This Summer Will Be Different(73)

“Bad timing,” Felix supplied.

“Exactly. I always wondered why their relationship was so tense, but now it makes sense. And my dad knew Stacy had questioned their relationship, so that added to the strain.”

A cloud passes, muting the sun. I get lost in Felix’s face. The lines that have deepened. The brow that arches. The tiny spot of hazel on his eye.

“My mom visited a lot when my aunt was sick. They laughed more than I’d ever heard them in my life.”

“Do you think your mom forgave her?” Felix asks me.

“She did,” I say. “In the end. But they let this one thing come between them and they lost so much time. It wasn’t soon enough.”





31





Now





Felix and I drive to Bloomfield and back in the Mustang, windows down, so I can buy a pink wool blanket. There and back, it’s more than two hours, but I savor being close to him. His hand on the gear shift, the wind ruffling his hair. I like Felix. And he likes me. It’s as fresh as a crocus in spring, but it’s never getting old.

By the time we get back to the house, it’s late afternoon. Felix assigns me as his sous chef, and I peel the husks from sunny cobs of corn while he scrubs new potatoes. We don’t talk much, but the way we navigate the kitchen in tandem feels like a conversation. A dance. A song. The lyrics say, We’re good together.

Bridget should be here any minute. Hopefully Miles is with her.

When Felix hands me a tomato and an enormous knife, I scowl. He knows I prefer when he does the cutting-up.

“You need practice,” he says, and because his eyes are soft and glowy, I take the knife and slice the tomatoes. What I wouldn’t do for those eyes.

Without Felix asking, I prepare them the way he does, overlapping the rounds on a plate, drizzling them with olive oil, sprinkling on the sea salt. I pluck basil leaves from Christine’s herb garden and tear them into strips to scatter over top. I hold the dish out to Felix with a smug grin. But I catch an odd look on his face.

“What?”

He blinks. “You’re so fucking hot. That’s the sexiest plate of tomatoes I’ve ever seen.” He takes my face in his hands and crushes his lips to mine quickly.

“The words that come out of your mouth,” I say, laughing.

I chop dill for the potato salad. Felix stands beside me, whisking a marinade for the steak.

I’ve just finished setting the table when the door to the house opens.

“There you are,” I say to Bridget when she enters the kitchen. I’m smiling because Miles stands beside her, holding her hand.

He’s a good-looking man. Tall. Dark hair always neatly combed. He’s elegant and polished, but he’s not as reserved as he looks. His smile is wide. His waist is narrow. He looks like he could swim a mile, but he’s not very confident in the water. Bridget’s working on it.

“It’s the future Mr. Bridget Clark,” I say to Miles before I realize that he’s wearing an unusual expression.

“Lucy, hi.” He sounds off, too.

Bridget has moved into the kitchen, studying the flowers on the table. I’ve set it with Christine’s nice linen napkins and got out the special plates from the hutch, the ones with the gold band.

“You got out the good china.”

“I did. We’re throwing you a celebration dinner,” I say. “Felix and me.”

I see his dimple from the corner of my eye, but I’m lasered on Bridget. She doesn’t react to me calling her brother by his given name, like I thought she would. She touches a daisy petal and bursts into tears.

I rush to her side, sending a worried look to Felix. But he doesn’t seem shocked by what’s happening to my best friend.

“What did you do?” I ask Miles.

He holds up his hands. “It’s not what you think.”

“I will kill you, Miles Lam. Don’t think I won’t. I have a very large knife, and I know how to use it.”

Bridget laughs, then begins to sob harder. I hug her close. “What is happening right now? Can you please tell me?” I usher her over to the sofa, glaring at Miles.

“Bridget. Talk to me.”

She nods through her tears. Swats them away with her hand. “Okay.” But she doesn’t speak. She pushes a curl from her face, and it falls right back.

When we were roommates and Bridget’s hair was annoying her, I’d weave it into a French braid. We’ve had a lot of talks while I plaited her hair.

“Turn around,” I tell her. “I’ll get it out of your way.”

Miles joins Felix in the kitchen. Felix says something quietly in his ear, and Miles nods. I get the feeling I’m being left out of something. They watch as I separate Bridget’s hair into sections, both looking concerned. Only when I’m finished does Bridget speak.

“Can we take a walk?”



* * *



? ? ?

We go to the beach.

“I’m not sure where to start,” Bridget admits.

“Is there a beginning?”

She takes a deep breath. “I think so. It’s also the middle and the end.”

“Okay,” I say. “Start there.”

She stops walking and looks at me. Her chin quivers. “I don’t want to say it. If I say it, then it’s true.”