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“This is seasonal,” I mutter. “I need something more long term. For now.”
Dad doesn’t say anything and I suspect this is the end of our father-son time. Well, if Mom asks if Dad spoke to me, he will be able to tick that box off. He’s right though. This would be more fun to do than spending it inside at a cafe. It probably makes more. I’m sure our guide will get a lot in tips. And sure, its seasonal, but it’s something active to do—will definitely keep me in shape. I hate that dad suggested it. Maybe that’s why I won’t do it in the end.
“I didn’t mean for things to go this way today,” Dad says with a long sigh. “I don’t know how to talk to you anymore.”
I scoff. “I don’t think we’ve actually talked since I was a kid. And even though, you always sent me away.”
“I never had a dad.”
Neither did I, I want to say, but I hold my tongue. This is the most I’ve gotten out of him and I’m in no mood to argue.
“I never had someone show me how to do this. I always thought feeding them, clothing them, and supplying them with money and education is all you ever needed with kids.”
“I suppose that’s part of it.”
“I know you think this was your mother’s idea, but it wasn’t.”
That has me confused. Dad is still not looking at me. His gaze is focused on the water surrounding us. “We always got along well on these trips,” Dad continues. “I suppose I thought it would be easy, like all the other times. But I guess, given our history, it’s not.”
“Good things are never easy,” I say, thinking of my relationship with Rachel, which started off terribly, but eventually turned into something wonderful. “It takes hard work and effort, maybe a little luck.” I smirk, watching Dad’s eyes meet mine. They’re bloodshot as if he’s been holding back his tears. I’ve never seen Dad cry. I always thought him an emotionless monster, but he’s never been that. He’s only human. He’s trying the best he can, like all of us.
“Do you think we could start over?” Dad asks, his lips lifting into a sad smile. “I’m terribly sorry. For everything. I don’t know what I was thinking. I suppose I wasn’t. I would like to know what’s going on in your life, with your writing, if you let me.”
I smile back at him, my head nodding. “I’d like that.”
As soon as the words leave my lips I feel the guilt twisting again, the noose tightening around my throat.The book,a dark voice whispers at the back of my head, clawing at me like a dark creature struggling against a cage. Here my parents are, trying to make amends with me and I’ve sold their lives away, making me out to be a pitiful child and my parents the great evil I had to put up with.
They’ll never want anything to do with me if I go through with it. I will be without a family—like Scrooge, but even worse, because at least in his case he made amends, whereas there is no hope for me. I signed that contract. I’ve been paid. It doesn’t matter if I’ve cashed it in or not. Lori won’t ever let me go.
The rest of the trip continues on with Dad talking to me about the company and the gossip going round high society New York. I try to listen, chuckle in suitable places, add my take on things, but it’s hard to concentrate when I’ve ruined my family, my life. The guilt worsens when we leave the raft and return to the cottage and I find Rachel and the bros helping Mom set up the picnic. Rachel is laughing at something Mom is saying. They’re actually getting along. Seth and Hunter are throwing a football back and forth while Alex carries several plates. Why didn’t Mom and Dad do this sooner? Everything would be fine if they had just accepted the life I wanted. Now, everything is messed up.
But I can’t blame them. They’re the victim in all this. I only have myself to blame.
Chapter 16
RACHEL
Thesunisout.The birds are chirping and I’m surrounded by the scent of pine. It should be a wonderful day. Should, being the operative word, but instead I’m stuck, sitting at the picnic table, listening to Lucas’s mom yell at some poor person on the phone, while Seth and Alex ignore each other. The tension in the air can be cut with a knife. Correction, a machete. Hunter is keeping busy by chopping firewood.
My sketchbook lies forgotten on the table next to my pink pencil case. I brought them to finally begin working on my pieces for the market, but I feel no inspiration. All my creativity has been sucked dry, leaving me with nothing to go on. The market is in a month and I don’t have anything to sell. How am I going to get through it?
Rather than devising a plan, or actually starting, I lean back against the table, watching the sweat dripping off Hunter’s tan and toned body while he swings the ax. His muscles flex in the sunlight. His shirt is lying in the grass a few feet away from him. It is uncharacteristically hot for mid-April. It’s usually in the 60s around this time, yet it feels like 80-degree weather.
My phone buzzes and this time I actually look, expecting to see Lucas asking for me to save him. I saw him this morning on his way out. Six in the morning is not a good time for me to be up, especially without coffee. When I said good morning he grunted in reply, meaning he’s worried being alone with his father. I would be too after everything they’ve gone through.
My heart falls when I see it’s a message from Mom. It buzzes again before I can stuff it back into my jeans and I see Dad’s name flash on my phone. Why are they both messaging me? That’s weird. This doesn’t usually happen. Crap, did something happen? Images of someone breaking into Dad’s apartment flash in my mind, or Mom’s boyfriend has suddenly turned abusive. I unlock my phone and flip through the messages, my heart pounding in my chest as I quickly open Mom’s message first:
Rachel, you need to make up your mind! Cottages are going fast and Bryan is getting frustrated. Are you coming or not? Call me.
I grind my teeth while I stab my finger on the back button. Bryan is getting frustrated? Just get the cottage without me. Why are you waiting on me? Why do you even want me to come? This would be the perfect little get away for them to fuck themselves silly and then Mom can cheat and leave him when she gets bored. I open Dad’s message, suspecting all is well, but wanting to be on the safe side. My frustration grows as I read:Are you really going to the Hamptons with your mother? For the entire summer? I was hoping we could get together and go to Coney Island like we did when you were a kid. Don’t get with that woman. Call me.
That woman? Since when did Mom go from the love of your life to ‘that woman’? There is no way I am calling them back. I would rather suffer a conversation with Lucas’s mom then argue with them over summer plans. I still have to tell them about The May Art Market I got into. I sent two hundred dollars two weeks ago to reserve my stall. I need to send the rest by the end of next week. I should have enough in my savings. However, having to pay for school supplies, my room, food, and the occasional stress latte, I’m pretty much broke. Hopefully this won’t be a bust.
And, I would really hate it if both my parents came and then fought the entire time. I can see Mom sauntering through the stalls, that stupid Bryan on her arm, waving him around like a trophy in front of Dad. And then Dad, no matter how hard he will try to ignore Mom and her new boy toy, will eventually explode and they will argue about everything they swept under the rug for the past twenty-two years.
Maybe I don’t tell them.
“Ugh, finally,” Lucas’s Mom, Christina, says while hanging up her phone. She turns to me, her large sunglasses taking up most her face. I can’t even tell if she’s scowling at me or if she’s genuinely pleased. Maybe it’s better this way. “I swear customer service has died in this country, but it looks like they will deliver everything before it gets dark.”
