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But if it is you, Ben, are you for or against me… moving on?Fresh tears bead, my heart aching, just like Cybil said it would. Then again, it hasn’t really stopped aching: an old war wound, lifelong.
Cybil’s voice catches as she grasps my hand tighter and says, “It’s like I said—you’re too hard on yourself. Give yourself a break, Summer. Guilt is natural, to begin with, but you can’t let it consume you. Think of it like swimming—no matter what, no matter how hard the current tries to drag you down, you have to reach the surface again, and you have to swim as hard as you can against that tide.” She pauses, tapping the table with her little finger. “Did I ever tell you that Benjamin and I had the most awful first date imaginable?”
“I thought you said you were besotted with him, from the moment you saw him?”
She chuckles. “Oh, I thought he was a peach, but when we first went to dinner, he was the most terrible bore. He argued with the waiters, he spilled soup on my new skirt, and he forgot to open the door for me when he took me home! Well, as you can imagine, I was mortified, and made a note in my journal that it was all no good, and that I didn’t think I’d be seeing him again. Lord, I cried so hard I thought I’d never stop! I thought it was fate or my high school sweetheart, punishing me for even going on a date in the first place!” Her face brightens as she speaks, and my heart swells. “But then, the very next day, Benjamin comes knocking on my door and he’s all apologies and flowers, telling me how nervous he was, and that he was afraid he’d made a horrible mess of it all. He asked if I would have a picnic with him, and I had nothing to do that afternoon, so off I went. And he was… exactly what I’d hoped for, exactly what I needed, without all of the pressure of a formal dinner. All these years later, though you might not believe it, that man still gives me butterflies, and this is coming from a woman who never thought any man would give her butterflies again. I realized my heart was big enough for… more love, and though I haven’t forgotten my first, there’s space for both in here.” She touches her hand to her chest and her eyes close, her shoulders rising as she inhales deeply, her brow smoothing as she relaxes on the exhale. “You’re worthy of that, Summer. Chase it. Don’t waste a day, I beg of you.”
The bubbles in my glass keep rising like effervescent fronds of seaweed, rippling and bending. I move the stem and the bubbles pause for half a second.Thatis where I am—on pause, unable to fizz back down to the bottom, uncertain of how to continue my journey upward.
“You should invite him to the party,” Cybil says softly.
I stare at her. “Who?”
“Whoever he is. Give him a chance. If it doesn’t work out, don’t let it feel like a sign from the heavens that love isn’t for you anymore,” she explains. “You wouldn’t be the first widow to think that you’ve had all you’re allowed, as if there is a quota on happiness. I won’t put words in your mouth, but because what you and Ben had was so special, I imagine you believe it can’t be replicated, because who gets two chances at that sort of love?”
I nod involuntarily, admitting to the accusation.
“But I am here, and I am telling you that it’s possible,” she urges, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You are young and beautiful, Summer, and you have been through so much in such a short life. I know that if fate exists, it is keeping score, and you have earned more than enough points for a second win. So, invite him, whoever he is. If he truly is hypothetical, then… I hope he comes along soon. And if you won’t listen to an old dear like me, then perhaps this will convince you…”
She gets up and retrieves the odd, black linen package from the porch steps. On her return to me, some of the material slips away, revealing the smooth, sanded rings of a wooden board. A sliver of a tree that lived a long life.
Cybil places the item on the table and slowly uncovers it, her fingertips lightly stroking the wood as if it’s the skin of the one who sanded it with such care and attention.
My heart lurches into my throat as I read the words carved into the wood:Ben and Summer, in love since…It ends abruptly. Of course it does.
“I found it in Ben’s workshop when we were cleaning out the last of his things from the garage,” Cybil says, smiling down at the carving. “There was a post-it stuck to it, though it makes no sense to me.” She plucks the square of pink paper from her pocket and hands it to me.
I’m shaking so hard I almost crush it in my palm, my eyes fogging as I try to read it. It’s not even a message to me, just a reminder to him:Cypress. 2ft x 1ft.
