after Diane told them we’d taken off after the kids.
“But what exactly happened?” Eva says, grabbing Brittany by the top of her arm and jerking her toward her in a way that surprises me. “You have a responsibility to act like a young lady around here,” she says into Brittany’s ear, her voice low and angry. “You are the mayor’s daughter!”
“I just wanted to show her—” Brittany says, breaking down. “I wanted her to stop acting like she could push all of us around!”
I look at Livvie, who is standing next to Cole, slumped into his side like we’ve given her a dose of painkillers. “Explain it to me,” I say. “Brittany, what were you try
ing to do?”
Lauren bites her lip, her eyes darting around. “It was Brittany’s idea,” she says.
“Lauren!” Brittany screams.
“Brittany, stop!” Eva warns her.
“Go ahead, Lauren,” I say.
“It sounds so stupid now,” she says. “But Brittany said we should all go check out the spot where Henrietta Martin died. You know, that stu—”
“Yes, we know,” I say, looking at Cole. “Go on.”
“We thought we were just going to see it. Just for fun, I guess. That’s what I thought, at least, but when we got up there, Brittany pushed Livvie toward the edge. That’s when I grabbed Brittany and pulled her away, but then the other girls grabbed Livvie. And then you guys showed up.”
Eva looks like her eyes are going to pop out of her head. “Brittany! Why on earth . . .” She looks at Cole, her mouth wide open like it’s being held that way. And then she looks at me. “Well, she must have been provoked!” she says, her eyes narrowing. “Brittany, you have never done anything like this before! Why on earth would you—”
“Actually,” Lauren says, “Brittany’s always been . . .”
Eva rolls her eyes and puts her arm around her daughter. “I’m taking her home,” she says. “I’ve had enough.”
“We were just going to hold her there!” Brittany starts sobbing. “We just wanted to scare her a little! That’s all we were going to do!”
“Cole,” I say, watching the two of them walk off, “I think it’s time for us to go, too.”
We walk through the back of the inn, leaving Max and Livvie in Cole’s office while I grab the things I left under the table out front. But when we make it down the front steps, we discover that what we’ve just been through might not be the end of today’s drama.
Susannah is mere feet from our table, in a full mink, with a sparkling cane in her left hand—a sympathy prop, I’m now convinced, having seen her walk without it more often than not. She’s greeting people like this is a party that’s been thrown in her honor.
“Oh, Christ,” Cole says. “My mother’s not going to be able to—”
“I’ll handle Susannah,” I say. “I can pull her away.”
“Elizabeth! Cole!” Diane says when we walk up. She fortunately hasn’t seen her nemesis. “Where’s Olivia? Is she okay?”
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