Page 85 of My Star-Crossed Summer

“This one isn’t horrible,” Hannah tells me as we poke around a third-floor walk-up with sticky floors and windows that are nailed shut. “But it does smell like cats and burnt cheese.”

“That bathroom is a crime scene,” I mutter, wincing as she surveys the tiny shower with its pink and yellow tile.

“Do you think that’s mold or just dirt?” she asks.

I turn off the light with my elbow as we go back into the bedroom. “You know you can stay with me as long as you want.”

“You’ll regret that after about a week,” she says, her nose wrinkling as she studies the carpet and its various stains.

“Let me make my storage room-slash-office into a spare bedroom.” I shove my hands into my pockets, determined not to touch anything else. “Give yourself a few weeks to find a place that hasn’t been set on fire or settled by raccoons.”

She frowns, heading toward the front door. Marla, the landlady, is waiting outside, smoking a cigarette while her Pomeranian is busy yapping at the neighbor’s cat.

“Thank you, Marla,” Hannah says, shutting the door behind us. “This is a little small for me, but I appreciate you taking the time to show us around.”

“Okay,” Marla says with a shrug, scooping the dog into her arms.

As we climb into Hannah’s car, she says, “There’s one other one out towards Folly Beach. It’s stupid expensive, but it’s the last one open right now.” She shows me the listing, sawing her bottom lip with her teeth.

“You know I’m going to be gone for the next two months, right?” I crank the air conditioning up as high as her old Accord can handle because my shirt’s already sticking to me, and I’m hopeful the moving air will blow off all remaining particles of mildew and cat pee. “I’ll be moving from one camp to another, with a day off between them if I’m lucky. You’d have the house to yourself.”

She sighs, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel.

“You’d be house-sitting. Doing me a favor.”

Her brow wrinkles as she chews on her lip. I’ve almost got her.

“Plus, you can keep my plants alive. I’d very much appreciate that. They’re already looking pitiful and the last time I asked my neighbor to water, she drowned my whole herb garden. You know how hard it is to kill mint?”

She snorts. “Okay, fine. I’ll baby your plants for you.”

“Thank you.”

As she pulls into the street, she shoots me a sideways glance that’s part teasing and all gratitude.

The next morning,I’m tidying up my spare room-slash-office while Hannah unloads the last of her belongings from my truck. It’s nearly ten a.m. when a delivery van pulls up with the package I’ve been waiting for—my phone.

The battery’s dead, so I plug it in to charge while I finish making more space for Hannah. I’ll be leaving in a few days to goto the next camp down in Beaufort, so she’ll only have to tolerate the sleeper sofa for a few more nights.

When my phone comes to life, I go straight to the text messages. Victoria still hasn’t replied to my email, but once I see her texts, I understand why.

First there are the breezy ones.

Hey, you. Hope the airport’s being nice to you.

Then:Did you get some decent coffee yet? My body is rejecting whatever’s in this hospital vending machine.This is criminal.

Then there’s the adorable photo of her with Layla and Priya. Big smiles all around, and all I can think is that she looks content, like she’s properly fit herself right into this role. This is the message I’d seen at the airport, the one I kept fumbling my response to.

The response I never sent.

Her next reads:Priya’s family is great. I was worried for nothing. I do that a lot, don’t I?

You doing all right out there? I’m heading back to camp now.

Hey, Sophie told me you had to go home early and help Hannah. I hope everything’s okay.

And the last one, from 10:46 p.m:I get that we’re in a weird place right now. I was hoping to talk about things before we left, and I know I haven’t been the best at explaining how I feel. I’m ready to talk if you are—but if you’re not interested, I understand.

---