The letdown sank in her stomach like a stone. It wasn’t as though she’d lost thousands of dollars—she’d never had the money to begin with—but the Lainey before Elliot never would’ve turned down that kind of money. She would’ve taken it and run. Something edgy and fearful took up residence in the pit of her stomach and scratched at her insides.
But she’d married Elliot, and she’d have to play by Elliot’s rules.
“We can’t have a bunch of celestial weirdos camping on our lawn, Larry,” she said. “It won’t matter how much money you offer us.”
Regret bobbed in her throat. She swallowed it down.
“So will you stop chasing our car now?” Elliot asked.
Larry sighed, then shouted, with a renewed shot of life, “Seventy-thirty?”
Ten thousand, her brain calculated without permission.
The rest of the drive to the Groff Retreat wasn’t nearly as eventful.
“The possible downside is just too great,” Elliot repeated when they dropped off Waffle with Colin at Bree’s place for the night. “And it’s only ten thousand dollars.”
“Only?” she’d shot back, doing her best to pass it off as a joke, but he saw right through it. “Elliot, my check-engine lighthas been on for six years, and yesterday I used a bungee cord as a belt. Ten thousand dollars would literally change my life.”
“I know that.” He took her hand in his over the gear shift. “We’re going to make so much money this summer, I promise. I’ve already found a couple willing to pay anobsceneamount to stay in the house over the twenty-first. Like a sickening amount. It’s not ten grand, but it’s not far off. I’ve already talked to my bank about restructuring Uncle Gil’s debt and getting approval for a mortgage. If all goes according to plan, I’ll have an offer for you by Labor Day.”
“Oh.” She swallowed. “That’s good news.” Work always dried up sometime in mid-September, and making the money to pay for Gran’s care became exponentially more stressful in the offseason. By September, she’d have more money than she’d ever had access to in her life.
Then you’ll divorce me, she remembered.And I’d have to leave.
She knew this was the plan—it hadalwaysbeen the plan—but it hadn’t occurred to her that they’d be executing the plan so soon. He’d have gotten his end of the bargain. He’d have no reason to keep providing her insurance. She’d have to start her life over with some other answer to her health-care dilemma, and she suspected the simplest solution involved leaving Timber Creek. Sure, they’d crossed into some sort of matrimonial gray area, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe it meant that he wanted to stay married to her in perpetuity. She’d had longer-term situationships swing by the morning after to drop off her contact lens case because her leaving it behind “put too much pressure” on them.
“So we can get divorced in September.” She said it like she was reminding herself.
“Seems like it,” he replied.
She glanced over at Elliot, but he was looking out the window.
They rode in silence the rest of the way. He didn’t perk up until she pulled up in front of the sprawling main house of the Groff Retreat.
“My surprise is your friend’s work?” he asked.
“No.” She faced him. “Your surprise is one night in the only cottage that wasn’t booked.” She put her car into park in the valet area reserved for guests. Imposter syndrome seeped from her pores. She half expected someone to tow away her car.
“We’re staying? Here?” he asked, with a childlike twinkle in his eye.
“Yes. I pulled every single favor.” The giddy, boyish smile plastered across his face instantly made the whole ordeal worthwhile.
“You asked Bree, you mean.”
“I asked Bree,” she admitted. “But that’s more difficult than it sounds, because when you ask Bree to give you something, it’s impossible to keep her reeled in. She offered to throw you a birthday party.” She got out of the car and gave Elliot space to climb over the console (yet another reminder of what ten thousand dollars could do for her).
“My birthday’s not until January,” he responded, confused.
“Aw. It’s adorable that you would think that’s relevant to her.” She jiggled her trunk key, trying it this way and that until the lid opened with a pop. Elliot slung her duffel over his shoulder before she could reach for it. “Our room isn’t ready yet. As nonpaying customers, Bree says we’re ‘low priority,’ but we can leave our bags in her office while we get something to eat.”
She handed her keys to the valet, a high school kid she was fairly certain moonlighted as a turtle wrangler at the ShellStation, and led Elliot through the sleek double doors to the main house.
The main house, like all the others at the retreat, was both grounded and grand. All warm browns and creams, the building hugged the ground as though it’d just sprouted organically from the landscape. Wide windows and modern angles promised a sense of peace. A better version of yourself was surely on the other side of those doors. A calmer person. More actualized. Someone who no longer cared for material things, all while paying for a grotesquely extravagant respite from the outside world. It was the White Lotus, but with more canoes and fewer murders.
“If Bree’s out here granting birthday wishes, can she get us into Barton and Bird?” Elliot asked, a bounce in his step. “It’s been driving me crazy that this town has this incredible restaurant I haven’t been to.”
She pushed open the door of Bree’s office, hissing regretfully through her teeth. “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. The chef and I had a falling out a while back. It’s not my fault. I did a quick and dirty repair for the kitchen when they couldn’t get their regular service person in during an ice storm. Long story short, he and I have different definitions of ‘low flame.’ ”
