“He’s had a lot of experience.”
“So have the others,” he said. “Some of them have been fishing nearly as long as he has.”
“He seems like an interesting man,” I observed. “Even if I still can’t understand a word he says.”
“Did I mention that Richard and Robert have been learning the dialect? Which is kind of hard to do, since there’s no book on it. They’ve been having my mom make recordings and then they memorize them.”
“But not you?”
“I’ve been too busy tutoring this girl from Seattle. It takes a lot of time.”
“The brilliant, beautiful one, right?”
“How did you know?” he responded with a grin.
When dinner was ready, I summoned the energy to set the table; the salad went into a bowl on the side. He’d also brought over powdered lemonade, which I mixed in a pitcher before we sat down to eat.
Dinner was delicious and I reminded myself to get the recipe before I left. For most of the meal, we reminisced about our childhoods, a memory of his sparking a memory of mine and vice versa. Despite my massive tummy—or maybe because of it—I couldn’t eat very much, but Bryce had a second helping and we didn’t settle into the living room until half past six.
I leaned into him as we watched the movie, his arm around my shoulders. He seemed to enjoy it and I did, too, even though I’d seen it five or six times. Along with Pretty Woman, it was one of my favorites. When the film reached the climax—when Johnny lifted Baby on the dance floor in front of her parents—I had tears in my eyes, like always. As the credits rolled, Bryce looked over, amazed.
“Really? You’re crying?”
“I’m pregnant and hormonal. Of course I’m crying.”
“But they danced well. It’s not like one of them got hurt or she messed up.”
I knew he was just teasing me and I rose from my spot on the couch to retrieve a box of tissues. I blew my nose—so much for trying to be glamorous, but with my tummy, I knew glamour was a long way off. Meanwhile, Bryce seemed inordinately pleased with himself and when I returned to the couch, he put his arm around me again.
“I don’t think I’m going to go back to school,” I said.
“Ever?”
I rolled my eyes. “I mean when I get home. My aunt talked with my parents and the headmaster, and they’re going to let me take my finals at home. I’ll start up again next fall.”
“Is that what you want to do?”
“I think it would be weird to show up right before school lets out for the summer.”
“How are things with your parents? Do you still talk to them once a week?”
“Yeah,” I said. “We usually don’t talk long.”
“Do they tell you that they miss you?”
“Sometimes. Not always.” I shifted slightly, leaning into his warmth. “They’re not the touchy-feely types.”
“With Morgan they are.”
“Not really. They’re proud of her and brag about her, but that’s different. And deep down, I know that they love us both. For my parents, sending me here is a sign of how much they love me.”
“Even if it was hard for you?”
“It’s been hard for them, too. And I think my situation would be hard for most parents.”
“How about your friends? Any word about them?”
“Morgan said that she saw Jodie at the prom. I guess some senior brought her, but I don’t know who it was.”
“Isn’t it a little early for prom?”
“My school hosts the proms in April. Don’t ask me why. I’ve never thought about it.”
“Have you ever wanted to go to a prom?”
“I haven’t thought about that, either,” I said. “I guess I would if someone asked, depending on who they were or whatever. But who knows if my parents would let me go, even if I did get asked?”
“Are you nervous about how things will be with your parents when you get back?”
“A little,” I conceded. “For all I know, they’re not going to let me out of the house again until I’m eighteen.”
“And college? Have you changed your mind about that? I think you’d do well in college.”
“Maybe if I had a full-time tutor.”
“So…let me get this straight. You might be stuck in the house until you’re eighteen, your friends might have forgotten you, and your parents haven’t told you lately that they missed you. Did I get all that right?”
I smiled, knowing I’d verged on melodrama, even if it did feel more than a little true. “Sorry for being such a downer.”
“You’re not,” he said.
I lifted my head and when we kissed, I could feel his hands in my hair. I wanted to tell him that I was going to miss him but knew the words would make me start crying again.
“This has been a perfect night,” I whispered instead.
He kissed me again before his eyes lingered on mine. “Every night with you is perfect.”
* * *
Bryce came over the following day—the last Saturday in April—and again, he seemed his normal self. His mom had ordered a new photography book from a store in Raleigh, and we spent a couple of hours looking through it. After a lunch of leftovers, we went for another walk on the beach. As we strolled through the sand, I wondered if this was the spot he’d wanted to bring me to, the one he’d mentioned on Thursday. But when he said nothing, I gradually accepted the idea that he’d just wanted to get me out of the house for a while. It was strange to think that Bryce’s mom had come to see me just a week ago.
“How are the workouts going?” I finally asked.
“I haven’t done much in the last couple of weeks.”
“Why not?”
“I needed a break.”
It wasn’t much of an answer…or then again, maybe it was, and his mom had been reading too much into it.
“Well,” I began, “you were working out hard for a long time. You’re going to run circles around your entire class.”
“We’ll see.”
Another nonanswer. Bryce could sometimes employ doublespeak as well as my aunt. Before I could clarify, he changed the subject. “Do you still wear the necklace I gave you?”
“Every day,” I answered. “I love it.”
“When I was having it engraved, I wondered whether to add my name, so you would remember who bought it for you.”
“I won’t forget. Besides, I like what you wrote.”
“It was my dad’s idea.”
“I’ll bet it will be good to see him, huh?”
“Yeah,” he said. “There’s something I need to speak with him about.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, he simply squeezed my hand, and I felt a sudden flutter of fear at the idea that as normal as he seemed on the surface, I had no idea what was going on with him at all.
* * *
On Sunday morning, Gwen came by to check on me and let me know that I was “almost there,” something the mirror had made pretty obvious.
“How are your Braxton Hicks?”