Exception (Haven Point Book 2)

by Mariah Dietz

  I swallow the questions fighting to be voiced and paste another reassuring smile on my face as I climb the deck stairs, grocery bag in hand. She doesn’t see my smile, though, because she still won’t look above our feet. Under the pressure of my hand, Grace flinches and takes a step back before she can force herself to stop. It’s become instinctual and second nature for her.

  “Mom made meatloaf for dinner,” she tells me.

  “We might have to come up with some sort of excuse to go grab a burger.”

  “I can’t eat burgers anymore.” She clamps her hands over her narrow thighs. “I swear, just the scent of one makes me go up a pant size.”

  My sister has never been overweight but grew up being heavier, with rounded thighs and a stomach she always insisted on covering when we’d go swimming in the pond near our house. But she has been a rail for several years now. Her jeans are at least a size too big for her. A burger with extra bacon and cheese wouldn’t even touch her gaunt frame.

  “There you are! I was just about to call.” The screen door bangs shut as Mom steps out onto the porch with a dishtowel between her hands. She looks over Grace and then to me. Like Grace, my mother’s eyes fall to the floor as she forces a smile—she also doesn’t know how to approach the many changes my sister’s endured. “How was the grocery store?” Her gaze lifts, her brow heavy with creases of worry.

  I lift the sack I’m carrying to show her it was successful. “Need some help in the kitchen?”

  “Sure. That’d be great. You girls want to prepare the green beans?”

  Grace was right. It does feel like I’ve entered The Twilight Zone as Mom places a large colander filled with green beans at the kitchen table between my sister and me, a garbage can at our feet.

  “All right, Mom, what’s new in Haven Point? What has Kennedy missed that we need to fill her in on?” Grace grabs a bean, snapping off both ends before dropping it back into the colander and snagging another one.

  “So many things,” Mom says, checking on the meatloaf already baking away in the oven.

  “Oh yeah? Like what?” Grace’s teasing tone throws me completely off course, just like it does each time I hear it over the phone. She sounds fine, happy, daring—all the things my older sister once was.

  “The store of course, but she’s seen that now.”

  Grace looks at me, mischief rounding her eyes. “Of course.” Her voice is enthusiastic, the sarcasm indiscernible to our mom. “What else?”

  “They built a new playground down near the pond.”

  “That’s only twenty years too late,” Grace says, smiling at me.

  I’m about to mention Ethan being back in town but stop. “The Porters got a bunch of sheep,” I share instead. “If you’re not feeling too old, we could go see if we can tip them over like cows.”

  “Kennedy!” Mom cries, making my name sound like an obscenity. “You girls leave those sheep alone.”

  “They have it coming. They stood in front of my car for an hour.”

  Grace laughs so hard her eyes close. “What? How is that even possible? Stuff like that only happens to you, I swear.”

  “Broken fence near Blue Spruce Road,” I tell her. “The sheep flooded the road. And you know how sheep always follow each other? These ones didn’t!”

  My sister leans forward, laughing again. “You should have gone mutton riding.”

  “Not a chance. Animals with slit pupils freak me out.”

  Mom stops mashing the potatoes on the stove and looks at me. “What?”

  I swing my rounded eyes to her. “There’s something creepy about them.”

  “What’s creepy about them?” she asks.

  I lift my shoulders and look to my sister for her input. All she does, though, is laugh and shake her head to tell me I’m on my own. “Pretty much everything.”

  “How’d we never know about your aversion to sheep?” Grace looks at me; sadness creeps back into her blue eyes. She slowly focuses on my gaze, and quickly looks away.

  “Not just sheep,” I tell her. “Crocodiles, alligators, snakes, lizards, cats, goats—”

  “Cats, too?” Grace cracks up. “How can you be afraid of a cat?”

  “I’m not afraid of them . . . I just don’t like them.”

  “Who don’t you like?” Dad asks, coming into the kitchen from the back door and taking a seat at the table by Grace and me.

