Mystic Summer

by Hannah McKinnon

  I let his words settle on the warm night air around us. “I still can’t believe all you’ve been through together. She’s so little.”

  Cam shakes his head. “Sometimes I can’t, either.” But then he grins. “She’s a tough little nugget. After that first surgery, when she was in recovery and coming out of sedation, we were a wreck. They’d let us in to be with her, and we just couldn’t stop staring at her. I think I was holding my breath the whole time. And yet when she woke up, she smiled at both of us.”

  Us. “So, Emory’s mom was still in the picture at that time.” It’s something I’ve been wondering about since our first meeting on the pier.

  Cam pauses, as if sifting through his thoughts. “It was complicated. We took a leave from school and came back to Connecticut, specifically so that we could go to Yale’s cardiac catheterization lab. Lauren and I got though Emory’s procedure and recovery, but even afterward it was an awful time. Lauren hadn’t planned to have a baby to begin with. And here she was walking away from everything she’d worked for in her life and trying to cope with having a really sick child. It was scary for both of us.”

  As I listen to Cam, I’m a little taken aback by the credit he is giving Lauren—listing the few things she did right, before doing the most wrong thing a parent could do. Finally, he lets out a long breath.

  “But yeah. To answer your question, Lauren left us shortly after. She couldn’t handle it.”

  My mind spins: Had Lauren left because she didn’t want to be a parent? Or because she couldn’t come to terms with being the parent of a sick child? But as the trill of peepers rises in the woods behind us, I realize it doesn’t matter why she left. Cam stayed.

  We lean over the railing, side by side. I set my bottle down and reach over. Cam’s hand is chilly when I place my fingers across his.

  “I’m sorry, Cam. I think it’s really admirable the way you’re handling all this.” Even having heard his story, it’s still hard for me to wrap my arms around it. I can’t help but think of Jane, and my two healthy nephews and niece.

  Cam lifts one shoulder. “Emory is my focus, now. Keeping her healthy and happy and making sure that she’s gaining weight—that’s everything. Until the next procedure. And then we’ll do it again.”

  The heaviness of our conversation seems out of place against the summer night. “Is there any time frame for her next surgery?”

  “In a few weeks. It sounds scary, and believe me, when I first thought of doctors working on my child’s heart, I was terrified. But they do these catheterizations all the time now. It’s a day procedure—she comes home the same night if all goes well.”

  Cam seems so calm as he shares this. “So, right now, she’s doing okay?” I ask.

  “Well, her immune system is fragile, so there are precautions we take, and there are medications we have to keep her on—like heparin. I guess you could say that we have more doctor appointments than most babies.” His voice softens. “But right now, yes, she’s okay.”

  “How about you?” I ask gently. And I wonder as I ask it if anyone else has asked Cam how he is. I wonder if he’s even had time to ask himself.

  But Cam doesn’t hesitate. “I’m a dad now. I’m her dad. I have to be okay.”

  It’s a line that separates Cam and me. No matter how many diapers I’ve changed for my niece and nephews, or how much I think I’ve gleaned from Jane about staying up with a sick baby all night or waiting in a doctor’s office for test results, these are not vigils I have ever had to keep. I am not a parent, let alone a parent of a sick child. I will not pretend that I can imagine the fear that Cam has felt. And yet my heart pumps, with all its health and vigor, with new wonder for this man standing beside me.

  Fourteen

  A few mornings later, Erika wakes me up. “I’m on my way,” she barks into the phone.

  “What?” I roll over and look at the clock. It’s barely seven thirty. “Where?”

  “I couldn’t take the scorching city another second. So last night I packed my bags.” She tells me that she’s taken two weeks of leave for her wedding—a week more than originally planned. Her boss, Raj, instantly threatened to replace her, but she knows he won’t. “I wrapped up his briefings a week early for the Landry case. Besides, he loves me,” she says, with no small amount of assuredness. And I believe her.

  “So where are you now?” I ask, stifling a yawn. It’s too early in the morning to process all this.

