On the Saturday night before Labor Day, the Holloways and the Popes were hosting a party on the beach. Every family on Saltaire Lane was invited. They had tables set in the sand and a buffet of shrimp, fried chicken, and potato salad. There were big buckets with iced wine and beer, and Sam wore a short white sundress. Those are the parts Wyatt would remember the most clearly before it all happened. The crunch of the shrimp, the dill in the potato salad, the feel of Sam’s dress when his hand rested on her waist.
Laurel was gathering up the empty glass water bottles, struggling with four of them in her hands. They were out of water, and she must have noticed that people were getting a bit tipsy. Wyatt made his way over to her and took the bottles. “Let me,” he said. “Need anything else from inside?”
Laurel smiled her gratitude. “No, but thank you. I’m exhausted.”
Wyatt made his way up the beach, to the path in the dunes, two empty bottles in each hand. He’d fully intended to fill the bottles at the Holloways’ house—they had a water cooler in the kitchen—but he was hot and he knew the water from the dispenser in the door of his refrigerator would be ice-cold. The only thing that’s better at my house, he’d remember thinking. If it hadn’t been so hot, he probably would have filled up the bottles at Sam’s house. It was faster, and they were Sam’s bottles. If it hadn’t been so hot, maybe nothing would have changed.
He passed the pool, opened the sliding glass door, and heard it, a muffled gasp. He switched on the light and tried to make sense of his mother sitting on the kitchen counter with her arms around Bill Holloway’s neck.
“Mom?” he heard himself say.
“Wyatt. Oh, we were just . . .” He didn’t stay for the rest.
He ran out to the treehouse and texted Sam that he wasn’t feeling well and was going to bed. Then he sat in his beach chair, motionless, watching the rest of the party. He saw his mother walk back out to the beach, rejoining the group. He wondered if this would be just one more thing that the Popes didn’t talk about. Michael’s drunk, Wyatt’s not going to college, Mom’s an adulterer. He watched Bill walk out moments later, looking around, presumably for him. Wyatt would have to tell Sam, but he didn’t even know what to say.
He woke up on the floor of the treehouse to find Sam climbing under the blankets next to him. She curved her body right into his, the way she always did, and rested her head on his chest. “This is a weird place to sleep if you’re not feeling well,” she whispered.
“I’m okay,” he said.
“Do you love me?” she asked, like she did so often. It was rhetorical at this point, a game.
“I do,” he said, and pulled her closer. He ran the words through his head: I have something to tell you. Or, I saw something. She would be crushed, and honestly, he was too. It wasn’t even so much his mother’s doing something like that to his father. For all he knew, she couldn’t stand him. He felt more let down by Bill, like the one thing in the world that he’d thought was perfect was not. And the thought of Sam’s knowing what he knew was too much for him.
“You’re quiet,” she said, running her hand over his chest.
“I’m asleep,” he said. “Stay with me.” And she did.
* * *
When the sun came up, Sam snuck down the rope ladder and back to her house. Wyatt woke hours later and found his dad and Bill sitting by the pool. Frank was leaning back, arms folded over his chest. Bill had his head in his hands. There was no way into the house without walking by them. “I’m sorry, son,” said Bill, whose son he was not.
Wyatt just stood there.
“I didn’t know if you’d tell your dad, but I didn’t want that burden on you. This is my fault, mine and your mom’s, I guess, and it’s for me to carry, not you.” So goddamn perfect, thought Wyatt. This guy was flawless, except for the obvious.
“Glad you feel better, then,” said Wyatt, and walked into the house.
His mother was in the kitchen, wiping up spills that weren’t there. “I did everything wrong,” she said, not looking up.
Yes, he thought. Everything.
By noon, Frank was headed to the airport to fly back to Florida. Sam would be at work at the library, getting off in an hour. Wyatt took the truck and waited out front. When she saw him, her face opened up in a smile. She hopped in the car and kissed him. He kissed her extra, in case this was the last time.
“You’ll be happy to know my parents are in a fight,” she joked. “I heard them arguing when I left this morning, just like regular people.”
“Sam.”
“I’m joking, maybe it’s not funny. But I sort of thought, Wow, is this what regular parents do?”
“Sam. I need to tell you. Something’s happened.”
They were still parked in front of the library on Main Street; the car was hot and the windows were down. Sam turned to him and took his hand.
“You’re scaring me a little. What?”
Wyatt looked down at her hand in his, so angry at Bill for creating this moment.
“Last night I saw your dad and my mom, kind of making out. There’s been some kind of an affair and my dad went back to Florida.”
Sam just looked at him. “I don’t understand.”
“I know, this is really hard to hear, and it was really hard to see.”
Sam turned away from him and stared straight out the windshield. The silence that followed put new space between them. Finally, Sam said, “Take me home.”
When Wyatt pulled into his driveway, Sam went right into her house without saying a word. He tried to imagine what she’d find in there. Would Travis be home? Would they all just talk about it? Wyatt was overcome with jealousy at the thought. His dad had just gotten up and left, and the Holloways were probably already in group therapy. Thanks, Bill, for blowing up my family.
* * *
Apparently, Laurel couldn’t spend another night next door to Marion. But, of course, she wasn’t going to leave Bill alone living next to her. From his kitchen window, Wyatt could see Bill and Travis packing up the car to go back to Manhattan.
He texted Sam: What’s happening? Are you leaving?
Sam: Looks like it. Can I come say goodbye?
Wyatt: Meet me at the beach
They had ten minutes to say everything that was hopefully going to make this thing okay. Wyatt sat with his arm around Sam and felt the weight of her legs draped over his. He felt her head on his shoulder, exactly where it was meant to be, and ran his fingers over the tangle of her hair. He wasn’t sure that he’d processed what he’d seen last night or that he had any idea of what was going to happen, but he did know that right in his arms was everything that mattered. “I love you and this has nothing to do with us, okay?” he kept saying.
Sam cried and let him hold her. “I don’t understand how this can be happening.”
“I can’t believe I’m not going to see you tomorrow.” Wyatt felt emptied out as he said these words, as he imagined his body alone without Sam. He felt the happiness that he’d been so acutely aware of all summer start to melt away, and anger filled the empty space.
33
Sam
Sam wouldn’t have been ready to say goodbye to Wyatt on Labor Day under normal circumstances, but now, saying goodbye like this, she felt like she’d had something ripped from her body. Something that was critical to her functioning. Her family was silent in the car, and as they got closer to Manhattan, Sam felt the panic you feel when you’ve become disoriented in the water and you don’t remember which way is up. She felt like everything she’d thought she knew about the world had been wrong.
* * *
“My parents have started therapy,” she told Wyatt on the phone in late September.
“I cannot imagine your dad in therapy.”
“Me neither. It’s weird here, this thick tension in the apartment and my dad sort of walking on eggshells. I’m pretty sure my mom could get him to do anything she wanted right now.” It was almost as if her mother was in a newly restructured marriage, and she was enjoying the position of power. It was unnerving.
“Well I hope she makes him suffer for a little while longer, he deserves it.”
“Wyatt.”
“I mean it. He broke my family; he can sweat it out for a little while before he gets his happy ending.” Sam wanted to say that Bill hadn’t broken their family, that Wyatt himself had told her a million times how broken it already was. But there was anger in his voice that Sam had never heard before. She was scared to push back.
“How’s your dad doing?” she asked.