Two Truths and a Lie(64)

“Yeah. I’ve been feeling bad about the fight. Really bad.”

“Me too,” she whispered.

“I think I was agitated, that’s what it was. About—the thing you told me, at Canobie Lake. And I let my agitation get the better of me. I’m really sorry, Alexa. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“But it’s my fault,” she said. “That’s why I drove up here, because I did a really bad job talking about it the other day—and I got, I don’t know, I just got upset over nothing, and it all spun out of control. I came here to apologize. I’m really, really sorry.”

Wow. Apologizing felt really good. Unexpectedly good. How come nobody had ever told Alexa that it would feel so good?

“Alexa Thornhill, I accept your apology.” Cam spoke ceremoniously. He stood up straight, the way she imagined he might if he were about to accept a golf trophy. “And I’d like to offer you one of my own. I’m truly, honestly sorry for what I said.” There was something in his gaze that made her stomach flip, and then flop, and then flip again. “Will you do me the honor of accepting my apology?”

Alexa rolled her eyes at the formal language and smiled at the same time she was rolling her eyes; she couldn’t help it. “I will,” she said. “I definitely will.”

“Shake?” He offered his hand and she took it. The skin on Cam’s hand was soft, with a slight bump in the palm that might have been a callus from a golf club. He held on to her hand longer than a typical handshake would require and her stomach went through another round of gymnastics. Then Cam said, “Well, what are we waiting for? Welcome to my humble abode.” He swung the door wide, and in she went.

In the kitchen stood a woman with short, stylish hair, white shorts, and a peach-colored tank top; she was slicing lemons. She was barefoot and suntanned—older than Alexa’s mom, but not so much older.

“Mom, this is Alexa. The one I told you about. Alexa, my mom, Linda. Beware of her, please, she’s on vacation from the law firm for two weeks so she’s dangerously relaxed.”

Linda looked up and smiled, and Alexa said, “Hi, nice to meet you.” She tried to study Linda without being obvious about it. She could see where Cam got his dimples.

“Nice to meet you, Alexa!” Linda said. “I’d shake your hand, but, well—” She gestured to the lemons.

“I get it,” said Alexa. “We’ll just wave.” She waved.

The counters sparkled. The refrigerator was industrial-size, with one half devoted to a glassed-in beverage fridge. An upside-down canoe attached to the kitchen ceiling held rows of wineglasses and cocktail glasses. It was all so sunny and good, Alexa felt like there must be a catch. Was a murderer about to jump out of the butler’s pantry? A rabid dog loose somewhere on the grounds? A girlfriend hiding upstairs, in the guest quarters? (Surely there were guest quarters.)

“Want to see the house?” said Cam. He was as eager as a little boy. “Did you eat? Are you hungry?”

“No,” she said, and he looked crestfallen. “I mean, no, I’m not hungry, yes, I want to see the house.” Cam smiled, and she followed him out of the kitchen.

The upstairs hallway formed a loft that overlooked the massively cozy living room. In the living room, there were deer heads mounted on the wall (real?) and a friendly pot-bellied bear made of some sort of metal or stone (definitely not real) standing proudly on one side of the fireplace, one paw extended, like he was giving a tour. A pair of old-fashioned skis was crisscrossed above the stone fireplace, and just below it hung a single snowshoe that was woven like a basket.

There was a bunk room where the bunks were made out of roughly hewn logs and covered with quilts that looked like they were sewn by a thousand perfect grandmothers. In the corner of another bedroom sat a tiny, inoffensive pile of clothing. (“Mine,” said Cam. “I’m the only slob in the family.”) She should have known: some of the clothing was purple. The only other sign of inhabitance was a book opened facedown on the bed. Dreams from My Father. (“Early Obama,” said Cam.) She rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile. This guy was too much.

“I saved the best for last,” said Cam. “We’re going outside,” he called to his mom, who was still in the kitchen, and she called back, “Okay, honey!”

What could be better than everything they’d already seen? Well, the lake, of course. Alexa followed Cam out the back door and down a flagstone path to a semicircular rock wall enclosing the world’s most adorable private beach. There were four lounge chairs and a boat garage that was a miniature version of the house, also made of wood and also with a green roof. To the right of the semicircle beach was yet another deck, or really more like a little dock, with two Adirondack chairs and a small table. It was here that Cam led Alexa.

Alexa settled into the chair he indicated. “Cam! This is insane. You know this is insane, right?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sort of.” He ducked his head modestly. “This was Mom’s present to us when she made partner. I mean, to herself too, sure, but she was trying to make it up to us for being gone so much, working when we were growing up. She worked really hard to get where she is.” He began to look wistful—maybe even a little sad, and Alexa found herself putting her hand over his.

“Winnipesaukee,” she said. The word came out of her involuntarily, like a hiccup or a spasm.