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“Did you call the therapist I found for you?”
“No, because I told you I don’t need a therapist. Been there, done that.” An alarm on my phone shrieks into the space between us. I stand, my feet already cramping at the idea of walking for another six hours after spending a night in heels. “I have to get back.”
“Wait.” Tessa sits up taller. “I need your help.”
The dark circles under her eyes take on pronounced meaning. My knees buckle, and I drop back to the bench. “What’s wrong? Is Mom okay? Noah?”
“I got a date.”
“A date? Are you serious?” My alarm shrieks again. “I have to go.”
“Not for you. For me. Or for Noah, actually. For his fortieth birthday party. Since Bailey canceled her wedding, the ballroom at the Inn was available last minute. I already paid the deposit. But I need your help. You have to be the point person. I can’t have Will calling my phone, or Noah will find out. This is the year I’m surprising him.”
My phone rings, and Lydia’s name appears on the screen. “I really have to go.”
“Okay, okay, but—Helen Griffin’s son Will has your number. I told him you’d call to coordinate everything.” Tessa’s excitement shifts.Whatever she’s spooling up to say makes my phone’s insistent ringing lose urgency.
“It’s a good thing you two met the other night, because you’ll be working pretty close together to pull this thing off in such a short time.”
I shake my head, replaying the night in my mind. “I didn’t meet him.”
“Oh, no? That’s odd. Because I heard you two were spotted heading to the roof-deck together.”
Between the champagne and the emotional maelstrom Brandon’s aunt kicked off, parts of the night are blurry. But not that blurry. “Heading to the roof-deck? I went up there alone. There was some bartender there, but he—”
“He answered to the name Will?”
“Yeah, but ... Will ...” Vague wisps of memory come back to me of a lanky boy with deep-set brown eyes. I try to square that memory with the broad-shouldered man I met on the roof. That man seemed like a surrender. The Will I remember was a wildfire waiting for a match. Which he found when he published an op-ed in theKingsette Gazetteaccusing the high school administration and the basketball team’s coaches of grade fixing. Kingsette’s reputation hasn’t recovered, and most of the town still blames him for the difficulty we have getting Division I recruiters to come to our games. Somehow, through the magic of small-town politics and an unfair universe, it’s Will’s fault Kingsette’s kids aren’t all scholarship athletes at top schools.
Kingsette has a way of blaming the wrong people.
I never faulted him for taking off without telling anyone.
And now he’s back.
He must be miserable.
“I can’t work with Will. He’s—” A lump in my throat prevents the rest of the sentence from coming out.
Tessa’s beaming like she’s just won homecoming queen again. “You can. You’re allowed to find another man attractive, Hope.”
“How do you know I think he’s attractive?” My voice rises to a telltale pitch.
Tessa snorts a laugh, which manages to sound more affectionate than mocking. “Because I know you—and I’m not blind.”
“I’m sure Noah will be thrilled to hear that.”
“Don’t change the subject.” Tessa’s voice softens, threatens to penetrate the wall I’m desperately trying to construct to keep back the swell of emotion rising in my chest. Her hand covers mine. “You’re allowed to move on and live. Brandon would want that.”
Another shrill ring pierces the air. The sound reverberates against my spine. “You don’t know what Brandon would want.”
“Then, what doyouwant?”
“I want—” To breathe without guilt. To sleep without nightmares. To say I’m sorry to the only person who deserves to hear it. “I want impossible things.”
“Oh, Hope. You know ...”
Her words dissolve into the effort it takes to keep locked memories chained away. I peer past the courtyard, to the street, at the routines of daily life playing out the way they have every day since Brandon died. The bluebird rises as my attention sweeps toward it, hovers as if waiting for a cue, and then takes off as if it knows exactly where it’s supposed to go.
