Later, wrapped in my bedsheets, he combs his fingers through my hair. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was this?” he asks.
“I’m sorry,” I say. All my repressed emotions break through the surface, and I’m crying without my own consent.
“For what? That was amazing. It was everything I’ve wanted since the day you broke up with me. I just want to know if it was a one-time thing or if it’s the beginning of another chapter for us. Either way, I have no regrets,” he says.
I look up at him, a new idea on the horizon.
“What if we could take off? Run away together and disappear?” I ask, wondering if there is a way to physically escape my death.
Eric’s face softens a bit. “You would never leave this place.”
“Maybe this is the time.”
“I would never let you,” he counters.
“You’re right,” I say.
At the end of an era, nostalgia brings us back to the beginning. Graduation, divorce, moving house, these life events tempt us to reminisce about the journey. To marvel at the strength we’ve gathered over all the bumps in the road. On that day after our first kiss, Eric and I sat at the kitchen table for three hours chatting about old-home renovation. He walked around the first floor pointing out the original features I should never touch and the ones that should be modernized. He assigned me renovation shows on HGTV. By the time he left I was impossibly in love with him, and he was in love with Stars Harbor. Abandoning this place isn’t the answer either. It was a bad last-ditch effort to quell my fear and anger.
Eric and I have come so far, and yet we should be just beginning. What if this was the beginning? I let myself imagine that as I kiss Eric again. This might be the start of a new chapter for us, one I can’t yet comprehend.
“We will talk tomorrow. If you’re interested in hearing me out, I’ll have a lot to explain,” I say.
“Why not now?” he asks.
“I have guests, and this little detour ate up all my time. I’ll call you tomorrow night, after they leave.”
It’s not a lie; it’s a wish.
After we’re dressed and ready to say goodbye, Eric stands by his truck. I can’t hold back from running to him. He catches me in his arms and we kiss. If it’s the last kiss, it will have been worth it.
I change my clothes and check myself in the mirror before heading back to the main house to make sure the Dinner under the Stars is moving along smoothly. I swipe on some red lipstick, like the shade Aimee was wearing last night.
I’ve done a lot of good in the six months since I spoke to that psychic. I’ve gained so much momentum for plans long delayed. But I’ve also made mistakes, none as terrible as cutting off the only man I’d ever loved. If I can promise him tomorrow, I will. Even with the knowledge that the Universe will make a liar out of me.
MARGOT
The bonfire dinner transforms the bucolic backyard of Stars Harbor into a cover of Martha Stewart Living magazine. White fairy lights twinkle over the long table and benches. Brightly colored flowers decorate the table. The air smells of wood and the sweet smoke of barbecue. The sun hovers over the horizon, casting pink and lavender cotton candy clouds while the half-moon illuminates the same sky. This sunset is magic.
“Good news,” Rini announces. “Weather forecasts put Tropical Storm Clementine two hundred miles off the coast of South Carolina tonight and moving east. The wineries won’t close even for heavy rains, if it comes to that. So tomorrow’s plans are intact.”
I should be glowing in the execution of my vision come true, and yet all I see are the cracks, unable to gloss over them for the first time in my life.
Adam continues to rebuff Aimee’s simple gestures of affection. Farah and Joe aren’t even looking at each other. At least Ted is distracting Eden, and Joe is talking Rick’s ear off about the Fed.
And Rini. She’s been here with us, but at the same time, not here at all. Not engaged with us, but not ignoring us. She’s been watching. Cataloging and storing information. I know because I’ve been doing the same thing, keeping an eye out for danger lurking in the dark. And even though I know why I’m doing it, the behavior looks ominous when I watch Rini. Good staff should be both attentive and invisible, but this feels wrong. She catches me tracking her and approaches with fierce eye contact. I look away nervously as she approaches.
“I know what you want,” Rini says.
“You do?”
Rini nods. “Your reading. It looks like you’re finished with dinner. If not, I can come back.”
“No, I am done.”
“Good. Let’s sit.” She gestures to the Adirondack chairs around the firepit, away from the main stage of dinner.
“I thought you meant something else,” I say. “When you said you knew what I wanted.”
“I know that too. You want to protect and grow your family. It’s all over your chart. Up and down. The generation before you and the generation after you.”
“The generation after me? Is that Adam’s kids, or—”
“I’m talking about your child too,” Rini says.
Her tone is ominous, a stark contrast to the heart-exploding joy I feel. “She—or he—is coming soon? Your website says you can see eighteen months out in our charts.”
“Yes, the baby is coming much sooner than that.”
My hands quiver with excitement. I tuck them under my thighs. “You’ve been dropping hints all weekend, but I’m still shocked to hear this.”
“Hints?” Rini asks.
“Like me changing my last name, and the tarot card you left.”
Rini’s head tilts to the side as if she’s trying to recall something.
“Tarot card? I don’t work with them in my readings anymore. They were more of my sister’s thing,” Rini says.
