The Rest of the Story(72)

She moved silently, like a cat: I hadn’t even realized she was approaching until she was right beside me. She was in a purple terry-cloth romper, her pink plastic jelly sandals on her feet. In her hand she carried an Allies book.

“What are you doing?” she asked, once I’d gotten over being startled.

“Waiting.”

She slid onto the bench beside me, putting the book squarely in her lap. “I will too, then.”

Behind me, I heard the familiar sound of Mimi’s screen door banging shut. I tensed, sure it was Bailey, but when I looked, I saw Jack instead, crossing the grass to his car. A moment later, he pulled up next to us.

“What are you two doing?” he asked.

“Waiting,” Gordon told him.

“For what?”

“My dad,” I said. “I’m leaving today.”

“Leaving?” He raised his eyebrows. “You’re going home?”

“No.” Another car drove by, an older VW, the muffler sputtering. “To Lake North.”

He considered this as Gordon picked up her book. “But you’ll come back to visit, right? I mean, it’s only three miles.”

The was true. But sometimes even the shortest distance can be impossible to navigate, whether you went road or shore or some other route. In all her recovery attempts, my mom had never lived far from us. But sometimes, when someone’s not right there, they might as well be a million miles away.

“I’ll be back at some point,” I said to Jack. “You’ll see me before I leave for good.”

“Let’s make sure of it,” he told me. “Come to Taylor’s birthday party. We’re planning it as we speak.”

“Am I invited?” Gordon asked.

“No. Sorry.” She slumped, disappointed. To me he said, “It’ll be at April’s this weekend. Bailey will give you the details.”

“I’m not sure I’ll see her,” I said as the A/C unit cut off. Just like that, I was shouting. I lowered my voice. “We had an argument.”

“You’re cousins. It happens,” he said, sounding hardly bothered. “Ask Trinity. Or Roo. Or anyone, really. No gifts, but beer is welcome.” He looked at Gordon. “You didn’t hear that.”

“Hear what?” she said. I couldn’t tell if she was being clever or just hadn’t been listening that closely.

“And you,” Jack said, turning to me. “Don’t be a stranger, because you aren’t. You hear?”

Hear what, I wanted to say to be funny, but this was so unexpectedly sweet I found myself instead just nodding.

“And don’t stay in Lake North too long,” he added, starting to roll forward. “It’s different over there.”

I thought of that first night I’d crossed the lake with Bailey. The world changed in those three miles, for sure. Would I?

“I’ll be careful,” I promised him. “Thanks, Jack.”

He smiled, then gave me a salute with two fingers, stuck his tongue out at Gordon, and pulled away. As he started to accelerate, he beeped, and I waved. Finally, not a stranger anymore.

I was watching him disappear around a curve, thinking this, when I saw my dad’s silver Audi approaching. Even though I’d missed him, and was excited to see Tracy, I felt my heart sink a bit.

“Is that them?” Gordon asked.

“Yep.”

A moment later, they were pulling in and parking, so I picked up my bag and purse and got to my feet. Gordon did the same, carrying her book, and we walked over together.

“Emma!” Tracy called out, jumping out and rushing over to give me a big hug. She had on a white sundress, all the better to emphasize a deep tan. “I missed you!”

“I missed you, too,” I said, meaning it. “How was the trip?”

“An adventure,” she replied. “I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”

“And if you’re worried about her not having enough pictures, don’t,” my dad said as he walked over to join us. “The entirety of Greece was fully and thoroughly documented.”

“Oh, stop,” Tracy said as he gave me a once-over—did I look as different as I felt?—before pulling me in for a hug. “Everyone takes pictures on vacation.”

“True,” he said, smoothing a hand over my head, “but not everyone chooses to spend the entire trip seeing things solely through the camera lens. Who’s this?”

I’d temporarily forgotten Gordon, who was still right beside me. “Dad, meet Anna Gordon. My cousin.”

Hearing this, Gordon looked pleased. But I knew the name you used first was the one people remembered.

“Well, hello, Anna Gordon,” my dad said, extending a hand. She took it, shyly, not meeting his eyes. “It’s nice to meet you. Is Celeste your mom?”

“No,” I said. “Amber. From Joe’s side.”

“Amber,” he repeated, still shaking Gordon’s small hand. “Right. I remember her.”

“And this is Tracy,” I said to Gordon. “My . . . stepmom.”

At this, Tracy and I both looked at each other. “Wow,” she said with a smile. “That’s the first time I’ve heard that. I like it.”