Authors: Sarah Dessen
I sat down opposite him. “Doesn’t sound like Ivy.”
“Nope. Maybe I scared her off for good.”
I watched him turn another page. The pictures of the pies looked amazing. I realized I was starving. “I’d heard just the opposite, actually.”
Now, I had his attention. He shut the book. “Which means what?”
“Just that you’re being really on board with the whole film thing these days,” I said. “Cooperating more, and now there’s talk about a tour …”
I let this last part trail off, thinking he’d dispute it. But, like the night we’d stopped to fix his tire, he didn’t. Instead, he sat back. “Nothing’s definite about a tour yet.”
“Yet? So you are doing it?”
“You sound shocked at the very thought,” he observed.
“Because I am,” I said. He raised his eyebrows. “I mean, at the beginning of the summer, you wouldn’t even
talk
to them. Now you’re thinking of coming out of retirement and taking your show on the road?”
“I’m not a circus clown, Emaline.”
“You’re not an artist anymore, either,” I said. “At least, I didn’t think you were.”
“This wouldn’t be about new work,” he pointed out. “Just a way of giving my older stuff another chance. I mean, an opportunity to do things differently, with the benefit of hindsight? That’s a hard thing to turn down.”
“A do-over,” I said. He nodded. “I get that. In fact, I was kind of hoping for one of my own, earlier. Didn’t happen, though.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “I’m starting to think, though, that some things never get that. The replay, and all. So at some point you have to make peace with it as it is, not keep waiting for a chance to change it.”
“I don’t know about that.” He looked down at the table, scraping at a spot there. “You’re pretty young to be talking in nevers.”
I thought of my father, back in his kitchen. “Some people would say disappointment is a good thing to learn young.”
“True,” he agreed. “But some people are assholes.”
I smiled. “I seem to remember you calling yourself that, not too long ago.”
“True. So you don’t have to listen to anything I say, either,” he said. “But for what it’s worth, Emaline, I’ll tell you this: Life is long. Just because you don’t get your chance right when you want or expect it doesn’t mean it won’t come. Fate doesn’t punch a time clock or consult a schedule. Look at me. Forty-two and talking about showing my art again. Didn’t see
that
one coming.”
“Which is probably just why it did,” I said.
He pointed at me. “Smart girl.”
So now it was a consensus. Too bad I still felt like a victim of my own dumb luck. Speaking of which, right then, Ivy walked through the door.
“Well, there’s an entire working afternoon shot,” she said, as if she’d been carrying on this conversation without us prior to her arrival. She walked over to the counter, peering across
it at the cooler on the other side. “You’d think I would learn. This is what happens when you don’t hire professionals. You sell beer here, right?”
“No,” Clyde said.
“You’re kidding.” She exhaled dramatically. “That is so unfortunate. Because I
really
need a drink right now.”
I glanced at the door she’d just come through. “Where’s Theo?”
She held up her hand, palm facing me. “Don’t say that name to me right now. Especially if there is truly no beer here.”
“There’s a bar across the street,” Clyde told her. “The margaritas suck. But they are powerfully strong.”
“You had me at margarita,” she replied, turning on her heel. “Let’s go.”
Clyde and I looked at each other, and he got out of the booth. “The woman wants a drink,” he said with a shrug. “As a Southern gentleman, I must oblige.”
Ivy was already halfway out the door, the sun now slanting through into the dark room, making the dust in the air dance.
“Do you need me to lock up or something?” I called after Clyde.
“Nah. Just shut the door tight if you leave,” he replied. Which, in downtown Colby at least, counted as a basic security measure. Add an actual lock or alarm system, and you were in full-on bunker mode, as far as anyone was concerned.
Now, alone, I looked at my watch: it was ten after six. Something was definitely up. I picked up my phone and texted Theo. A moment later, he replied.
Change of plans. Boardwalk and bikes in ten.
Bikes, I thought. Well, that explained the flat shoes. I told him I was on my way and left, giving the door a good yank behind me.
It was still early for the boardwalk, the crowds a mix of people wrapping up a day at the beach—toting bags, umbrellas, floats, and pink-cheeked children—and those out for an early dinner. I picked my way through the crowd, towards Abe’s Bikes. About halfway there, a beefy guy in a tight black T-shirt thrust a piece of bright pink paper at me.
