Mystic Summer

by Hannah McKinnon

  He shrugs. “I do, actually. It’s nice to think that some of us have found their other half.”

  I make note of the weight of his comment, as I fill him in. He listens with genuine interest while I tell him about Trent, the upcoming wedding week, and the missing veil. I feel slightly guilty that Erika is fair game for our small talk, especially when Cam adds, “I’m surprised she hasn’t sent you back to Boston to get her veil.”

  “She’s changed,” I say, in her defense. But for old time’s sake, I pretend to look at my watch. “You can ride shotgun when she calls to ask.”

  Cam snorts. We order a platter of calamari to share and I’m glad that our night together will last longer. It’s so easy talking to him.

  My phone dings twice more as we’re eating. “Go ahead, take it,” Cam says.

  “I’m sure it’s nobody,” I say, feeling a stab of guilt the second the words come out. I haven’t talked to Evan since I hung up on him earlier. “So, how’s the little one?”

  “She’s good.” He pauses. “We’ve got an appointment in Providence on Thursday morning.”

  “Everything okay?”

  Cam pauses. “I was going to tell you. They did some blood work at her last checkup and there were a few question marks. It seems that her oxygen levels were a little off, too. So they’ve decided to move up the catheterization.”

  This is much more serious than a simple follow-up. “Cam. Here I am going on about the wedding. I’m so sorry . . .”

  He shakes his head. “Please, don’t be. It’s nice to laugh for a change. Besides, if I worried every time some lab work came back with a question mark, I’d be worried all the time.” He smiles roughly. “Parenting 101.”

  “So you’re taking her back to Yale?”

  “Yeah.” Cam shifts uneasily on his stool. “I had to tell Lauren,” he says.

  Lauren has been mostly absent from my picture of Cam and Emory, and therefore mostly absent from my thoughts. But of course, he had to tell her. She is Emory’s mother. Will always be Emory’s mother.

  “What did she say?”

  Cam sighs. “She didn’t. She’s out in the field doing research, so I left a message at their office in Juneau. I asked her to fly out here for it.” He looks at his hands. “It’s a routine procedure, and we’ve known for a while that Emory would have it done this summer. But still.”

  I know what Cam means. No matter how routine anything is, when it involves a loved one, it’s frightening. As much as I tense at the thought of Lauren coming back into Cam’s and Emory’s life, every little child deserves a mother. Whatever Cam’s reasons, I respect them.

  “I don’t think she’ll come,” he says, finally. “And I suppose it will be a lot easier if she doesn’t. But I can’t say I won’t be disappointed.”

  I imagine Cam making the call. Not being able to reach the mother of his sick child, and relaying the facts in a message, as if she were a stranger. And I realize that to a baby Emory’s age, that’s exactly what Lauren is.

  “I want to go with you.”

  Cam looks genuinely taken aback. “Griff, that’s really sweet of you, but you don’t have to. We’ve been down this road before. We’ll be fine.”

  “I know you will. But I still want to come, if it’s not an imposition, that is.” Despite the fact that I feel a sudden urge to help, to do something, it occurs to me that Cam may prefer to do this on his own. And that my coming may be more of a distraction than a comfort. “If you’d rather, I can visit afterward. Bring you lunch? Keep you company for an hour?” I don’t add that if Lauren does end up coming, I will stay out of the way. That I will leave this to the family, because in the end, no matter how absent she may be, Lauren is still family.

  Cam takes a long sip of his drink and looks at me squarely. “All right. Company would be nice.”

  We order another drink. “I drove by Camp Edgewater yesterday,” I tell him. “The kids were out in the sea kayaks. Brought back a lot of memories.”

  Cam laughs, and reminds me of the summer night we “borrowed” two kayaks and went out onto the river together. And how afterward, we forgot to lock them back into the stand. When the director found the boathouse open the next morning he’d confided furiously to Cam that he suspected another counselor, an arrogant kid who was notorious for coming in to work late and screwing around. I was secretly elated when the director pegged him as the culprit.

  “But then you messed it all up!” I remind him.

