I barely put the car in park in Gran’s driveway before I whip my phone out and dial Trisha’s number. At first, she’s surprised that I’m calling her so late, and I realize that it’s almost 11 o’clock on a Thursday night. Most adults my age are asleep at this time of night, since they have adult things to attend to the next day, like kids and work. Not me, my slightly buzzed brain thinks. You’re a husbandless, childless spinster. Heck, maybe you’ll even be jobless too, depending how long you have to spend in this God-forsaken town.
Working hard not to cry or slur my words, I explain to Trisha the events of the night, starting with my sort-of-date with Cam and ending with the very unexpected encounter with Ainsley, and the news that she and Cam had recently been an item. I am met with a long, lofty silence.
Great, she thinks I’m absolutely nuts.
To my surprise, Trisha simply says, “Don’t move, I’ll be right over.”
Not fifteen minutes later, Trisha is at the door in her pajamas with two bottles of wine, a party-size bag of potato chips, a box of brownies, and a small stack of DVDs. I stand there, stunned, as she pushes past me and into the living room, setting the supplies on the coffee table and immediately inspecting the television set up.
“I hope Helen has a DVD player, I sold all my VHS tapes at a garage sale before I moved in with Eddie,” she says matter-of-factly, peering into the TV stand. She lets out a long sigh when she locates the DVD player, and pops in one of the discs she brought with her.
“What are you doing?” I ask, still standing by the door, both intrigued and a little frightened. “Are we going to watch sappy movies or something?”
Trisha barks a laugh.
“First, we’re going to watch Carrie,” she explains, a devilish grin on her face. “And down a bottle of wine while you tell me all about what happened. Then, once we’re all done venting, we’ll put on some sappy movies and have a good cry. That’s what the brownies and second bottle of wine are for.”
Makes sense, I think, feeling both grateful and a little frightened. “I’ll go get us some wine glasses.”
I find some wine glasses in the kitchen and take them back out to the living room, where Trisha has the movie ready to go, the wine bottle cracked, and pillows and blankets laid out on the couch. She shoos me away to go put my pajamas on, which I quickly do in the powder room and then get settled on the couch. Trisha pours us generous glasses of wine, presses play on the movie, and then turns to me.
“So,” she says, “spill.”
The serenely creepy opening theme music to Carrie begins to play, an oddly appropriate soundtrack to my jumbled feelings about Cam and Ainsley.
“I’m an idiot, that’s all there is to spill,” I say, but Trisha shakes her head.
“You’re not an idiot. If anything, Cam’s the idiot. I will never understand why he dated Ainsley in the first place,” she says fervently, clearly hoping to make me feel better. It’s not working.
“To make up for lost time?” I say, biting back the lump forming in my throat. “She always hated me in high school, always told me she could never understand how the captain of the football team would pick a nobody nerd like me over the head cheerleader. As if it were impossible that life would be like anything other than a crappy teen movie.”
Trisha winces. “We were really awful back then,” she says, referring to her role in Ainsley’s posse of popular girls. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s ancient history,” I tell her, even though I know that’s a lie. “Ainsley was always trying to get us to break up. I guess I’m not surprised that she made a move on Cam, seeing as she succeeded and all. Even if it was ten years later.”
“From what I heard, it only lasted a few weeks before Cam broke it off,” Trisha says, the glint in her eye telling me she has the scoop. She gives me a sly smile, and despite how terrible I’m feeling, I find I’m kind of dying to hear about it.
“What else did you hear?” I ask, suddenly grateful for small-town gossip.
“Apparently, Cam doesn’t do commitment,” she tells me. “He dates someone for a few weeks, and then right as things start to get serious, he breaks it off. Ainsley was convinced Cam was ‘the one,’ but he just called her up out of the blue one day and said that they were going in different directions and he needed to work on himself.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask, shocked at how much Trisha has told me.
“Ainsley owns the hair salon in town, and that place is the beating heart of the town’s gossip mill.”
Ahh. How fitting.