  “I’m on the Mass Pike.” She pauses. “God, Maggie. I can’t believe this is the last time I’ll drive the Pike as a single woman.”

  I swing my legs over the side of the bed. “Fascinating point. When do you get here?”

  “In about an hour!” she shouts. There is a rushing staticky noise in the background.

  “Are you in Trent’s car, with the top down, by any chance?” I ask.

  “Of course I am. Do you have any idea how much stuff a bride and groom need for their wedding weekend? I couldn’t possibly carry all that on the train.”

  “Right. So, then how will Trent get here?”

  Erika is not fazed. “By train.”

  We make plans to meet for dinner. “I need a shot just to get the strength to pull into my parents’ driveway,” Erika groans. “My mother is in full wedding-madness mode. How am I going to manage two weeks at home with my parents?”

  “Ha, tell me about it. I’ve already been home for a week.”

  “So what have you been doing? Since you left town it’s like you’ve fallen off the planet.”

  I pause a beat. I haven’t mentioned Cam or Emory. Or my official unemployment.

  “I’ve been making sure your big day is all set!” I say instead.

  “You’re the best, Mags.”

  Twelve hours and two cosmos later, we’re seated at Bravo Bravo’s on the water as Erika scrolls through her to-do list. “You have no idea,” she says before taking a long sip of her icy drink, “how many loose ends there still are to tie up.”

  I don’t add that I have some of my own, too. Erika is in venting mode, and I’ve learned that it’s best to let her get it all out if I expect to get a word in later.

  “Did I tell you what happened? I left my veil behind in Boston!”

  “Surely Trent can just ship it for you.”

  Erika looks at me as if I’ve suggested Trent make her a new veil out of paper napkins and Elmer’s Glue.

  “I am not trusting my veil to the postal service. Someone will have to personally drive it down.”

  “Maybe Peyton could just bring the veil when she comes for the wedding?”

  Erika shakes her head as if something is crawling in her ear. “And risk it being forgotten? Besides, I need it now so it can be pressed in advance, along with my dress.”

  I don’t ask who will get the dubious honor of driving the veil from Boston. As long as it’s not me.

  Erika continues down her list. “So, let’s see . . . the band has confirmed their reservation at the inn. The florist okayed the freesia that I wanted to add into your bridesmaid bouquets. You’re okay with that, right?” Erika glances at me quickly for confirmation, but she’s already on to the next item before I can nod my head. “The caterer called for final head counts for the rehearsal dinner clambake.” She pauses. “Did you know they ordered two thousand clams? Does that seem like a lot of clams to you? Oh, and Trent’s mother flies in from her pre-wedding Canyon Ranch retreat next Sunday. Shouldn’t I be the one taking a pre-wedding retreat?”

  I smile into my cosmo at the fact that Trent’s mother comes at the end of the list, after the clams. “Well, it sounds like everything is pretty well under control,” I say, hoping we’re done with lists for the moment. “When do Trent and the groomsmen arrive?”

  There are two weeks until the actual wedding, but Erika has turned the event into a bit of a drawn-out occasion, with golf outings, family dinners, and boat trips leading up to the big day. For those who come to town early, there will be at least four da
ys of events to attend. I’m already exhausted just thinking about it.

  “Didn’t Evan tell you?”

  I shrug, feigning forgetfulness. I’ve kept our recent communications brief to avoid being pressed any further about apartments. It’s too stressful.

  Erika shakes her head in disgust. “They’re not coming in until the Thursday before. Trent is wrapping up some big deal at work, and he insists that he get it done before the honeymoon. I had to move the golf event out by a whole day.”

  I make a mental note of this; if the groomsmen don’t arrive until the Thursday before the wedding, that means it’ll be twelve days until Evan and I are in the same zip code. Our crab cakes arrive. When I first came home, I was pining for Evan to arrive. But now I can’t deny the fact that I’m counting the days I have left alone.

  “So what’s new with you?” Erika says finally, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. We’re done with dinner, which means the time it’ll take to eat the small dessert we’ve ordered to share (which we both know Erika will only stare longingly at) is my allotment of talk-time.

