And so did Gilman. I squinted at him, trying to see him with fresh eyes. He looked good, damn him. But he also looked overdressed. His khaki pants were freshly ironed, while dust from the Shipley’s driveway had already accumulated on his shiny shoes.
The glint of his fancy Cartier watch was especially jarring. He was…glossier than I remembered. And it made me want to give him a shake. Who could worry about pressed trousers when the world was in such dire shape that people were killing each other on dirt floors in Guatemala? There were apples to be picked, and kidnappers to capture. And he was off to play golf with clients and order two hundred dollar bottles of red wine.
“Ugh,” I whispered. “I’ve never been a chicken. Until lately.”
May’s voice was low and reassuring. “You’re anything but.” She jumped down the steps, that traitor, greeting Gilman on the driveway.
They hugged, and I heard his voice for the first time in months. I’d forgotten how clipped and aristocratic he sounded. A year ago, when I was about to embark on my time in Guatemala, he’d said the five words every woman dreads. “We should see other people.”
I’d been so angry at the time. Now I didn’t give a crap.
Gilman and I had met at a BU alumni event in Boston and started dating. After three months, my lease expired and he asked me to move in. By the time I got the nod to go to Guatemala, we’d lived together for six months. He was a young lawyer for a prestigious firm. He ran half-marathons for fun. I’d been the crazy, spontaneous half of our relationship—the flighty, headstrong girlfriend who worked at an underfunded nonprofit and served oyster shooters at parties.
I thought we were pretty happy. But I’d misjudged Gilman.
He’d explained that he didn’t want to wait a year while his girlfriend did an immersion program in Guatemalan poverty. He wanted someone who was available for regular bouts of socializing and sex. At the time, I’d been hurt and angry. My first few days in Guatemala were exhausting, and I spent a couple of evenings wondering whether I’d made the wrong decision.
Now I replayed our last conversation in my mind. “The thing is, I think we might end up together someday,” he’d said. “But we’re in our twenties, Lark.”
I felt a hell of a lot older now.
I’d learned to love Guatemala—right up until the minute I hadn’t anymore. And now these last couple of months had been so stressful that I hadn’t thought of Gilman at all. I was over it.
So why did I have to deal with him now?
“Hey, you.” Gilman’s voice was tentative as he climbed the porch steps.
Taking care to school my features, I looked up slowly, as if seeing him for the first time in a year was no big deal. Although it was. His steady brown eyes regarded me in the same serious way they always had.
While we shared a bit of a stare-off, he tucked in his lips in that way he always had when he was thinking hard. The familiarity of it gave me a pang.
But I swallowed my discomfort. “Hey, yourself. How’ve you been?”
“All right. I’m better now that I know you’re safe.”
Here comes the awkward part, I thought. “Thanks,” I said as mildly as I could manage. He walked over, opening his arms. I let myself be folded into a hug. His wiry runner’s body was so familiar that I had to close my eyes.
He kissed my cheek for what seemed like a lengthy moment. “You had me really worried.”
“I’m getting that a lot,” I replied, pulling back. “Let’s sit. I love this porch. Isn’t it great?” Time for a change of topic. I’d begun to get a really weird vibe from Gilman. He usually wasn’t an emotional guy. But he didn’t want to let go of me. He had one hand closed around my forearm, as if I might slip off the porch and escape into the breeze.
Which sounded like a fine plan, actually.
I managed to get free of him by walking over to one of the rocking chairs. On the lawn, the guys were drinking their tea and talking. Except for Zach, who was watching Gilman with an unreadable expression.
My ex took the chair beside mine, and I forced myself to turn to him. My neck flushed with discomfort, hoping we could get this next bit over with soon. What a ridiculous idea it would be to get back together. There was no way to rewind my life to a time when I hadn’t been to Guatemala. The old Lark was long gone. The new one couldn’t recognize Lark 1.0 at fifty paces.
