“That sounds…difficult.”
“After more than a quarter of a century with Kelly, it’s hard to look at our relationship as a transgression, though I suppose it was that. Regardless, I never meant to hurt my children. But I did, and I’ve had to live with that for thirty years. That’s why I don’t want to see history repeat itself with you and your mother.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Marin said. “Not at all.”
And truly, thirty years of anger didn’t seem out of the question to her.
The front porch of the Beach Rose Inn was people-watching central.
Rachel had found a book about Provincetown on the shelf in her room, Land’s End, by Michael Cunningham, and brought it to the porch rocking chair along with a mug of coffee to settle in for an hour of reading. But how could she focus on reading about Provincetown when it was unfolding in front of her in all its dramatic glory? The thing that amazed her the most was the way everyone seemed to know one another. It was so unlike LA, that sprawling metropolis where you kept seeing people you thought you knew and then realized they were just actors from TV shows you once watched.
And now, someone she did know appeared on the steps. Luke Duncan.
He carried two serving trays.
“Oh, hi!” She jumped up to help him and took one of the trays, a heavy ceramic hand-painted dish she recognized from the day of the party.
“Thanks. My dad sent me to return these to Amelia.”
“Great,” she said. Great? Her heart thumped. And it wasn’t the strong coffee.
He looked around the porch. “What are you guys up to today?”
“I’m just…reading.” She pulled her book off the chair and waved it at him.
“That’s a good one.”
He started to say something else but was distracted by voices just beyond the stairs, and then Marin appeared, trailed by Amelia.
Rachel realized that Marin was truly beautiful. She wore drawstring pants slung low on her hips and a white tank top; her cheeks were flushed from either exercise or the sun, the bright color serving to highlight the deep brown of her eyes. Her shiny dark hair was in a messy knot on top of her head, a few tendrils escaping so artfully it was as if she had been styled for a beach photo shoot.
And Rachel was not the only one who noticed.
“Hey.” Luke smiled at Marin, literally turning his back to her.
“Hey,” Marin said, focused on unwrapping the red bandanna around her wrist.
“Let me get those from you, dear,” Amelia said, taking the trays from Luke and Rachel and leaving the three of them to shuffle awkwardly on the porch.
Marin continued to attend to her wrist, unveiling her tattoo, while Luke watched in rapt attention. Rachel struggled to think of a way to dismiss her.
“Did you just get that?” he asked her.
Marin nodded. “Yesterday. After we left the party.”
He reached for her hand and held her wrist at an angle so he could see better. Rachel’s stomach lurched with jealousy.
“A beach rose?”
“Yeah.”
“Awesome.”
Rachel wondered how she’d become the third wheel when she was the one who’d originally been talking to him!
“I can’t get it wet or in the sun, so probably not the best timing,” Marin said. “But whatever. All right, I’m going back to sleep.”
With that, she marched into the house, the screen door slamming behind her.
Luke’s eyes followed her, his tongue practically hanging out. Rachel sat back in the rocking chair and resumed reading. Or, rather, she pretended to resume reading.
“Your sister’s a character,” he said finally.
“Half.”
“She’s half a character?”
“She’s my half sister.”
“Yes. I remember.” He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture she found riveting, like everything else about him. “I’m going to get something to eat. Want to come?”
She looked at him in surprise, and then, with great effort to sound casual, replied, “Sure.”
Luke led the way down Commercial. They stopped at a souvenir shop, where Rachel was delighted to find a postcard with the Beach Rose Inn on the front. She bought it and decided she would send it to her mother. One block later, Luke stopped in front of a small restaurant with a windowed storefront and a prominent rainbow flag: Café Heaven.
“When you try the food, you’ll see it’s aptly named.” He smiled.
Food or no food, she was already in heaven.
Inside, the blue ceiling was painted with puffy, cartoonish clouds. Every table was full. The host told them it would be just a few minutes and pointed out the specials written on a wall chalkboard.
“Everything is great here, but my favorite are the homemade English muffins. You’ll never buy one from the store again.”
She nodded. A table was cleared and they were seated.
“So is Amelia taking you sightseeing? Whale watching? There’s a lot for you guys to get in while you’re here.”
“I’m not sure,” she said. Even if Amelia had committed them to a jam-packed daily schedule, she would not have admitted it. Was he volunteering to show her around? “What are you doing all summer?”
“Well, I want to help my dad out. And I’m writing a book.”
“Like, a novel?” She imagined a sexy spy series—something like James Bond, but American. Or maybe something more literary. The Corrections, set in Cape Cod.
“Nonfiction. About the decline of American cities. Sort of an update on Jane Jacobs’s classic The Death and Life of Great American Cities. Did they make you read that in school?”
“Um, no.” Maybe if she’d finished college, she would have gotten around to that one.
“Well, we’ll see how productive I can be out here. This is my first summer since high school I’m in Provincetown for two months straight. It’s a little bit of an adjustment for me.”
“Did you just need some time away from Rhode Island?”
“No. It was actually difficult and complicated to pack up and move here for two months. But when I visited at Christmas, my dad didn’t seem to be doing very well. I have this weird feeling it might be my last summer with him.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “But he must be so happy you’re here. I’m sure it means a lot to him.”
“Yeah, but I felt bad imposing on Bart. I don’t want to, like, crowd him or take away from his time with my dad. I talked to him about it beforehand, and he agreed I should come. He said it was a good idea.”
Of course Luke would think of Bart. Luke was considerate. Luke was, as far as she could tell, perfect.
“I wish I could stay,” Rachel said. “I thought a week would seem like a long time to be in a strange place with people I don’t know. Now it feels like I’ve been here my whole life.”
“P-Town has that effect on some people. I couldn’t live here year-round, but my dad came here for a three-day writing retreat and literally never left.”