Page 97 of The Weekend Crashers
He doesn’t respond, and the exchange leaves her unsettled. She tells Ethan she wants to head back to their neighborhood. They’re almost at the crosstown bus stop when Cole’s response rolls in:
@New Hope Inn. I’m here w. Kalli.
This does absolutely nothing to illuminate the situation.
Why would I be there?
She tilts her screen to Ethan and he begins reading over her shoulder.
Just saw Maggie. Thought you 2 were a package deal.
Her mother is back in New Hope?
The 79th Street crosstown bus lumbers up the block. Oncethey’re on board, it should only take about fifteen minutes to get back to the apartment.
She looks up at Ethan. “You probably won’t understand why I’m saying this, because I barely understand myself. But I think I should go see her in New Hope.”
Ethan seems to consider this. The bus arrives with a screech.
“I do understand,” he says. “And I’ll tell you what: I’ll drive.”
Belinda stands beside Maggie and Elaine as Max, having spotted her in the crowd, makes his way over. She knows that she should intercept him, tell him the truth about what’s going on before she’s forced to make awkward explanations in front of Elaine Berger. But there’s no time. All she can do is keep a smile plastered on her face and accept his kiss on the cheek as if this is all perfectly natural. In the background, Elton John sings “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.”
“You’re back early,” she says by way of greeting.
“Early, but apparently late to the party,” he says, looking baffled. Then, to Maggie: “This your celebration?”
“It was my idea, yes,” Maggie says, glancing uneasily at Belinda.
Elaine extends her hand. “Elaine Berger,” she says.
“How rude of me. I apologize,” Belinda jumps in. “Elaine, this is my husband, Max. Max, Elaine is a friend of Maggie’s, visiting from New York.”
“Fabulous place you have here,” Elaine says.
“Well, enjoy yourself. Sorry to interrupt the festivities, but I need to borrow my wife for a moment.”
Belinda looks around at the room buzzing with exuberant guests negotiating trades, gushing over textures and swapping stories about projects. The atmosphere is joyous and warm, glowing with the unique, instant intimacy born of knitters onthe hunt for inspiration. She wonders if Max truly sees or feels any of it.
She suggests they go outside on the deck to talk. It’s chilly, and she turns on the heat lamps. This conversation might take a while.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a knitting event today? I wouldn’t have left you alone to manage the inn.”
Belinda shakes her head, shivering a little despite the heater. “The yarn swap was last-minute. It’s to show Elaine Berger what this place feels like during a knitting retreat.”
“Why?” He looks perplexed.
“To see if she’ll make an offer on this place. Because I’m not selling my half of the inn.” Belinda crosses her arms.
Max cradles his chin with his thumb and forefinger, rubbing his jaw. “I’m not sure what that means. How do you sell half an inn?”
“What it means is this: We own the inn fifty-fifty. You’re entitled to sell your half. But I won’t sell mine. Elaine is a potential investor. She’d be a silent partner and I could stay here continuing with the inn—and my retreats—as always. If you don’t want to live this life anymore, if you want a new chapter, you can take a buyout and move to Philadelphia. But I’m staying.”
She waits for his response, her heart beating fast. Max nods, considering what she’s said.
“When I was driving back here today, I was thinking how very little I enjoyed looking at houses without you. So I can only imagine how little I’d enjoylivingin one without you.”
“So what does that mean?” she says, knowing but also needing to hear it.
