Page 16 of My Ex-Best Friend's Wedding

As they say in my line of work, “the plot thickens.”

Bree

The Sandcastle

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kendra asks.

We’re at her kitchen table with mugs of coffee and a plate offresh muffins between us and I know that the all-nighters I’ve been pulling for the past week in an attempt to finally finishHeart of Goldare showing.

“I’m fine. Just a few too many late nights.” I shrug in an attempt to appear casual, but Kendra’s known me since I was five.

“You know you have nothing to prove to anyone.” She looks me in the eye and it’s all I can do not to respond, “Of course I do.” I have everything to prove to everyone, especially myself. Finishing before Lauren arrives is a nonnegotiable point of honor. I’d rather die than face her without a completed book to my name. “When do they arrive?”

“They’re flying into Norfolk Friday, April fifth. I expect them to be here mid to late afternoon.”

“Oh. Great.” Mostly because that means I have just over a week to force my characters to stop resisting my attempts to wrap up their story lines. I swallow back a semi-hysterical laugh, no doubt born of exhaustion, at the idea that the fault lies with anyone but me.

Kendra peels the paper off a chocolate chip muffin and pulls it apart. “I’m hoping you two can meet each other halfway and at least try to make peace.”

I want to say yes. I’d do almost anything for Kendra, but Lauren has never even come close to apologizing for appropriatingSandcastleSunrise. She’s built a career off that book and she’s flaunted her success every chance she’s gotten. Now she’s coming down with her famous fiancé on some sort of victory tour. “I will if she will.”

Kendra sighs and sets the muffin down. “I know a little bit about the consequences of not repairing important relationships. And I can promise you it only leads to heartache and regret.” She’s looking right at me, but I’m not sure she’s talking about Lauren and me anymore. “Someone has to take the first step.”

I nod but I don’t promise. I’ve learned to accept who my parents are, but I will never be able to forget or forgive theirtotal abdication and rejection. I once seriously considered Lauren my sister and assumed that relationship came with unconditional love, but I was wrong. There’s been way too much water under our emotional bridge for us to suddenly kiss and make up. Which is what we used to do when we were five.

“I’ll try to stay open,” I hedge, then get up and pour us each another cup of coffee. When I carry them back to the table I remember the customer who came in the store. “Speaking of Lauren, it was the weirdest thing.” I take a sip of coffee. “This man came in the other day and bought an entire set of Lauren’s books.”

“Hmmm.” An odd look steals into Kendra’s eyes. “Did he say why?”

“He just said that his wife had always been a fan.” I try to remember what it was about the man that had seemed familiar, but you can’t sit up night after night for days on end and expect your brain to fire on all cylinders. “He did seem curious about her. He asked if she ever came back to visit.”

“Oh.” Kendra’s tone is casual, but she’s started shredding the muffin into tiny pieces that lie scattered on her plate. “When was this?”

“It was right after book club ended, so that would have been last Wednesday. Just a couple of days after Lauren called to say she was engaged.”

“Is that right?” Her voice is so soft it’s almost as if she’s speaking to herself.

“Umm-hmmm. I didn’t think to ask where he was staying or if he was just passing through. I don’t even know if he walked over or drove.” Title Waves is just a block from the Manteo waterfront so lots of visitors simply wander in. I drain the remainder of my coffee in a few long swallows then stand and carry my mug to the sink. I need to get to the store, but the only place I’d really like to go is to my bed.

Kendra dumps the shredded muffin in the garbage and covers the ones we didn’t touch.

“Well, I guess you can’t really complain about a man doing something nice for his wife,” she says with a shrug. But when she puts her arms around me and pulls me into a hug, there’s an odd sort of tension in her arms.

“No,” I say as I head toward the kitchen door. There are a lot worse things a man can do than buy a gift for his wife. “No, you can’t.”

Nine

Bree

Manteo

“Mom!” Lily’s voice shouted up the stairs the next afternoon is loud and strident. “Nothing’s happening in the kitchen. What time is dinner?”

I look up from the computer screen and the accusing blinking cursor. It, too, has been shouting at me.Write something! Don’t just sit there! Stop staring at me and put some words on the page!

I’m used to “attitude” from Lily. After all, she’s sixteen and hormonal and certain the world revolves around her. My computer has never spoken to me like this before. It has always welcomed me, crooked a finger in my direction, and offered me an escape. But that was before I gave myself an actual deadline and began counting down words and pages that have to be completed in the time I have left.

I massage my temples in a futile attempt to make the pounding in my head go away. Then I run my fingers through hair that I haven’t looked at or thought about for days. I offer up a silent moment of gratitude that there’s no mirror up here.

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