This Summer Will Be Different(63)

If Felix could see through the lie, he did me the courtesy of keeping it to himself. We dressed, and on the short drive, he kept glancing my way. But I couldn’t look at him. I needed to not be beside Felix, smelling him, wanting him, worrying. My feelings were bursting from me like fireworks, an explosion of respect and affection and longing. But had this become something more to him, too?

“I’m going to be busy all day with this,” I said as he parked. “But I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? We can grab breakfast before you drive me to the airport. My treat.” I jumped out of the truck.

I was halfway to the door when Felix called my name. He was standing next to the vehicle. “You forgot your bag.”

He held up my purse.

“Oh.”

Felix walked toward me. He slipped the strap over my shoulder. “All set.”

“Sorry I have to cut things short.” I felt like I’d fallen off a cliff, into the ocean, plunging deep, deep, struggling for breath. But Felix smiled, eyes shimmering.

“There’s no need to apologize, Lucy.” He winked. “I had a good time. That’s what we do, right?”

It was like being doused in cold water. A good time. That’s what this was to Felix. That’s all it ever was. Felix hadn’t lost control. I had.

I forced myself to smile. “Yes. So did I. This was fun.”

He kissed me on the cheek. “It always is.”

“I’ll pick you up before your flight tomorrow,” Felix said, leaning out the truck window before he pulled away. “I’m holding you to that breakfast.”

But it wasn’t Felix who arrived at the cottage the next day.

“Something came up,” Zach said when I opened the door. “Wolf can’t make it.”





28





Now

Five Days Until Bridget’s Wedding





We’re soaring up the coast on the edge of the cliffs. The land to our right drops off abruptly into the gulf. White windmills rise in the distance. Lobster traps are stacked beside barns and outbuildings.

The trip to North Cape, the tippy top of the western side of the island, is well over an hour, too long for Zach’s legs to be squished in the back seat. I’m looking out the window to try to keep my stomach from turning over—the majesty of the scenery is lost on me. Bridget says the view is worth it. We’re going to get food after—there’s talk of a good lobster roll in Tignish.

“There are sixty-one lighthouses and range light buildings on the island,” Zach declares from the passenger seat.

“I have no idea what a light range is,” I say, voice flat. I’m annoyed with everyone. Bridget. For dragging me to the Maritimes and making me cancel my meeting with Lillian. Felix. For kissing my hand. For wanting to find someone to build a future with here on the island. For the thumbs-up emoji he sent me and the year of silence that followed. Zach. For being smart. And myself. For being so very stupid.

“A range light,” Zach corrects. “They’re sort of like lighthouses—they’re used for marking the entrance to a harbor, so there’s always two of them. There are twenty pairs on PEI.”

“Thank you for that, Zachary,” Bridget says, and Zach turns around, batting his eyelashes at her.

Every so often, Felix glances at me in the mirror, but I won’t meet his eyes. I let myself fall into Felix’s orbit, let him slip under my defenses. It’s last summer all over again. I need to keep my distance.

I look out the window, taking deep breaths. It’s more than motion sickness making me nauseated.

“You okay?” Felix says.

“I’m not going to vomit in your truck, if that’s why you’re asking.”

“Let us know if that changes.”

Zach holds up the box of nutty snack bars Felix brought. “Wolf’s an excellent Boy Scout. We come prepared.”

We off-load in front of a large building perched on the lip of the peninsula—the North Cape Wind Energy Interpretive Centre. It earns its name as soon as I step outside. The skirt of my sundress blows around my calves, and I have to hold my hair out of my face as we clamber over red boulders to the rocky shore. An octagonal lighthouse stands in the distance, its white paint faded. It’s overcast today. The wind tastes like rain.

“It’s more than one hundred and fifty years old,” Zach says. “Built in 1865. It’s not the oldest one on the island. That would be Point Prim Lighthouse, which is one of two round brick lighthouses in Canada.”

Point Prim. The reminder of last July, when Felix and I visited the lighthouse, and the following day when we spent hours entangled in his bed, has my chest heating. I can feel him watching me, but I keep my focus on the water.

“All right,” Bridget says, giving Zach a tap on his arm. “We get it. Your brain is huge.”

“Have you noticed the tides?” Zach asks me.

I look to where he’s pointing.

“Under there is a rock reef—the longest in North America.”

“Hence the need for the lighthouse,” Bridget says. “You can walk on it when the tide is low. But right now . . . can you see it?”

“The waves?” They’re rolling in gently, crashing against each other in a line that stretches out from shore. “What is that?”