Page 4 of When Love Is Unexpected

Lily has been Holly's nanny since they moved to Boston. Loren and Aaron met Lisa when she was working for her mother's housekeeping business and was assigned to clean Aaron's house. She's building an estate sales business from scratch and will graduate from college next year with a degree in business administration.

When the phone rings, I watch Dad get up to answer it. As soon as he says hello, I can tell it's Sam. I try to figure out what they're discussing, but Dad gives little away. His side of the conversation is minimal. There are a lot of “ahas,” “hmms,” and “okays.” The man is not contributing anything to the conversation, and it's bugging me.

"Why don't you ask to speak with him?" asks Adam, giving me a side-eye.

I roll my eyes at him and focus on Dad. Mine is probably the only house left in Cold Spring with a landline and a phone with a cord. I watch Dad pull the phone and the cord as far as it'll go. He's now in the hallway, speaking in hushed tones.

I look at Adam, Katherine, and Mom, wondering if they're all part of a conspiracy. Something is happening, and I'm the only one out of the loop.

***

When I wake up in the morning, I go for a six-mile run on a nearby trail. I've been running this loop for ten years. When Sam was here, we'd run it together. I remember the morning we were heading back from a five-mile run when we ran into Eric. He stopped just long enough to glare at me, then kept going. I didn't go after him.

"He's pissed," said Sam, "Maybe we should stop seeing each other."

"No one can tell me who I can and can't be friends with," I said in protest.

"Laila, he's your boyfriend."

"I think we just broke up," I said, thinking about how Eric stomped off.

"Because of me," Sam said.

"No. It has nothing to do with you. Eric and I have been heading towards a breakup for a long time."

I remember standing against a tree to catch my breath and gather my thoughts. Sam approached me and put his hand over my shoulder, resting it against the tree. Because I'm tall, I'm not used to feeling small next to anyone, but next to him, I do. He's six feet, six inches tall, broad-shouldered, tanned, blue-eyed, and gorgeous.

With our faces only inches apart, he said, "Why am I the one who always ends up feeling guilty about the arguments between you two?"

"Don't borrow trouble," I said, "You've done nothing wrong."

He gazed at me so intently that I had to look away.

That was a month before he left. I wonder if that incident was the straw that broke the camel's back, the reason he decided to leave Cold Spring.

This morning, I finish my run in forty-four minutes. When I walk into the kitchen, I expect to see Dad sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee, but he's not here.

Mom is pouring a thin batter onto a round cast-iron griddle. She's making crepes. A few are already piled on a platter, so I grab one and roll it up like a taquito. When I take a bite, the texture is soft and buttery.

"Who's coming over for breakfast?" I ask, seeing the big bowl of sliced fruit sitting on the table. "And where's Dad?"

"He had an errand to run," Mom says, ignoring my first question, "He should be back in about an hour. Do you have any plans for today?"

"I'm going to finish packing my room," I say. "But first, I need to take a shower."

After I shower, I stand in front of the mirror and debate whether or not I should bother with makeup. My skin looks paler than usual, so I decide to let it breathe. I put on some moisturizer with sunscreen and forego the makeup altogether. My damp hair is already curling around my shoulders.

I've been told I'm beautiful all my life. I've overheard conversations at home, school, church, and even the playground.

"The Linder girls are pretty," they've said. "But Laila. Laila is one of a kind. She could be a model." I've never believed them. When I assess my reflection in the mirror, I wish I could see myself the way others do.

I think Loren is the most beautiful person I know. I remember what Mom once told me about not wearing too much perfume. She said, "Laila, when you walk into a room, your perfume should be discovered, not announced." That's how I see the difference between me and Loren. When I walk into a room, everyone looks at me. I'm five feet ten inches tall, so how could anyone avoid it? I'm taller than most men; my eyes are too big for my face, and I'm all legs. Loren's beauty is delicate. She's small and graceful. She has a quiet wit and a sweet spirit. The freckles on her face are adorable. The freckles on mine scream, "Look at me!" and not in a good way.

I'm not going out today, so I change into old jeans and a fraying tank top with Bugs Bunny on the front, asking, "What's up Doc?" After blow-drying my hair, I don't even brush it. I just braid it loosely to the side, leaving curls out to frame my face.

Before I leave my room, I pick up Eric's picture from the nightstand and slip it into the drawer.

In the kitchen, I find Dad sitting at the table reading today's newspaper and holding a cup of steaming coffee. His plate is loaded with eggs, bacon, and buttery crepes topped with fruit and powdered sugar.

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