by Ellie Hall
“Really?” she asks.
I try to telepathically send her the message It’s good practice.
Zoe’s face falls for a split second then she says, “What a surprise. That’s wonderful. Right?”
“Definitely.” I scrub my hand down my face. Get me out of here.
“What can I get you? It’s on the house. Consider it a welcome home gift. Do you have engagement plans? Russell was always such a romantic. With his job as a doctor, I bet he’d get you a giant ring.” Zoe dives like a seabird for Lottie’s hand.
Magnolia growls.
Lottie tucks her hands behind her back. “She’s a companion and protection dog. Protection for older folks who might need medical attention.”
“Why would you need protection when you have Russell?” Zoe squeezes my biceps. “Well, I guess he’s down an arm. What happened to you?”
“Hockey.”
“Some things never change,” Zoe coos.
“Also, Magnolia is for Oma.”
“You’re such a good grandson.” She stops short of caressing my cheek.
“Hardly,” Lottie mutters.
My eyebrows lift. “Huh?”
“Pardon?” Zoe asks.
“Hot cocoa?” Lottie says, covering her tracks. “And one of those—” She points to a butterscotch toffee cookie.
“Good choice. I made them this morning. For here or to go?”
“To go,” Lottie and I say at the same time, apparently both ready to leave.
“Well, you’re welcome to take up residence in here anytime, especially when it’s slow, which is mostly always—except Saturdays and Sundays when we get slammed with out-of-towners. We also have free Wi-Fi.”
As if to contradict her comment about a lack of customers, the door jingles. A guy with greasy hair, wearing a band T-shirt, and cargo shorts that look like he borrowed from an older and much larger brother comes in, swinging a lanyard with his keys at the end. I vaguely remember him.
Zoe clicks her tongue. “Hey, babe. As I said, you’re welcome to hang out.”
He kisses her and says, “Of course I am.”
“Actually, I was talking to my ex.” Zoe points at me.
The guy and Lottie’s eyes flick to me.
I brush my hand through the air dismissively. “High school. Ancient history.”
“High school sweethearts. As they say, old crushes die hard.” Zoe grins.
“But they do die,” says the new sweetheart who looks rather salty.
Seas the Day
Lottie
Outside, I break the cookie in half and offer it to Rusty. As he reaches for it, I tug it back, taking a giant bite.
“What? You can’t tease me like that with a cookie.”
“I can and I did.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.” Namely Zoe. It’s like Monica followed me to this quaint little town to torment me. Not that Rusty and I are anything, but a girl can dream, right? As I take another bite of the cookie, my shoulders knot with guilt. Then again, she did give me this cookie free of charge. Maybe flirty is her natural state.
It’s just that with Rusty, this doesn’t feel fake. I worry he’s my first brush with a real crush. I shiver standing next to him. He heightens all my senses—
Scent (fresh and like winter ice)
Sound (his rough, slightly accented voice)
Sight (hubba hubba)
Touch (shiver me timbers!)
I’m also keenly aware of the stray hair above my upper lip. I’ll have to yank that sucker later.
I stride toward the shoreline with Magnolia as a gaggle of girls pass, chirping about their spring break plans at the beach house.
One with her hair in a high ponytail says, “You know I’m going to be hanging out with that hot lifeguard by the end of the week.”
“I’m just so glad I don’t have to babysit. Ugh.”
“Or do homework.”
“I know. Or hang out with my stupid parents. At least Grandma lets me do what I want. Like, no outside reading assignments thank you very much,” says the other one.
“This spring break is going to be the best,” they chorus. I half expect them to break into a choreographed dance number like in a musical.
They laugh as they head toward the Roasted Rudder. The beach is otherwise vacant. A broad expanse of nothing...kind of like my high school experience. After devastating self-consciousness about my face, I buckled down and became a perfect student, forgoing all social activities and deep friendships. That changed a bit in college and I’m so grateful for Catherine, Hazel, Colette, and Minnie, but guys never really entered the picture. Or at least I don’t let them get close enough to see the full picture—me without makeup and the way the scar scratches its way across my face.