“There’s tea, but I recommend the cider,” I told Gilman. “The Shipleys press it fresh every day, and we sell it at the farmers’ market. If you weren’t driving, I’d ask Griffin to pour you the hard stuff.”
He nodded, then took a glass in silence, and I began to feel uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. “Is there somewhere we can talk?” he asked.
I just blinked at him. “What’s wrong with right here?”
His gaze took in the guys on the lawn, and May just beyond the end of the porch, in the little herb garden. “Okay, here’s good.”
Of course it was.
He took a gulp of cider. “I didn’t know what to think when you disappeared. It was a terrible time for me.”
“Really?” I flinched. Not as terrible as it was for me. I looked into my glass, waiting for his apology. Even if I didn’t really want to be half of a couple anymore, I wanted to hear, “I made a mistake.” Though only guilt would make him say it. And a relationship based on guilt was surely a bad idea.
I wouldn’t be good for him right now. Or for anyone. I was such a perfect wreck. It wouldn’t be right for me to go home to Boston, dust off my old life and slip right back into Gilman’s arms. Not when I was still too raw to get on with my life. With anyone.
“I’d been thinking about you a lot,” Gilman went on. “And then when you disappeared, I thought I was never going to get to say it.” His brow furrowed, and his eyes were pained.
Just spit it out, I thought. And then I can let you down easy.
“Lark, the truth is, we were never right for each other. I’ve met someone, and we’re going to get married in the spring.”
It took my brain a while to process that statement. Then the anger kicked in. “What?” It came out as a yelp. And I was vaguely aware of heads turning in my direction.
“I wanted to tell you in person, before you could see it on Facebook,” Gilman went on, his words rushed.
“Facebook,” I echoed stupidly.
“We were going to announce it…before,” he said, stumbling on the words. “And then…and then you were missing. And I felt so terrible. Like I’d caused it somehow. I know that’s stupid, but it really upset me that you were out there somewhere in trouble. And I was supposed to be deciding between the cream-colored invitations and the white ones.”
I could only stare at him and wonder when the words that were falling from his mouth would start making more sense.
“So it hasn’t been an easy couple of months. I’m just so happy you made it home safely.”
Red hot anger rose in my veins. “Let me get this straight. You’re happy I’m home, so that you can get married to someone you met in the last four months?”
His eyes shifted away from me. “I met her before then. But we, uh, didn’t start dating until after you left.”
“Who is it?” I heard myself ask.
“Mandy,” he said, his voice cautious.
Mandy. The name was vaguely familiar. “Your…intern? The one with a different flower painted on each fingernail? The one with the pink hairbands? That’s who you’re marrying?”
“Yes. Don’t shout at me.” A vein pulsed in his jaw.
“Don’t shout?” I squeaked. “Were you cheating on me?”
“NO!” he yelled. “We weren’t together until after I told you we should see other people. I was faithful, except for one little slip-up.”
I stood up fast.
“Well, now you can register for crystal and china without wondering whether my funeral would interfere with your engagement party.” I turned my back on him. The cider, which had tasted so good a few mi
nutes ago, was now burning a hole in the back of my throat. On autopilot, I moved towards the steps. “Have a nice life,” I said over my shoulder as I ran off the porch and across the lawn toward the bunkhouse.
May stood goggle-eyed, a sprig of basil in each hand, while Griff and Zach turned to pin Gilman with twin laser beam death-stares.
Luckily, nobody tried to halt my escape.
* * *
A few hours later, the door to my room opened slowly, and someone bumped and scuffled her way inside. “Jeez, Lark. Can I turn on a light?”
I woke up quickly, sitting up to switch on the bedside lamp. “Sorry, May.” I blinked furiously into the sudden light.
May carried a big wooden tray into the room, placed it on the bed and then sat at the foot of the mattress. “Did I really wake you? It’s only eight.”
I wiped sleep out of my eyes. “Nap attack.”
“Oh boy. That’s why you missed dinner. But I thought you should eat something. Audrey made her chili. I saved you a portion before the savages could finish it all.”
