For Lila, Forever

by Winter Renshaw

  “Hey, wait up,” he jogs to catch up with me and when he does, I stop in my tracks.

  “Why?” I ask, hands on my hips as the wind whips my hair in my face. “Why do you keep … why are you so … what is your end game here?”

  Lines cross his forehead as he peers down at me, and I fully realize now how tall he is and how the top of my head would fit perfectly beneath his chin.

  But I snap myself out of it.

  “End game?” he asks.

  “You obviously want something or you wouldn’t be bending over backwards to treat me like some guest of honor when I’m just the girl who scrubs your freaking toilet.”

  “Jesus, Lila.” He rests on hand on his hip, the other rakes through his hair, and then he looks away. “Is that what you think? That I want something from you?”

  I lift my brows, a silent, “Obviously.”

  “Lila ...” he sighs. “You’ve been through one of the worst things anyone could ever possibly go through. And then you were ripped from your home and your friends and your life and flown all the way across the country and forced to live on an island with a bunch of strangers. I look at you … and I see that you're hurting. Even when you’re running that smart mouth of yours. And yeah. You're beautiful. You’re gorgeous in this warm, exotic way that makes you stick out like a sore thumb in a state like Maine. You also confuse me. And intrigue me. But I would never prey on you. I would never show you kindness just so I could take advantage of you ...”

  My heart knocks around in my chest as I listen to him ramble on. There’s no gentleness to his tone like earlier, there’s an edge to it. Like I got him worked up. Like I offended him by thinking he was anything other than what he’s claiming to be.

  “That’s not who I am,” he says. “And it’s not who I’ll ever be.”

  “What about what your cousin said?” I ask. “About you wanting to get a piece?”

  “She’s an idiot.” His hands hook at his hips and his head is tilted and my lips burn at the thought of what his mouth might taste like. “She’s my cousin and I love her, but she’s an idiot.”

  A pause rests between us.

  I don’t know what to say.

  Honestly, I kind of just want to go home, lie in bed, and let his words replay in my head until I fall asleep. It’s like I need to digest them and let them sink in before I can determine how I feel about this.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Lila, don’t apologize.” I love the way he says my name, like he’s taking his time and letting it linger on his tongue.

  “Thanks for the movie. I should get going before my grandparents wake up and realize I’m gone.”

  His nose wrinkles. “Would they be mad if they knew you hung out with us tonight?”

  I bite my lower lip and contemplate my answer. I don’t want to get them in trouble.

  “I didn’t exactly tell them I was going, and I left after they were in bed, so yeah,” I say. “I think they’d be kind of pissed if they woke up and I was gone.”

  He studies me.

  I wish I knew what he was thinking.

  I wish I didn’t care what he was thinking …

  “Goodnight, Thayer,” I say as my body begins to shiver from the cold. I couldn’t feel it before when he had my full attention and was rambling on about his sympathies for me, but damn, do I feel it now.

  “Goodnight, Lila.”

  I head back to the house in the pitch dark, under a starless sky, the wind at my back, and I manage to make it inside unheard and unseen. Changing into pajamas and washing up, I climb into bed with un-kissed lips, flushed skin, and a heart that won’t stop hammering.

  Every time I close my eyes, I see him.

  And when I see him, I try and picture the two of us together, side by side.

  In my mind’s eye, we look ridiculous together … him a blue-blooded American prince attending an Ivy League school with preppy good looks and intelligence to match.

  And me … a California daughter who grew up with a working-class single mom. No college prospects. No idea what she’s doing with her future.

  He’s sweet and kind and handsome and thoughtful, the kind of guy you read about in the engagement section of the New York Times, and I’m a broken, cynical nobody.

  If anything comes of this, odds are he’ll break my heart—that is, if I don’t break his first.

  Chapter 7

  Thayer

  I find Lila sitting at the end of the dock Sunday afternoon, her bare toes skimming the top of the water as she pages through a book in her lap.

  She’s in a strappy tank top and white shorts that showcase her long legs, and she’s completely oblivious.

  I didn’t see her at breakfast this morning, and when my grandfather asked Junie where Lila was, she said Lila wasn’t feeling well and she requested the morning off.

  “Hey,” I take a seat beside her and she does a little jump, sucking in a quick breath. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

  She dog-ears her chapter and closes the book.

  “You okay?” I ask. “Your grandma said—”

  “I’m fine. I just needed some time to myself.” She stares across the water, shoulders slouched, looking like she’s lost in thought for a moment.

  “Good, good. I was worried after last night, maybe I said something that upset you.”

  “Not everything’s about you, Thayer ...” There’s the tiniest hint of a tease in her voice, but it’s not enough to cover up the fact that something’s bothering her.

  “Obviously,” I say, nudging her.

  She’s quiet. I’m quiet. And a boat motors by in the distance.

  I almost ask if she’s ever been sailing before, but then I stop myself. I doubt Granddad would let me take her out on the boat because that’s the sort of thing you do with a girl you like and he’ll assume I’m being defiant, and there’s nothing that Granddad hates more than when someone goes against his orders.

