Page 28 of Lies and Lullabies
“Every other seasonal business in New England closes for two weeks in March and two in November,” Adam pointed out. “It’s fine if you love it here and never want to leave, okay? But don’t accuse Kira of being stubborn. That’s hypocritical.”
Dad glowered at Adam, but did not argue. That didn’t mean that Adam won, of course. Rather, Dad had used up his entire allotment of conversation for the day.
“I like Maine,” Vivi said in a small voice.
“We all do,” I said quickly. “But Boston is where our friends live. We’d miss them if we moved away.” I didn’t have many friends, if I was honest with myself. I worked too hard to socialize. But I’d never bring Vivi to live in such seclusion, where the nearest preschool was probably fifteen miles away. Besides—I was just a few credits shy of graduating with a degree in primary education. I needed to live in a city, where there were jobs.
My father got up from the table, carrying his plate into the kitchen to rinse. Adam purposefully lingered at the table until my father left to check on the store. Only then did he get up to tidy up the kitchen.
At least the family drama had made me forget about my noontime meeting for a good ten minutes.
Yay.
* * *
At a quarter to twelve,I kissed Vivi goodbye, leaving her to play a hand of Go Fish with Adam. I climbed onto my old bike, first pedaling in the wrong direction to pick up a six-pack of beer at the store. “Adam shouldn’t drink so much,” my father said, writing down my purchase on our home tally.
“He’s fine,” I mumbled, feeling guilty for allowing my father to assume that the beer was for Adam. But I was too busy quaking from nerves to invent another explanation.
The stop at the store had used up a good solid two minutes. So I put the beer in the bike basket, then pedaled slowly back around the lake. I needed to get my head in the game. I’d sit Jonas down and calmly tell him what had happened. He’d listen. He’d be shocked, but then he’d be okay with it.
He just had to be.
I pedaled onward toward the Nest Lake Lodge, which was just a rustic, oversized house with beds for ten people and a big communal bathroom. Most of its customers were there for fishing weekends, or family reunions.
When I was a little girl, I’d thought of the lodge as a place that rich people rented. Now I knew better. Rich people didn’t come to Nest Lake at all. They went to Kennebunkport and the coast.
Last night I’d slept very poorly, tossing and turning in my old bedroom, thinking about Jonas Smith and the bomb I was about to drop on him. The beer bottles gave a little rattle as I went over a rock. I’d bought Shipyard’s Summer Ale, which had been Jonas’s favorite all those years ago.
Nowtherewas a clue that I’d missed. During our summer together, he’d drunk expensive local microbrews, which was not the stuff of starving composers. I’d been too much in awe of him to stop and wonder about things like that.
The other gift I’d brought for Jonas was the photograph of Vivi in my back pocket. Our one night together had totally changed my life. And now it would upset his.
I pulled up in front of the lodge and leaned my bike against the furrowed bark of a pine tree. The ride had taken barely any time at all.
Stalling, I stared at the giant tour bus parked twenty feet away. It waspurple, and there was a picture of Jonas’s face on the side.
“Ugly, isn’t it?”
I whirled around to see him watching me from the steps up to the lodge’s private dock.
“It’s okay, you can say it.” He smiled at me, crossing his arms. “When I complained, they told me that tasteful busses don’t sell records.”
I had absolutely nothing at all to say to that. In fact, I’d forgotten how to speak entirely. My mouth was bone dry, and my knees felt spongy. To hide my growing anxiety, I reached into the bike basket for the beer.
“Oh, yes!” he said when he saw the label. “I can’t believe you remembered. I haven’t had any of this in a long time. Thanks.”
I smiled weakly as he crossed the gravel drive and took it out of my hands.
“You want this left open, Jonas?” another voice called out. I looked up to see a tall black man stepping down from the bus door, his arms around a pile of sheets and towels. “You can show her the bus,” the man offered. “It’s almost civilized again.”
“No thanks, man,” Jonas said. His chin dipped, as if he was embarrassed by the idea.
“Ethan, this is my friend Kira. Kira, Ethan is my boss.”
Ethan laughed, as if Jonas had made a joke. He tucked the laundry under one arm so that he could hold out a hand to me, which I shook. “I’m the tour manager,” he said. “It’s a really thankless job, but somebody has to do it.”
“It’s so nice to meet you,” I said, finding my rusty voice.
