The Forever Summer Page 22

“So she broke up with you?” The woman must be crazy.

  “No, not exactly. But she put me in a position of choosing between her and my dad. I realized I couldn’t marry her.”

  Her loss.

  “Okay, that sucks—I get it. But I don’t know what that has to do with age.”

  “Vanessa isn’t a bad person. She’s just young. She doesn’t understand taking care of someone other than herself.”

  “So you’re lumping me in with her? I am helping take care of other people—including your father. In case you hadn’t noticed dinner tonight.”

  Who was he to judge her limitations? It felt good to be angry, to push back a little. She wasn’t just begging for whatever crumbs he tossed her way.

  “Of course I noticed. It makes it hard for me to stick to my feelings on this. But Rachel, you don’t know who you are yet—what you’re going to do with your life. I’ve answered more questions than you’ve probably begun to ask.”

  “I’ve answered questions you’ve never had to ask! That’s why I’m here this summer. Learning about my father is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to me. If that’s not life-changing, I don’t know what is.”

  They balanced on the same rock, glaring at each other in the moonlight.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. It’s not all on you. I’m still getting over Vanessa. But even under better circumstances, you live in LA. I don’t want a summer fling. That’s not what I need, and I’m guessing it’s not what you need either.”

  Actually, a summer fling sounded good to her! But whatever—she wasn’t going to beg. She was too young, he was still hung up on what’s her name in Rhode Island, they lived far away from each other. How many excuses did he need to reject her?

  “I get it,” she said. She eyed the distance back to dry land. If she had any dignity, she would turn around and march herself home. But she was a quarter mile out on the jetty.

  “Shall we?” he asked, turning around, holding out his arm for the trek back. He looked at her with such friendly affection, she couldn’t offer anything less than a tentative smile. How could she help herself?

  She was completely in love with him.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  In the morning, there was no breakfast.

  “Amelia always has food and coffee out. Always,” Blythe said.

  Marin nodded, concerned. When Amelia wasn’t waiting for her in the front hall for their morning walk on the beach, she went around back to find her. Instead, she found Blythe sitting alone sipping coffee from a Joe takeout cup.

  The day was bright and particularly warm, nearing eighty degrees even early in the morning. Marin pulled off the long-sleeved cotton T-shirt she wore over her tank top and tied it around her waist. She sat opposite her mother at the table.

  “Marin, you look so beautiful,” her mother said. “You have the glow.”

  “I don’t feel it. I’m exhausted.” Even though she had slept better last night than she had in a while.

  Thanks to the conversation with her father yesterday, she finally had some relief from the shadow of dread she’d felt ever since that first e-mail from Rachel.

  Sitting with Kip, just inches from where she now sat with her mother, she’d felt as if she were watching someone else tell him. She couldn’t now, for the life of her, remember exactly what she’d said. But she would never forget how her father responded.

  “You’re my daughter. You’ve been my daughter since the moment I set eyes on you.”

  “Dad, I don’t think you understand.” She started in again about the genetics and he stopped her midsentence.

  “Marin, hon, you don’t understand: I’ve always known. It makes no difference to me. You’re my daughter, always have been and always will be.” She found it difficult to believe that he could mean it. And yet, the knowledge of Nick Cabral didn’t change the fact that Kipton Bishop was her dad. What were genetics compared to love?

  Her mother had an equally hard time wrapping her mind around his reaction. She made Marin repeat it twice, word for word.

  “Are you upset with me for telling him?” Marin had asked.

  “No,” Blythe said quickly. And then she reiterated what she’d said, that Marin had to deal with her own pregnancy paternity issue as honestly and as forthrightly as she could. This irritated Marin.

  “Mom, please. Don’t turn this around on me.”

  Still, she’d thought about her mother’s words as she fell asleep. It wasn’t the same situation, she assured herself. She wasn’t lying to Greg or Julian. She just wasn’t telling them.

