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“There’s a cidery around the corner that I’ve been itching to try,” he says. All the right words.
Twenty-One
I barely slept last night. I tossed and turned, my mind full of thoughts that went nowhere and worries that multiplied. Oh, and copious amounts of cider. After the “hearing,” Harrison and I plunked ourselves down on one of the picnic tables and drank a bottle of cider, then bought some more and headed back home and down to the dock. He had the day off, so we were able to just be alone and enjoy the sunshine.
I guess that’s what kept my brain preoccupied, because as soon as I was alone in bed, that was when I started thinking and fretting.
Was I going to lose my job?
Did I say too much?
Did I say the wrong things?
How much power does Barbara Mischky have?
Was I too rude?
Was I too proud?
As a result, I didn’t sleep at all until I started to see the light of dawn through my bedroom window, and that’s when my body finally decided to rest.
I passed right out.
It’s now noon, and my mouth feels like it’s full of cotton balls and my head is heavy. I had that disoriented feeling of waking up late—it’s like taking a nap, throws your whole day off.
I glance at my phone. There’s a text from Harrison asking how I am, and yes, a simple text still makes my heart do backflips, but there’s nothing else. I check my email, and nada. I would have thought they’d have made a decision by now.
I slip on a house robe and pad out into the kitchen. It’s raining now, a freshness and relief in the air after such a hot week, and my mother is standing by the coffeepot. It’s percolating, and the smell fills my nostrils. Even though I am a wreck, it’s still awfully cozy here.
“Piper,” she says softly. “I heard you stirring. I thought you could use some coffee.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, leaning against the island as she pulls the pot off the burner and pours me a cup. I hold it in my hands and take a sip, looking past the windows and out to the deck, where a dense fog has moved in, obscuring the ocean and making the trees look like ghosts.
“Piper?” she says again, her voice sounding raw. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you tell me what happened yesterday?”
I stare. Oh shit. She knows.
“What do you mean?” I play dumb, even though there’s no use.
“The meeting. You were being investigated by the school board.”
“Let me guess: Someone called you up and asked you about it?”
“No,” she says. “I saw it online. On the ShoreLine’s website.”
“You what? You saw it?”
“Yes. A video. My god, Piper, I’ve never been so proud of you.”
While her admission warms me, it does nothing to abate the shock that’s running through me. A video? A video of yesterday? My one-person defense over lake swimming, community, and romance novels?
I immediately dig my phone out of my robe pocket and go to the website.
Sure enough, front page is an article entitled “Local Teacher Defends Right to Privacy,” which I suppose is the simplest way of putting it.
It’s written by that dude with the key-lime mineral water name, Alexander LaCroix, and during a quick sweep of the article, I’m surprised to see that the whole thing is in my defense. In fact, it paints me very favorably. Maybe this is to make up for that article written about Harrison at the Blowhole and the subsequent royals smackdown, or perhaps he’s tired of Barbara Mischky’s editorial letters. But either way, he told the truth and made good points on how we need to band together as a community instead of looking for ways to keep people out.
And then there’s the video.
I click on it and watch for a moment until it all becomes too much. First of all, I should have worn more makeup, because I look tired as hell; second of all, I make the absolute worst facial expressions; and third of all, I’m rambling. At least I think I am.
But no matter what I think, it doesn’t matter, because that video is out there in the world now.
Somehow I’ve gone from a reclusive hermit to having paparazzi harass me, to articles written about me and my ex, to sexcapade lake pictures and then heartfelt speeches, all shown worldwide, all in the span of a summer.
It takes me a moment to realize the turn my life has taken.
Those damn royals, I think. And yet I’m not mad. Because there is change in the air for all of us, a fire that’s growing. Sometimes you just need a spark. Sometimes you just need a new neighbor.
“Why didn’t you tell me, sweetheart?” my mother asks forlornly.
I put the phone down and face her. “Because I didn’t want you to worry.”
