“Nothing to be sorry for,” said Jule, not moving.
“Everything I said was mean. And I’ve been lying to you.”
“Like I care.”
“You do care.”
Jule didn’t answer.
“I know you care, bun. We shouldn’t have lies between us. You understand me so much better than Forrest does. Or Brooke.”
“Possibly true.” Jule couldn’t help herself. She smiled.
“You have a right to be mad. I was wrong. I know it.”
“Possibly true as well.”
“I think the whole thing was a means for me to push Forrest away. I do that when I get tired of guys. Cheat on them. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m really not proud of myself.”
Imogen set the muffins down by Jule’s shoulder. She lay on the deck. Their bodies were parallel.
“I want to be at home somewhere, and I want to run away,” Immie went on. “I want to be connected to people, and I want to push them away. I want to be in love, and I pick guys I’m not sure I even like all the way. Or I love them and I ruin it and maybe I ruin it on purpose. I don’t even know which it is, and how messed up is that?”
“It’s medium messed-up,” said Jule, chuckling. “But not drastic. On a scale of one to ten, it’s like a seven, I think.”
They lay there in silence for another minute.
“But level seven messed-up is probably normal,” Jule added.
“Can I pretty please bribe you with muffins to forgive me?” Immie asked.
Jule took a muffin and bit into it. “Scott is gorgeous,” she said, swallowing. “Guy like that, what are you going to do: leave him alone and watch him clean the pool? I think you might have been legally obligated to jump him.”
Imogen moaned. “Why did he have to be so sexy?” She grabbed Jule’s hand. “I was such a witch. Forgive me?”
“Always.”
“You are made of sugar, my bun. Come to the store with me now!” She said it like the store was going to be wonderfully fun.
“I’m tired. Make Brooke go with you.”
“I don’t want Brooke.”
Jule stood up.
“Don’t tell Forrest we’re leaving,” Immie said.
“I won’t.”
“Of course you won’t.” Imogen smiled up at Jule. “I know I can count on you. You won’t tell him anything at all, will you.”
END OF JUNE, 2016
MARTHA’S VINEYARD, MASSACHUSETTS
Ten weeks before Immie made the muffins, Jule found herself on Moshup Beach without a towel or a swimsuit. The sun was bright and the day hot. After the long trek down from the parking lot, she walked along the edge of the water. Huge clay cliffs loomed over her in colors of chocolate, pearl, and rust. The clay was cracked and slightly soft to the touch.
Jule took her shoes off and stood still with her toes in the sea. Some fifty yards away, Imogen and her friend set up for the afternoon. They had no beach chairs, but the guy unpacked a bag that held a cotton beach blanket, towels, magazines, and a small cooler.
