Tessa threw up her hands. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about."
I drew back. "Sorry, what?"
She pointed at my chest. "You. You're way too nice. It's notallyour fault. It's not evenmostlyyour fault. And you wanna know why?"
I gave an uneasy nod.
She looked me straight in the eyes. "Because if Griff – no,Montgomery– had been just a little more honest, you'd still be together, which makes ithisfault, not yours."
I shook my head. "You make it sound so simple."
"Itwouldbe simple if he'd been straight with you from the start."
"Yeah, well…" I gave a listless kick at the gravel. "I'm sure he had his reasons."
"Or," she countered, "he got so good at faking it, he forgot how to stop."
"So you really think that?" I swallowed, hard. "That he was faking it, I mean?"
"About his feelings for you? No. Definitely not. I saw the two of you together, remember?" She reached out and squeezed my arm. "Whatever else was fake, that wasn't."
"But itmust'vebeen." I gestured listlessly toward the empty slab. "I mean…if it wasn't all fake, why is he gone? Why didn't he ever explain? Why was he lying, even about his own name?"
Tessa smiled, looking a little triumphant. "See?"
I saw nothing to smile about. "See what?"
"It'snotall your fault, just like I said.Repeatedly." Her chin lifted. "So there."
At that moment, she reminded me so much of Delaney that I smiled in spite of myself. Sure, my smile was weak, and I felt more like crying. And yet somehow, I managed to say, "Thanks…I needed that."
But the main thing I needed – or rather the mainpersonI needed – seemed so terribly far away. Without him, I felt lost in the wilderness even though I was right here, on the island I called home.
Again, my gaze drifted to the empty slab.Maybe the demolition said it all.With the sun dipping below the horizon, it was long past time to leave. My shoulders sagged. "Well…we might as well head home."
Tessa reached out and gave my arm another squeeze. Softly, she said, "Hey, I've still got more of those little bottles. You interested?"
I shook my head. "Thanks, but…not tonight."
If I started drinkingnow, I might never stop. And worse, I knew exactly who I'd call if I did – unless he called or texted me first.
Which he didn't.
Not that night.
Not the next day.
Or the day after that.
Soon, we were deep into next week. And the way it looked, Griff was truly gone, just like the boathouse, the thermos, and my heart.
78
Sorry I'm Late!
Maisie
I was manning the front counter when a sassy-looking blonde burst through the front door and blurted out, "Sorry I'm late!"
