“She decided to turn in early,” I lie.
“Does that have something to do with you?”
“Yes.” Because I can’t tell one more tonight, especially not to Lorraine.
She’s quiet for a minute, tipping her head back to the sky, where the moon’s just starting to shine. “I’ve been married to Paul a long time,” she says. “That’s what a fight looks like between us too, though usually it’s the other way around. I’m too quiet, and he tries to compensate.”
“You know me, Lorraine,” I say, rubbing a hand over my hair. “I’ve never been much of a talker.”
“You were never sullen or difficult, either.”
“Lorraine, I—”
“I felt sorry for that woman today, Aiden. You may think this is about the camp, but she was looking for your approval today, God knows why. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. ”
I am, I want to say. But also want to say: You don’t know who she is. What she’s done. She ought to be ashamed. But even as I think it, I know: she is ashamed. That’s the worst part.
I settle for a lame, “It’s complicated.”
“Maybe it’s not a good time for you to be here, then. You know, I was so happy to know you’d be bringing someone, someone who’d be your partner in this,” she says, sweeping an arm out, her this meant to encompass the whole camp, everything that means something to her. “We take this seriously, Paul and me. This is our place, Aiden. It’s difficult for us, considering the sale, and we want it to go to a family who’s in it together.”
I look down at her, and for the first time since I pulled up here I really feel the weight of years between us. I remember Lorraine as the surrogate mom I had for six weeks every summer, the woman who hugged me close every time it was time to say goodbye until the next year, and not as the woman who holds my future in her hands. She still looks young, her face mostly unlined, her cheeks full and her eyes bright. But her hair is more gray, her shoulders a bit more stooped. At Aaron’s funeral, Lorraine had cried silent tears and held Paul’s hand tightly as they moved through the receiving line. She’d brought a small box of photographs she’d had of him from camp. She gave that box to me, not my parents.
It reminds me what I owe her, and what I owe to this place. “I take it seriously too. I’m sorry about today, and—I’ll fix things with Zoe. It’s my fault, the way it was with us. I—” I break off, look down at where Lorraine’s lantern rests on the path. “We really want to do this. It’s something we’ve worked on a lot.” I know now, I won’t call it off with Zoe. I can’t. If I want this, it has to work with Zoe for these next few weeks. I’ve got to remember that she’s nothing to me. She’s a means to an end.
“She certainly seemed enthusiastic,” Lorraine says, softening immediately like always. Two weeks bathroom duty, I remember her saying to me, stern and disappointed, when I was nine and had been caught out after curfew. But then she’d walked me back to the cabin and bent down to give me a hug when she’d seen my quivering chin. “I liked her. She’s probably too good for you.”
“Probably,” I say, automatically, and I realize with a hitch of discomfort in my shoulders that I’m not lying. I don’t like her, don’t want her, but that doesn’t mean I can’t see that she’s way out of my league.
“How did you meet?” Of course she asks—of course it seems like the perfect moment to her for this conversation, now that we’ve got a minute alone. And of course I’m wildly unprepared.
“Oh. Just—around town.” Suddenly it is painfully apparent to me what a mistake it was to leave Zoe behind. I think of her, back in the cabin. About now she’s probably figuring out how you’ve got to steer well clear of that curtain when you’re in the shower, or else it’ll stick right to you, no matter how many times you peel it away from yourself. And I hope that bug she mentioned didn’t come back and spook her. I hope she managed with her bed.
“Was it one of those websites?” Lorraine asks. “You can tell me, you know. Don’t be embarrassed. I hear that’s what most people do these days.”
“It wasn’t a website,” I say, but I don’t have a better answer. I’m saved by the sound of Hammond’s loud voice, Sheree’s softer one, the leaves rustling underneath their feet as they approach. Walt and Rachel are no doubt on the way. Lorraine nods at me, straightens from the post, and pats my arm. “We’ll talk more soon, all right? But when you get back to your cabin, Aiden, you either apologize to that woman, or you’ll be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future.”
Either way, I think. Either way, I’m sleeping alone.
Chapter 5
Zoe
“I’m telling you. He tried to kill me.”
