She’d forgotten how much she’d loved him once upon a time. Convinced herself first love never amounted to anything anyway. Except when it did.
How was it possible to have the same feelings hanging around so many years later? Nostalgia. That’s all this was. Nostalgia and a desperate need to be forgiven. She had to get her thoughts under control. Her mind had a way of getting her in trouble. It was, after all, her mind that had convinced her Eric loved her.
But when you love someone, you are their biggest cheerleader, a champion of their dreams.
Eric had shown his true colors the second she told him about The Good Life. Then she went back and thought of the many little ways he’d made her feel small. Twice he’d asked her to “put on something more professional” when heading out to a work event. Once he told her not to laugh so much because it made her seem much younger than she was. And then there was the time he’d belittled her in front of a hotel guest because she was “incessantly chatty.” “Mrs. Sandstone isn’t your friend, Louisa. She simply wants her theatre tickets.”
Louisa hated the way he made her feel. She was determined to never let anyone else treat her that way.
The thought twisted something inside her. She could never go through that again. She would follow Cody’s lead and focus only on business.
She’d pretend it didn’t even faze her that he’d gotten Jetty burgers. Her favorite. She liked them loaded with ketchup, pickles, onions, lettuce, and—she drew in another breath—“Did you get bacon?”
He appeared to be stifling a smile.
Louisa knew she had a long way to go at winning him over, but a stifled smile was a start. She couldn’t let herself love him, but maybe they could at least be friends?
She moved out of the doorway and motioned for him to come in. He stood awkwardly in the entryway. They should’ve met somewhere public, somewhere with no memories attached to it.
“I thought we could eat out back,” she said. Right, because there were no memories out there. She hadn’t thought this through. “Or maybe in the kitchen?”
Years ago, when they were all together, they only ate indoors if it rained. Her mind spun back to one bright afternoon when she and Cody were about twelve. Her parents brought sides and dessert, but Cody’s dad was always in charge of the main course. He called himself “the Grillmaster,” and Louisa believed it. One year her family arrived on the island with a set of barbecue tools and a long apron they’d had printed with that title right on it.
Wonder what happened to that apron . . .
After a full day on the beach, Louisa’s freckles had popped, her milky-white skin had burned, and she was ravenously hungry. Cody’s shoulders were the color of darkened toast, and his hair had lightened in the bright summer sun.
They were out back when the storm started, and while everyone else ran for cover, Daniel stayed on the deck, flipping burgers and “saving dinner.” Cody, Marley, and Louisa stood on the dry side of the glass door with her parents and his mom, motioning for Mr. Boggs to come inside.
“We’ll make something else, Daniel! The storm is too bad!” Marissa called out, struggling to be heard over the fierce downpour.
Cody’s dad waved her off as a crack of thunder shook the house. He raced around the cottage and into the garage, returning moments later with the biggest golf umbrella Louisa had ever seen. He balanced his spatula in one hand and the umbrella in the other, carefully flipping the burgers so no water touched them, but as soon as he closed the lid to the grill, he folded the umbrella, spun back to face them and grinned, letting the water soak him straight through.
Marissa opened the door a crack, and the water, which seemed to be coming down sideways, pelted the door. “Daniel!”
“Why are you all hiding inside?” he called out. “It’s a beautiful day!”
He laughed that infectious, jovial laugh, and Louisa giggled. Her feet were bare, her pink toenail polish chipping at the edges. She wore her swimsuit and shorts and her hair was still damp from their long day at the beach.
She opened the door and raced out on the deck as Mr. Boggs hopped onto the grass, kicking up water from a puddle that had formed.
“LuLu!” he called out. “Are you the only other soul brave enough for a wild adventure?”
She let out a scream as she followed him into the yard and ran around, the rain soaking her, and then all of a sudden, he stopped and looked up at the sky, arms stretched out wide. “Feel that, Louisa?” he hollered over the sound of the rain. “That’s God making everything new. No matter what, he can always make things new.”
Ever since that day, when it rained, the words drifted through her mind, a quiet comfort, even on the days that felt overwhelming. “That’s God making everything new. No matter what, he can always make things new.”
How many times in her life had she relied on those new and fresh days? How many times had she been grateful for a second chance? She glanced at Cody, standing in the doorway of her kitchen, and thought maybe this was one of those times. A second chance. An opportunity to do better.
She glanced down and saw he was holding an unmarked box under his right arm. “What’s that?”
“Some of my dad’s stuff,” he said.
The box appeared to be taped shut. “What’s in it?”
“Not sure. I’ve never opened it before.”
In a flash, she heard his screams, echoing through the past. She’d been there as they pulled Daniel’s body from the ocean. She remembered the heartbreak on Cody’s face, in his sobs.
“I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so sorry.”
The words sliced through her like an arrow, and all the sorrow of that moment returned in a beat. Cody didn’t look at her as he set the box on her kitchen table. How many times had he moved over the years? And how many times had he packed this unopened box, hauling it from place to place?
The silence hung between them, thick like a cloud of sadness.
When he finally looked at her, she forced any expression of pity from her face. “Hungry?”
“Yep.”
She got two plates from the cupboard as he took the burgers wrapped in white paper from the bag.
“You’re not seriously going to use a plate, are you?”
Their eyes met, and she saw the memories playing out in front of them like a movie on a screen. When they were kids, they never bothered with plates. They pulled their Jetty burgers straight from the bag, leaving them partly wrapped as they ate. They dumped two orders of fries out into the bag and generously showered them with salt, sliding them through a shared blob of ketchup. It was a ritual, really.
She’d frozen in place, clutching the plates. Was she allowed to do things the way they’d always done them? She’d assumed it would annoy him.
But he sat down and set the burgers on the table, then dumped all the fries into the bag as if it were no big deal. And honestly, shared fries were no big deal. She should stop mentally making them into a big deal because he was clearly unmoved. This was just dinner between two people who used to know each other.
Two people who used to kiss each other.
“You okay?” He was looking at her now, and the realization threw her off-kilter for a second.
She forced a nod, then set the plates down and handed him the saltshaker, which he used liberally to make the fries even more delicious.