Two Truths and a Lie(83)

They had almost reached the jetty before the campground; they’d have to turn back soon.

“Not really,” she said. “I just want to get started on what’s next. I do.”

“You know what Confucius said?”

“No,” said Alexa, suddenly irritable. Must they philosophize now?

“He said, ‘Wherever you go, there you are,’” said Cam.

“I don’t get it,” said Alexa, without really thinking. Far, far out, a sailboat glided along.

“Think about it,” said Cam. Then—“Right? Make sense?” He was smiling eagerly.

Despite her best efforts not to understand, she thought she probably did. It wasn’t that complicated. Alexa in California would just be the same as Alexa in Newburyport, although obviously tanner and probably with much cuter clothes, and, eventually, her own dog.

“I guess so,” she said. She kicked reluctantly at the sand with her big toe.

“All I’m trying to get at, Alexa, is that I don’t want you to miss where you are on your way to getting to somewhere else. It took me a while to learn that myself, but I think I finally have. And I think that might be what Confucius was saying.”

Then Cam was putting down his Market Basket bag, and taking her bag from her to place beside his, and holding her face gently, a hand on either cheek, and he was bending down and giving her a glorious, glorious kiss. He stopped and pulled back for a second and said, “Okay?” She wasn’t sure her voice would work—the kissing was really intense—so she just nodded and willed him to please start kissing her again. She put her hands on the back of his adorable, goofy, sexy golfer’s neck and pulled him closer. He moved his hands down to her waist, and his grip was strong and sure.

Then he said, “No pressure. Whatsoever. But if you haven’t moved yet, if you’re still figuring things out, I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. And maybe before that, if you have a free weekend in October, you can come up to St. Mike’s. I’d love to show you around, and maybe you can come to a tourney.”

Her head was saying, Please don’t say tourney—some words are just not meant to be shortened. But her heart seemed to be saying something different, something—could it be?—nonjudgmental and hopeful. Her heart seemed to be saying, October is not so far away.

And then he took her hand and led her closer to the dunes and spread out the blanket. Her heart was beating so fast she felt like she had a bird in her rib cage.

There were no bad men. It was just her and Cam and the endless ocean, and everything was whole and good and safe.

“What’s in the picnic bag?” she asked.

“Lots of good stuff,” Cam answered. “Some of Market Basket’s finest, if you want to know the truth.” (Market Basket did have an excellent cheese selection.) “But I don’t care so much about the picnic anymore,” he added. His voice was husky. He was backlit by the setting sun.

She sat down on the blanket, and then she thought better of it and lay all the way down. Cam sat beside her and rested one of his hands on her stomach.

“Neither do I,” she whispered. “In fact, I don’t even know what Market Basket bag you’re talking about.”

And then he was kissing her, and kissing her, and kissing her.





63.





Sherri


Rebecca mentioned Brooke’s end-of-summer party casually. They had iced coffees from Soufflés and they were walking on the boardwalk after dropping the girls at nature camp. They would be sleeping overnight in Maudslay, and be collected at two the following day. Sherri had major reservations about letting Katie sleep outside in the woods—how easy it would be for someone to grab her from a tent!—but Katie had begged and begged and begged.

The day was sumptuous, the air plump and ripe, the river glistening as though it had just been hand-scrubbed. The marina was chock-full; there were boats from Key West and Camden, Maine; from Charleston, South Carolina; from South Padre Island. There was a long line outside the bathrooms at the harbormaster’s hut, and happy, tail-wagging dogs coming off the rail trail.

Rebecca was talking about what she was going to wear. She’d worn her favorite off-the-shoulder dress two years ago to the same party and she couldn’t wear that again. She wished she could borrow from Alexa but Alexa was so tiny. She stopped and leaned against the railing, resting her iced coffee cup on the flat surface of a post.

“This feels awkward,” said Sherri finally. “But I don’t know anything about this party.” She fixed her gaze on the far side of the river, where she could see the big waterfront houses on Ring’s Island.

“Wait, what?” Rebecca said, turning to her. “Are you kidding me? I just assumed—I’m so sorry. I thought she had invited you. She should have invited you! Are you sure she didn’t? It was an actual paper invitation, not Paperless Post or Evite. Are you sure you didn’t just toss it out with the junk mail?”

Sherri was sure. They didn’t get much mail yet: she would have noticed an invitation. “Don’t give it a second thought,” she said. She was cringing from embarrassment for herself, but also for her friend. “I promise, Rebecca, I don’t care at all. I don’t even go to parties!” (In reality she cared a lot. She felt the sting strongly. If Sherri was out, was Katie out too? This now made at least three exclusions between the two of them. What about the lunch table? The lockers? They couldn’t start over again, anywhere else. They had to make it work here.)