“Right, okay,” he says, eyes glossy and dark … cheeks hollow, “is this where you’re going to tell me that you’re going to run off to California now? That what we did yesterday is all in the past, and you’re just going to head off into the sunset to your superstar father to be part of his perfect family?”
“No!”
“Find that hard to believe.”
“Well, believe it, because I found out last night that my father is basically a Humbert who likes to play the Lolita game with college girls!”
A little concern bends his brows. “What?”
“There were other Winonas and Josies in his life, and he got fired from the university over it. He’s a loser, okay? So I don’t have a father or an apprenticeship, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here. How’s that for irony? Huh? The man who took that stupid picture has ruined my mom’s lifeandmine. So thanks, Henry Zabka, for building a coffin for my dreams. And thanks, Adrian Summers, for digging the hole. And thank you, Lucky, for kicking dirt on top of it.”
“Hey! Don’t you dare lump me in with them,” he says, getting in my face, eyes flicking back and forth over mine. “Don’t—”
“Shut up! Just shut your mouth.” I shove at his chest, pushing him back as tears slide down my cheeks. “I didn’t put you anywhere. You put yourself there when you decided to share my mom’s photo.”
I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. Foolishness—that’s what.
Because I don’treallybelieve he did it. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice is telling me that I’m just angry and raw over all the revelations about my father, and I’m taking it out on Lucky. But I’ve forgotten all my swimming lessons—forgotten how to kick and float. Now I’m going under the surface.
Now I’m drowning in my own despair.
“If you—” he starts.
“Deny it, then!” I sob loudly. “Tell me you didn’t do it!”
“You gonna let me answer?”
“No! You don’t get an answer. Because my best friend would never do that … and no boyfriend of mine will, either.”
He sucks in a quick breath through his nostrils and backs away.
Staring at me. Dazed. Horrified. And then, in a blink—
Nothing. All his emotions are wiped, and his expression goes cool and distant.
I can’t move. All the wet concrete in my chest is seizing up. I’m going to turn to stone any second now. Going to shatter into a million pieces.
Don’t need a ticking time bomb for that.
This is far worse. Somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, the invisible wall went back up. And I wasn’t the one who pressed the button.
I’m no longer in control.
I’ve been shut out.
BEDECK YOUR DECKS: Signs posted in shopfront windows reminding locals to outfit their boats with white lights for the upcoming Victory Day flotilla celebration.(Personal photo/Josephine Saint-Martin)
Chapter 24
It’s funny how life keeps going after something monumental happens—or even a lot of monumental things. Life doesn’t seem to care or even notice. A war could end a thousand lives in one day, but across the globe, a family still sits down together to eat dinner.
A relationship can end in the boatyard of the South Harbor, but across the street, a mother is reopening the bookstore, because it’s never been closed unexpectedly in her lifetime, and she’s not about to let it happen on her watch.
Life keeps going, even when what I shared with Lucky doesn’t. Even when he’s right across the street. Even when I see his red Superhawk parked there, day after day …
After day.
Even when I stare out the bookshop window, hoping to catch a glimpse of his dark head walking through the boatyard office door, day after day …