“I don’t know how you can say that about Kenneth,” Greer answers, appalled. “He’s the sweetest cat who ever lived.”
“Greer,” Kit says, taking another fry from our shared plate. “He tried to sleep on my face. He was trying to kill me or trying to suck out my soul. Take your pick.”
We’re on minute eight of this argument, Kit’s catalog of Kenneth’s sins while Greer was on vacation, followed by Greer’s gentle defensiveness, and honestly I think they’re both keeping it up for my benefit. Of the three of us, I’m generally the talker, but since I got back on Sunday I’ve been feeling pretty introverted—jarred and unexpectedly exhausted from what was, all told, only a few hours of deception. Maybe I should’ve been grateful to Aiden for leaving me out like he did, but instead all it’d done was make me more unsure about the weekends to come, about how it’d even be possible to keep this up. No matter how much I keep telling myself that it’s Aiden who’s making things difficult, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m responsible for what happens in Stanton Valley, that I’ve got to make sure Aiden has what he wants.
Despite my ruminating, I don’t miss the beat of silence, the hope I might finally chime in, so I oblige. “Maybe I should watch Kenneth next time. It’s up in the air as to whether I have a soul, so it’s possible having a feline around will reveal the truth.”
Hmm. Went too dark, I think, because Greer purses her lips and Kit says, “Honey. Stop that.”
“Sorry.” And I am. I don’t want to be a spoiler, especially not tonight, since Ben’s gone back to Texas for another week, tying up loose ends at his job before he moves here full-time. Kit keeps busy, as independent as she’s ever been, but I know she misses him. “How many more weeks of the back-and-forth?” I ask her.
“About three and a half.” A wide smile spreads across her face. “His dad and I are planning a welcome back party for him,” she says, proudly. “Obviously you guys will come, and I think…”
I lose track of what she’s saying when I spot a familiar form duck through the bar’s front door—so tall, so broad shouldered, that distinctive way he carries himself, alert and slightly tense. He’s wearing a uniform—heavy black boots, dark navy cargoes, a dark navy t-shirt fitted to his body, the white EMS seal of his crew over his right pectoral.
Aiden.
“Oh, fuck,” I say, instinctively turning back to the bar, my face hot and my palms sweaty. What is he doing here? Despite my low mood, I’m out tonight to be with my friends, to be with people who don’t look at me with barely concealed disdain. I dressed up a little too—a short, bohemian-style dress under a denim jacket and low-heeled suede boots, feathered earrings dancing at my earlobes. It was all just for the fun of it, a little pick-me-up to help me feel more like myself. I don’t want him to see me like this. I get enough of his disapproval when I’m actually trying to please him.
“Are you okay?” says Greer, touching my arm gently. She and Kit have both tucked in, each on one side of me, immediately protective.
“Uh—that guy who just came in. That’s him. That’s Aiden.”
Neither of them are apparently protective enough to keep from twisting dramatically on their stools to gape in his direction.
“Oh my God,” I say, in embarrassment, at the same time Greer says it, in a decidedly different ton
e.
“He’s like—” she begins, then breaks off, before finishing lamely, “tall.”
“Holy moly, that’s the guy you’re faking an engagement for?” Kit whispers loudly. “He’s gorgeous!”
“He’s with a woman,” Greer says, and my head snaps up and around, back to where I saw him come in.
And sure enough, Aiden’s with a woman—petite, curvy, brown haired, and wearing the same uniform as his, which she manages to make look cute as all get out. Her hair is pulled into a messy topknot, her face tanned and smiling. My stomach plummets, maybe to somewhere around the area of my knees. And then Aiden looks up, catches me watching, and my stomach probably slides out from beneath my feet.
“Just—you know,” I say, my teeth gritted. “Act normal.”
“Uh, right,” says Kit. “We’ll follow your lead, huh?” I catch her tossing a sidelong glance to Greer, who offers a sympathetic wince in my direction.