  Rachel walked out of the house, and seeing that the table was empty, she turned right around to make coffee and breakfast.

  Marin stood up from the table. “I’m going to pick up a croissant at Joe and take a walk.” No more coffee for her. No caffeine, no alcohol. Oddly, she didn’t miss either one. All she wanted was sleep. It was tempting to just go back to bed, but she refused to let the first-trimester fatigue hobble her. At least some shred of her type A personality was left.

  “Do you have your phone with you?” Blythe asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “Maybe bring it? Just in case.” Blythe nodded her head toward the house, widening her eyes. Marin got it; Amelia might be a no-show at breakfast because she was upset. Maybe Kelly had finally told her the truth, or maybe Amelia figured it out for herself. Either way, she might need their support.

  “I’ll get my phone. Call me if anything’s going on.”

  Crossing the street, Marin was distracted; a bicyclist had to ring her hand bell so she didn’t collide with her. Car traffic was already at a standstill. She could see from two buildings away that Joe had a line out the door. In the late weeks of July, the town had swelled into something unrecognizable from the intimate community she had met just a month earlier.

  Marin pulled her hair off her neck and into a ponytail. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and took a place in line. It moved quickly. The server behind the counter was the blond-dreadlocked girl from the first day they arrived in town. Today her T-shirt read VAGITARIAN.

  She ordered her croissant just as her phone vibrated in her pocket. Marin so fully expected it to be her mother that she barely registered the incoming number before hearing his voice.

  “Hey, I’m glad you finally answered,” Julian said.

  “Hold on a sec.” She paid quickly, cradling the phone between her cheek and her shoulder, and rushed back outside. Bart was seated at one of the tables with a bunch of friends, and he waved at her. She waved back, then turned left on Commercial, falling into the tide of pedestrians.

  “Julian, I told you not to call me.”

  “I know. And I probably deserved that. But Marin, we need to talk. I don’t care how many times you make me beg.”

  In the middle of the street, a drag queen dressed as a mermaid had halted traffic. Cars honked—tourists, no doubt. She knew by now the locals had infinite patience for traffic stoppage on Commercial. The mermaid handed out paper flyers. A sequined lobster appeared beside her, hoisting a 1980s-style boom box in the air and blasting “The Edge of Glory” by Lady Gaga.

  “Come one, come all—it’s the sixth annual Lobsterfest to Benefit Outer Cape Health Services!”

  “Hold on a second. I need to find a quieter place—” Marin ducked into Marine Specialties, a quirky cavelike place that was part thrift store, part gift shop, part she didn’t quite know what. She walked toward the back, weaving through racks of cargo pants, a display of thermal underwear, a box piled with straw hats, and a low-hanging smattering of piñatas. She found a quiet spot next to a box of movie posters.

  She took a breath and put the phone to her ear. “Okay,” she said. “I’m back.” Julian began talking, something about time and thinking about everything and realizing how much she meant to him…

  Marin could still hear the Lady Gaga music and the shouting mermaid. From Julian’s end of the phone.

  “Jul
ian,” she said, barely daring to breathe. “Where exactly are you?”

  Kelly was wrong. Amelia did not need a house that was full of people. She didn’t need the house itself. Amelia needed her.

  She pulled her suitcase from the top of her closet and began throwing clothes into it. She didn’t know yet where they were going; all she knew was that they had to get away.

  The universe was punishing her. It was very clear. Loving Kelly, leaving her marriage—it was a transgression for which she had been paying ever since. Loss after loss. When Nick died, she had the same thought, and in her heart and mind she told God that she accepted her penance. She would have to live with it. But now this.

  Last year, when the cancer first appeared, she felt it was the universe wagging a finger at her, saying, Don’t get too comfortable. Kelly told her she had to stop with the magical thinking.

  “It doesn’t work that way,” she’d said.

