Toe the Line by Penelope Ward
CHAPTER 1
NOELLE
PRESENT
IT’S FUNNY HOW you always remember where you were and what you were doing when something pivotal happens in your life.
I’d certainly never forget being in the art room in kindergarten when I heard my teacher had died in a car accident on the way to school that morning. And I’d always recall getting my period for the first time while bowling with my dad.
Today I had something else to add to that list. I would always remember where I was when I received Archie Remington’s wedding invitation: in the pedicure seat at Wonder Nails, choking back tears after opening the envelope while simultaneously fighting unwanted laughter from the tickle of the loofa being rubbed on the bottom of my feet.
Giggle.
Sniffle.
Giggle.
Sniffle.
I’d taken a pile of my mail with me to sort through while I was in the chair in an effort to maximize my time. In the middle of the stack was an envelope containing a thick piece of crème stationery that read:
Please honor us with your presence as we join our lives in love.
Mariah and Archie
Saturday, October 12th at 5 PM
St. Catherine’s Church
Sonoma, California
Cocktail Hour and Reception to follow at Lindall Estates
For the past seven years, Archie had been my best friend. I’d known he was dating Mariah; I’d even met her once when I flew out to California on business and used it as an opportunity to visit Archie. But surely he could’ve had the decency to tell me he was engaged before sending me this invite? We’d exchanged many candid emails over the years. He’d never hesitated to relay anything going on in his life. So why keep this major piece of news from me and have me find out as if I were a virtual stranger? It made no sense.
I continued to stew over this and fidget as the woman finished my pedicure.
Toes completed and bursting with a sense of betrayal, the second I exited the nail salon, I dialed Archie. Flustered, I hadn’t even bothered to remove the paper flip-flops they’d given me to wear out while I stood on the busy New York City sidewalk.
Archie picked up on the second ring, his deep voice a grating sound against my already-sensitized nerves.
“Noelle?” He paused. “Is everything okay?”
He was likely asking because, while we’d been close over the years, you could probably count on one hand the number of times we’d actually spoken on the phone. Our preferred method of communication had always been email.
“How could you not have told me you’re getting married?” My voice cracked.
“What? How the hell do you know that?”
“You didn’t mean for me to know? What are you talking about? You sent me an invitation!”
The line went silent for a moment. “Shit. All I did was hand over a list of names and addresses. I had no idea they were going to send anything out so soon. I was planning on telling you next weekend.”
Archie and I planned to meet at Whaite’s Island, Maine, where our families co-owned a summer home. Since their half was now half in Archie’s name, he and I were meeting with a realtor to discuss listing the property. I would be going in place of my parents, who’d moved down to Florida. It was a seller’s market right now, so it seemed the right time to unload it. We’d been renting the house to seasonal tenants for several years.
“I’m so sorry, Noelle. Mariah’s mother must have gotten ahead of herself. I swear I would never have wanted you to find out like this. Please know that.”
Swarms of people rushed past me while I stood there in a daze. I concluded that Archie was telling the truth, but despite his explanation, I still felt a pang of sadness.
When the silence on the line grew awkward, Archie said, “I’ll cook you your favorite pasta with vodka sauce next week to make up for it.”
“Yeah…” I muttered. “Okay.” My chest hurt.
Not because of the damn pasta. My best friend was getting married, and that was complicated.
The thing about Archie? He was my best friend now, but at one time…we’d almost been more. That summer I learned the biggest lesson of my life: A good way to have your heart broken by your best friend is to forget how to toe the line.
CHAPTER 2
NOELLE
PAST
THERE WAS NOTHING like that first hint of salty air. I’d come to Whaite’s Island, Maine, for a couple of summers before this one, but the excitement of arriving was just like the first time. It never got old. When you breathed the noxious fumes of the city most of the year, it was easy to appreciate the literal breath of fresh air here.
I stepped out of my parents’ car and looked up at our new summer house. Although I’d seen photos, this was my first time viewing it in person. It was your typical oceanside, shingle-style home, with a wide, spacious porch and tons of large windows. The lawn was beautifully manicured, and bushes bursting with flowers surrounded the property.
“It’s even more stunning than I imagined,” my mother said.
If only this house was solely ours. My dad had gone in fifty-fifty with his friend and mentor, Archer Remington. They were both criminal defense attorneys, and my dad had worked under Archer for a while in New York. When Mr. Remington left to head the West Coast division of their firm, Dad and he had stayed friendly. Archer and his wife, Nora, had one son, Archie, who was a few years older than me and going into his senior year of college as a pre-law student. Previous times we’d met them here over the years, we’d rented our own place. This was the first time my family, the Benedicts, would be staying under the same roof as the Remingtons.