“According to Ainsley, they will get back together any day now. It’s just a matter of time. But if you ask me...” her face softens, and she looks directly into my eyes. “There’s a past love he just hasn’t quite gotten over.”
A chill races through me, and I can feel my face getting flushed. I drain my glass of wine, and hold the empty glass out to Trisha for a refill, saying nothing. Trisha laughs, and then adds, “By the looks of it, neither have you.”
I wrinkle my nose, but still don’t say anything. It doesn’t change the fact that the thought of Cam and Ainsley together, of Cam picking her up for a date, holding her hand, kissing her... the thought of all that twists my stomach into knots, the same way it did when I was a teenager. The thought of anything beyond that makes me want the ground to swallow me up and spit me out into the void. No, it doesn’t matter what unresolved feelings either one of us might have about the past. We couldn’t possibly go there again. Not now.
I look at the television screen, where Carrie is being forced into a closet by her mother after being humiliated by her classmates and dismissed from school, and figure I can understand why the movie ends the way it does.
THE NEXT MORNING, I wake up to a loud banging noise that seems to shake the entire house. I peel myself off the couch, my head feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds, and pick up a handwritten note off the coffee table.
Had to open the store today. Hope you feel better! Let’s talk later.
-Trish
“How?” I say aloud, wincing as the sound of my own voice sends a sharp pain up the left side of my skull. After killing both bottles of wine and then dipping to Gran’s liquor cabinet last night, I can’t imagine how Trish can stand, let alone go to work. Either she’s made of steel, or I can’t hold my alcohol anymore. I make a mental note to remember to do something nice for her, to thank her for coming to my rescue.
The banging starts again, the sound like someone is hammering a nail directly into my head. Wondering what it could possibly be, I quickly throw on the same clothes I wore the day before, toss my tangled hair into a ponytail, and run out of the front door, my hands covering my ears and my head splitting.
The light from the morning sun is not my friend. For a moment, I am blinded when I step outside, the rapid adjustment of my pupils setting my brain on fire, a wave of nausea crashing over me. I come to a screeching halt on the porch, bracing my hands on my thighs, and hanging my head low between my legs. I inhale a few deep breaths, trying to get my bearings, noticing that in addition to the banging, I can also hear the dull chatter of people talking and the sound of power tools. Once I am confident that I won’t vomit all over the porch, I slowly raise my head and stand up, jumping backward when I see Cam standing over me.
“Morning,” he says, his head cocked to the side and a silly grin on his face. I can’t imagine what he’s smiling about so damn early in the morning. It takes me a moment, but I remember that I’m angry with him.
“What are you doing here?” I ask curtly, and he just stares at me. I blink a few times, wincing in pain again at how bright it is. I’m also acutely aware that I look like I’ve been hit by a truck.
“Your roof,” he says, watching intently as I bite back another wave of nausea. A cold sweat breaks out over me, and he asks, “Are you okay?”
“Peachy,” I say shakily, exhaling slowly and rubbing my temples. “You’re working on the roof already?”
&n
bsp; “Well, we got the materials in, and I know you’re hoping to get back to New York as soon as possible,” Cam replies. “Figured we better get started.”
My skin pricks at the idea that he expects me to get out of Rocky Point so soon. Maybe he just can’t wait for me to leave, I think. Although, after last night, I’m not exactly wanting to stick around to see more of him and Ainsley together. My eyes cross as another wave of nausea crests over me, and I bite back the bile rising in my throat. Damn wine.
“Are sure you’re okay?” Cam asks.
“I just overdid it a little last night, that’s all.”
Cam cocks one eyebrow. “I didn’t think you had that much to drink.”
“Maybe not at the bar,” I say scowling at him. “Trisha came over after with some wine to help me forget how much of an idiot I am.”
Ignoring my jab, he knits his brows together. “Do you mean Trisha Dodd? I didn’t know you two were friends.”
“She’s Trisha Dearing now,” I remind him. “And yes, we are.”
