This Summer Will Be Different(36)

“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers,” Anne Shirley said, and now I knew why.

Christine welcomed me with the same rib-squeezing hugs she gave Bridget, and I was directed to carry my bag up to Felix’s bedroom. He’d bought his own place on the eastern side of the island, and his bookshelf was gone, but otherwise the room looked the same. The antique post and spindle bed with a red-and-blue quilt folded at the end. A small desk under the window. Zero artwork. I unpacked my things and with them a memory of my last night here—the hard thrust of Felix’s hips, the heat of his eyes on mine in the mirror, the ends of his hair curling in the steam. His Tic Tac kisses.

I want you to call me Felix.

I pushed it all aside, then went to the bathroom to douse my face in cold water. I needed to pull myself together before he arrived.

Bridget and I had just returned from a walk on the beach when Christine announced, “Bad news. Wolf’s flight was canceled. Mechanical issues. The earliest one he’s found is Wednesday morning.”

My stomach dropped. Bridget and I were leaving Tuesday. I shook off the disappointment. I should be celebrating—no Felix meant I would get through the weekend unscathed. This was a good thing. This was great.



* * *



? ? ?

“Is your brother seeing anyone?” I asked Bridget as I applied liquid eyeliner on Saturday night. Zach was throwing a party, and we were invited. Now that I wasn’t going to see Felix, I was hungry for details.

Bridget was pulling her hair into a slightly less haphazard bun. She paused and narrowed her eyes. “Why?”

I narrowed mine back. “Because I’m planning to fall madly in love with him and just want to make sure I’m in the clear before I do,” I said, face heating despite the joke. “Also, just curious.”

She glared. Bridget loved a good glare, but then she rolled her eyes. “He hasn’t mentioned a girlfriend to me,” she said. “If there was someone in the picture, he would definitely tell Zach, and Zach would want to gossip about it with me. So unless he’s got some secret side piece, he still hasn’t seen anyone seriously since . . .”

“Joy,” I finished. Bridget avoided saying her name. Before Joy broke up with Felix, she had been Bridget’s best friend and was now her sorest spot. They were joined at the hip from preschool through to Brownies then Guides, figure skating then hockey. Felix was the annoying baby brother, until he wasn’t annoying. He was Joy’s secret crush, and then her not-so-secret boyfriend.

“Yup.” The p came out of her mouth with a pop. “Rotten potato.”



* * *



? ? ?

Zach lived in a cheerful blue-sided bungalow in Summerside, which belonged to his grandmother before she had moved into a retirement home. We were greeted by an overstuffed hall closet, a pile of boots, ballet flats, running shoes, and a grinning Zach.

“It’s my favorite Clark,” he said, wrapping his arms around Bridget and then turning to me. “And Lucy! Welcome, welcome.”

Zach instructed Bridget and me to take ourselves on a tour. I bit back a smile at the mishmash of furniture—the dark polished-wood pieces he must have inherited from his grandmother and the stuff, like his gargantuan television, that screamed twenty-five-year-old dude.

We found the rest of the party in the kitchen. There were about twenty people jammed into the space. Zach stood next to the fridge, talking to a woman with long strawberry-blond hair.

I felt Bridget tense beside me.

“Is that?” I asked.

“Yep. That’s—” I watched her swallow.

“Joy.”

If I had really looked at Joy, I would have noticed that her features were delicate and angular, but her mouth was round and sweet. I would have noticed that she’d slicked her lips with juicy cherry red gloss and that her bangs fell in a flawless heavy fringe to her lash line. I would have envied how she’d managed to make a Fair Isle sweater and jeans look alluring. But I wasn’t looking at her, not really. I was looking at my best friend, who had gone white.

As Joy and Felix got older and grew more serious, Bridget and Joy weren’t just friends; they were family. There was talk of weddings, and babies, and Auntie Bridget. There was a ring and a party with a surprise proposal. There were plans.

Bridget sucked in a breath.

“Do you want to go?” I asked. “I won’t mind.”

She stared at Zach and Joy, shaking her head. “No. I can do this.”

We wove our way toward them and Bridget offered a shaky “Joy, hey.”

She turned toward us, and I almost recoiled with a hiss. Joy’s eyes were the most stunning amber, like fall in a bottle. Old-fashioneds and pumpkin spice and leaves crunching underfoot.

“Joy, this is Lucy, Bridget’s best friend and roommate in Toronto,” Zach said when Bridget didn’t.

Hurt, clear and quick, flashed in Joy’s gaze, but then she smiled. Oh god, she was even prettier when she smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand.

“Classic Zach,” called a man over my shoulder. “Always with the prettiest women in a room.”

I turned around and found myself facing a burly ginger. He wore a toque pulled over his forehead, red hair curling out the bottom.