Page 158 of The Book of Summer

“Evan, don’t…” She shakes her head. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

He narrows his gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I mean it?”

“What about, whatever her name is?” Bess says. She looks away to avoid meeting his eyes. “Grace.”

“Who’s Grace?”

Bess looks back at him. His face is baffled.

“The girl with the jerk lacrosse kid? Your girlfriend?”

He laughs oddly, uncomfortably, and with no cheer at all.

“Jack’s mom? Uh, no. She’s not my girlfriend. She’s married to a buddy of mine who travels a lot. I try to help out where I can. Like I said, her son is a turkey. He needs the supervision. What made you think…”

“Never mind,” Bess says, and cowers in humiliation. “It’s a long, stupid story. I’m an idiot.”

She buries herself in his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she says into the warm place on his shirt. “I’m so lame.”

“Oh, Lizzy C.” He kisses her on the head again. “Come on. Look up. Look at me.”

It takes her a minute but Bess does as he asks.

“I love you, you know,” he says.

Bess shakes her head.

“I do,” he insists.

“What about your whole thing?” Tears are rolling down her face now, tumbling unfettered. “Your mantra.Never make the same mistake twice.”

“I still believe that.”

“Then stop—”

“The thing is, you were never a mistake. I loved you then, I love you now, and every hour in between.”

Bess smiles but can’t echo the words despite feeling every crumb of them. These feelings—his, hers, theirs together—these feelings are why Bess has stayed away from her beloved Cliff House for so many years.

As they sway beneath a red anchor flag, the memory creeps up, though Bess has spent four years pushing it away. Still, she can see a younger Bess Codman pulling her wedding dress off the pink wardrobe. She hears the knock, a knock much like the one from earlier tonight.

At the time, Bess assumed it was Palmer or Lala. Dress held to her almost-naked body, Bess flung open the door to find a man standing before her instead.

“Evan!” she gasped.

He was wearing a white shirt, sleeves pushed back, and loose khakis. Sweat dribbled on his hairline.

“You can’t see me like this!” she yipped.

Then Bess remembered it was only the groom who couldn’t see the bride before the ceremony. Random ex-boyfriends didn’t factor into the bad luck. Or did they?

“What are you doing?” she asked. “The wedding’s about to start.”

“Don’t do it,” he said. “Don’t marry the guy.”

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