IT’S NOT HER FAULT.
It’s not her fault.
It’s not her fault.
As Luca babbles on and on about the right way to roll silverware, this phrase echoes in my mind over and over again. I watch Eva weave through LuMac’s tourist-packed dining room pouring coffee through a smile, tucking her tips into her aqua-blue apron.
Well, that will pair just beautifully with the necklace . . .
Ugh. Stop. It’s not her fault.
And it’s not. I know this. It’s not like Eva threw herself into my mother’s arms and begged her to love her and share with her all the secrets of life. She’s not even aware of how fucked up my relationship with Maggie actually is. On top of that, I know Mom gets like this—?she hooks herself on to a sad story and rides it until the bitter end.
But this is the first time that story has been a person I know, someone I have to see and interact with and work with. Usually it’s cats at the animal shelter and orphans in some war-torn country or flood victims along the Mississippi. Usually I can ignore Mom’s fluttering and heart-clutching, and she’s over it in a couple weeks. Usually it’s not quite so . . . real.
Okay, that one time Mom brought home a worm-filled dog from the pound was pretty real, because I was twelve and I had to take care of him, get all attached to him, and name him Noodles because of his curly, sand-colored fur, only to realize there was no way we could afford him and then I had to find a good home for him and say goodbye. That was pretty real. But still. Noodles was a dog.
Eva is a whole live girl.
“Hey,” Luca says, bumping my elbow. “Earth to Gray.”
“What? Sorry.”
He follows my gaze over the counter to where Eva’s delivering an armful of plates to table . . . eleven? No, twelve.
“Uh-huh,” he says after few more glances between us.
“What?”
“Did you hang out with Eva last night?”
“Yeah,” I say, dragging out the word. I’m just going to assume he means the bonfire and not the lighthouse at two a.m.
“What did you talk about?”
“Stuff.”
“Stuff.”
“Yes, Luca, stuff.”
“Like, serious stuff or fun stuff?”
“Oh my god, pry much?”
He shrugs and presents his palms. “Just wondering. You’re not exactly Cape Katie’s Miss Congeniality, but you and Eva . . .”
“Me and Eva what?”
“Seem to get along. Damn. Sensitive much?”
I take a deep breath, rolling up some more silverware. “Sorry. And yeah, we do get along. She’s cool.”
He nods, smiling an infuriating little smile.
“What?” I ask.
“Did you share things?”
“Luca, I swear to god, I’m about to stab you with this knife.”
“It’s a butter knife—?it’ll barely break the skin.”
“Try me.”
“I’m just asking if you talked about yourself at all. Your mom or whatever. Jay didn’t even know your middle name.”
I ignore the whatever and focus on the most innocuous part of his inquiry. “First of all, Jay didn’t care about my middle name. Second of all, what does my relationship with Jay have to do with Eva?”
He starts to say something, but I power on.
“And third, why would I tell her about Maggie?”
He frowns. “You’re not going to?”
“Again, why? Poor girl’s been through enough.”
His frown deepens, but he nods. Luckily, Eva chooses that moment to come over, a few credit cards and guest checks overflowing in her hands.
“Oh my god, does anyone tip with cash anymore?” she asks, brushing her hair out of her face with her arm.
“Nope,” Luca says. “Or anything over fifteen percent, at least in Cape Katie.”
“Lovely.”
“But you can expect some nice plum preserves around Christmastime.”
She blinks at him, and he shoots her a double thumbs-up, coupled with a goofy grin. They banter back and forth for a few seconds, but I don’t hear it. My eyes seem to have a mind of their own, traveling from Eva’s tired eyes and laughing mouth, down her long neck to the hollow of her throat where the necklace would rest next to her heart.
“How’s your first day going?” she asks, turning toward me.
“Fine, I think. I’ve mastered the very challenging silverware roll.” I hold up an admittedly sloppy creation.
“Lucky. Better than dealing with people.”
“How dare they want coffee refills.”
“Right? So entitled.”
We laugh and Luca bats his eyelashes at me over Eva’s shoulder. I stick my tongue out at him while Eva runs the credit cards.
“I’m exhausted,” she whispers, leaning toward me so only I can hear her.
“I wonder why.”
She smiles and nudges my shoulder a little. Last night we climbed to the top of the lighthouse again and talked about nothing. Stupid stuff. How Eva’s never been on a horse. My uncharacteristic love for Anne of Green Gables. Eva’s addiction to eating peanut butter right out of the jar. My irrational fear of water beasts.
“Water beasts?” she’d asked, barely holding back a laugh.
“Sharks. Giant alligators in tiny ponds. Piranhas traveling in packs. Dolphins.”
“Dolphins? Who’s scared of dolphins?”
“They have teeth. They’re freakishly smart. They wig me out, okay?”
She tossed her head back and laughed, and it was a little embarrassing how much I loved the sound.
We talked about all this nothing for a good two hours, steering clear of anything to do with mothers or future plans or girls or first kisses. Yes, we stayed far, far away from that. But it was so easy. Up there, I didn’t belong to a messed-up mother. She wasn’t the grieving daughter. We were just Grace and Eva.
“Secrets don’t make friends, ladies,” Luca says while he puts a fresh filter into the coffeemaker.
“Good thing I don’t care too much about making more friends,” I say.
“You’re so charming, Gray.”
I flip my hair dramatically. “You love me.”
His eyes soften on me. They flick to Eva once, who watches us with an even softer smile, before settling on me again. “I do.”
His sudden seriousness makes my throat tighten. There aren’t many things I’m sure of in life, but Luca’s undying loyalty is one of them. Honestly, I don’t think I’d be alive or half as functional as I am without him. I should tell him this more often. Should tell him I love him more than once every five years.
Instead I sock him in the stomach.
I mean, I do it gently, but I still punch him.
He releases a laughed Oof and pulls me into a headlock. Emmy blasts out the kitchen door just as he’s starting up his legendary noogie.
“Luca!”
He releases me, frantically trying to pick up some rolled silverware that clattered to the floor in our scuffle. Emmy just glares at him.
“I never know if you two are madly in love or hate each other’s guts,” she says.
I feel Eva’s eyes on me while Luca pretends to consider this. “I’m thinking somewhere in between.”