  “Kennedy’s just confirming how strange she is.” Grace shakes her head. “Nothing we weren’t already well aware of.”

  The edge of Dad’s lips lifts with a subtle smile.

  “We’re talking about what’s new in town,” Mom says. “We discussed the store, and the new playground, and how the Porters are now raising sheep.”

  “The new fire captain, Coen,” Dad says. “I’ve heard he’s been making lots of good changes down at the firehouse.”

  My attention is piqued, wondering what all my parents know about him and his pain-in-the-ass brother.

  “I forgot about him,” Grace says. “I haven’t met him yet.”

  Dad nods. “I’ve only seen him around town a few times. He keeps busy. He and his brother came into the hardware store yesterday.” He looks to Mom. “You know how he bought that old farmhouse out off of Sunset Lake?”

  Mom pulls the meatloaf out and drops a sheet of biscuits into the hot oven before nodding.

  “I guess they have a mouse infestation.”

  Mom turns, her eyes wide. “Oh, that’s awful.”

  “Do mice have slit pupils, too?” Grace asks.

  Dad’s eyebrows knit.

  “No, but they have those red beady eyes, and that’s equally creepy,” I tell her.

  Grace bursts out laughing, and it’s so pure and genuine that the rest of us follow suit, even Dad.

  “I thought we could get a crew together once they get rid of all the mice and help him get things moving forward.”

  I wait for him to say more. To explain the situation further. Does he know about Joey? Would Joey be there? I’m considering ways of getting out of being added to the team, ready to volunteer manning the hardware store or doing inventory or fleeing back to Boston.

  “That’s a great idea, Tom.” Mom drops off a platter of sliced meatloaf at the table, and though it’s a dish I grew up avoiding, the tangy and savory scents waft in the air, making my stomach grumble and mouth water. “Maybe we should make up some meal baskets for them, too.”

  Dad nods, but, again, doesn’t add anything to the head count of Coen’s family.

  “Heard you got in an accident.” Dad looks to me. “You all right?”

  “An accident?” Mom cries. “When?”

  I throw the last green bean into the colander. “At the store. I backed into someone.”

  “Are you okay?” Mom echoes Dad’s previous question.

  “I’m fine,” I assure them. “I thought he’d moved, and he’d stalled because a spot opened.” I don’t bother asking how Dad learned it happened; he likely already knows all the details. News travels fast here in Haven Point and is generally far more accurate than the trending news I skim over on social media.

  “Jackson said he can likely fix the damage to your car,” Dad continues. “But you should probably put a heating pad on your shoulders tonight. You’re probably going to be sore tomorrow, I’d imagine.”

  Mom scoops up the green beans and runs a hand over my hair. “I’m glad you’re all right. You should have mentioned something when you got home.”

  Dad’s words and Mom’s actions comfort me, leaving me relaxed in my chair in this house I grew up in—my first home. “It really was nothing.”

  “Thankfully,” Mom adds.

  The four of us sit down to dinner, and conversation is light, smiles wide. It’s strange being back home, but at the same time, there’s something nice about not rummaging through my fridge to make dinner for one.

  Afterward, Grace and I help Mom clear the table and wash the dishes. Memories of how homework always
preceded dishes vanish when Grace dumps most of her dinner, which was carefully hidden by her napkin, into the trash.

  I look at Mom and then Dad to see if either of them noticed, but they’re chatting about the store and another summer storm that’s supposed to hit soon.

  “I’m going to call Vi really quickly and check in,” I tell them, placing the last dish into the dishwasher and closing it.

  “Okay, sweetie.” Mom runs her hand along my shoulder as I pass. “Let me know if you start hurting or need anything.”

  With a final smile I disappear down the short hall to my room, dialing Vi’s number before I close the door behind me.

  “Kennedy!” Violet cries. “How are you? How was your day?”

  I flop back on my bed, my stomach full from dinner.

  “It had its pros and cons,” I tease my best friend, the queen of making such lists.