“It’s fine,” I say, raising a hand in halfhearted greeting. “We’re not together, obviously.” But why didn’t he ask her to be the fake fiancée? I think, the voice in my head whinier than anything I’d ever actually verbalize. Aiden nods back, leans down to say something to his companion, who smiles widely in my direction. Of course, she has fucking dimples! She saves lives and has dimples. She probably bakes and does crafts, like with all that antique-looking paper I didn’t have for my guilt jar. “Maybe I should go to the bathroom,” I say, watching as Dimples makes her way over, tugging a reluctant Aiden by his forearm.
“God hates a coward, Z,” says Greer.
“You’re supposed to be the nice one,” I snap, but my eyes don’t leave Aiden’s. I don’t know him well, but I feel like I see something there—embarrassment or apology—and this gives me what I need to straighten my spine, to tip my chin up. I don’t have to be Miss America here.
“Hi, I’m Charlie,” says Dimples, and I hold my beer a little tighter, right around its sweaty neck. “And you’re Aiden’s fiancée!”
I look toward him, panicked, unsure of what to do now. Is this not a person he’s with? Do people outside of Stanton Valley think this engagement is real? Am I supposed to do something fiancée appropriate here, to keep the ruse going? I slide from my stool and stand, about to go to him, but he says, “She knows,” before I can humiliate myself, I guess, by trying to greet him affectionately.
“Right.” I stick out my hand, all business, and she shakes it vigorously.
“You must be some kind of saint,” she says, still shaking. I’m trying not to stare, or gape, or reveal anything on my face that suggests how profoundly confused I am about why any woman would date a man who is faking an engagement for the next month and a half.
“Oh, I—well. I am not.” But Charlie’s moved on, shaking hands with Kit and Greer before turning back to Aiden and saying, “Budweiser?”
She knows his beer! I’m indignant for no sane reason whatsoever.
“Doesn’t even look like this place serves regular beer,” he grumbles.
“Hey,” I say, defensive. “This is a good place.”
“He’s in a bad mood,” Charlie says. “Our last run was a repeat caller.”
“Charlie, stop.” Aiden’s voice is low and serious, but Charlie rolls her eyes, and I envy that too, the shorthand they seem to have together, the kind Aiden wanted no part of with me.
“Let’s just say someone’s got a big crush on their friendly local paramedic. She was wearing a new nightgown, Aiden. Did you notice?” Charlie’s eyes are full of mischief, and I am less ashamed than I should be for hating her so much just from this tiny glimpse of her closeness with Aiden.
Aiden stares at the ground, shaking his head wordlessly.
“Aiden,” I say, and he looks up immediately, right into my eyes, setting off a shower of sparks in my middle that I try to tamp down, since I’m pretty sure I’m standing next to his actual girlfriend. “These are my friends that I told you about, Kit and Greer.”
“Hey,” he says, shaking their hands, giving them a dose of that eye contact that half stuns me, and even though I know Kit is as loyal as it comes, I’m pretty sure she bats her eyelashes at him, and Greer’s mouth is open a little. Traitors, both of them. If they expect to get more conversation out of him, they’re going to be disappointed, because as far as I know Aiden is about as talkative as Kenneth.
I can’t take the way Kit and Greer are staring at him, probably devising a list of ten to fifteen questions they have about him personally and about our ridiculous arrangement, so I decide to take control of the situation. Unfortunately, the conversational control I have around Aiden is like a two on a scale of one to one million. “This is, um,” I say, awkwardly, “a place we come to. A lot. You probably don’t, right? Because we would have seen you, I’m sure. We come here a lot.”
“You said,” he answers, and I’m not sure—I’ll probably have to consult with Dimples Charlie on this—but is Aiden maybe…teasing me a little?
The moment is interrupted by the arrival of a man even bigger than Aiden, also in uniform, who slaps Aiden on the back and says, “Sorry, stopped and got food.”
“We came here to eat,” says Aiden, his voice disbelieving.
“There’s a good taco stand around the corner.” He shrugs, then looks at me and smiles, white teeth beneath his black beard, his eyes crinkling genially. “Hi,” he says, sticking out a hand. “I’m Ahmed.”
“This is Zoe,” Aiden snaps, before I can say anything.
“No shit?” Ahmed pumps my hand in his. “You’re beautiful.”
