By the time we return to the cottage, everyone goes upstairs to rinse off the salt, sunscreen, and sand. Taco Thursday is already underway. Livia has made enough food for twice as many people as we have, and the rest of us take turns being unhelpful in the kitchen.
As she walks ahead of us, Livia lists dinner: grapefruit and avocado salad with fennel and citrus, zucchini fritters, corn from the grill, fish tacos, and jackfruit tacos for Bianca and Jules. The side dishes and toppings vary, but the tacos are a fixed point. Livia has never forgiven Cape Lark for not having a proper taco place.
The others head up. I stay below, waiting for Rhys to come back with a change of clothes before he uses the outdoor shower. He appears with a clean shirt over one arm.
“You can take the stairs,” he says, nodding toward the front of the house.
“Thanks.”
Neither of us moves. After a few seconds, he turns for the back door. I go upstairs and search my bag for something soft and warm enough for the cool evening. Then I cross the suite toward the bathroom.
A phone lights up on the table. I reach for it.
The message is from Rhys’s mother. At first, the words don’t register.
I know you’re afraid, but you can’t put this off forever. Waiting will only make it harder. You need to tell her, Rhys—
I let the phone fall onto the bed.
It isn’t mine. Mine is on the far side of the mattress.
My heart is pounding. I don’t know whether I’m more worried he’ll find me holding his phone or about what else might be there. I know which one scares me more.
For a moment I can’t decide what to do. My thoughts race through every bad explanation I can imagine for what Irene wants Rhys to tell me. Is something wrong with her health? Is something wrong with his?
Maybe he has been preparing her for the end of us, easing her toward the idea that we shouldn’t be together. Maybe he has told her the distance caused by caring for her is no longer the reason.
It isn’t. Not now. The thought keeps returning, stirring up the anger I’ve tried to contain. He may have come back to Washington for his mother, but he is happy here. He has a life of his own again. Surely Irene can see that. Surely she knows he is ready to leave me behind.
I sit on the edge of the bed, and tears come before I understand why. It feels like losing him all over again. I’m finally facing the possibility that he has moved on, and the moments I have been holding onto are only memories to him.
But I don’t know what the message means.
I could spend all day making up explanations and then undoing them. It still wouldn’t be my business. I told Rhys as much when he wanted answers about my life.
I won’t ask him. I can’t. If he wants me to know, he’ll tell me. But he hasn’t given me an answer in a long time—not for months.
I draw in a shaky breath, straighten my shoulders, and step into the shower. The tears start again.
My heart is foolish. Rhys hasn’t been mine to grieve for a long time.