Page 86 of A Novel Summer
They walked to the corner of Franklin and Bradford, waiting to cross the street. At the first lull in traffic, they darted to the other side. A fox ran across their path and under a parked car. The light was fading quickly.
“You know, I understand you better now,” he said as they made their way to Commercial.
“You do?”
“Well, I understand why you decided it wouldn’t work out in the long run,” he said.
A pedicab drove by, ringing a bell to alert them. She moved closer to the curb and he walked alongside her. It was a natural spot for them to part. But she wasn’t leaving on that note.
“What do you mean?” Close to the water, the breeze was stronger. She pulled up her sweatshirt hood.
He looked at her with directness, an intimacy that made her stomach flip. “Do you have time to walk a little?”
“Sure,” she said.
They turned right, towards the bend of Commercial’s far west end. Beautiful clapboard homes lined the waterfront, and above them in the sky a half-moon shone bright. They made their way to the small beach where she and Colleen had gone a few weeks earlier. Someone had abandoned a beach towel on the bench.
“I realize, if you feel strongly enough about something, no matter how much you want a relationship to work, if it’s in conflict with that, it’s a deal-breaker. I’m in that situation now with Kate.”
“I see,” she said slowly. “In what way?”
“I can’t be with her now that her father bought the wharf building. Not just that, but the fact that she didn’t tell me. And actually, it’s not even that. We could get past that, I guess. It’s that she doesn’t care about this place, not in the big picture. Not in the ways that matter.”
“I see how that’s...complicated. But I don’t see the connection to what happened between us.”
His expression turned rueful. “It wouldn’t have worked long-distance. I would be trying to get you to move here, and you’d resent me for not even considering New York City. With Kate, I made the mistake of trying to convert her into a Ptowner. And look what happened.”
A lightning bug glowed over his shoulder. Jazz music played from someone’s backyard. She heard laughter coming from an open window, a nearby dinner party. She could feel the warmth of the room they were in, imagine the table of food and the wine and the comradery. She wondered who owned the house. She wondered if they were a couple.
“Justin,” she said. “When we said goodbye that summer, you said to me, ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for.’ And I did. But there was a cost.”
His eyes softened. “It’s okay, Shelby.”
“I thought it was. But I’m not so sure. Things are different now.”
“You still live in New York,” he said gently.
He was right. That hadn’t changed.
“But I’m herenow. I’m here tonight,” she said. His expression shifted—a small smile, just enough to bring out the dimple in his cheek. His tensed jawline softened. God, she missed him.
“Are you saying you...don’t have to rush back to Hunter’s?” he said.
She nodded. Then he reached for her hand.
Three summers ago, Justin’s bedroom had felt like her own. She knew the handblown glass lamp on the dresser was a gift after one of his parents’ trips to Italy. The framed vintage map of Cape Cod on his wall had once belonged to the man who built Barros Boatyard. There was a watermark on the ceiling that he purposefully didn’t repair because he thought it uncannily resembled the Cape.
It was dark, but moonlight streamed in through the ill-fitting window shade that somehow never bothered him. Across the room, a table fan whirred, and seemed particularly loud. Shelby felt hyperaware of everything: the way her cheek felt against his bare chest, the beating of his heart, the distant howl of a coyote.
She turned her face towards his, and he cupped her jaw with his hand. He kissed her.
He reached for his phone, checking the time. She remembered that it was a weeknight and he probably had to get to work in the morning. She sat up, looking around for her clothes. They were still on the floor.
“You don’t have to run off,” he said, touching her arm lightly.
Shelby stopped reaching for her clothes. This was it: she could speak now, or forever hold the proverbial peace. “Justin, maybe we’re wrong about the long-distance thing. Maybe it can work.”
He shook his head. “It can’t. Not for people like us.”