  “Well, it’s official. I lost my job.”

  Erika jerks upright. “Why didn’t you tell me? Here I am dribbling on about wedding stuff. How are you feeling”

  My feelings are still mixed. The sense of initial freedom has been replaced with the fear that I won’t find anything. Almost worse is my other fear that the one job I find will be something I don’t like at all. “It’s so strange—I suddenly can’t imagine not going back to Darby. I’m not going to see those kids again. I’m not going to teach in that classroom, with the birch tree right outside my window, and Sharon just down the hall. I’m going to have to start all over.” I shake my head.

  For once, Erika doesn’t say anything. She reaches across the table and puts her hand on my arm.

  “And did I mention that I hung out with Cam?” I laugh at the absurdity of all of this. None of it is funny.

  Erika sits back in her chair and smiles sympathetically. “By that, do you mean you happened to see him in town? Or did you actually make plans to see him?”

  Here is where it gets murky. “Both.”

  The server brings our chocolate cake, which both of us stare at blankly for a moment. “Wow. You have been busy.” Erika runs a finger across the chocolate frosting and pops it in her mouth. “Let me ask you something. Do you have feelings for Cam again?”

  It comes as an instant relief: someone recognizes my distress and she’s tossing me the lifesaver. And yet I can’t reach for it. Because, outside of sympathy and fond memories, I’m not sure if I have genuine feelings for Cam. And second, what good would it do if I did? Cam’s life is full and complicated. And mine—well, right now it’s just complicated. “I’m confused,” I say finally.

  “Does Cam know about Evan?”

  Only then does it dawn on me that I can’t recall ever having mentioned Evan. Not even once, despite the fact that Cam has shared so many intimacies with me. A fresh guilt fills me. “No,” I say in a small voice. Then, when Erika narrows her eyes, “It’s not like I’ve meant to keep Evan a secret or anything. He’s just never come up.” And right there, I realize the depth of what I’ve just said.

  Erika lets out a long breath. “Okay. There’s something I have to tell you. Do you remember that summer a few years ago when I took time off from work and came home?”

  It had been a surprise to all of us. Erika never took days off from work—not for illness or vacation. Certainly not for personal matters, her wedding excepted. But that’s exactly what she did three summers ago.

  Erika had been pulling all-nighters at her firm, right through a case of walking pneumonia, to prove herself during a high-profile divorce case. At the end of the trial, the partners planned to pick an associate for promotion. When the case closed the firm won a landmark settlement for their client. It was a celebration all around, and word in the halls of the firm was that Erika was a shoo-in for the promotion. She tried to play it cool, but we all knew how much she wanted this. Her father, who rarely called except to confirm that we received his monthly rent contribution, was suddenly checking in daily to see if there was any news. Erika dashed out and bought an expensive new suit the night before the firm was set to make their announcement at their annual summer party. I remember watching her get ready that night: she asked me to apply her lipstick because her hands were too shaky.

  Which is why the blow was particularly sharp when she was passed over for a younger associate, who not only scored low on the bar exam and came in late every day during that case, but also happened to be the nephew of a partner. Erika hit rock bottom. For the first time, she turned in her vacation time and left Boston and the firm on “indefinite leave.”

  “I’d never seen you like that,” I say, remembering how worried I was. I never told her at the time, afraid I’d only add to her sense of fragility.

  “I know. I was so drained all I could do was lay around the house when I got here. But each afternoon my mom dragged me out to the club for some ‘fresh air.’ While she played tennis, I’d sit on the porch with a book or just stare out at the water.

  “One day, Chase Warner showed up with his family for lunch. Remember Chase?”

  How could I forget? As good-looking as he was affable, Chase was a hard-to-ignore summer resident. He lived in Providence and attended prep school somewhere in Massachusetts, but each summer he and his family moved into their Connecticut shore house. I only crossed paths with Chase a few times when I tagged along to Erika’s country club events. But he was an epic figure in Erika’s summers growing up: her first kiss, her perpetual summer crush, and eventually her on-and-off-again boyfriend.

