“I mean, on a real date. No science fairs or pizza trophies. Just you and me and perhaps, dinner.”
The words hang, suddenly enormous. I watch Cassie at the Skee-Ball, winding up for a perfect score, the tiny orange balls blurring through the air. She’s focused, determined, and absolutely alive.
A real date.
“Sure,” I say, surprising myself with the speed of my response. “That might be nice.”
He beams, wide and sudden, then does a victory gesture so dorky I burst out laughing.
Cassie returns, breathless and sweaty, clutching a plastic ring she’s won at the prize counter. She looks from me to Nathan and back, antennae up. “Why are you guys being weird?”
“We’re not,” I say, maybe too quickly. “Are you having fun?”
She shrugs, then sits down, sliding the ring onto her pinkie. “It glows in the dark. They said you can see it from space.”
“You’ll have to let us know if any satellites call,” says Nathan.
She rolls her eyes, then leans against my arm, content and tired.
We finish the pizza, then gather our leftovers and walk out into the wet-blue dusk. The air is thick with the promise of summer storms, and as we cross the parking lot, I catch our reflection in the restaurant window—three shapes, two grown and one growing, huddled under a single, unreliable umbrella.
Nathan offers to drive us home, and Cassie, half-asleep in the back seat, hums along to the radio. The roads are dark and empty, and when we pull up to the cottage, Nathan gets out and walks us to the door.
I hesitate there, hand on the knob, searching for the right words. There’s no script for this part.
“Thank you,” I say, “for today.”
“You’re welcome.” He leans in, slow, a question asked and answered before it’s finished. The kiss on my cheek is soft, so brief I barely have time to register it, but when he pulls away, I feel it for hours after.
He waves goodnight and heads back to his car. I watch until the taillights disappear, then go inside, where Cassie is already curled up on the couch with Rolo, the trophy on the coffee table like a beacon.
I sit beside her, take her hand, and let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, the world is ready to give us another chance.
17
Diane
JUNE
The door slams with the exuberance of a small bomb, and Cassie’s voice ricochets down the hall ahead of her. “I’m home!” The backpack lands, as always, a foot short of the coat rack, scattering pens and a year’s worth of loose homework assignments across the mat. I hear the frantic shuck of her sneakers, then the rapid-fire slap of socks on linoleum as she hunts for food. Rolo is already at her heels, his tail whipping back and forth in excited anticipation of the crumbs she’ll inevitably drop.
I meet her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter in a show of nonchalance I do not feel. She’s already at the fridge, rooting for leftover lasagna or cold cuts or whatever her food-obsessed teenage appetite deems acceptable. There’s windburn on her cheeks, and a new spray of freckles across her nose that wasn’t there last week. I make a mental note to add sunscreen to the grocery list.
“Hey, bug,” I say, and she answers with a mouth full of cold pepperoni. “How was the last day of school?”
“Hey, Mom.” She swallows a mouthful of food before answering. “Absolute chaos. Everyone’s already in summer mode. Even Mr. Enfield gave up trying to teach us anything new.” She tosses the cheese wrapper at the trash can, missing by a mile. “So, did you write anything today?”
The question is so direct I almost laugh. Instead, I slide a sleeve of cookies across the counter toward her and say, “A little. Mostly just staring at the screen, but I think I’m getting closer.”
She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You used to write, like, thousands of words every day. When are you going to write something cool again?”
I frown at her, mock-offended. “What makes you think what I’m writing isn’t cool?”
She shrugs, snagging a cookie. “It’s about the lighthouse, isn’t it? Everyone writes about the lighthouse. You should write about pirates or sea monsters instead. Or, like, a haunted house.”
“Maybe I will.”
She leans against the opposite counter, chewing. “Saw Nathan at the lighthouse just now.”