I shake my head, my mind spinning. There are a thousand things I’ve wanted to say to Will, and I can’t seem to pick a single one of them.
Will rubs his neck. “You do remember me, right?” His words come out like they’re tiptoeing across a tightrope. Five cautious steps.
Remember him? The question is so ridiculous, it’s almost funny. It was my mom who saved my life, but it was Will who helped me figure out how to make it my own.
Will picks my shoes up off the ground and takes a step closer to pass them to me, his expression guarded, and the movement jolts me. There are guests everywhere, lying on blankets on the lawn, stretched out on loungers by the beach, waiting for the fireworks to begin, but I don’t care.
“Oh, I remember you,” I say. The lamplight caresses the high planes of his cheeks, and an image of him from that night, candlelight flickering across his face, flashes in my mind. “And what I’d like to know is what you’re doing here.”
He blinks at my tone, holding the shoes out between us.
“At my resort,” I add, snatching the heels. “Did you get the date wrong?”
“No. I—”
“Don’t try to tell me this is some kind of coincidence,” I say.
“You don’t know?” He sounds confused. “I’m here to help,” he says, lowering his voice.
“What are you talking about?”
“Your mother didn’t tell you? She hired me as a business consultant.”
My neck pulls back like a slingshot. “My mother? How do you know my mother?” I hiss, and then I close my eyes. For a moment, I forgot that she’s gone.
“I met her here last summer,” Will says. “I thought she might have told you. I thought that might be why you’re here. She asked for my help with strategic planning and ideas for—”
I wave my shoes to stop him. I’m overwhelmed. I can’t focus on the unlikelihood of my mom hiring a consultant, or the even weirder twist of that person being Will. Will, who is here. Will, who came here last summer. Will, who knew my mom. Will, who thought I knew he was coming. Will, who despite all this, still never contacted me. This is all too much.
I take a deep breath so I can address the most important fact. “Will,” I say, and his name feels strange on my tongue. “My mother’s dead.”
“What? No. I just spoke to her . . . it wasn’t that long ago,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
“It was a car accident. Back in May.” I list the facts like pulling off a Band-Aid, cleanly and with as little attention to their meaning as possible. I explain how the restaurant’s ice machine broke during the middle of dinner service, how the bartenders were making do with a dispenser on one of the guest room floors. When someone complained about the constant noise, my mom decided to drive into town herself to bring back a trunk full of ice. It was dark, and I doubt she saw the deer until it crashed through her windshield.
It makes me irrationally angry, how she insisted on doing tasks she could have easily assigned to someone else. In the end, her dedication killed her.
Will runs a palm down his face. He’s gone a shade paler. “Are you okay? Of course you’re not okay,” he says, answering his own question. “You really didn’t know I was coming. You’re here because you’ve lost your mom.”
I hold out my hands, palms up—it’s a gesture of bewilderment, not showmanship. “I own this place now. She left it to me.”
Will stares down at me, and I look away. The weeks of waking in the middle of the night and tossing and turning for hours are catching up with me, the exhaustion that’s deep in my bones seeping to the surface.
“Fern,” he says quietly, gently. He twists the ring on his pinkie. I forgot about the ring-twisting. “I’m so sorry.”
The apology slams into my chest like the blunt end of an ax. It’s not what I want him to be sorry for. My bottom lip trembles.
He reaches for my arm, and I jerk it back. “Don’t.”
“Fernie?” Jamie calls from the top of the staircase. “You all right?”
“I’m fine,” I say, moving aside to make room for a group heading toward the lodge.
Jamie wishes the guests a good evening and remarks on the excellence of the crab cakes before descending the steps two at a time to join us. He isn’t as tall as Will, but Jamie has always been extremely comfortable in his body. He wields it like he’s a giant.
“You left your key behind, Mr. Baxter,” he says, eyes narrowed, passing it to Will. “And your suitcase, but I’ll have it delivered to your cabin.”
Will puffs up taller as he takes the keycard. “I appreciate that.”
“So you two know each other?” Jamie asks, looking between us.
“No,” I say at the same time Will answers, “Yes.”
Jamie’s eyes drop to my legs. “There’s a first aid kit back in the office. Let me clean that up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Really, Jamie, I’m fine.”
I see the precise moment when the name registers with Will. He blinks twice, and shock washes over his face like a tide coming in.
Jamie crouches in front of me, examining the injury. My eyes dart to Will’s. A reflex. But he’s watching Jamie, his hands clenched at his sides.
“You sure you’re good, Fernie?” Jamie asks, then peers up at me. “I don’t like the look of this.”
I’m standing between Jamie Pringle and Will Baxter, with bare feet and banged-up knees, less than two months after my mother’s death. “Uh-huh,” I tell him.
“Not buying it. You’re coming with me,” Jamie says, standing again. “You can’t get anything by me, Fernie,” he says into my ear, but I’m sure Will can hear.
I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do. I hate that I do.
Will clears his throat. “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he says. “I’m sorry, Fern.” He gives me a long look. I think he might say something more, but then he turns down the path.
The first firework explodes overhead with a bang and a fizzle, lighting the treetops. But I don’t look up. I stare at Will, walking away from me like he did ten years ago.
You and me in one year, Fern Brookbanks. Don’t let me down.
That was the last thing he said.
4
June 14, Ten Years Ago
Guys were always so slumpy. They leaned in doorways and slouched over cafeteria tables. Jamie often used me as a resting post, his elbow propped on my shoulder. Will was much more vertical.
He was outlining the wing of a plane soaring above the skyline while I pretended to read The Grid. I had my notebook on the table, open to the list of things I wanted to do, see, eat, and drink before I went home in little more than a week. Between classes, homework, and shifts, I hadn’t made the most of living in Canada’s largest city. I was hoping to find a couple of cheap ideas in this week’s issue to add to my bucket list, but I’d been staring at the long line of Will’s back and the steady grip of his hand around the brush. Mostly I was struck by the upright way he held himself. Definitively unslumpy.
“I can feel your judgment,” Will said. “It’s extremely loud.” He looked over his shoulder, hair falling into his eyes, lips slanted up. “Want to put on some music to drown it out?”
So he was funny and hot. I glared, but Will’s smile only widened. I’d never seen one as beautiful as his.
“Are you always this toothy?” I asked.
“Are you always this friendly?”
“Pretty much.”
He chuckled, and I could feel the sound in my belly, warm and sweet. “I won’t take offense, then.” He nodded to my iPod on the table. “Music?”
“Sure.” He’d found my weak spot in record time. I rubbed the newsprint off my fingers onto my shorts and thumbed through my albums with chipped blue nails, taking a guess at what he’d like. “I’ve got the new Vampire Weekend. Have you heard it?”
“Is that what you were listening to when you came in? I saw you out on the street earlier.”
I cleared my throat, surprised. “Oh, no. That was one of Peter’s playlists.”
“Your boyfriend?”
I snorted. “Peter’s my mom’s best friend. Playlists are kind of our thing.”