  As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing wrong with spending time with her in an innocent, platonic capacity—despite the fact that I might sneak glances at her every chance I get and daydream about what her skin would feel like beneath my hands, the softness of her mouth on mine, the way her body would feel beneath me, the heat of her breath in my ear …

  “Any plans for the afternoon?” I ask.

  She splays a palm across the book in her lap before peering across the sea. “You’re looking at it.”

  I wish so badly that I could take her into town tomorrow. We could hitch a ride with the grocery boat and find some local to bring us back later. I could show her it’s not so bad in Rose Crossing, that it’s quaint and the people are nice and welcoming and there are shops and a library and cafes and a laidback sort of beachy vibe that might feel somewhat familiar to her since she’s from the West Coast.

  “How about you?” she asks.

  I shrug. “Aunt Lorelai wants to do a clam dig. Promised Granddad a game of chess on the porch later. Pretty exciting stuff ...”

  “Then you shouldn’t keep them waiting.” She opens her book, resting her fingers against the bound center. “Thanks for checking on me.”

  I push myself to a standing position. “See you around.”

  I don’t say “See you later” because she doesn’t need to be reminded that the next time we see each other, she’ll be serving me dinner. I want her to know she has a friend in me, that I don’t see her as some housemaid.

  Growing up, my father has always instilled in me the importance of treating everyone like an equal. He grew up middle class, the son of a third-grade teacher and a city planner. And then he met my mom and was whisked into her world of privilege and opportunity, and he was determined not to let the spoils of the Bertram estate ruin me.

  I won’t deny the perks that come with being in this family.

  But I also won’t let them determine my fate.

  Chapter 8

  Lila

  “You’ll need to set an ext
ra place at the table today,” my grandma tells me as we prep Monday’s lunch. “We have a visitor.”

  I grab a linen placemat from the drawer followed by two forks, a spoon, and a butter knife before locating an extra plate and water goblet. With full arms, I head out through the swinging doors and into the dining room where some of the family members are already filing in.

  I’m almost done setting the extra place when I hear a squeal from another room.

  “Lovey, would you mind grabbing the lavender napkins from the hall closet? We’ve been using the same old boring white ones since last week and I’m in the mood for a bit of color,” Thayer’s mother says.

  “Of course.” I exit the dining room and make my way down to the linen closet in the hall, but on my way, I pass the parlor where Westley, Whitley, Thayer, and an unidentified girl stand in a circle chit-chatting.

  The girl, whose back is to me, has long dark hair that stops in the middle of her back. She’s talking a mile a minute, her hands waving wildly as she rocks back and forth on her Chanel flats.

  Thayer spots me from where he stands, and I glance away, trying to mind my own business. I locate the lavender napkins in the hall closet a minute later and bring them back to the dining room.

  “Perfection, Lovey. Thank you,” Thayer’s mom says as I fold them into little tents and place them in the middle of each white plate.

  The cousins and their special guest file into the dining room as soon as I’m finished with the last one, and I duck back into the kitchen.

  “Oh, Lila. There you are,” Grandma says as she fills a glass pitcher with iced tea and mint leaves.

  “They wanted lavender napkins,” I say to explain why it took me so long to come back.

  “Grab something, will you?” she asks as she heads to the swinging doors.

  I grab as many salad plates from the marble island as I can carry and follow.

  The entire time I serve them, I feel the weight of Thayer’s stare, but I’ve yet to make eye contact with him. That girl, the squealer, is sitting between Thayer and Whitley. I don’t know yet if she’s a friend of Whitley’s or a girlfriend of Thayer’s.

  I also don’t know why I’m letting it bother me, because it shouldn’t matter. It’s a moot point. And honestly, it’s none of my business.

  The girl with the long dark hair is yapping away to Mr. Bertram and he’s in rare form—smiling—as he eats up her every word and laughs at everything she says.

  We’re almost finished with cleanup an hour later when Gram tells me to head to The Caldecott.

  “Prepare the guest suite on the third level in the turret,” she says. “The bed will need fresh linens, and make sure there are more than enough towels in the bathroom.”

  I sneak out the back door of the kitchen and make my way next door to the twins’ house to prepare the guest room. The whole way there, I try to determine if they’re putting her up in The Caldecott because she’s a friend of Whitley’s or if they’re putting her over there because she’s Thayer’s girlfriend and it wouldn’t be “appropriate” to have them sleeping under the same roof. Knowing Bertram and his rules, the latter wouldn’t surprise me.

  The house is quiet when I get inside, all except for the chiming of the grandfather clock in the hall and the roll and crash of ocean waves through dozens of open windows.

  I stop at the linen closet on the second level before climbing another flight of stairs to the guest room in the turret.

  The room is enormous, complete with 180-degree views of the water and a white four-poster bed covered in a million pillows.

  I crack the windows to let some fresh air in and to clear the warm stuffiness that lingers in this unused room, and then I strip the bed.

  I’m almost finished with everything when the door swings open and footsteps indicate I’m no longer alone.

  “Hello?” I call before exiting the Pottery Barn catalog-looking en suite.

  “Hello ...” an unfamiliar voice calls back.