  Amelia closed the bag, knelt on the floor, and dissolved into tears. She indulged herself, because while she was determined that after last night she would not cry again in front of Kelly, at the moment, Kelly was not in the bedroom. She had gone to her studio to work, as she did every morning.

  “I don’t want anything to change,” she’d told Amelia, kissing her before she rolled out of bed, that cough trailing after her like a blaring alarm.

  Her bag packed, Amelia sat immobile on the floor until she heard a knock on the door. She wiped her eyes.

  “Who is it?”

  “Blythe. I have coffee for you.”

  Amelia took a deep breath and forced herself to do the right thing and open the door.

  “We missed you at breakfast,” Blythe said. She held a tray with Amelia’s yellow coffeepot and set it on the wooden bureau. Amelia did a quick calculation on the odds that Blythe knew about Kelly’s illness; Kelly had admitted to Amelia that she’d told Marin, “Only because she busted me on the phone.” The question was, had Marin told her mother?

  “I overslept,” Amelia said. “Thanks for the coffee. That was so thoughtful of you.”

  “It’s the least I could do,” Blythe said. There was something about the expression on her face, a look that was both sorrowful and searching, that gave Amelia her answer. But she would not acknowledge it. She refused.

  Blythe eyed the suitcase. “Are you going somewhere?”

  Amelia nodded. “The island is so overrun this time of the summer. We need to get away for a few days.”

  “Oh, dear,” Blythe said. “Are we crowding you? I can round up the girls. We don’t want to outstay our welcome. You two have been so generous, but of course you must want some time to yourselves—”

  “No, no—please. Don’t be silly. We’re thrilled to have you here, and in fact I’m more comfortable leaving when I know the place is being looked after. Rachel has been such a help and I know she’ll step in if Thomas needs anything.”

  “Yes. Absolutely.” Blythe stood awkwardly, wringing her hands.

  Amelia smiled patiently, waiting for her to leave. Blythe walked to the door, reached for the knob, then paused. She turned back to her.

  “I wanted to give you some good news,” she said. Amelia looked at her, wondering if she was hearing correctly.

  “Good news?”

  “Yes,” Blythe said, smiling tentatively and moving closer to her. “Marin is pregnant. You’re going to be a great-grandmother.”

  “What?”

  “She just found out last week.”

  Blythe went on and on, but to Amelia it was white noise. She searched deep inside herself for some feeling, some hint of joy. All she felt was a sense of betrayal, that the universe was playing a cruel joke on her, taunting her with its ability to deal its cards of life and death. She began to sob, and Blythe’s hopeful smile quickly faded. She embraced her, telling her it was going to be okay—that they would be there for her. Amelia searched for words, a way to express her feeling that everything she loved was eventually taken from her and so how could she feel joy even about this good news?

  “What’s going on?” Rachel appeared in the doorway.

  Amelia and Blythe looked at each other. Amelia mouthed, No.

  Blythe invited Rachel in and closed the door behind her. When she turned around, she had a smile planted on her face. “We have some good news,” she said, her eyes shining with tears that only Amelia knew were sorrowful. “Marin is pregnant.”

  Julian looked so good! She had almost forgotten the intensity of her attraction, but when he pulled her into his arms and she breathed in his scent, she felt she could faint from it. He held her wordlessly, and it felt like they were alone in the world there in the musty air and dim light of Marine Specialties.

  She’d fantasized about their reunion endlessly, but in her daydreams (a) she had not been pregnant, and (b) it hadn’t taken place under a movie poster from the 1987 vampire film The Lost Boys.

  “My God, I didn’t even realize how much I missed you until this second,” he said, pulling back and looking at her.

  “I can’t believe you’re here,” she said, uncomfortable under his gaze. Would he be able to tell? Did she look different? It was vitally important to her to get through whatever time they had together without mentioning the pregnancy. There wasn’t even a question; she would not tell him. Seeing him again was a gift—a fleeting, impossible offering from the universe that was knocking her about just to show her who was boss. She had capitulated: Universe, you win! But here was one last thing, at least, she could control.

