Truthfully, all I can think about is Henry and the wedding. Hearing about the engagement had been shocking, of course, but I thought there would be more time. More time for what? I’m not quite sure, but I assumed it would be one of those long engagements—maybe a year or two before the big day. So much can go wrong in a year or two, after all. I know this well. Based on the date of the engagement photo, they’ve only been engaged for a few months. What’s the rush?
“Is there a good walking trail nearby?” Thomas interrupts my thoughts.
He’s holding the book with two hands behind his back now. I wonder if it’s from Lottie’s library, and the thought makes me want to cry again. Thomas’s expression is sheepish. He looks torn between staying put and running away, but something keeps him grounded.
“Definitely!” The corners of my mouth hurt from faking smiles all day. “There’s the famous ’Sconset Bluff Walk. It goes all around the east shore bluff. It’s narrow at parts but super cool. You can see the ocean and the big cliff that leads to it on one side, and then on the other side are the lawns of Baxter Road. It ends at Sankaty lighthouse. I highly recommend.”
My face feels tight, effortful after the rambling monologue. Thomas nods attentively and thanks me with genuine gratitude. I take a few tentative steps toward the front door.
“I’d hate to be an imposition, but would you maybe show me it one day?” he asks before I can escape.
“Oh,” is my only response. I’m too shocked to come up with anything better. What would my mom think? She’s so angry at him for reasons I still don’t understand.
“I mean—I’m sorry, that was rude to even ask,” Thomas says. “You guys are so nice to have me in your home, I’d just like the company is all. There’s something I’d like to talk to you about… about Rose. But please don’t feel pressured.”
His eagerness to please, his deferential manners, tug at my heartstrings. Even if he’s a near stranger, even if he made mistakes, who am I to judge? I’ve made enough mistakes for a lifetime of remorse.
“No, no, it’s not an imposition at all. I’d love to show you sometime. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”
I know Rose will be at the office at that time. Recently, she’s been seeing two clients on Saturdays around then.
“Yes, of course, whenever,” says Thomas in a rush of emotion. “That would be amazing, thank you so much.” He looks around, seemingly debating whether to sit back down.
I nod toward his seat, Lottie’s bench. “Please, sit. Don’t let me disturb you, I’m leaving soon anyway.”
He gives me a small, gracious return nod and then resumes hisbook. I see he’s reading something by Jane Austen, but I can’t catch the title because the spine is too worn—an unexpected choice, regardless.
Inside, I throw on an athletic set, slick my unruly hair into a ponytail so tight it makes my brain hurt, and lace up the old pair of running sneakers I reserve strictly for walks on the beach. They still have sand in them from last summer. I decide to grab my camera, a Canon EOS RP Lottie bought me for Christmas a few years back. It’s mirrorless, lightweight, with a fast autofocus that makes it particularly adept at capturing nature.
Just as I’m about to dart back outside, two texts appear on my phone. The screen door slams against my body, ricocheting off my backside as I pause to read them.
One is from my mom. With it springs forth a new surge of guilt over agreeing to meet Thomas tomorrow:Hope you’re having a wonderful day, Lily-pad!
Hi, the latter reads.Good running into you the other night. Would you be open to grabbing a coffee and catching up soon?
The sender’s name is Henry Wright.
Chapter TwelveLily
June 11
The next day, Thomas and I meet in the garden by the old white arbor. The roses have begun to climb, wrapping dark green leaves and thorns around the shingles.
It is afternoon and our Rose is out at work. She seems to be gone a lot now—up with the sun, out until after dinner.
Thomas and I walk down the street to the entrance of the bluff walk, saying little. There’s a nervous crackle of energy between us that moves like static.
He walks with his head bent down, hands in his pockets, mouth slightly open as if he is about to begin a sentence before closing it instead and frowning at his shoes. The only sound is the crunch of shells beneath our sneakers. In front of us are the small cottages that stand on either side of the bluff walk like walls. Between the cracks in the periwinkle hydrangea bushes, I can see the ocean. It is hot enough that I have to take off my sweatshirt and tie it around my waist.
The breeze from the ocean is like dew on my skin.
Thomas trips on a loose rock and then regains composure, running a hand through his hair. It’s the third or fourth time I’ve seen him stumble. He must be nervous. I look at his hand and notice he does in fact have on a simple gold wedding band today. Once again, Rose was right.
“Anyway,” he starts. “You probably have some questions for me.”
It’s funny, because I don’t. Not really. I’ve wondered why he’s here, how he’s doing, what he wants from us, but my own life has been such a mess that I haven’t had time to analyze his presence too much. Maybe this makes me an inherently selfish person.
“Yes, of course,” I lie.