  “I couldn’t let that kid take the blame,” Cam says, even now.

  “Why not? The guy was such a jerk. Remember he backed into your Jeep in the parking lot and denied it.”

  Cam grimaces. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “At least you got off easy, Mr. Honesty.”

  “Easy? I had to wash every boat on that campground. It took me three of my afternoons off.”

  “But you never ratted me out,” I say fondly. “Or used it against me.”

  “Maybe I should have,” he says, leaning in. “Is it too late?”

  It’s a moment. Whether it’s the pull of the memory or the drinks, I find myself leaning in toward Cam. But then Cam straightens, excusing himself. “I’ll be right back.”

  Flushed, I hail the bartender for a glass of water. My phone vibrates again in my pocket. There are a page’s worth of texts, the latest from Evan: “Where are you?” An earlier one from Erika confuses me: “Evan is the best! You lucky girl.” I wonder what she is talking about. And then she calls.

  “Maggie, where have you been all this time? Why haven’t you been answering?”

  Just then Cam returns.

  “Sorry, I have to call you back.” It’s a classic Erika move; she should understand. I turn the phone off altogether and slide it into my purse.

  Cam plops himself on the stool beside me. I try to read his expression. Did he call home to check in about Emory? Should I have called Evan to check in with him? Suddenly it feels as if there are more than just the two of us sitting here at the bar.

  “You want anything else?” he asks, finally. What I want is to rewind to five minutes ago. But the moment, or whatever it was, has broken.

  “Maybe we should call it a night,” I say. No sooner are the words out than I’m hoping that he’ll disagree. That he’ll try to talk me into one last drink. It won’t be hard.

  But he doesn’t. “Good call,” Cam says. He hails the server for our tab. “I have to get up early tomorrow.”

  A breeze has picked up outside. I wrap my arms around my middle, wishing I’d brought a light jacket. “Cold?” he asks, and before I can answer Cam drapes a loose arm around my shoulders.

  We walk, sides pressed lightly together, up the sidewalk toward our cars. Halfway across Bascule Bridge, Cam pauses. I turn to him at the exact moment he turns to me, and whether it’s because his arm is still draped over my shoulder, or the timing, our noses bump. And our lips brush. I don’t know who steps back first, but before we do, it happens—so quickly it could almost escape time and notice—except for the fact that I know it happened. We kissed.

  We stand for a beat of silence, staring at each other. “I’m sorry,” Cam says quickly. Something flickers behind the blue-green in his eyes.

  “Don’t be. Really, it’s—”

  “It’s what?” Cam is hanging on my every word. But before I can answer, a car pulls up alongside us on the bridge and stops. The window rolls down and the driver leans over.

  “Maggie? Is that you?”

  I freeze at the sound of Evan’s voice.

  Seventeen

  What a wonderful surprise! You made it after all,” my mother says in her high-pitched “company” voice. She gestures for Evan to sit on the couch, as my father settles into his armchair across from us.

  Evan rises to help my mother with the tray of iced tea she’s carried out from the kitchen. “I’m sorry to impose on you both, Mr. and Mrs. Griffin, but I was able to get away from the set last minute, and I was hoping to surp
rise Maggie. I felt bad that we missed our Ocean House plans.”

  “Can you still go?” my mother asks, looking hopefully between the two of us.

  I’m still in shock, and going to the Ocean House is the last thing on my mind.

  “Unfortunately, I canceled the reservation,” Evan explains. “I didn’t think I’d make it in time, and if we didn’t, then they would’ve charged me.”

  My father narrows his eyes.

  “But I can get a room at the Mystic Inn, for myself,” Evan adds.

  “Nonsense,” my mother insists. “We have plenty of room here.” She hasn’t stopped smiling since we walked through the front door. “And please, call me Marie.”