“Thank you, sweetie.” I made an effort to sit up straight. I pulled the tray closer and picked up the spoon. May had nested a salad plate over the bowl to keep the chili warm. When I uncovered it, the lovely, spicy scent began to fill the room.
“I even brought toppings,” May pointed out. “That’s how much I love you.”
“Oh man. You’re the best.” I picked up the saucer of diced avocado and shredded cheese, tipping them into the bowl. I didn’t feel like eating, but May had gone to all this trouble. So I spooned up a few beans and put them in my mouth. The male voices in the next room were louder than usual. “What’s going on in there?” I asked, hooking a thumb toward the wall behind me.
“Griff and the boys are discussing the renovation he’s doing after Audrey leaves.”
“Oh.” I sighed. I’d forgotten that he was moving into the bunkhouse soon. One more thing for me to worry about—waking up Griff Shipley with my night terrors.
“Do you want to talk about your shitty day?” May asked.
“Well…” I was considering what to say when Zach appeared in the doorway. Great. The whole world would be party to my humiliation. I knew I wasn’t supposed to care about Gilman’s marriage. I’d already decided another relationship with him wasn’t in the cards.
For now, anyway. That was the sticking point. He’d slammed the door shut. He’d said he wanted to play the field, to be single. And now he was marrying someone else, and letting me know just how unlovable I really was. As if I needed one more reminder.
“He’s getting married,” I blurted out. There, I said it. I’d ripped that Band-Aid right off.
“What?” May yelped, leaping off the bed. “That asshole!”
I put a chunk of chili meat in my mouth and chewed. Audrey made a kick-ass chili, and anyway, there was really nothing more to say on the matter of Gilman.
“Should I have punched him in the kisser?” Zach offered from the doorway.
That made me smile. “It wouldn’t take much effort, would it?” The idea of slender Gilman facing off against Zach was comical.
Zach shrugged, a grin tugging at his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you could drop him yourself, Lark. At least now I know it isn’t that guy haunting your dreams.”
“What do you mean?” May asked, swiveling to study me. “Someone’s haunting your dreams?”
“Nah,” I said quickly, avoiding Zach’s suddenly guilty gaze. “But go ahead, May. You know you want to say it. Tell me you never liked him.”
My best friend sat down on the bed again. “It’s not nice to say ‘I told you so.’”
“Today you can say whatever you like.” I took another bite. This was good—both the chili and the company. Dissecting my failures with May had always been more fun than dissecting them alone.
May held her arms out, like a martyr on the cross. “Fine. He was too old for you.”
“He was twenty-eight!” I laughed.
“But he seemed old. He was never interesting enough for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I mean, he’s cute and everything. But I always thought he was too fastidious. If I put a cup down on your kitchen table, he’d sprint into the room and wash it. He alphabetized your books against your will.”
“You’re right, May,” I deadpanned. “How could I have been so blind?”
But my friend just ignored the sarcasm. “I bet he alphabetized your sock drawer. I bet he got manicures. Wait—was he manscaped?”
“No comment,” I said, unwilling to admit that Gilman’s fastidiousness was very, very thorough.
“Was the sex good at least?” she asked.
“Oh, my virgin ears,” Zach teased, bringing his hands up to cover them.
In spite of my dark mood, I giggled. “The sex was just okay.” I sighed. “But he made excellent coffee.”
Both May and Zach howled with laughter.
“But that’s important!” I argued while they doubled over.
“Oh, honey,” May said when she could breathe again. “He was so boring! Gilman doesn’t even like Asian food, not even sushi! He had the palate of a twelve-year-old. He just didn’t fit with you, Lark. You’re more interesting, by a factor of a million.”
“Mmm, Asian food.” I sighed. “That’s the one problem with rural Vermont. No ethnic food for a fifty-mile radius. Unless there’s a new sushi joint you’re not telling me about.”
