Page 27 of The Summer that Changed Everything
“You’re the one who taught me to keep my defenses up!”
His lips parted in surprise. He’d been joking—so her response had come off a little too harsh. “I guess you’ve got me all figured out,” he said with a sad smile.
“I do. I’m fine. I don’t need you or anyone else to worry about me. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Right.” He put down what was left of his wine. “Then I’ll get out of your way. Thanks for the drink.”
She’dwantedto make him feel bad so he’d keep his distance and never be able to hurt her again. And yet she didn’t feel any better after he left. She stood in the living room for several long minutes, trying to convince herself that she’d done the right thing chasing him off. Shedidn’tneed his help, his support or his opinion. She’d made it this far without him. She’d do what needed to be done and, once again, put North Hampton Beach in her rearview mirror—along with all the people she’d once known here.
9
Ford didn’t sleep well. Every time the cool ocean breeze rustled the curtains of his bedroom, making it a tolerable temperature, he thought of Lucy in that closed-up, stifling house. At least, when necessary, he could resort to turning on the air conditioner. The Smoot cottage was older and didn’t have one. He couldn’t imagine how she was able to getanysleep. No wonder she’d gone into the ocean so late at night. The cool water was probably her only respite.
When he got up the next morning, he carried a cup of coffee out to the porch to watch the sunrise and automatically looked for her in the surf.
She wasn’t there. He told himself he was glad. She’d been pretty caustic with him last night. He was going through enough in his own life. He’d only been in town for five days. He’d been keeping up with work, but he hadn’t even started dealing with any of that. He’d be better off staying out of the fight that was brewing between her and the Clarks—and probably a lot of other people around here.
And yet... he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her.The memories he’d locked away, including the shame and regret he felt for the type of “friend” he’d proven to be, rolled over him like the waves crashing onto the beach, only to retract and hit again and again.
A figure appeared in the distance. Someone was walking toward him, coming from the opposite direction of the Smoot cottage. It wasn’t Lucy. He could tell that immediately.
He squinted, trying to get a better look and saw a golden retriever come bounding through the surf. It was Chet with Eddie.
Leaving his coffee on the table, he walked out to say hello.
Eddie reached him first. Ford gave the retriever a scratch behind the ears as Chet caught up to them. Ford missed his own dog, Mo, a French bulldog his wife had insisted on keeping because he’d given it to her for their anniversary, even though he’d mostly been the one to love and take care of it.
“Morning.”
As soon as Ford straightened, Eddie darted off again, too excited about exploring to stand still for long. “Morning.”
“You’re up early,” Chet commented.
“So are you.”
He responded with a wry grin. “I’m an artist. You know... the emotive, conflicted type who goes from one existential crisis to another?”
“What deep issue are you contemplating today?” Ford asked, playing along.
“Just thinking about Lucy.”
“McBride? Still?”
“Hard to avoid it. Having her back is all anyone around here can talk about. Have you seen her yet?”
Not only had Ford seen her, he’d spoken to her, but he figured it was best not to mention that. It’d just keep the gossip and conjecture going, might even cause people to wonder if they’dmeantto rendezvous here. Patti Clark had already insinuated as much. If he wasn’t careful, others could join that bandwagonand might even start claiming that Lucy was the reason for the breakup of his marriage. Never mind that he hadn’t talked to her in fifteen years. People could create a scandal out of anything. “No, have you?” he replied.
“Nah. But in case you’re interested, I now know what she’s up to.”
Ford hadn’t yet donned a shirt—hadn’t showered yet, either. He’d gotten up, brushed his teeth and pulled on the same shorts he’d worn last night. “I’m interested,” he said while trying to smooth down his hair. “What’s she up to?”
“She doesn’t think her father’s guilty and is out to prove it.”
“Guilty of what?” he asked, trying to get Chet to clarify.
“Anything!”
Ford dropped the hand he’d been using on his hair. “Who told you that?”