I pick up the wood, gripping the edges until my knuckles whiten, tears leaving hot streaks down my cheeks, filling my mouth with saltwater. Cybil stands over me, panic-stricken. I can tell she thinks she’s made a mistake, but these tears are the bittersweet kind, and this might be the greatest gift she could’ve given me. I thought I’d seen everything Ben had left behind, but here it is—one last message from him. One last page in his journal. A final farewell, like a lost recording on a voicemail, discovered by accident.
“It’s… made from… cypress,” I pant, fighting to get the words past my strangled breaths. “We… got married in front of… a cypress. We… said goodbye in front of a… cypress.”
Cybil’s hands come to rest on my shoulders. “Should I have kept it? I thought… I thought, because it wasn’t finished, you might see that this isn’t the end for you. I—Lord, I have made a royal mess of this, haven’t I? It was supposed to inspire you, not make things worse.”
“It’s… perfect,” I rasp, bowing my head to rest my brow against the smooth surface. “Perfect.”
“Are you sure?”
I almost kiss the carved words, but Cybil’s presence holds me back from that touch of madness. Instead, I just breathe it in, imagining him hunched over the slice of wood, sweat glistening as he etched this last piece of him, not knowing that itwouldbe the last.
You and me. No beginning and no end.Wrapping my arms around the block of cypress, I wonder what it means. It feels a lot like fate’s hand is in this somewhere, but I don’t know if it’s trying to strike me when I’m down, reminding me of what was given and what loyalty is owed, or if it’s gently teasing my hands away from what I’ve been clinging onto for the past two years, giving me a nudge to let go.
I’d ask for another sign, clearer than this one, but that might be pushing my luck.
18
ROWAN
“What a beautiful morning! Sun’s shining, birds are singing, the music is good, and there’s nothing but me and the open road! Nothing but me and my fishing rod and some warm beers and…” I flash the phone screen, securely attached to my AC vents, a withering look. “Who am I kidding? I don’t fish. I’ve been trying to learn, but it’s way too much time alone with my own thoughts, and that’s what I’ve got you for. See, I can understand the appeal of it, but it’s just not for me. Wouldn’t know what to do with the poor bastards if I caught one, you know?
“The cabin is nice, though. Kind of lonely, but the peaceful kind. Beats roaming around my apartment, not knowing what to do with myself. Can’t go to Lyndsey’s either, since they’re all putting on their fancy pants for the annual DuCate parade.” I pause, adjusting my backside on the driver’s seat. It’s hot out, and I’m sweating like no one’s business. “Yeah, forgot to tell you—got myself a new place. Moved in on Wednesday, haven’t unpacked a damn thing, not that I had much to begin with. A few bits in storage; the rest got sold before I headed to Malaysia, so we’re starting with the bare bones again. That’s meant to be good for the mind, right? Starting over?”
I mull it over as I drive, transfixed by the flare of the white stripes in the middle of the road. The tire hits one, and there’s a gentle rumble, prompting me to move back into my lane. If I’d just stayed in it, I might be basking in the grand gardens of the DuCate mansion as an honorary invitee, but no—I had to go and kiss the girl, didn’t I?
“I’m over it, by the way,” I tell myself. Literally. “Took some time, but I’m down to maybe half a thought about Summer a day. I don’t even get all hot under the collar when I think about her on the couch, arching her back and calling out my name as I… That’s not important. Over it, remember. Not sure what all the fuss was about in the first place. I mean, yeah, she’s beautiful, she’s funny, she’s smart, she knows her wine and olives, she’s got eyes that you just want to stare into until you go cross-eyed; she looked incredible in a t-shirt and sweatpants, andoutof said t-shirt and sweatpants, with her hair all messy, her skin like butter, her legs wrapped around me. And, sure, she kissed me like I’ve never actually known what kissing is until her. Maybe, I still get an ache or two when I think about what might’ve happened, and how incredible it would’ve been to go further, but I barely feel those little stings anymore.”
The screen morphs into the call icon on a blurred background of my gawping face. Lyndsey’s name flashes up and, before I have time to think, I’m swiping the green answer button. Luckily, I remember to stop talking about the perfection that is Summer, naked and in my arms.
