The Wish(64)

On Thursday morning, I woke earlier than usual to shower and get ready, but even when Bryce showed up, I still had trouble concentrating on my studies. Not that there was much of anything to do—with finals behind me, I was plowing through second-semester work at a pace that would have made even Morgan proud. Bryce could tell I was anxious and I’m pretty sure Daisy picked up on it, too. At least twice an hour she’d come to my side and nuzzle at my hand before whining, the sound coming from deep within her throat. Despite her efforts to put me at ease, when Aunt Linda showed up to drive me over to the ferry so I could meet my parents, my legs were wobbly as I stood from the chair.

“It’s going to be all right,” Bryce said. He was stacking my work into neat little piles on the kitchen table.

“I hope so,” I said. As distracted as I’d been, I hardly noticed how cute he was or how much I’d come to depend on him lately.

“Are you sure you still want me to come over tomorrow?”

“My parents said they wanted to meet you.”

I didn’t mention that the thought of being alone in the house with my parents while Aunt Linda was at the shop kind of terrified me.

By then, my aunt had poked her head inside the front door.

“You ready? The ferry should be here in ten minutes.”

“Almost,” I told her. “We were just cleaning up.”

I dropped off my schoolwork in my bedroom, and after grabbing my jacket, Bryce followed me down the stairs. He offered a quick wink as he hopped into his truck, which gave me the encouragement I needed to crawl into my aunt’s car, despite my nerves.

It was cold and gray as we drove to the docks. My parents’ rental car was the second vehicle to roll off the ferry. When they saw us, my dad pulled the car to a stop and we walked over to join them.

Hugs and kisses, a couple of good to see yous, no comments about my size, probably because they wanted to pretend I wasn’t pregnant at all, and then I was back in the car with my aunt. My eyes occasionally flashed to the side mirror while my parents followed us home, and after parking beside us, they got out of the car and stared at the house. In the gloom, it struck me as shabbier than usual.

“So this is it, huh?” my mom asked, pulling her coat tighter against the chill. “I understand why we had to book a room at the hotel. It seems kind of small.”

“It’s comfortable and has a great view of the water,” I offered.

“The ferry seemed to take forever. Is it always that slow?”

“I guess so,” I said. “But after a while, you get used to it.”

“Hmm,” she said. My dad, meanwhile, remained quiet, and my mom added nothing more.

“How about some lunch?” my aunt chimed in with forced cheer. “I made chicken salad earlier and thought we could do sandwiches.”

“I’m allergic to mayonnaise,” my mom said.

Aunt Linda recovered quickly. “I think I still have meatloaf leftovers, and I could make you a sandwich with that.”

My mom nodded; my dad remained silent. The four of us started up toward the front door, the pit in my stomach growing larger with every step.

*



Somehow, we made it through lunch, but the conversation was just as stilted. Whenever an uncomfortable silence settled over the table, Aunt Linda reverted to talking about the shop, chattering away as though their visit was nothing out of the ordinary. Afterward, we all piled into my aunt’s car for a quick tour of the village. She pretty much repeated the same things she’d told me when she’d first shown me around, and I’m pretty sure my parents were as unimpressed as I had been. In the back seat, my mom appeared almost shell-shocked.

They seemed to like the shop, though. Gwen was there and even though they’d eaten, she insisted on giving them dessert biscuits, which were essentially biscuits made with blueberries and topped with a sugary glaze. Gwen immediately picked up on the awkward vibe with my family and kept the conversation light. In the book area, she pointed out some of her favorites, in case either of my parents was interested. They weren’t—my parents weren’t readers—but they nodded anyway, making me feel like we were participating in a play where all of the characters wanted to be somewhere else.

Back at the house, Aunt Linda and my dad began chatting about family—their other sisters and my cousins—so after a while, my mom cleared her throat.

“How about we take a walk on the beach?” she suggested to me.

She made it sound like I didn’t have much of a choice, and the two of us drove to the beach, parking the rental car near the dune.

“I thought the beach would be closer,” she said.

“The village is on the sound side.”

“How do you get here?” she asked.

“I ride my bike.”

“You have a bike?”

“Aunt Linda picked it up at a garage sale before I arrived.”

“Oh,” she said. Back at home, she knew, my bike was in the garage, with tires cracking and low on air from disuse, the seat covered in dust. “At least you’re getting outside now and then. You’re too pale.”

I shrugged without answering. We got out of the car and I zipped my jacket up all the way before stuffing my hands in my pockets. Starting for the water’s edge, we skirted the dune, our feet sinking and sliding with every step. It wasn’t until we’d started up the beach that my mom spoke again.