“They’re not home. They went to the lake.”
New England was lousy with lakes, but the way Cam said it, so casually, as if there were only one, spoke to Alexa of legitimate money. She raised an eyebrow and said, like she didn’t really care, “Where?” Even though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.
“Winnipesaukee.” She waited. “Wolfeboro,” he admitted. Bingo! Home of Mitt Romney and the Marriotts.
“I see,” she said. She lifted the mug of tea to her lips. It was lightly sweetened, with just a hint of milk. Alexa was not a tea drinker. Her caffeine of choice was a cortado, especially the ones they served downtown at the Coffee Factory, or a double espresso from Starbucks with a small dollop of milk, no sugar. But, in the interest of being polite to this young man who had not taken advantage of her, she took a cautionary sip. It tasted like liquid gold, at once cleansing and nourishing. The warmth traveled down her body, all the way to her toes, then back up again, to her head. She had to stop herself from gulping the rest of it. “Thanks again,” she said. “For the tea—for everything. You really saved me from getting in a lot of trouble.”
“I am your knight in purple armor,” he said, grinning. His grin was—well, infectious was too strong a word, wasn’t it? Or was it? She found herself grinning back. Pull it together, Alexa, she told herself sternly. You have a boyfriend.
“You seem like you have a lot of school spirit,” she said. It wasn’t a compliment, not necessarily, but he took it as one.
“Thanks,” he said. “I play golf.”
“Golf? College golf?”
He nodded and smiled some more, seeming not at all embarrassed.
She rose from the bed, wondering if he was watching her, not that she cared, but of course he was watching her.
“Bathroom’s that way,” he said, “in case you don’t remember.” (She didn’t.)
She looked out the window. She could see a pristine pool bordered by iron lawn chairs with bright orange cushions and contrasting turquoise pillows—a color combination of which she approved. She could see a badminton net set up with a crisp yellow border around it, and the requisite corn hole game, painted with the Red Sox logo.
“Be right back,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound coquettish. The bathroom was en suite. There were two sinks, side by side, the kind where the sinks look like bowls or vessels dug up from a Greek archeological site and refurbished to perfection. She looked in the mirror above one of the sinks. Her hair was a disaster, and her mascara was smeared. She would never, ever let Tyler see her like this, nor would Tyler want to. She washed her face, then opened the cabinet under one of the sinks to see if she could find some passable moisturizer. There was a brand-new tub of Kiehl’s ultra facial cream, which would do just fine. She slathered it on, and returned to the bedroom.
Cam was still grinning. He had made the bed and returned the throw pillows to where they must have been before she crashed the night before.
“Breakfast?” he said. “I make a good omelet.”
Of course he did. She was really hungry. She acquiesced to the omelet, which, it turned out, was one of the best she had ever tasted; it was positively dripping with cheddar cheese, and also included a costarring role of a gorgeous tomato.
While they ate they played a couple of rounds of the name game. They knew a few people in common; they were only two years apart in school. They went to different preschools, Alexa to Knoll-Edge and Cam to Mrs. Murray’s, so their paths had diverged from the beginning. She told him about Colby with a straight face and he said, “I have a buddy there. I’ll tell him to look out for you. He’ll be a junior, same as me. We went to the Prep together. Ethan Whittaker.”
“Great,” she said. “Ethan Whittaker. I’ll keep my eye out for him.”
When she finished her omelet she loaded her plate in the dishwasher and offered to load his as well, not because she considered that woman’s work but because he had done the cooking so it seemed only fair. The omelet pan was already clean, set upside down to dry.
“I have to work at nine,” said Cam. “We’d better get going. I’ll drop you off at home on my way, okay?”
She nodded. “Where do you work?” She figured he’d say something like training guide dogs to help blind war veterans or running summer camps for youth services.
“Market Basket,” he said. “Mostly on checkout. And I’m training to be an assistant manager.” This revelation didn’t add a milligram to the scale on which Alexa had been weighing Cam’s cachet, but he looked so proud that she squeezed out this: “My mom loves Market Basket. She almost never goes to Shaw’s.” And even though she would like nothing more than to repair to the guest room and sink once again into those glorious sheets, under that cloud of a comforter, she said, “I don’t want to make you late.” She pointed at her St. Michael’s spirit wear and said, “Um, I can change back into my dress now and give you this . . .”
“Don’t worry about it,” Cam said. “I have plenty. You can get it to me another time. I grabbed your dress for you.” He handed her a CVS bag with her dress folded neatly inside. Her flip-flops she found in the massive mudroom. Cam swung open the door from the mudroom to the outside. There was a minivan in the driveway. “Your chariot, my lady,” he said, bowing and making a sweeping gesture with his hand that should have been completely awkward but was somehow sort of charming.
She could probably have him if she wanted him, this egg-savvy, golfing, guestroom-offering Catholic boy with the nice brown eyes and the promising biceps. She could take him from Shelby McIntyre in a millisecond, in a heartbeat. It wouldn’t require more than a toss of her hair, a few strategic texts and one sunset beach picnic. But, there were other considerations. There was Tyler. There were her two jobs. There was the fact that Alexa had attracted the interest of many, many different kinds of boys since the year she turned fourteen but had never dated a golfer.
The air was wet and pulpy with humidity. In the yard across the street a kid of six or so was kicking around a soccer ball, and another kid was zipping down the street on a scooter. It was summer, obviously. But in a funny way it felt like it was Christmas morning and Cameron Hartwell was a present Alexa hadn’t yet unwrapped.
Before she got into the minivan she marched up to Cam, placed a hand on each of his cheeks, and kissed him.
10.
Sherri
It cost nine dollars in quarters to wash a comforter at the Port City Laundromat in the Market Basket plaza. Who had nine dollars in quarters? Not Sherri. What she had was a twenty and three sad one-dollar bills. The change machine rejected each of the dollar bills in turn: one, presumably, for being too wrinkled, one for being torn nearly in half, and one for no discernible reason other than change machine prejudice. Finally she surrendered the twenty, trying not to think about the fact that she’d been saving it to take Katie to breakfast at Mad Martha’s on Plum Island, which she’d heard was a local treasure. She watched, half-fascinated, as the quarters poured into the metal cup. It made her think of a trip to Vegas she and Bobby had taken back in the day. They’d stayed at the Venetian and while Bobby hit the craps table, Sherri had played the slots for days. She’d done very well. Not that she’d needed the money, not back then.