  “More pros than cons, I hope.”

  I think of my sister, the meatloaf I shockingly devoured, and the vast number of warm greetings I’ve received. Then raven hair and eyes the shade of midnight fill my thoughts. “For the most part,” I tell her, shaking my head to rid the mental image of Joey folding his arms over his chest in some faux power pose. “How was your day?”

  “Exhausting. I had to work today, and then a few of us went to dinner. I’m actually hiding out in the bathroom right now because we’re still at the restaurant.”

  My heart falls. If I were there, I’d be out with her, drinking a glass of chardonnay I couldn’t really afford, but laughing. Instead, I’m sitting on my old twin mattress, staring at the image of a curly haired boy-band member who was popular over a decade ago and still covers most of my walls. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt your night out!”

  “No, no! Don’t be silly! You’re never an interruption. Ever. Have you heard from Kevin?”

  My mood plummets. “Nope.”

  “Not even a text?”

  “Radio silence.”

  Violet sighs. “He’s such an asshole.”

  I think of Joey DeLuca. “All the hot ones are.”

  “Promise me you won’t call him when you come back home.”

  “No. Like I said before I left, I think this will be good for me. It’ll force me to quit Kevin, if nothing else.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If you see him, will you punch him in the face for me?”

  Vi laughs. “Can I punch him in his nutsack, instead?”

  “Deal.”

  She sighs. “I’m sorry to rush this call, but I have to get back. Can I call you later tonight or tomorrow?”

  I try to hide my disappointment. “Yeah. Absolutely.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” She hangs up, and suddenly my childhood room seems far smaller, and my decision to be here far worse.

  A knock on my door has me swinging my head up, plastering a smile across my lips so no one can see the doubts flooding me.

  “Hey,” Grace says, hovering in the doorway. “Want to go cool down?”

  “It’s going to be dark soon.”

  “Like that’s ever stopped us.” She grins.

  I stand and head to my suitcase, which is perched open on my old desk chair. I’ve rarely had a need for a bathing suit over the past ten years, but I bought one last summer for a weekend-beach trip Violet and I took. With the small pieces of fabric fisted in my hand, I turn triumphantly to show my sister. Her cheeks stretch with a broad smile before she disappears, closing my door behind her so I can change and exchange my glasses for contacts.

  We slip out the back door off the kitchen, me in nothing but my bikini and Grace in a sundress that reaches past her knees. Both our feet are covered by sneakers and our faces with smiles.

  “I bet it’s starting to get cold,” I tell her, breathing too hard because I haven’t made this jog in years.

  Grace’s reddish-brown hair appears darker with the setting sun as it blows behind her. She doesn’t object. The nights are beginning to cool down, and though it feels hot, July was hotter.

  We run along the footpath that winds through the woods, continuing our quick pace, though both of us struggle to maintain it. There are certain habits that are too hard to break, even with age and time.

  I stop at the far edge, where an old rope swing still remains as another remnant of our past.

  “Maybe we should just walk in?” Grace says, stopping beside me, holding her side.

  “Since when—”

  My words end as she shoves me forward, pushing me into the pond.

  Adrenaline courses through me as I fall into the chilly water that combs through my hair and moves with my descent. I don’t stop myself from falling deeper into its depths for several seconds, and then once I do, I remain under, counting until I reach twenty before I surge back to the top.

  Grace’s eyes are as rounded as her lips; she lifts a hand to her chest. “I’ve always hated when you do that.”

  “And yet never once have you jumped in to save me.”

  She glares. “You’re such an asshole.”

  I grin, bobbing in the water that is far warmer near the surface. “Come on in. It feels nice.”

  Grace kicks off her shoes and reaches for the hem of her dress. As soon as her elbows bend, she pauses and releases the fabric, letting the dress fall back over her. She doesn’t say anything as she avoids looking at me; she simply plugs her nose with one hand and raises the other high in the air as she jumps and slices through the water.

