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“Stella, he’s moving to Capri soon.”
“Notthatsoon,” she counters. “There’s plenty of time to explore the possibilities.”
I shake my head. “And then what? A very long, long-distance relationship?”
“I think going to Capri with him sounds lovely.”
Swallowing, I want to argue that point, but I can’t. “There’s this obligation I feel to stay here. There’s Claire, and the house, and my mom’s grave…”
“Those are all important things…” She trails off.
She only quirks half a smile as if to say,But if you want it bad enough…
“He doesn’t want to settle down,” I counter. “He’s talked about not having any evidence that relationships don’t have to end in misery.”
“Defensive tactics to protect himself. Not that they’re unfounded, of course. Thomas and Celine have had a rough go of it, and their boys have suffered.” Stella nods, her face weary. “My sweet Charles.” She places a hand at her throat. “If we hadn’t lost him far too young, the Tate boys would have seen what a healthy marriage can look like. As it was, they’d stay with me when their parents were having particularly rocky times. It’s heartbreaking, when you think of it. They had fun with me here in Longdale, but for some of the boys, it put a bad taste in their mouth. Their parents would argue and ship them here. It was hard.”
“I thought Thomas and Celine traveled all summer for business.”
Stella’s mouth twists to one side. “It became that way, yes. But the first several summers? I took the boys to give their parents some space to work things out.”
Was that one reason why Oliver couldn’t stand the thought of building a life here with her? Did Longdale have ghosts of his family’s pain imbedded within it?
“Regardless, I see the way he looks at you,” Stella says. “He might need permission from you, though, Sophie. You two have shut each other down so much over the years, it’s become a bad habit. This might be stating the obviously, but why would he come back here on the same day every year for just a friend? You’re not just a friend to Oliver.” She shrugs and begins pulling random books off the shelves.
A flame of hope rises in me. “I think I’m beginning to understand that now.”
What if I could see what’s really going on? It’s like when your brain sends thoughts down the little rivulets in your grey matter, passageways that become like well-worn juts in a dirt road. We think things automatically because that’s the easiest route to take. And yes, I know this because I read a book about it. No surprise there.
Can Sophie and Oliver be more, though?
I’m thinking of myself in the third person and that’s kind of odd. But maybe that’s okay.
Maybe Sophie and Oliver have a sliver of hope after all. Is there a chapter in Longdale’s story that is titled “Soliver”? Or maybe “Oliphie”?
I cringe at our terrible couple name possibilities, and realize that I’ve never allowed myself to make one up before. Even if they’re terrible, maybe the fact that I can go there right now is significant somehow.
It’s not until Stella slaps an armful of books down on my Formica desk, cluttered with an old computer, that I dare look her in the eye. She looks down pointedly at the books. And that’s when I giggle at the absurdity of the titles she’s chosen, and it all assimilates like lined-up toy soldiers in my mind.
Falling for your Best Friendby Emma St. Clair
Brave New Worldby Aldous Huxley
Maybe Somedayby Colleen Hoover
A Long Time Comingby Megan Quinn
The Pursuit of Loveby Nancy Mitford
Stella, you old devil, you. How could I have ever called you subtle?
Chapter 16
Oliver
I’m overeager, standing on the beach with Tate’s Longdale Lake Resort’s thirty or so employees and their families, waiting for Sophie to come like I’m five years old, dying to open my presents at Chuck E. Cheeses.
All day, my office was a sauna, my pants were a vise around my waist. Whatever it was that I ate for lunch—I can’t for the life of me remember—didn’t sit right. All in all, it was a beautiful day in the neighborhood.
