Page 53 of Marriage is a Shore Thing
The way everyone works together, and how the other residents offer me water or food on behalf of the troublesome couple, who apparently have a tendency to “do things like this,” makes something warm settle in my stomach. It’s like being given a freshly baked cookie while hearing your favorite song on the radio. There’s a comfort to Wilks Beach that I could happily settle into—if I were lucky enough to be asked to stay.
By the time I’ve given wound care instructions and packed everything up, the sun is bending around the building, casting the common area in a cool shadow. I wipe sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. If I head home now, I’ll just catch Geneva before she leaves for her girls’ night at Vivian and Brynn’s.
She’s been surly about the event all week, but it’s easy to see her crankiness for what it is—nerves. I want to be able to reassure her one last time, and…who am I kidding? I want to kiss her too.
I haven’t gotten the opportunity today. Geneva slept in this morning, and while I’d been surfing with Nick, she’d taught her mid-day classes and then left from the gym. I wanted to text and ask where she was, when she’d be home, but I busied myself with leftover house chores instead, trying not to get distracted.
I completely underestimated how much I’d crave the soft touch of her lips on mine after kissing her. A part of my mind cautions against how swept up in Geneva I already am, but another part can’t seem to focus on anything but the memory ofthe way she murmurs sweet sounds when I thread my fingers through her hair.
Grabbing my bag, I walk toward the exit. Carol disappeared long ago, so I don’t expect her white Pontiac will be waiting for me in the garage. I can’t even let Geneva know where I am, because my phone is sitting on the coffee table.
I’m two steps from exiting the complex when I hear broken English behind me. One word is crystal clear, though—doctor. Turning to find a man holding a flushed toddler, I nod and change directions.
twenty-two
Geneva
Istare at Van’s phone as I sit on the couch, willing it to…I don’t know, magically tell me where he is. Knowing Van, he probably was chatting with someone and was invited inside for lemonade and cookies—or something equally wholesome. Which…fine. It’s good that he’s not just sitting around waiting for me to get back from my last-minute meeting with Sean, my private investigator. I neglected to tell Van about the meeting because I didn’t want to get his hopes up about this heist idea if it wasn’t plausible.
Also, I wanted to digest the information in the file by myself first. Alone. Not surprisingly, my father is back to his old ways, currently dating three women—all of which are completely in the dark. I’d nearly caused permanent creases in the paperwork because my hands wanted to fist the words. Something positive that came from reading about his philandering ways was thatHenry keeps a predictable schedule, making finding blocks of time when he won’t be at home easy.
Now we just need to overlap one of those times with when Stacy would be using her personalized security code to enter the house to clean. Unfortunately, Henry tends to work from home on the day she usually comes over, so we’ll have to find a plausible excuse for her to come over one evening instead. I’ll need to touch base with Joanna to see if she’s discovered any information from Stacy about the whereabouts of the ring.
The plan had been to share the report with Van before I needed to leave for the movie night with Vivian and Brynn. I’d wanted to see his face light up at me humoring his very-much-illegal idea.
And a part of me also wanted…
I run my hand over the bodice of the burgundy sundress I’d seen in a boutique window while I’d been on the mainland. I’d told myself the only reason I bought it was because it fit like a glove, but now I realize I wanted to see Van’s reaction to this as well. I wanted his dimpled smile and his gray eyes twinkling at me for wearing something other than black.
And I wanted to see him…just because. After weeks of seeing Van every day, it felt like I was missing an essential part of myself today.
“Foolish,” I whisper, squeezing my lashes closed. “You’re being so foolish.”
Dropping the report on the coffee table, I shoot to my feet. My fingers tug down the dress’s side zipper as I stomp upstairs. After stuffing the dress in the corner of my closet, I slip into one of my standbys and tell myself the fabric doesn’t feel itchy. I tug at the snug hem, draw in a large breath, and force my shoulders back.
I don’t even remember the walk to Vivian and Brynn’s, only that once I’ve entered the upstairs apartment after letting myselfin like Vivian’s text requested, I’m not met with the setup for a chill movie night. Raven Sacaria music blasts while beauty products and styling wands overload their kitchen table.
Vivian wears the same midnight-blue sequin dress she wore in Vegas, but Brynn is standing in high-waisted, bow-belted black shorts and a shiny gold halter top. It’s Brynn’s outfit that makes my eyebrows quirk. Even for the two nights we spent in Vegas, she wore a slightly dressed-up version of athletic clothes. My gaze flows to the floor, finding trendy black sneakers with gold accents on her feet.
“We’re going out!” Vivian shouts, bouncing a little as she dusts body glitter over her sister’s exposed shoulders. “See, I told you we didn’t need to text her about the last-minute change in plans. Geneva always dresses nice.” She holds the brush up to me. “Glitter?”
The corner of my mouth twitches. “No, thanks. And who’s to say I wouldn’t have come over in workout clothes?”
“But you didn’t.” Vivian winks at me, moving toward the Jack-and-Jill bathroom to wash her hands.
“You okay?” I murmur, noting Brynn’s rigid posture. At first, I thought it was so Vivian could apply the light dusting without getting it on Brynn’s clothes, but now I wonder if she’s even breathing.
Brynn gives a curt nod and then keeps nodding. “Yes. I am. I will be.” A deep breath flows in and out of her lungs. “This was my idea. I’m trying to be more flexible...more spontaneous. It’s just that…now that we’re about to—” She cuts off her sentence with a rough head shake. “It’ll be fine that we’re going dancing instead of watching movies. Nothing is going to happen.”
The last few words are gritted through tight teeth.
I rest a hand on her forearm. “I’ll watch out for us tonight.”
“It’s not—” She sighs, glancing at the ceiling before fidgeting with the hem of her top. “I worry about large things going wrong.Like, because we’re not here, the roof will collapse, or a pipe will burst and flood the whole place.”
My brow furrows, vaguely remembering Brynn saying something like this before. That her keeping to routines is a superstition she’s held tighter than a lucky rabbit’s foot.
“Nothing is going to happen,” I say, giving her forearm a squeeze.