  “You’re such a liar!” she cries, shivering as she surfaces. “This feels like it ran off from an iceberg.”

  “It’s not so bad.”

  “No, it’s not bad, it’s terrible!” Her lips shudder, turning a pale shade of blue.

  “Come on. I’ll race you to the other side.”

  “I’m thirty!”

  I lift a hand and send a gentle wave her way that splashes against her chest. “Are you telling me you’re too old to have fun?”

  Her lips purse, but her attempt of looking angry is tainted by her shivers, making me laugh. With one hand she reaches for me, her intent to dunk me. Before she can reach me, though, I swim away, waiting for her to follow in my wake.

  We swim until our sides, arms, and legs ache, and the water turns frigid against our fatigued muscles. The sun has nearly fully set, casting long shadows across the pond.

  “Want to go check out the playground?” Grace asks as we make our way up the bank, shivering and soaking wet.

  “Depends, are you going to push me off the swing, too?”

  Grace throws her head back and laughs. “I always reserve the right. Birth order ensured it.”

  “All right, old lady, let’s check it out.”

  She glares. “I’m not racing you.”

  “We should have brought towels,” I say, shivering as my wet sneakers slosh against the shore.

  We make our way up to the grassy stretch that connects to the forest, where Grace and I used to sunbathe between hours of playing in the lake, and discover the new playground. It’s meager compared to some of the ones I’ve passed in Boston, the equipment all traditional pieces. There are a few swings, a couple of slides separated by a bouncing bridge, and a large structure comprised of triangles for kids to climb.

  “I don’t know if I’m sad this is here or envious,” Grace says as we step onto the soft mesh turf. “We would have had so much fun racing each other to the top of that thing and sitting in the tube of that slide until someone came by for us to scare.”

  “I don’t like it,” I tell her. “This will draw more people here.”

  Grace laughs. “There’s only nineteen hundred people in Haven Point, and all of them know about this place. I doubt this will draw more attention.”

  I lower my chin with doubt. “Come on, let’s see if we can dry off on the swings.”

  The seat of the swing bites into my hips, reminding me that I’m too big, but I pump my legs until I’m high enough to feel the breeze skirt
across my damp skin, each kick pushing me forward.

  “So did you meet the fireman?”

  The uneven cross of our swings and dark sky make it impossible to see my sister’s face as I try to place her mood based upon her tone. “What fireman?”

  “The new one that Dad was talking about. The one you paid a lot of attention to hearing about.”

  “You’re reading way too far into things.”

  “Am I?”

  “Yes!” I cry. “I met him and his brother for like a second.”

  “Ah.” Grace drags out the syllable. “It’s the brother you like!”

  “I’m not interested in either of them.” I don’t tell her that I just ended a relationship, because according to Kevin we never were in a relationship. “The firefighter seems nice enough, but his brother is a total jerk.”

  “Like he pulled your pigtail or a legitimate asshole?”

  “Legitimate asshole.” My reply is instant. “He’s the reason I was late getting back from the store.”

  “Because you hit him with your car?”

  “You say that like it was my fault.”

  “Well, you did hit a few trees.”

  “I was fourteen!”

  “You still hit them.”

  “Scraped,” I argue. “I scraped them. And in my defense, it was a stick shift, and we weren’t on a road.”

  “You still hit them,” she says again.

  “This was totally his fault. I saw his truck in my rearview mirror and then was watching some pedestrians walk behind me. I watched them start loading groceries and backed up right into him.”

  “You hadn’t checked again?”

  “People aren’t supposed to remain parked in the middle of an aisle for a decade!”

  Grace laughs. “Your Boston is showing.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I just mean that Boston has brought out a little bit of feisty in you.”

  “There were plenty of days when I felt like the city ate me up and then spit me back out.”

  Grace doesn’t respond, and so I slow my swing by dragging my still-wet shoe across the ground.

  “You ready to go back home?” she asks when I come to a stop.