Her cheeks flush, and she laughs softly. “Touché.” After a moment, she says, “What about Daniel? Is he your agent now?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s stuck with me through it all.”
Unlike you, I think.
She flinches, a tiny recoil.
“Well, he would, wouldn’t he?” She swallows hard.
“He’s stubborn and tenacious,” I reply.
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I glance at her then, really look. “Did you ever think we’d be strangers like this?”
She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. She looks at me, and the air in the car thins. “No, never.”
I want to ask her why she didn’t return any of my calls or texts, just disappeared on me, but the conversation I just had with the girls at The Loon comes rushing back. Something tells me they wouldn’t approve of that just yet.
“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re doing so well,” I say instead.
Her lips lift. “I’m glad you are too.”
I nod and look at the lake in front of us.
“Thanks for the ride,” she says.
“Of course.”
She rests her hand on the door handle, then pauses.
“I’m sorry,” she says, barely above a whisper.
The words hit like a stone dropped into deep water—ripples spreading outward before I can stop them.
I stare straight ahead.
“Okay,” I say, because I don’t trust myself to say anything else.
She opens the door. “Bye, Tully.”
“Goodbye, Lola.”
She steps out and closes the door gently behind her. Iwatch her walk toward the resort. She doesn’t look back. I sit there longer than I should.
I push open the door and step into the house. The hinge lets out a dramatic squeak, and I make a mental note to fix it after I say hi to Dad.
From the living room, I hear Dad say, “Kevin, I hate to inform you that you are not the man of this house.”
A white blur rockets across the hardwood and skids to a stop at my feet. Kevin, the cutest white Havanese who ever lived, looks up at me with intense authority, tail whipping like a metronome. He’s technically Goldie’s dog, but I’m not sure where he’ll actually live once her new house is finished. Kevin is divided over where his true loyalty lies—between my dad or my sister. Bill, Dylan’s mini dachshund, trots in behind Kevin at a much more deliberate pace, ears bouncing as if the buck stops with him. He’s quieter than Kevin and seems more chill, but I suspect he’s the boss of the two.
Dad rounds the corner, hands on hips. “This guy,” he says, shaking his head and pointing at Kevin. “He’s wearing me out today. He’s barking atleaves. They had the audacity toblowin the breeze on his watch.”
I snort.
Kevin barks once, sharp and declarative.
“Quit judging the leaves, Kevin,” Dad says. “It’s rude.”