  I step out and find the girl standing in the middle of the room, an overstuffed Louis Vuitton duffel bag over her shoulder.

  “I was just dropping off some towels,” I say, pointing behind me.

  “I’m Ashlan,” she says, extending her hand.

  Her formality catches me off guard, but I return her gesture. “Lila.”

  “They told me you’re Ed and Junie’s granddaughter.”

  “I am.” How the hell is she on a first-name basis with my grandparents?

  “They’re the sweetest,” she says with a nostalgic smile. “So what do you think of the island so far? Big change from … L.A. is it?”

  I nod. “I grew up mostly in Santa Monica. And yeah, it’s a big change, but so far so good ...”

  Ashlan takes a seat on the bed, running her hands along the white quilt. “I’ve been coming here for years. Practically my whole life. Rose Crossing’s like a second home to me.”

  “Oh, yeah? Are you a friend of Whitley’s?” I have to ask.

  She crosses her legs, her ankle bouncing a little. “I'm a friend of everyone’s. My mom grew up with Thayer’s mom and the twins’ mom. We were all born literally in the same season of the same year so we’ve been friends since before we could talk.” She laughs. “They always used to call us the quadruplets because we were inseparable and we were all the same size.”

  I can’t help but think she’s trying to establish her place under the guise of sharing quaint stories with me. If I were to read between the lines here, I’m pretty sure she’d be saying, “I was here first, so don’t even think about taking my place.”

  “That’s adorable,” I say, heading to the door. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay? It was nice meeting you.”

  I leave The Caldecott and head to my grandparents’ cottage, where I find my grandma relaxing in her recliner as she pages through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine.

  “Ashlan’s room is good to go,” I say as I step out of my shoes.

  “Lovely girl,” Grandma says without looking up.

  “She seems to think highly of you guys.” I take a seat on the yellow velvet sofa that must be at least thirty years old and tuck a throw pillow under my arm. “How long is she staying, do you know?”

  “From what I understand, she’ll take the mail plane back to the mainland on Thursday. She’s doing a summer semester at Yale so she needs to get back. In the past, she’d stay at least until the Fourth of July.”

  “She goes to Yale?”

  Grandma flicks to a new page. “She does. From what I hear, she and Thayer are both studying pre-law.”

  Half of me wants to ask if the two of them ever dated, but I know better than to raise any suspicions. If my line of questioning isn’t obvious enough, a question like that will seal the deal.

  I kick my feet up on the sofa and sink into the worn cushions, staring at the bead board ceiling above and the wobbly bronze ceiling fan.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, Lila. We’re polishing the silver at The Ainsworth this afternoon and your grandfather could use your help getting the groceries off the dock after four.”

  The thought of possibly running into Thayer at his house makes my skin heat and my breath catch until I mentally shrug it off.

  Ashlan is the epitome of the kind of girl Thayer would match perfectly with. She wears the same preppy clothes as him. Their mothers are best friends. They go to school together and even study the same subject. They have inside jokes, I’m sure, and summers upon summers of memories.

  I can’t compete with any of that.

  But again, it’s a moot point because nothing’s going to happen between us no matter how kind he is to me, no matter how hard I melt when he does something sweet, no matter how many times I think about kissing him …

  It can’t and it won’t and that’s all there is to it.

  The Ainsworth was quiet this afternoon. Apparently Mr. Bertram took all the “kids” out for a sail, and the sisters and their husbands are havin
g an afternoon at the private beach.

  It’s just Grandma and me and a quiet old house that smells faintly of flowers and ocean musk and bends and creaks in the wind.

  “Lila, why don't you go find your grandfather? It’s almost time for the grocery drop off,” my grandma says, a shiny fork in her hand. “I’ll finish up here and then I’ll meet you at The Bertram after. You can help me put everything away just before dinner.”

  I rise and close the cap on the bottle of polish in front of me.

  “And Lila?” she asks as I get up from the table and push my chair in.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you doing okay?” Her forehead is creased and her eyes are soft.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re just so … quiet,” she says. “And you never used to be. You used to chat my ear off every time we’d come out. Talking about movies and boys and friends and books and concerts and anything and everything.”

  Her mouth twitches into a quick, bittersweet kind of smile.

  “I … I hope you don’t think we’re pretending like nothing happened. It’s hard for us, too, you know?” She pauses. “I don’t ask you how you’re doing every five seconds because I don’t want to annoy you. But I think about it all the time. The things that must be going through your head. The way you must be feeling. If you ever want to talk ...”

  “Thank you. I know. I know I can tell you anything,” I say. “I’m just taking things one day at a time.”

  She places a butter knife on the cloth before her, dragging in a long breath. “You remind me so much of her, Lila. Every day. The way you talk. The way you walk. Your expressions. Your strength … it’s all her.”

  My eyes fill with tears, but I blink them away.

  I don’t want to cry.

  Not here, not now.

  “In a way … she lives on. Through you,” Grandma continues. “And while I know this isn’t exactly the kind of place a girl your age would want to live for the summer, just know that having you here has been a blessing for your grandfather and me.” Rising, she walks to me, cupping my face in her hands. “We’ll get through this together.”