“Ladies’ night at Tallyho!” he said. “Quarter shots! Bring a friend for the most fun on the beach!”
I shook my head—no, no—dodging around him. As I passed Clementine’s, I looked in the open door to see Auden and Maggie folding jeans at a clearance table. They waved, gesturing for me to come in, but I motioned up ahead, mouthing I’d see them later. I had just caught sight of Theo.
He was in front of Abe’s, wearing his sport coat and jeans, scanning the crowd. Awfully dressy for a bike date, I thought. I didn’t see the bags at his feet until I was right in front of him.
“There she is!” he said, stepping forward and picking me up off the ground, one big swoop. Startled, I lost a shoe. I heard it hit the ground with a
thwack
. “Ready for our Best Outside Date Ever That Has Now Become Even More Epic?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, trying to gracefully find my footing again. Behind him, Wallace, who worked at the shop, was standing next to a pair of bikes, watching us with a bemused expression. “Are you okay?” I asked Theo.
“Fantastic.” He put me down, then smiled at me. His
cheeks were flushed, a faint sweat visible on his brow. “Just had the biggest blow-up with Ivy. Whew! You should have seen her. She was
livid
.”
“Are those yours?” I asked, looking down at the large duffel and backpack on the ground between us.
“Yep. Got thrown out.” He laughed. “That was part of the whole livid thing.”
“She threw you out?” I asked.
“I’ll explain everything. Let’s just ride first, okay?” He turned to Wallace, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. “So that’s … two-hour rental for the bikes, right? And I can leave this big bag behind the counter?”
“Sure,” Wallace said. Theo handed him a few bills. “Let me get your change.”
“Keep it,” he told him. Then he took the smaller bike and wheeled it closer to me. “Your chariot awaits.”
Wallace looked at me again. I was pretty sure I knew what he, all the guys at the shop, and everyone at Clementine’s would be talking about after work that night. If not the second we were out of sight.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” I asked Theo.
“I’m fine,” he assured me. “Hop on.”
I did, if only because I was eager to be rid of our audience. It had been a while since I’d been on a bike, and navigating the shifting crowd wasn’t exactly easy, but after a moment I found a narrow, somewhat empty stretch. I looked behind me at Theo, who was now on his own bike. “Where are we going?”
“Follow me!” he said, and then he was zooming up beside and past me, backpack now on, his sport coat flapping out
behind him. I tried my best to keep up as he zigzagged along, braking sharply whenever someone stepped in front of him. Finally, after a traffic jam at the Pavilion, where some terrible-sounding band was playing—
SPINNERBAIT!
according to the banner they had tacked up, crookedly, behind them—we emerged onto a more empty stretch. Theo picked up speed, glancing back at me.
“Not far now,” he said. “You’re going to
love
this.”
We were getting closer to the pier now, with people dangling fishing poles dotting it all the way out over the water. Beyond that, there was nothing but sand, hardly conducive to riding. Just as I was about to point this out, Theo suddenly took a sharp right, onto the road that led to the unpaved campground area.
“Hey,” I called out, my voice wobbling as we bumped over a large pothole, RVs and trailers on either side of us. “I think you went the wrong way?”
“Nope. This is right. We’re almost there.”
I was, in a word, hesitant. Colby was a pretty safe place, but the pier campground was notoriously sketchy. So much so it made the small, rundown motel adjacent—which, despite lacking one, was called the Sea View—look positively decadent in comparison. Home to mostly seasonal fishermen and a rougher set of tourists, it was a known mostly as an epicenter for drunk and disorderly conduct and fighting arrests. Not a place you went on the Best Outdoor Date Ever. Or ever, if you could help it.
The road was steadily getting worse, with more holes and now the occasional beer bottle to avoid. Every once in a while
we’d pass someone, usually shirtless and/or smoking, who followed us, unsmiling, with narrowed eyes. If my dad knew I was anywhere near here, he’d kill me. If I wasn’t murdered first.
“Um, Theo,” I called out, cautiously. “I think—”
“Here we are!” He jerked his bike to a stop, kicking up a cloud of dust, then jumped off. I pulled up beside him, but stayed on mine, watching from there as he gestured grandly at the small, beat-up camper in front of us. “Home sweet home. Lucky number seven.”