I let Magnolia off the leash. Maybe she’ll win over another family and I can be done with this. I have my doubts about her and Oma bonding.
“So is Grandma going to let us do what we want?” I ask Rusty, but my laugh is forced.
While he contemplates his answer or does his strong and silent type thing, I catalog my spring breaks—alone during my incredibly awkward teenage years. I imagine Rusty growing up here... not alone and dating Zoe. My insides knot.
In my mind, Oma’s low voice growls, “Respect is telling someone the truth, not hiding behind silence. Whatever language we choose, that’s no reason to shut your family out.” The knots suddenly tighten.
“She knows,” I blurt. “Oma knows.” I grip the doctor’s shirt, careful not to jostle his broken arm. “What she was saying about respect and telling someone the truth.”
“She was talking about me.”
“Exactly. Us.” Saying that word does something to the inner knots.
“No, about me not being a better grandson. I haven’t been, uh, available.”
“Zoe would disagree. She seems to think the world of you. Then again, her boyfriend looked like he wanted to break your other arm.”
“I noticed.” The doctor stiffens and stands a little straighter.
“I’m not jealous. Nope. Not at all. We’re practically fake engaged.” I shake my head like Magnolia shaking off after going in the water. The words pour out like a tsunami, revealing a thinly veiled truth. It’s not like I want to date Rusty now. No, but my sixteen-year-old self wouldn’t have minded having a high school sweetheart.
“What was that about a giant rock, doc?” I ask, flashing my hand in his direction.
“You’re not jealous? Not even a little bit?” he asks, wincing.
I can’t tell if he’s playing along with my joke.
“It’s concerning that you’d want me to be.” I hide my smile, afraid it could light up the twilight.
“I didn’t say that.” He gazes toward the ocean, awash in his thoughts.
“Sounds like there’s a story here. Just curious.”
He blurts, “Zoe and I dated for a couple of years. She dumped me on prom night.”
I stop mid-stride, expecting something more like they went their separate ways in college. “Rusty. I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
“Don’t worry. I took it like a man and broke a window.”
“Better than an arm.”
A teeny tiny chuckle escapes.
The sound of it makes me feel like I won a prize at the county fair.
“What other surprises should I prepare for?” I ask.
“You already know that I’m selfish, neglectful, and not good enough to date.”
That last one takes a moment to catch up to me. “I disagree. Monica too. Half the hospital. You seem like you care a lot about what you do. Someday, your real girlfriend will be lucky to have you.” Considering I’m the most unlucky person I know, that will not be me.
“I could agree, but the truth is I prefer to be alone, reading, whatever.”
Rusty gazes at the ebb and flow of the tide as if another truth flutters through the recently opened—or broken—window of thought. As if he do
es like all those things, but is lonely and longs for more than that.
Or perhaps that’s my own mind. “You like reading? Me too.”
He opens his mouth as if about to say something then shuts it as Magnolia races by, zooming up and down the empty beach. Through some strange version of osmosis, it’s like his thoughts register in mind because I have the courage (or lack of filter, depending on who you ask) to say them. That’s a complicated way of saying I have an idea—a really good one. Probably.
I draw a breath and swallow. “You just ripped into my life. For a veritable stranger, you’ve made me think a lot in the brief time of our acquaintance, so thank you. I know that sounds stiff and like I’m reading from a work of non-fiction, but bear with me. I have an idea. I think it’s time for us to rewrite the book or at least start on a blank page. I think we need to press pause on our lives in Manhattan and live fully, deliberately here.” I push the words out in a flurry so I don’t have a chance to try to chase them back in.
Rusty glances at me and then back at the ocean as if locked in an internal debate. Then he says, “I don’t want to be here longer than four weeks.”
