Page 43 of That Birthday in Barbados
Catherine fails to hide the flash of irritation, but it is quickly replaced by concern. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It just hurts.”
“Did you eat something you shouldn’t have? I saw that gigantic box of Milk Duds under your pillow.”
Nicole shakes her head. “I didn’t eat any this morning.”
“Where does it hurt?”
Nicole isn’t sure which spot will be the most convincing, but she remembers Ellen Summers had her appendix out last year, and she’d told Nicole her right side hurt like heck. So Nicole puts a hand on her right side. “Here.”
Catherine nods and then considers the information. She puts a hand on Nicole’s forehead the way their mom does when they’re getting sick. “You don’t feel hot.”
“Do people die if their appendix is bad?”
Catherine’s expression becomes a cloud of worry. “Maybe you should go tothe nurse’s office.”
Nicole shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to without you. Can’t we go on the canoe ride and see how it is when we get back? If I’m with you, you can keep an eye on me.”
Catherine glances at Johnny again, and Nicole realizesshe doesn’t want to miss the canoe ride because that would mean missing out on Johnny. “Okay, but if you get worse while we’re out there, we’ll have to come back and go to the infirmary.”
Nicole nods, remembering to keep her face convincingly concerned, her hand on her side.
The canoes arrive, the college-student counselors pulling them on shore and making sure everyone gets a spot on one. And as they paddle for the center of the lake, a hot July morning sun draping their shoulders, Nicole glances back.Johnny is in the last canoe with Corinne Matthews. By all accounts, he appears to have forgotten about Catherine. And if Nicole feels a smidge of guilt, she tells herself Johnny would never have been good enough for Catherine, anyway.
No boy will ever be good enough for Catherine.
Chapter Sixteen
“You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough.”
? Mae West
Catherine
ANDERS HAS TO work at the spa for the afternoon. Just as well. I park myself on the beach, the pink-toweled chair lulling me into a couple of naps that prove I’m a complete no-hang. I also down a large bottle of Evian and prop up the sign in the sand that brings the waiter over. I order another one and yield to his recommendation of a garden salad that comes with grilled artichokes.
Once he returns with the tray holding my salad and bottled water, I sit up in the chair and pull a novel from my canvas bag, attempting to read while I eat the admittedly delicious lunch.
But my thoughts refuse to stay on the plot, veering instead to last night’s moonlit beach and the flashes of memory in which I can still feel Anders’ mouth on mine, the hard outline of his body beneath mine.
Heat fans through my belly, and I blink away the memories, telling myself I should know better at my age. I use my fork to toy with another bite of salad, my appetite suddenly dulled under the realization that I am yearning for something I most assuredly am not going to have.
Before coming on this trip, I would have declared myself not even remotely interested in a relationship. Three years, and I haven’t been out on a single date. I’ve wondered if there was something wrong with me. Most women would have gotten over it by now and moved on, or at least that’s what the therapist I saw for a yeartried to make me see.
But I haven’t been ready to move on. I haven’t met anyone who made mewantto move on. Who seemed worth the risk.
Until now?
Is that what I’m thinking about Anders? That he might be worth the risk?
The only reasonable answer to the question is no.He’s almost ten years younger than I am. A relationship isn’t something that can only last in countable days.Other words might apply. Fling. Hookup. One-night stand.
Is that something I see myself doing?
No.
Casual sex won’t fix what’s broken inside me.
