Page 9 of Meeting Up with the Mason

Hardly daring to breathe, I looked at him. The tension got to be too much, though, so I looked back at the street. “She wouldn’t have been able to order an employee onto a plane, that’s for sure.”

A momentary silence. Chip said, “She ordered you to come here?”

He sounded disappointed.

“No! I mean, yes, but I’d told her no. Then I changed my mind.”

We turned a corner. The pond lay wide before us, reflecting the greenery and sky like a mirror. Two rowboats glided way out in the middle, and at the far end of the lake was a swimming area cordoned off by orange buoys.

If I reached for Chip’s hand, I could wrap my fingers around his and say, “I came because I wanted to meet you.”

The moment stretched long. He was so close that my hair rose on my neck.

I turned away and wrapped my arms around my waist. “It’s really pretty.”

He was a Ph.D. student. Come September, he was going to bury himself in his coursework, and when he surfaced for air, he’d start a postdoc or chase tenure as an associate professor. He’d never think back on the admin he’d known one summer for three days when he repaved her walkway for pocket money.

I kept imagining Chip’s future, but to him, I was just the present—and soon I’d be history.

On Thursday, I was heading back to Georgia. I couldn’t stay.

We picked our way down a path to the water. With the wavelets lapping near my feet, I moved my sandaled toes as close to the edge as I dared.

Chip said, “You’ve got the keys to all your aunt’s accounts. You could list your own job.”

I choked on a laugh. “Oh, she’d adore that.”

“See what response you get. You could even interview your replacement and do the on-boarding, after which you’re free to work in the art world.”

I slipped out of my sandals to take a tentative step into the pond. The chill shocked my toes, and the pebbles were rough, but the longer I stayed, the more right it felt.

Chip said, “You could send out your own resumes first, to see what kind of interest you get.”

I took another step into the water. Chip’s sneakers wouldn’t come off as easily as my sandals, so he remained on the shore. “I don’t know where I’d want to go. I mean—if everywhere is a possibility…?”

Chip said, “There are plenty of galleries on the Cape. Is the house winterized? You could stay here.”

A water bird swung low over the water, then zoomed out toward the descending sun. At nearly eight o’clock, the sun still hadn’t set. We were so much further north. Maybe the sun would rise at five-thirty.

I could stay here, but he wouldn’t. So, what would be the point?

I stepped back to the shore and wobbled on the slippery stones. Chip caught me, then grasped my other hand and helped me onto dry ground.

I didn’t let go right away. “It’s my aunt’s vacation home, not mine. I’m here for three days. After that—I don’t know where I’ll be.”

But I knew exactly where he would be. He’d be in a library on the mainland, and his head would be in Mesopotamia.

Chapter 6

Chip

Iarrived for day two, loaded up with Advil, armed with plenty of food in the thermal bag, and relieved that I’d finished the most backbreaking work.

I started by re-tamping the walkway, this time manually. All good. I upended the bag of paver sand and smoothed it with a level two-by-four.

Birds sang, and the trees rustled. Hurricane Darcy would blow through on Thursday afternoon, but I would be done by then.

Alyssa would be gone by then, too.

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