I looked at it, then at him. “Whose house is this?”
“Mine,” he replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I mean, it’s a rental, of course. Twenty-five bucks a night, first three nights free with a month commitment. What’s not to love?”
I could think of a long list. Which would begin, most likely, with the trailer next door, which was listing noticeably to one side, had its door hanging open, and appeared to be pelted with bullet holes. Yikes. “You rented this for a month?”
“Yup.” He wheeled his bike up to the door, parking it. “Which I figure is long enough to get myself where I need to be work-wise, hang with you, and hit the Beach Bash in great fashion. Preferably in that order. Come on, check out the inside.”
He shrugged off his backpack and pulled out a keychain, from which he selected a tiny key. He fit it into the Master lock that hung from the camper’s door. It stuck at first, but eventually he got it open, although it protested with a shriek-like sound. It was only because a car was approaching, the driver
apparently not planning to slow down despite the fact that I was in his path, that I finally moved to join him.
“Watch your step,” he said, extending a hand out to me as I got closer. I ducked into the narrow doorway, letting him pull me up to the camper proper. One of those kinds designed to be towed behind a truck, it was small, seemed ancient, and smelled strongly of bleach. Which had to be covering the scent of something else, although I didn’t even want to think about what that might be. Theo, apparently not noticing this, had already begun the grand tour. “Now, this is the sleeping area, down here. Cool shelves, right? And then, behind you, there’s the dining area, kitchenette, and social space.”
I could barely turn around fully to see all this, it was so small. “I can’t believe you’re going from Sand Castles to this.”
“Hey, I’m a New Yorker,” he said, hardly bothered. “Small living space is what I’m accustomed to. And I’m already getting settled in. Have a seat!”
I looked where he was pointing. There, overturned, was one of the milk crates from Gert’s. In typical Theo style, he’d draped a brightly colored cloth napkin over it. Even here, there would be pomp. I sat, simply for the head room.
“And now, we celebrate,” he said, pulling over a beat-up wooden stool plastered with fishing reel stickers and settling in. He unzipped his backpack and took out a bottle of wine, already opened and corked, as well as two clear plastic cups, a jar of cocktail olives, and a small can of salted nuts. He poured a glass for me, then one for himself, arranging the food on the backpack’s surface.
“What are we celebrating, exactly?” I asked.
He held up his cup, clearing his throat. “To freedom. And new beginnings.”
I repeated this, and we tapped glasses. Despite my dislike for red wine, I took a big gulp, quickly followed by another one. “Are you going to tell me what happened now?”
He opened the olives. “You mean with Ivy?”
“I mean …” I looked around the camper again, then out the narrow door. The ocean was behind us, with many other vehicles in between. The only real view was the back of another RV, which had been in its spot long enough to have scrub and vines tangled around it. “There have clearly been some changes since I saw you last night.”
“There have indeed.” He grinned, then sat back, swishing his wine around his glass. “Okay. So the biggest news is that Clyde’s going out on tour, in conjunction with the film’s release early next year.”
“I thought that wasn’t definite.”
“Oh, no. It’s definite.” He took a sip of his wine, closing his eyes. “What’s not clear is what kind of support he’ll need in terms of getting the work ready, dealing with the press, handling the publicity. Which is where I come in.”
“You?” I said. “What about Ivy?”
“Well, there’s the rub.” He helped himself to a nut, then an olive. “My feeling was that, by the time this would all be happening, she’d be done with the film and have little need for me. But apparently, she felt differently.”
I thought back to what she’d said when she arrived at the Washroom. “Feeling differently” was clearly an understatement. “So she threw you out?”
“Not initially,” he replied. “When I first told her I wanted to go ahead and give my month’s notice to pursue other opportunities, she was just really pissed. Said I was screwing her over, abandoning her. You know, her typical rant. But then when it came out those opportunities involved Clyde … that’s when she went ballistic.”
I watched him help himself to another olive. Drinks and snacks, so civilized, even in this most uncivilized of places. “Why, though?”
He shrugged. “Oh, she thinks I used her to get access to him. That I always intended the job with her to be a conduit to something bigger.”