Aiden lowers his head again, says something sharp I don’t catch, but Ahmed clearly does, straightening away from me and exchanging friendly introductions with Kit and Greer, who seem to be enjoying themselves far more than is appropriate, given that I have the kind of flop sweat that should be documented for science.
“It’s Charlie’s birthday tomorrow,” Aiden says to me. “She wanted to come here.”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, you don’t have to explain. I don’t own the place.”
Charlie returns, holding two bottles and handing one to Aiden. “Sorry, Med,” she says to the new member of this strange, cobbled-together group. “You’ll have to get your own. The bartender here is gorgeous.” She tips her chin to where Betty pulls a Guinness.
“You’re a married woman, Charlie,” says Ahmed before heading toward Betty, and my shoulders slouch briefly in relief, but not so briefly that Aiden doesn’t see it, his lips quirking at the corners.
Charlie heaves out a sigh. “I’m noticing for you, jerk,” she calls after him before turning back to us. “But it has been a whole month since I’ve seen my wife.”
“Oh, are you doing long distance too?” Kit asks, patting the stool beside her, and Charlie settles in, Kit completely ignoring the death-ray look that I am sending, which is meant to say, Stop this please; we need to separate from these people and get the fuck out of this bar.
“Charlie’s wife is in med school up in D.C.,” Aiden says. “They don’t see each other much lately.” Like me, he seems to be trying to telegraph a message of his own, but Charlie is oblivious, dimpling all over Kit and Greer, and I know for a fact Kit has a weakness for dimples. Pretty soon the three of them are laughing like old friends, while Aiden and I stand awkwardly apart.
“So. Someone’s got a crush on you?” I try, knowing that at least Charlie got a reaction out of Aiden with this topic.
“She’s eighty.” He shrugs, looking down at the floor, a little embarrassed, I’d bet. “Just lonely, I think.”
“Ah.” And that’s the sum total of all my conversation ideas. I don’t know who to be around Aiden when I’m not playing the roles he’s cast me in: as a villain in the story surrounding his brother’s death, or as his too-enthusiastic, “Miss America” fake fiancée.
“Boss says no tables for a while,” Ahmed says when he returns, hooking a thumb over his shoulder toward Betty.
“You could probably have
our stools.” I’m eager to get out of here, but Kit’s been listening enough to say, “We just got here.” I’m starting to wonder whether Kenneth did, in fact, suck out her soul.
“It’s all right,” Aiden offers. “Med, let’s go play a game of darts.”
“I play darts,” I say, without thinking. It was awkward before; now I’ve made it excruciating, because Aiden seems to stiffen, clearly expecting the darts idea to be his way out of being around me.
Somehow, though, his rising discomfort emboldens me. I’m suddenly indignant that I have to feel out of place in my favorite bar, with my best friends, all because of this weekend-only farce I’m enduring for Aiden. I flick my hair over my shoulder, feel my feathered earrings tickle the sides of my neck.
“301 up?” I say, and head to the dartboard, ignoring the way Ahmed’s eyebrows have raised in surprise, and the way Aiden’s have lowered in what I can only assume is annoyance. On my way, I toss a look back where my friends sit at the bar, and Greer gives me an encouraging thumbs-up.
I may have to eat humble pie at camp with this guy, but here, I’m in charge.
Ahmed sucks at darts, mostly because he’s too talkative, unfocused and easily distracted. He asks me what my favorite item on the menu is, how long I’ve lived here, if I think lawyer jokes are funny. Aiden, though—he’s decent, surprising because I generally think players as tall as him are at a disadvantage. Betty takes darts pretty seriously, and the board she has up is exactly regulation, the bullseye 5′8″ off the ground. When I’m wearing a couple inches of heel, like I am tonight, I’m 5′11″, nearly eye level with the board from where I stand at the oche. Aiden, when he aims, has to curve down slightly to accommodate his height, and while he’s by no means a natural—his movements too forceful to be an outstanding player—he’s got all the focus and determination Ahmed lacks. When our game is interrupted by the arrival of several plates of food that Charlie ordered from the bar, Ahmed happily quits, but Aiden waves the food away.
Luck of the Draw Page 7
