Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”
“Sorry, none of my business. I get that I can’t just show up here out of the blue and demand to know everything about your life.”
“Showing up out of the blue seems to be your MO. Come on, let’s get going and get you married.”
CHAPTER ELEVENOlivia
“Well, this is fairly inconvenient!” Zack shouted to make himself heard over the howling wind. But although he was standing right next to her, his voice sounded faint. If Olivia hadn’t been so cold and exhausted, she might’ve howled with it. They were pressed up against the Varicks’ front door, sheltering under the tiny overhang. “Should we try to find a way inside? Maybe there’s a spare key hidden somewhere.”
“What? No! I’m not breaking into a stranger’s house. The rest of us still believe in private property.”
“This isn’t a political statement. This is an emergency. I’m sure they’ll understand. Didn’t you say you know them?”
“I’vemetthem, I don’tknowthem. And this absolutely does not constitute an emergency.”
“You’re injured and shivering, and if this storm gets any closer, we’ll be in real danger of being struck by lightning. It might not be an emergency, but it certainly justifies poking around for aspare key. We’re not going to climb into their beds like Goldilocks; we’re going to use their landline and maybe borrow some towels to dry off. That’s it. But sure, if this violates some Maine etiquette I’m too low-class to understand, I can go see if anyone else on the island is home.”
Olivia started into the dense thicket of trees; there were no other houses in eyeshot, and for some reason, the thought of Zack disappearing into the woods made her feel even colder. “No, you’re right.” She sighed—those were not words she’d ever imagined herself saying to Zack. “Let’s try to get inside. I’ll leave them a note. And maybe send a bottle of wine later.”
“Okay, great.” Zack stooped down and lifted the doormat. “No key here. Do you see any pots? Or decorative garden gnomes?”
“Look, there’s a keypad.” Olivia pointed at the panel above the door handle.
“Ah, all right.” Zack made a show of cracking his knuckles. “Let’s see… would you call the Varicks creative, original people?”
Olivia thought about her brief interaction with the couple at Bill’s birthday party a few years back. Mr. Varick had said he’d voted for Trump because it’d be nice to have a “businessman in the White House,” and Mrs. Varick had gushed about a group tour they’d taken to Europe, and how convenient it was not to have to deal with those “surly Polish folks” who seem to run all the hotels these days. “No,” Olivia said. “I would not.”
“One-one-one-one it is,” Zack said, pressing the keypad. It buzzed and flashed red.
“Maybe nine-nine-nine-nine?” Another buzz. “Okay, okay… let’s think. Is that the Maine flag on that flagpole? What year was Maine founded?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know? I’m not a third-grade geography champ.”
“Hold on.” Zack closed his eyes. “Maine joined the union as part of the Missouri Compromise. So 1820.” He punched the numbers into the keypad. It buzzed and flashed red again. “Shit.”
“Try 1701,” Olivia said wearily.
Zack pressed 1-7-0-1. A light flashed green, and they heard the lock turn. “What? How’d you know that?!”
“Bill and Mr. Varick met at Yale, founded 1701.”
“Figures,” Zack said, then swung the door open. “After you, Goldilocks.”
They took off their sodden shoes, then fumbled around for light switches before Olivia reminded them that there wouldn’t be any power anyway. Luckily, sunset was still hours away, and even though the sky was thick with storm clouds, the large windows let in just enough light for them to begin their hunt for a landline. “You take the living room. I’ll check the kitchen,” Olivia said, leaving Zack to explore the wood-paneled room. One wall was decorated with old oars and paddles; on another, hunting trophies and plaques surrounded a forlorn-looking moose head. The house felt like a collaboration between L.L.Bean and Tim Burton, but in an organic, unplanned way—the natural evolution of a house used by generation after generation, one that Mrs. Varick couldn’t redecorate to suit her generic taste, as she shared it with her siblings and cousins.
It didn’t take Olivia long to locate the landline mounted on the wall of the kitchen. She picked it up eagerly, but there was no dial tone—only dead silence. She hung up and tried again. Still nothing. “Shit,” she muttered, and then limped back intothe living room, where Zack was still scouring the surfaces for a phone. “The landline’s dead. Probably because of the storm.”
“Great.” Zack sank onto a couch with a heavy sigh, then realized he was dripping water and stood back up again. “I don’t suppose their internet works, does it? Want to see if you can connect to the Wi-Fi? I bet we can guess their password.”
Olivia checked her phone—no bars, no available Wi-Fi networks. “Nothing.” Gingerly, she lowered herself onto the hooked rug next to the fireplace.
“So what do you want to do now?” Zack asked, coming to sit next to her on the floor.
“I don’t know,” she said in a hollow voice she barely recognized as her own. Shealwayshad a plan. She was the person you could count on in any situation. Hell, two of her college friends still had Olivia listed as their emergency contacts even though they were both married! But her brain felt as heavy and waterlogged as the rest of her. It was all too much—Lulu’s deteriorating health and the secret she was keeping from Marigold, the secret Marigold was clearly keeping from Olivia, the multiple humiliations she’d endured last night, and worst of all, the pain she’d have to inflict on Lulu by telling her that there might not be a wedding at all.
She shivered and pulled her knees up to her chest. “You need to dry off,” Zack said, rising to his feet. “I’ll find some towels.”
Olivia opened her mouth to object, but let out a heavy sigh instead. What did it matter at this point? Her reputation was already ruined; she’d gone from being Marigold Harding’s less pretty, less charming sister to the unhinged, drunk sister who’d ruined her welcome drinks. What did it matter if she added “towel thief” to the mix? She heard Zack rummaging around onthe second floor, and a minute or two later, he bounded down the stairs, holding two towels above his head like an ecstatic soccer fan waving his country’s flag. Olivia was pleasantly surprised—the task of locating a linen closet in a strange house would prove too challenging for most men. She’d once asked an ex-boyfriend to grab the purse she’d left on her bed, only for him to return empty-handed, claiming it wasn’t there. (She checked. It was.)