“Me neither. But I’m committed to eight. When I get back to New York, I’ll deal with getting a job. In the meantime, let’s think about this as our very own spring break. Anything goes.”
He tucks his head back with an incredulous look. If he wasn’t so serious all the time I’d think he’d almost crossed his eyes in disbelief.
“Any ideas of what we can do around here to have fun?”
“Seaswell and fun aren’t synonymous.”
“What are you talking about? There’s the beach, a cute coffee shop, what else?” When he doesn’t answer, I say, “I think you and the word fun aren’t synonymous.”
The corners of Rusty’s lips drop as if he’s genuinely insulted.
“Listen, if you look up the word unlucky in the thesaurus, you will find the name Liselotte Emilia Schweinswald so I’m not throwing you shade. But I think if we’re going to make this work, we need to add a little panky to this hanky.”
“Do you know what that expression means?” Rusty asks, looking entirely too serious for his own good.
“Yes, I own a thesaurus. I’m just trying to make you smile. Or laugh. If I can acknowledge that I’m the unluckiest person on this planet, you can admit you could use a little fun in your life. Think about it. You’re the one who initiated this fake girlfriend-boyfriend thing. Let’s have a little fun with it like a spring fling.”
Rusty turns sharply in my direction.
“I’m not suggesting hanky panky.” The high school-age girls and their determination to make it the best spring break ever skates into my mind. “Just good, clean, old-fashioned fun...on an extended spring break. In four weeks, we can make up for the four years of misery that was high school for me.”
“You didn’t have fun in high school?”
“I was about as serious as you are now.”
“But those were glory days. We were free...”
“Maybe you were. I—” I shake my head not wanting to talk about why I was so self-conscious. “Remember, I have bad luck. Always have. Well, since I was thirteen.”
“What happened?”
The silhouette of two people approaches along the beach in the distance. I call Magnolia and she comes right away and sits at my feet. I give her a treat from the pouch in my pocket to reinforce the good behavior. “Oma should be doing this.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see her get out more.”
“She really ought to let her hair down, live a little. Like some other people I know.” I pin Rusty with my gaze.
He glances at me, the girl with her hair up.
“Alright, alright. Spring break. Woot.” He cheers weakly.
“I guess that’s a start. So what did you do in high school?”
“Parties. Bonfires on the beach. The Ice Palace.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“No, we’re standing here. Going nowhere.”
“I meant it figuratively. Lighten up, Rusty.”
“Going nowhere. That’s how I felt in high school. So many people got stuck in Seaswell. Look at Zoe.”
I shrug. “She seems happy enough.” Though I worry she’ll be even happier if she sinks her nails into my fake boyfriend. Well, not mine. Never mind.
“She called with concern about Oma and also told me about Joey McCauley. He was arguing with the hockey coach. It turns out he was sleeping in the locker room, tapping the kegs for the bar they open during games, and then passing out when he should’ve been working. He’s but one of many town losers. Thirty-five and still hanging out at the rink, sponging off the victories of the Storm—that’s the hockey team. It’s pathetic.”
“In that case, why don’t you show me the rink?”
He squints at me in the fading light. “You said you’re unlucky, right? If so, that’s the last place you want to go. You might break a limb or—”
I give him a long and appraising look as the last beams of daylight disappear behind the blanket of trees to the west.
“For your information, I may not know how to ride a bike, but I can ice skate. Clearly, you cannot. So the Ice Palace it is.” I jut my chin at his broken arm.
“First, dinner.”
“Oh, you’re a barrel of monkeys, Dr. Koenig. Do you treat your patients with this level of bedside manner, inspiring hope and happiness in them?”
“You tell me,” he says, presumably referring to the blood bank.
My stomach dives with nerves.
“Fine. Five stars. I’ll write one of those love notes from patients to hospital staff and pin it to the wall by the cafeteria.”
