Page 25 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

His look is skeptical.

“No, really. I mean, it’s a little weird but he and I were already finished. Bree and I had a pretty significant falling-out. We had always planned to go to New York together after college. We’d been saving money for the bus tickets practically our whole lives. We were both going to become successful novelists.”

“Which you accomplished.”

“Two days before we were supposed to leave she told me she wasn’t coming with me. Ultimately she married Clay and bought the bookstore she’d worked at all through school.”

“Ahh, right. The place where you’re supposed to take those publicity photos.”

“Yes.” I hear the dread in my voice and see that Spencer does, too.

“I assume she’s jealous of your success.”

“She’s been working on a manuscript for a long time now. I think it’s safe to say that we have quite a few unresolved issues.” I shrug, but it’s not the casual thing I intend it to be. “The fact that my mother still treats her like a daughter hasn’t really helped.”

“So, the jealousy cuts both ways.” He’s watching my face for reaction and I realize I shouldn’t be surprised at his quick assessment. Spencer creates characters and their motivations, too. “But surely she’ll be glad to have the publicity for the store. And given thatSandcastle Sunriseis set here and written by a local, the anniversary edition will be a big seller for her.”

I wince. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t bring that up. I’ll need to find the right time to tell her.” I say this as if there could possibly be a “right” time for this.

“Why is that?” He’s still watching my face.

“It’s a long story,” I mutter as we come off the bridge. And since it’s a story I have no desire to share at the moment I officially welcome him to the Outer Banks, point out Milepost 1, and give a quick sketch of where we are (Kitty Hawk) and why we’re going to skip the more commercial areas along 158 (aka the North Croatan Highway) in order to drive down NC 12, that locals still call the Beach Road, because, well, it is.

I breathe in the familiar smells and sights of my childhood as we drive south, parallel to the Atlantic, passing through the eastern edge of Kitty Hawk and Kill Devil Hills, where both sides of the narrow two-lane road are lined with stilt houses and cottages.

Spencer rubbernecks. “I had friends whose families used to drive down from New York every summer, but I really had no idea how beautiful it was.”

We pass hotels, stores, and restaurants. As I point out the places that were a part of my childhood, we get occasional glimpses of sea oats bobbing on dunes that frame the vibrant green ocean. At the moment it’s swishing rather genteelly onto shore.

“Wow.” Spencer sits up straighter. “That’s just... wow.”

I smile. Even writers have a hard time coming up with adjectives that do this place justice.

“There’ve been a lot of changes since the Outer Banks got ‘discovered.’ It’s way more developed. A lot of the mom-and-pop hotels and small businesses are gone, and there are so many huge rental homes up and down the beach now that it’s hard for regular people to afford to live here. And, of course, between Memorial Day and Labor Day the population quadruples. For locals it’s definitely a love/hate thing. Can’t live with the tourists, can’t live without them.

“Now we’re in Nags Head. That’s Gallery Row.” I point to the collection of shops just south of Milepost 10. “And that”—Igesture to a slightly sagging white clapboard building on the corner of East Bonnett Street just south of the space-themed putter golf that’s been there as long as I can remember. “That’s where my mother first rented a room when we got here. It used to be called Snug Harbor.”

My heart is actually racing as we pass the Nags Head Fishing Pier. I take a deep breath as I slow to turn onto the sand-strewn driveway that leads back toward the beach. “And this is the Sandcastle, where I grew up.”

I’m not even at a complete stop when the front door opens and my mother is outside, smiling and waving from the front porch.

Kendra

The Sandcastle

Lauren’s at the wheel of some sort of small silver compact and I’m already clattering down the stairs before she pulls to a complete stop. My heart pounds as they open the car doors and climb out. I feel Lauren’s arms go around me and we sway and hug. In that moment I finally let go of the dread and anxiety that have colored my anticipation. In that moment I feel only love and excitement. There isn’t room for anything else.

And then she’s stepping back. “Mom, this is Spencer Harrison. Spencer, my mom, Kendra Jameson.”

Spencer is every bit as good-looking as he is in photos, maybe better, and he has a truly blinding smile. I’m prepared for a bit of snobbery or big-city superiority, but his smile is wide and genuine and I see no judgment in his emerald-green eyes. Rather than putting out his hand he wraps me in a friendly hug. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Ditto.” It’s the only word that comes to mind, but I mean it.I feel a small bit of hope that he will help deflect some of the turbulence that Lauren will feel when I tell her about Jake. And I’m beyond relieved that she won’t be alone when she learns that her father is alive and has been for the last forty years.

I tell myself to stay in the moment and not waste it worrying about what lies ahead, but all I can think about is what that revelation will do to our relationship. The line “So, Mrs. Lincoln, other than that how did you like the play?” runs through my head. I realize that both Spencer and Lauren are looking at me. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said I can certainly see where Lauren gets her good looks,” he says again.

I am not averse to flattery though in fact I’ve always known that the person Lauren resembles most is Jake’s mother. Just as Jake’s wife deduced. Anxiety flutters back up to the surface at this thought. Once again I tamp it down.

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