“Surprising,” he quips. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Well, what can I say? People change.”
His eyes darken as I throw his own words back at him, his face softening. Looking around, he takes a step toward me and bends his head close, his voice a low rumble.
“I really am sorry about last night,” he says, causing my heart to skip a beat. I can smell the sharp, clean scent of his soap and cologne, the dark blue pools of his eyes bearing into my own. I can tell he’s sincere, but I steel my nerves. I’m not some teenager he can charm the pants off anymore. Sort of.
“It’s fine,” I say, trying my best to appear unaffected.
“It’s not,” he insists. “Look, Ainsley and I dated for a minute, but it ended practically right away. It didn’t take long for me to realize she hasn’t changed at all. She’s manipulative and self-centered, and I didn’t want anything to do with it. She took it pretty hard, obviously.”
Hello, ego. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Cam,” I say.
“But I feel like I do. It wasn’t even a blip on the radar, Lizzie,” he says. “Seriously, there was nothing physical, either.”
“Okay, okay,” I say, holding up my hands in front of me. Sheesh, I really didn’t need to know that. “Like I said, you don’t need to explain your relationship to me. Who you date is your business.”
I fold my arms over my chest and drop my eyes to the ground, chastising myself for the tiny spark of satisfaction I felt when he told me they hadn’t done anything physical. It really had been just a short, meaningless fling. Trisha had been right.
Cam clears his throat and jams his hands into his pockets, his eyes flitting from me, then to the ground, then back to me. They settle on my mouth and he licks his lips absentmindedly, causing all the air to disappear from my lungs in an instant. Oh man, I am in so much trouble. In a low, steady voice, he says, “When I first saw you, that day in the rain, I didn't know how I would react. Part of the reason why I went over myself after Trisha called was because I needed to see... I needed to know..."
"Know what?" I whisper. His eyes search mine, and he's close enough that I can feel his ragged, unsteady breathing. My heart feels like it's about to jump out of my chest.
"I needed to know if..."
"Boss?"
As if a current of electricity had just shocked us both, Cam and I each jump a full step backward. One of the guys on his crew is standing a few feet away, a bright yellow hardhat on his head and a clipboard in his hand.
“What’s up, Hank?” Cam asks.
“Need you to take a look at something, if you don’t mind.”
Cam shoots a glance back my way, then nods at Hank. “Sure thing.”
He follows Hank around to the back of the house, and I exhale a long, slow breath. Head still pounding, I go back inside where I find that my cell phone is on the coffee table, blinking with a notification. I click the button on the side of my phone to unlock the screen, and see that I have five missed calls, four voicemails, and several text messages, all from Cheryl. The most recent text message simply reads: SOS. Get here, now.
My stomach knots at the sight of the message, and I immediately dial Cheryl back, trying not to panic. Please, please pick up, I think as the phone rings and rings, three times, then four, then five, until an exasperated Cheryl finally comes on the other side of the phone.
“Elizabeth,” she says, sounding slightly out of breath, as though she’s been running a marathon. “You’ve got to get to the nursing home, quick. Your grandmother is... well, she’s having an episode.”
“An episode?” I ask, grabbing my purse and car keys and heading back outside. “What kind of episode?”
“I’ll explain when you get here, just... come quick.”
The other end of the line clicks before I can get another word in, and I swallow hard. Jogging off the porch, I head toward my car, visions of worst-case scenarios running through my head. I don’t know enough about Gran’s disease to know what Cheryl meant by ‘episode,’ but I assume it can’t be good. My tunnel vision causes me to run straight into something solid, and... warm? I shake myself out of it and look up to see a broad chest in front of me, large arms holding onto mine, the contact practically searing my skin.
It’s Cam.
“Lizzie, what the hell? Where are you going?” he asks.
“No time,” I say, shaking my head. I realize the rest of me is shaking, too. “I have to get to Gran.”
“Gran? Is something wrong with Helen? Lizzie, talk to me!”