  “You never told me you saw him during that summer,” I say, leaning forward. I get the sense there’s more.

  Erika smiles uncomfortably. “Yeah, well. There’s a reason I’m only telling you now.” She takes a deep breath and shifts in her seat.

  “I was miserable being back in Mystic. I was lonely and bored, and I didn’t know if I wanted to go back to law. And there he was—fresh out of grad school, tan and fit and friendly, having just returned to celebrate his father’s retirement. I wanted to crawl under the porch when I laid eyes on him, but he sat down in the Adirondack chair right next to me. He talked me into having lunch with him that day. And the next.”

  “And?” I press.

  “And for the rest of those two weeks we were inseparable.” Erika flushes deeply.

  I slump back in my chair, dumbstruck. She and Trent have been together for five years, and that summer was right in the middle of it. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  Erika lifts one tanned shoulder, almost sadly.

  “My God.” A million questions flood my mind, but I’m too flummoxed to put words to any articulately. “But you never . . . why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry, Mags. I tried to, but I always lost my nerve.”

  “Well, you should’ve tried harder!”

  I stare out at the water, imagining them. Having dinners in town, walking along the pier. Playing tennis at the club. Spending evenings . . . doing everything. Just like any other summer romance. Only Erika hadn’t been single.

  “Does Trent know?”

  She shakes her head.

  “What happened? Tell me everything.”

  “It lasted less than two weeks. Eleven days, exactly.”

  I resist the urge to point out that it’s been three years since those eleven days, and surely she could’ve found a time to tell me.

  “I know it reeks of indecency, but it wasn’t like that. We had such a history, and I was in such a bad place.”

  “What was it then?”

  She smiles, in spite of herself. “It was lovely.”

  “Lovely?” Even I don’t know that I could use the word to describe what, let’s be honest, was an affair.

  “And I can’t tell you how different and lovely it made me feel. We stayed up late
talking about books and politics and old friends from the club who we hadn’t seen in years. One weekend we took his parents’ boat up to Watch Hill and stayed up late eating oysters and drinking wine on the deck, having sex under the stars. It was like we were kids again with the whole summer to ourselves.” Her eyes are bright at the memory, even still.

  I can feel myself giving in to the images she describes; it does sound magical. Would I have been able to walk away from such temptation if I were going through what she had? Suddenly I’m not sure. “So it filled some kind of void,” I say. It’s an offering of understanding; if not forgiveness.

  She nods, her eyes filling with tears.

  “I could never tell Trent. It was my mistake, my journey, however you want to look at it. But it would kill him, Mags. I never saw any reason to do that.”

  While I can’t imagine Erika keeping this from Trent, I also can’t picture her telling him. Certainly not now. Trent’s an old-fashioned guy, and it would be a hit to his very core. In some ways, perhaps keeping this from him is kinder. It ended. Trent is the one she went back to.

  What I still can’t get past is the fact she kept it from me. Her lifelong best friend. “You didn’t think you could trust me with this? Not one word in all these years?”

  Erika’s expression clouds. “It wasn’t about trust. Believe me, I wanted to tell you. It would’ve taken some of the burden off if I had. But I was so ashamed, Maggie. I didn’t want this to change the way you felt about me. Your moral compass is pointed due north.”

  “Is not!” I disagree, thinking of my long talk with Cam at the lookout. The way our knees touched on the bench. More important, the way I felt when our knees touched.

  “I wouldn’t be telling you now, except I don’t want you to get stuck like I did.”

  “Stuck?” Until now, I didn’t think we’d kept any secrets from each other. Just as I didn’t realize Erika thought me too much of a Pollyanna to share a secret as big as this with. “I’m not stuck,” I tell her now, emphatically. I will find a new place and a new job, and Evan and I will work through it together. As for Cameron, he’s a friend. Someone I share history with, yes. But we haven’t crossed any lines. Maybe if she’d had more meaningful relationships before Trent, and hadn’t jumped from guy to guy, she’d understand that.