Lost Along the Way(58)

“What is going on in here?” Cara’s mom asked as she stood in the doorway of the kitchen. She stared in bewilderment at her previously clean kitchen and three college-aged women in the midst of a flour fight more appropriate for twelve-year-olds. “I thought you were going to bake brownies!”

“We were. And then . . . we weren’t,” Jane said, shrugging her shoulders but still smiling.

“I’m so sorry,” Meg said, already on her hands and knees trying to clean flour off the floor with a kitchen sponge. All it did was turn the powder to paste. It was going to take forever to get this place clean. “We’re so sorry. I promise I will clean the entire kitchen.”

“In our defense, this seemed like a good idea a few minutes ago,” Jane said with a smile, hoping Cara’s mom would appreciate that while they’d wrecked her house, they’d made her daughter laugh.

“I hope you know how to work the vacuum as well as you know how to work the oven,” she said to Meg, coughing from flour she’d accidentally inhaled.

“Jane started it!” Meg cried, always the obedient rule follower. Meg knew that she didn’t need to tell Cara’s mom that Jane was the one who spearheaded the destruction of her kitchen. Any time something went wrong, people assumed Jane was the ringleader, which would really bug her if they weren’t right.

“Hey!” Jane said, momentarily offended. “Okay, fine. I did, actually. But she deserved it.”

“Your mom was so mad,” Meg remembered. “We tried to do something nice and I think it took her months to get all the flour out of the grout in her kitchen tiles.”

“I think she was happy that I was happy, to be honest. She could never stay mad at you guys anyway. It was nice of you to come help take care of me. It gave her a break, you know?”

“I was happy to do it then, and I’m happy to do it now. And anyway, it’s my job to cook. Don’t forget that. I’ll post this recipe on the blog later this morning.”

Cara and Jane smiled but said nothing. Instead, Jane flung flour in Meg’s direction.

“For old time’s sake,” she said.

“I was in a lot of pain but I had a good time,” Cara said.

“You were so loopy I’m surprised you remember it.”

“I remember the brownies.” Cara walked over and stuck her hand in the flour and flicked a little at Jane. “That was for attacking an invalid. I’ve been waiting almost twenty years to do that.”

“I had no idea you were holding a grudge. This explains a lot. It all started with the flour.”

Cara smiled. “Maybe it did!”

“Are we even now?” Jane asked, dusting flour off her hairline.

“Even.”

“Good.”

“Now that I think about it, I was so upset after I hurt my knee. Not just because of the accident, which sucked in a big way, but because I was worried about what Reed would think of me. He was my boyfriend. He should’ve cared that I was hurt and that’s it. Why was I worried about how I would look to his family?”

“I thought it was a little weird at the time,” Meg admitted.

“So did I. But I thought it was the drugs talking,” Jane added. “Besides, we were kids. We worried about stupid things.”

“Yeah, but I already wasn’t acting like myself, you know? He was already making me feel insecure.”

“Probably because he felt inadequate around you. Not to play psychiatrist, but just guessing.”

“I think he was trying to undermine me. He’s always trying to undermine me. Still. I wish I’d seen it then.”

“You’ll drive yourself crazy pinpointing moments where you could’ve done something differently. They don’t matter. What matters is that you did something now. The past is the past, and there’s not a person in this room who would do things over the same way if given the option,” Jane said forcefully.

“I guess that’s true,” Cara admitted.

“So, what do you guys want to do today?” Meg asked, the potentially awkward moment thankfully passing. “Besides start a flour fight in my kitchen.”

“Well, if you’re going to ruin all of our fun, I’m up for doing something outside. It looks really nice out,” Jane said. “I rarely get fresh air anymore since I’ve been afraid to leave my apartment. Do you think we could go for a walk or something?”

“Why don’t we go down to the beach? I have a few travel mugs; we can bring our coffee with us,” Meg answered.

“I’d like that. I haven’t been to the beach in ages,” Jane said.

“It hasn’t changed much,” Meg assured her.

Jane smiled. “The best things in life never do.”





twenty


They ate their muffins, filled their travel mugs, and drove the two miles to the beach with the windows down and the radio up. Jane stuck her arm out the window and spread her fingers wide, feeling the wind blow against her hand. In the summer, the parking lot would be full by nine A.M., but since it was October it was completely empty. They rolled up their pant legs, kicked off their shoes, and wandered down the sand toward the water. Meg adjusted her sunglasses and stared at the surfers in their wetsuits—the only people crazy enough to swim this time of year—and an elderly couple holding hands as they strolled toward them. Meg felt her insides begin to ache. She would’ve bet every dollar she had that would’ve been her and Steve one day—older, kids grown and out of the house, retired at the beach, just happy to have each other for company. Instead she had two crazy ladies from elementary school using her for shelter as they hid from their own lives. But she’d take it. It was certainly better than nothing.