Cam’s hands come up to my shoulders, and he bends down until he’s eye-level with me. I suck in a deep breath, staring into his dark blue eyes as if they’re the only thing keeping me rooted to the ground.
“Cheryl said I need to get there fast,” I choke out, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I don’t... I don’t know what’s going on, but it doesn’t sound good.”
“Okay,” he says, his thumbs gently rubbing my arm. The contact sends an explosion of goosebumps over my skin. “Take a deep breath. I’ll go with you, just give me one second.”
“No,” I say. I can’t make him go with me to deal with Gran, especially not knowing what I’m about to walk into. I can’t burden him with this. “I’m fine, really.”
“You’re not fine,” Cam insists. “Let me tell my crew I’ll be stepping out for a little while, and I’ll drive you.”
His gives my shoulders a little squeeze, and my heart squeezes, too. I want to tell him no, make him stay, but I’m feeling panicky and my legs are wobbly. Deep down, I’m grateful for the offer.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Of course,” he says, releasing me. My arms immediately miss the warmth of his hands. He turns back to the house and his crew. “Hank!” he yells. “I need to head out for a little while. Call my cell if you need me.”
“Sure thing, boss!” Hank yells back. His hand coming to the small of my back, Cam guides me to his truck, which I hadn’t noticed was parked in the driveway until now. He opens the passenger door and I climb into the cab of the truck, buckling my seatbelt as he jogs around to the driver’s side and gets in.
Cam starts the truck and peels out of the driveway, heading out of Rocky Point proper toward the nursing home. We sit in silence on the drive, Cam’s knuckles white on the steering wheel. I’m looking out the window, watching the trees and houses pass by. Despite the fact that I’m anxious about the unknown, and what the future might look like for Gran, I feel comforted that Cam is beside me. His presence is like a security blanket, letting me know that I’m not alone in this, and I am thankful.
Chapter Ten
Elizabeth
I PRACTICALLY LAUNCH myself out of the car when we get to the nursing home, Cam trailing closely behind me. He hangs back when we get to Gran’s apartment, muttering that he doesn’t want to intrude but also giving me a look that says, if you need me, I’m here. I can hear commotion from inside the apartment,
and my heart is ready to burst from my chest, the sound of my heartbeat echoing like a drumline. I give Cam one last look, one that I hope says thank you, and then hastily turn the doorknob to Gran’s apartment and step inside.
I’m barely inside the threshold when something small and heavy sails past my face, hitting the wall to my right and shattering on impact. I duck instinctively, and look around to see Cheryl by Gran’s bedroom, peeking around the open door. In the kitchenette, nurse Angie is tending to a male aide with a gash on his head, holding a towel to the open, bleeding wound. I observe the scene for a brief moment, dumbstruck, before I can comprehend what’s happening. Gran has clearly gone postal.
“What the hell is going on in here?” I ask, getting Cheryl’s attention. She looks crazed, but relieved to see me, and darts past the door as if she’s running from heavy enemy fire.
“The crazy old bird clocked me over the head when I tried to administer her meds!” the aide shouts. My mouth drops open in disbelief. I know Gran has always been a tough cookie, but I can’t imagine her being intentionally violent to anyone. Not physically, anyway. Angie scowls at the aide, who can’t be more than twenty years old, and swats him on the arm.
“Don’t you call her names, Stuart. She is scared and agitated, it’s not her fault.”
“Tell that to my bleeding head!” he shouts back, and Angie takes his hand and presses it over the towel on his head.
“Apply some pressure and don’t move, you’ll be fine!” she yells, jogging over to Cheryl and I by the front door.
“Get out of my house!” Gran shrieks from the bedroom, another object flying out from the doorway. This time, it’s a hard plastic water cup. Water and ice sail through the air, soaking the carpet. “He’s trying to poison me!”
“I’m not trying to poison you!” Stuart shouts back. Cheryl, Angie, and I turn and scowl at him. Stuart frowns and sits down on one of the kitchen chairs, his hand still pressed firmly on the towel against his head. Angie then turns to me.
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