  She would not ruin their reunion with the messy truth.

  He kissed her and murmured something about getting out of there.

  “Where are you staying?” she asked him.

  “A place called Captain Jack’s. You have to see my room. It’s like being on a boat.”

  They walked down Commercial, his arm around her waist, keeping her close. Every guy they passed shot him an appreciative glance, and it gave Marin an odd sense of possessive pride. For just a few minutes, she let herself feel like she was part of a normal couple, reveling in the mundane happiness of being in love.

  Captain Jack’s was a quirky hotel out on a wharf, a long string of cabins right on the water. It was the type of establishment you’d be hard-pressed to find outside of Provincetown. Julian led her to a shingled cabin painted bright green and facing the bay. The building was framed by dock pilings decorated with old buoys flaking with paint, threaded with long ropes of Christmas lights. A sign outside the cabin read NO SMOKING. NO CATS.

  Inside, the room had vaulted wood ceilings, white wood floors, French doors opening onto the deck, and plenty of wide windows. It was decorated with nautical bric-a-brac. He had a view of the Long Point lighthouse in the distance.

  “This is beautiful,” she said, feeling nervous.

  Julian reached for her wordlessly and led her to the bed. His touch felt so good she could barely breathe, but she worried that he would notice the distinct new curve to her belly, the fullness of her breasts.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he murmured.

  “I missed you too,” she said, her body arching toward him. And when he was inside of her, her thoughts were no longer coherent enough for worry.

  Afterward, she curled against him, willing herself to just enjoy the moment and not think about the reality that, when confessed, would destroy this very temporary happiness.

  “Is that a tattoo?” he asked.

  “What?” She’d forgotten about the beach rose. It was already a part of her—the new her, the woman who woke up to take long walks on the beach instead of a walk to the subway, who spent her morning cutting tile instead of filing briefs, and who had a baby growing inside of her.

  “Yes. It’s a beach rose. I got it the first week I was here.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Interesting good or interesting bad?”

  “You tell me,” he said, stroking her hair. “Marin, what’s going on? You’re not just out here to get away
from everything that happened in New York, are you? Why did you get so mad on the phone and bring up Genie?”

  She rubbed the inside of her wrist, and it all came pouring out: her Genie results, Rachel’s e-mail and phone calls and the road trip and all that had happened since the last time she saw him.

  “You were trying to tell me that morning after you got back from visiting your mom in Philadelphia,” he said. “When you asked me about the statistical likelihood of error?”

  “I wasn’t trying to tell you. I wanted plausible deniability. I didn’t want to admit it to myself, let alone you.”

  He started saying all the right things, about how she could have talked to him about it—should have talked to him about it. It should have been a comfort to her, but it just made her feel that much worse about the one thing she still was not telling him.

  “Can we go to the inn?” he said. “I want to see where you’ve been staying all summer.”

  “This wasn’t how I envisioned you meeting my family,” she said.

  “I never knew that you had envisioned me meeting your family,” he said, smiling and squeezing her hand. She pulled her hand away, not wanting to encourage him. This could not go anywhere. They would have a good day or two, and then he would go back to New York. And by the time she returned to New York, visibly pregnant, it would be over.

  Just because Julian had missed her, just because he had shown up to visit, didn’t mean he wanted a baby. And it certainly didn’t mean he wanted a baby that might belong to her former fiancé.

  But for now, he was there with her. Stay in the moment, she told herself. You can have one day of happiness.

  “We’ll see who’s home. It might be just Kelly in her studio.” She felt a flicker of excitement to introduce him to Kelly. Then, afterward, she could talk to Kelly about all of her complicated feelings. Kelly would understand.

  “Marin, I want to make this work. Let’s turn all of the craziness of the past few months—the work stuff, all this upheaval with your family—into something positive. Let’s build, okay? We can do this.”