“I’ve never had sushi,” Zach volunteered.
“Really?” May squeaked. “You’ve never had it?”
Zach winked at her. “When will you people stop being surprised by the things I haven’t done?”
“Good point.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “I hope you’ll forgive me for telling Gilman he could stop by.”
“Somehow I think he would have managed to make me feel like shit even without your help. But did he have to say that we were never right for each other? At least he stopped short of saying that the time we spent together was a total waste of his life.”
“Sweetie, you’re better off without him.”
I brought my knees up to her chest. “True. But I was already without him. Now I’m without him and offended.”
May giggled. “Tell you what—the next time we have a free afternoon, let’s drive to Burlington for Japanese food, to celebrate Gilman’s stupidity.” She nodded at Zach. “You can come, too. We’ll order the sushi deluxe, and get you a little life experience.”
“For you two? I’ll do it,” Zach said. “I’ll eat raw fish.”
I laughed again, trying to picture it. Their silliness was just what I needed. “I’m having déjà vu. The bunkhouse reminds me of college. The close quarters. The way everyone here knows everyone else’s business.” The lack of privacy was strangely comforting tonight.
“Yep,” May confirmed.
“So there’s no hiding my embarrassment. It’s all just hanging out there. Like underwear on a clothesline.”
“Seems that way,” Zach said.
I opened my mouth wide, and yelled toward the ceiling. “Okay, listen up! My boyfriend never loved me, and he’s marrying someone else!”
A barely muffled male voice came from the other side of the bunkroom wall. “Bummer!”
Another one followed with, “Do I get to fuck him up?”
“I’ll let you know,” I called. “Also, Zach is a sushi virgin!”
“Shocker!” came Griffin’s voice, and then someone else laughed.
“And May isn’t a virgin!” I yodeled.
There came a violent thump on the wall near my head. “Better be joking!” Griffin called.
“Now do I get to fuck someone up?” another voice asked.
“Oh Lark. You are such a troublemaker,” May said, flinging herself onto the bed. I held up a hand, and she high-fived it. Zach just grinned at us both, and then swiveled out of the doorway to get ready to go to the Goat.
Part Two: Mid Season
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br /> Cortland
Honeycrisp
Haralson
10
Zach
The Abrahams hosted the Thursday Dinner where we all toasted Audrey’s temporary departure. She and Griff sat at the head of the table, practically in each other's laps.
Nobody let Audrey cook that night, insisting that she shouldn’t have to lift a finger on her last night in Vermont. Leah made grilled pork with a spicy apple chutney and a potato salad that was lavender because they’d just harvested their purple heirloom potatoes.
My job was to keep Maeve occupied so she wouldn’t be underfoot in the kitchen. Even though I didn’t know a thing about toddlers, Maeve and I were old friends. She was born in the Abrahams’ bedroom the first year I lived in Vermont, so I was one of the first people she ever met.
“Come here,” I told her for the hundredth time in an hour as she danced toward the kitchen again. “Your mama is getting the dessert ready, okay?”
“What is it?” Maeve asked, wrinkling up her little nose.
“Baked slugs with a crumb topping. And dandelion ice cream.”
“Zaaaach!” she shrieked, and the pitch practically split my head in two. “Icky!”
“Fine,” I said, scooping her up to sit on my knee. “You can have the apple cobbler. I’ll keep the slugs all for myself.”
She scrambled to stand, grabbing my shoulder with one little hand, then bracing a foot perilously close to my balls. I let her scale me like a tree, because my childcare game has always been weak. She wrapped one of her stubby little arms around my head, and I peeked out beneath it to see Lark watching me with a soft expression on her face.
I smiled at her, because my dignity was already compromised. And looking at Lark always made me want to smile anyway.
Maeve stayed in my lap through dessert and insisted on feeding me. Soon I had drips of ice cream on my shorts. Oh well.
I was so busy trying to wipe up after Little Miss Sticky that I almost missed what was happening at the end of the table.