“Love notes? I think they’re called thank you notes. I would know, I’ve received more than a few.”
“You would, huh?” I check him with my shoulder.
Instead of ricocheting off, I feel magnetized, glued to the guy.
We pause for a moment as if we both have to regain our bearings.
“So you’d write me a love note?” he asks.
Our gazes float together.
Those eyes. They sparkle.
The stubble. So foxy.
His lips. So kissable.
My insides turn mushy. Wobbly.
“Yes, I’d write you a love note. You’re a good doctor,” I brave saying. Then add, “And while I was at it, I’d send the soft boiled egg and spider knuckles some hate mail.”
He chuckles and when we begin walking again, his good arm drapes across my back. I’m keenly aware of the way his palm grips just below my shoulder.
“Fake dating practice. Consider this training wheels.”
My jaw lowers. He’s teasing me, tempting me. But I glimpse his smile and it irons out the kind of frown that begets tears. A laugh escapes. It’s contagious because soon the chorus of our jointly nervous laughter echoes up and down the street. A dog barks and Magnolia stiffens at the end of the leash as though assessing whether to reply. Someone hollers at it or us to keep it down. But I only laugh harder.
“See? We’re already having fun.”
“Yeah, but now we have to go back to Oma’s,” Rusty says.
Hide and Squeak
Rusty
Holding my finger up to my lips, I signal silence as Lottie, the dog, and I slip into the kitchen.
The TV in the living room goes quiet for a moment and my stomach growls. The thing about being back in this town is that everyone knows me. They used to treat me like a hometown hero, but after everything with Sanderson, things changed. They’d fall quiet when I’d walk into a room. Critical gazes would follow me through a store. Then I left without fanfare...or a goodbye. It didn’t help that Zoe dumped me either.
I don’t imagine I’d receive a warm reception returning with a fancy degree, my Maserati, and girlfriend if I strode into Village Pizza, the diner on the edge of town, or The Hook for fish and chips. Those are institutions in Seaswell. It was risk
y enough going into the Roasted Rudder, but that place is new.
“How can we have fun if we have to sneak around?” Lottie asks.
I pause with my head in the open refrigerator.
Sure, I had fun in high school. Lots of it and I snuck around plenty. But then things changed. I did. Upping the ante and taking risks weren’t worth the difficulty...the heartbreak.
Lottie’s idea about reenacting spring break is silly, but I have the overwhelming urge to cross my name out of antonyms for fun in her thesaurus. And maybe while I’m at it, show her that she’s not as unlucky as she thinks. She met me for one. But seriously, she remains positive even through her challenges. It’s admirable. Other people flee. I knew this firsthand.
In the fridge, several plastic containers hold mysterious-looking broths and concoctions. A variety of green veggies fill the drawers at the bottom, and the slim second shelf hosts butter and eggs. Lots of butter and eggs.
When I close the door, Lottie stands right next to me. Close enough that her scent of buttercream and sunshine drowns the less pleasing odors coming from the refrigerator.
“Why are you smiling?” she asks.
“Thinking about dinner, Cupcake.”
“Food gets you excited?”
“Cupcakes do.” I wink, harnessing my fun, playful side that I left here one fateful day. I traded it in to become a doctor.
The cupcake on the kitchen table is gone, but Lottie’s cheeks tint the color of the frosting.
I pad around the kitchen, opening cabinets and drawers, orienting myself. A hodgepodge of mismatched china fills most of the upper cupboards. I find the pots and pans, baking sheets, and bakeware. The last cabinet, one almost as tall as me, holds canned and packaged food. I root through, coming up with a box of macaroni and cheese. I wipe a layer of dust coating the top to reveal it’s several years past due. I shake it. The noodles sound like maracas. It’s probably from when I last visited here.
I read the directions and fill a pot with water. While I wait for it to boil, I open a book I’d been reading earlier. Feeling eyes on me, I glance from Magnolia to Lottie, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.
