I let him. I stood there in the middle of the farmer’s market in my apron and let a sixty-something honey vendor hug me while I held myself together by the thinnest possible thread.
“Whatever it is,” he said, “you will be okay. I have lived long enough to know that.”
“I know,” I said into his shoulder. “I know I will.”
He patted my back twice.
He was still looking past me, toward the entrance, when he said: “It seems like instead of him, there is a girl who has come looking for you. She is practically running towards your booth.”
I turned around.
Callie was sprinting through the market entrance.
Her hair was still half undone and she had her bag slapping against her hip and she was weaving between stalls and people, her eyes focused on my booth.
She reached my booth and bent over with her hands on her knees, completely out of breath.
“Callie.” I stared at her. “What are you—”
She held up one finger.
She breathed.
I handed her my water bottle. She took it and drank half of it. She straightened up.
“What.” She was still panting between words. “Did my dickhead brother. Say about you. On the patio.”
Cliff looked at me. He looked at Callie. He picked up a honey bottle and said he had just remembered he needed to check something on the other side of the market and he would be back shortly.
I handed Callie the rest of the water bottle. “Come on,” I said. “Let’s get in the van.”
Gerald was parked behind the booths under a large old oak tree, the way he always was when I set up at this market. The shade kept the flowers from wilting in the heat. Callie climbed into the passenger seat. I got in the driver’s side. We rolled down both windows. A cool breeze came through, moving the air around and bringing the smell of the oak tree and the distant cinnamon from the baked goods stall.
“I’m so sorry,” Callie said. She had her hands pressed flat on her knees. “Whatever he said. I don’t know what you heard. But I know he said something about you and I am so sorry.”
“He said—” I stopped. I looked at Gerald’s steering wheel. “He said to Margaux that I am just someone who sells flowers. ThatI’m a nobody. That she should not be threatened by someone like me.”
Callie said nothing.
“And then Margaux asked him if he meant that.” I kept looking at the wheel. “And he said yes.”
“August—”
“He meant it, Callie. He said it and he meant it. Now I know. That’s all.”
“I cannot believe—” Callie stopped. She pressed both hands to her face. She made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and something worse. “I cannot believe he said that. I have no explanation for it. None.”
“You don’t need one.”
“We should go confront him. Right now. We should drive back to Sable Cove and—”
“Callie.” I turned to look at her. “Please. Please don’t. I have had enough. I have had enough humiliation for one summer.” I stopped. I looked back at the wheel. “I love you. I love your whole family. I love your parents and I love Poppy and I—” My voice did something I didn’t want it to do. I waited. “I loved Fletcher. I know I always told you I didn’t. I know I kept saying it was nothing and it meant nothing and I was being stupid. But I’ve always loved him. Since the night he showed up at the market. I’ve always loved him.” I shook my head. “So please don’t go there and make this worse than it already is. Please just let me have this.”
Callie reached over and took my hand. She held it on top of the gear shift. She didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“I always knew,” she said finally. “That’s what makes this so hard to sit with. I always knew you loved him. And I have always known, August, that he loves you too.”
“He doesn’t—”
