The Accidentals(36)

“I’m almost used to you now,” I whisper.

He does not reply.





In Boston, another driver picks us up for the ninety-minute trip to Claiborne. The nerves are gaining on me again. After the tenth time I squirm around on the seat next to him, my father speaks from behind his newspaper. “Hang in there. All you have to do is find some good people. How many kids are in your class?”

“Three hundred.”

“No problem, then. There have to be a few good ones, right?”

I’m not so sure.

The car pulls up in front of the Claiborne Inn, where Frederick has booked himself a room. I stand there, blinking on the sidewalk, looking up at the white clapboard building that shouts: “Welcome to New England!” It has a long front porch and rocking chairs.

I wait outside while he checks in and drops his luggage. So this is Claiborne. There are families walking together everywhere, some with boxes or rolling students’ luggage. When I dreamt of coming here, I did it because I wanted to see the town where I was born.

But I don’t feel any connection. It’s just a super-cute town teeming with strangers. And I just want to rewind my life a year and go home.

“All set!” Frederick says, appearing beside me. “You still have a couple of hours until you can pick up your key, right? Let’s take a walk and find something to eat.”

“Okay.” Although eating anything sounds impossible.

He points across the grassy town square. “The prep school is mostly on that side of the green, while the college is that way, up the hill.” He points in the opposite direction.

Having studied the map, I already know this. “Does it look the same to you here?” We start down Main Street, which divides the town in two.

“Yes and no. Everyone looks so young.” He laughs. “The town wasn’t really my stomping grounds. I only cared about the bars and the little clubs between here and Boston.”

“Did you ever come to your college reunions?”

“Nope,” he says quickly. “Never found the time.”

I examine the storefronts on Main Street, with their window boxes bursting with petunias. There are several restaurants, and shops selling spirit wear for both the prep school and the college. You can buy sweatshirts, hats, shorts, or flip flops with either of the schools’ insignia. There are two bakeries and a coffee shop, too.

Eventually the town thins, with houses replacing the businesses. We cross the street for our walk back. “This is a very walkable town,” I point out.

“You know it. This part, anyway. Stop here a second.” Frederick halts in front of the window of a real estate office. There are a dozen listings hanging in the window. “I’ll be coming here tomorrow,” he says.

“I thought you’d make Henry do that.”

Frederick whirls on me with laughing eyes. “I would if he were here. But getting away from him is sort of the point, so I guess I’ll have to do one or two things for myself.”

On the next block we reach a pub called Wheelock’s, and Frederick hoots his approval. “At least this place is still in business. I think I spent all my money here the year I was twenty-one.” He pushes open the door with a grin. The interior is all dark wood. There are framed photos on the walls of various sports teams lined up for the camera.

“They’re working the college vibe pretty hard,” I point out as we take a seat near the window.

“Yeah,” Frederick agrees. “Don’t look for my mug in any of those football team pictures.”

Our waitress has a cow the second she identifies her famous customer. “Oh my God,” she gasps at Frederick. “I’m such a big fan. Will you sign my order book?” She thrusts a pad and pen at him.

“Sure thing, Darcy,” he says, reading her name tag. “It would be my pleasure.” He signs with a flourish and a smile. When she skips away, he smiles at me too. “This town likes me.”

Wonderful. But will it like me too?

I’m jittery. And somehow we order the same meal that we did the first time I ever had dinner with Frederick. I pick at the Cobb salad, just like in Orlando. But Frederick devours his burger and enjoys a beer. “They have excellent fries here,” he says. “Try one.”

I shake my head.

The waitress comes back to our table for the fourth time in half an hour. “Anyone need anything?”

“We’re good,” I say wearily. All I want right now is to go home to my old, familiar school in Florida.

Why did this ever seem like a good idea?





An hour later, a smiling guidance counselor wearing an ASK ME ANYTHING sticker hands me a key card that I accept with a shaky hand. “Welcome, Rachel!” she says. Then we walk through an old iron gate into a pretty courtyard.

Habernacker is a big, U-shaped brick building with dozens of sets of green shutters.

“Fancy,” Frederick says, turning around to take it in.

I’ve been told to go into entryway number two, and now I understand why. The hallways of the old building are vertical. As we climb the stone stairs, we pass just two rooms per floor, with a bathroom on the landing between them.

When we find room thirty-one on the third floor, the door is ajar. It opens with a squeak. A pretty girl with curly black hair stands up from where she’s bent over a trunk. “Oh!” She clasps her hands together. “You are Rachel?” She rolls the ‘R’ in Rachel a bit. Her accent is adorable. “I’m Aurora! I’ve been waiting to meet you!” She runs over to hug me. “And you are Rachel’s papa?” As I watch, Aurora hugs him too.