  My parents met Evan once before, back in the fall, when they came to Boston for a weekend. We’d been dating for only a few months at the time, so I’d kept the introductions brief and had him come by their hotel for brunch the Sunday morning before they went back home. I remember barely touching my eggs Benedict, for fear that if I didn’t steer the conversation, they might ask him something embarrassing or make some weighty comment about our relationship that exceeded the few tender months we’d been dating. Like the first time that Jane brought Toby home to meet all of us, and my mother asked Toby if he wanted children. “What?” she’d protested when Jane cornered her in the kitchen after Toby had left. “Your college years go by fast—why waste time dating someone who doesn’t have the same vision for your future?”

  “My vision, or yours, Mother?” Jane had shouted back at her.

  Now, seated politely across from one another in my parents’ chintz-filled living room, there is a long beat of silence, but I’m too overwhelmed to fill it before my mother does.

  “Maggie, can you believe that Evan drove Erika’s veil all the way down from Boston!”

  Her eyes land on me, expectantly, and it’s all I can do not to turn away from their hopeful glare. “I cannot,” I say. Leave it to Erika. “Let me get some snacks. You must be hungry, Evan.”

  Safe in the kitchen, I pull my phone from my pocket. “Want to guess who’s sitting in my parents’ living room?”

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all night. Why did you hang up?”

  “Erika! You know how mixed up I am right now. How could you pick Evan to drive your veil down here?”

  “I didn’t, I promise! He mentioned to Trent that he was going to surprise you. It just made sense that if he was already driving to Mystic anyway . . .”

  I’m near my boiling point. So, maybe she didn’t exactly arrange it. But, despite the fact that she knew how conflicted I was, she sure didn’t let a free ride for her veil get away from her, either. “You shouldn’t have let him. You should have told me. Or something.” I don’t know whom I’m most upset with. To be fair, Erika did try to call. And the only thing Evan is guilty of is being sweet—to both of us. Which leaves only me.

  “Mags, you’ve got to calm down. This is a good thing. He came all the way here to make things up to you!”

  I slap a block of cheddar cheese on a platter and check the expiration date. It’s only a day past. Just like my sanity.

  Erika adopts her legal adviser voice. “Listen to me. Seeing Evan face-to-face will wipe away any doubts you’re feeling. You’ll know he’s the one.”

  “All I know is that my head is about to explode. Want to take a guess where Evan found me?”

  “I thought you were at home.”

  “Erika, you are so late to this party. We’re here now. But an hour ago I was at the Harp and Hound with someone. And Evan just happened to spot us walking over the bridge as he drove through town.”

  She pauses. “Wait. Not with Cam?”

  “You’ve arrived.”

  “Maggie! What happened?”

  At that moment my mother comes bustling in to the kitchen behind me and grabs a box of tissues. “Erika, I have to go. I’ll let you imagine all the rest.”

  My mother is actually humming.

  There is a series of loud sneezes from the living room. Mom holds up the box of tissues. “These are for Evan. Your dad’s telling him all about the boat show at the Seaport. You should take him.”

  I follow her to the doorway. Evan is listening politely as my father goes on about the boat show, but I can see from here that both his eyes are swelling up. It’s then that I notice Winston perching on the back of the couch behind him. And all of our strained conversations about Mr. Kringles and apartments come wheeling back.

  “Oh look, another member of the family wants to meet you,” my father says. I watch in horror as my father scoops Winston up and deposits him right on Evan’s lap. Evan sneezes again.

  “Dad, Evan has allergies!” A flash of alarm crosses his face, and my father leaps up to relieve Evan of Winston. But Evan holds up his hand.

  “It’s okay,” he lies, scratching behind Winston’s ears for emphasis. “Now, what were you saying about the Seaport?”

  My father launches back into his history lesson, and my mother fusses over my arrangement of the cracker tray, while Evan mops his runny nose. At that moment our eyes meet, and he winks. Despite our missed connections this summer and everything that I just left on the bridge, my heart tingles. I wink back.

  One hour and two doses of Benadryl later, my parents have finally gone upstairs to bed. I sit beside Evan on the couch and press a tissue to nose. “You are such a sport. I’m sorry about this.”

  “About what?”

  “I guess we can skip the allergy testing.” I dab his nose again.

  “Don’t worry, it looks worse than it is.”

  “You didn’t have to hold the cat in your lap. And pat it all night!”

  He smiles. “It’s your father’s cat.”

  “And you’re his daughter’s guest,” I say. But it comes out wrong.

  Evan tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, his brow furrowed. “Is that who I am? The guest?”

  “Of course not. You know what I mean.”

  This is Evan’s first visit to my home. I should be elated. I should be sitting on the pink rug in my childhood room with him, paging through my old photo albums and showing him my junior high art show plaque. The things you do when you want to share the span of your life with someone special.

  “So, who was that with you earlier?”

  I’ve wondered when Evan would get around to asking me about Cam; now my mixed sense of guilt and uncertainty simmers to the surface.

  “That guy you were walking with,” Evan adds. He doesn’t mention the arm around me. I wonder what else he may have seen.

  “Cameron? He’s just an old friend who recently moved back to town.” I try to keep my expression even. “With his daughter,” I add, as though Emory serves as an appropriate barrier to my having been walking on the bridge with Cam’s arm wrapped around my shoulder.

  Evan nods thoughtfully. “Cameron. Haven’t heard you mention him before.” Hearing him say Cam’s name out loud brands the moment in my mind.

  “He’s just an old friend,” I say again. “I babysat for his daughter recently, and we were just catching up and grabbing a bite to eat,” I add.

  Evan shrugs. “If you say that’s all it is, then that’s all it is.”

  Only, I didn’t say that’s all.

  When Evan leans in and presses his lips to mine, it’s familiar and warm. Not awkward or confusing. There is no doubt about whether or not this kiss happened or how Evan feels.

  “Was it okay that I surprised you like that?” he whispers.

  I press my cheek against the soft blue of his Tufts T-shirt, relieved. “I’m so glad you did. And I can’t believe you brought Erika’s veil.”

  Evan tips my chin and kisses me again. “It had nothing to with the veil.”

  I decide right there on my parents’ couch that if Evan asks me anything else, I will tell him. I will answer any question he poses. Even if it’s why my lips touched Cameron’s. But he doesn’t.

  “So, what do you want to watch?” he asks, as I
flick through the TV stations. If only my mind could switch as easily as the channels.

  Evan has to head back to Boston. We do a whirlwind tour of Mystic, which is thankfully quieter than normal because of a light rainfall. We grab ice cream, drive over to the Seaport, and walk around in the mist. It’s not at all the kind of summer day in Mystic I’d described, but Evan doesn’t seem to mind. Only once do I wonder about Cam, not having spoken to him since I climbed into Evan’s car the night before. If Evan is thinking about it, he doesn’t let on. As we walk over the Bascule Bridge to the pier, I grab his hand. I will talk to Cam later. And even though I have no idea what I’ll say, I’ll worry about that later, too.

  Before Evan has to leave, my mother begs me to pop by Jane’s house so that I can introduce him. Which turns into an early dinner. Which turns into a Griffin family event.

  We arrive early, which I have learned is never a good idea when visiting a family with small children, especially on a rainy day. Even with pizza in tow.

  “Everyone, I’d like you to meet Evan.” I glance around Jane’s kitchen at all the upturned faces. Lucy’s tiny face is red and twisted—in the midst of full meltdown in Jane’s arms. Randall is seated in the middle of the floor behind a tower of LEGOs, his mouth stained an unnatural shade of purple. The dog is chewing something under the table that looks like a purse. “Evan, this is everyone.”

  Owen is first to break the silence. “You’re not Cameron.”

  My mother and Jane’s faces flash with something akin to confusion, followed by suspicion. Evan looks at the ground, and for a second I think the room will burst into flames.

  “This is my friend Evan,” I say, redirecting Owen to the LEGO tower after a quick hug. Luckily, the usual chaos of Jane’s house interrupts the moment anyway.

  Lucy is fussing and Jane is in a foul mood today, I can tell, as she plunks Lucy in my mother’s arms and stalks across the room to rescue something glass from Randall’s grip. Toby is sprawled across the couch in a pair of sweats. He shakes hands with Evan from his prone position, a move that garners steely glares from both Jane and me.