Page 77 of One Last Summer
At least I’d gotten a check mark out of it.
Marla reached into a box, grabbed two giant containers of caramel syrup, and handed them to me. “Here. My favorite.”
I accepted them without thinking; my hand was moving like a robot’s as I lined up the containers on the counter. I was both stuck in my own head and floating far out in space.
Why hadn’t he told me? Why had he told our group that he’d just found out about Steve and Marla selling when it was clear he’d known for way longer?
And why hadn’t he said yes to them, when he so clearly wanted to be here?
“Clara?”
“Mmm?” I said, landing back in the present.
“Your phone’s ringing.”
“Oh. Oh!”
The name on the screen was my own, which could only mean one thing.
Oh, shit.
“Hello?” I answered.
“It’s me.” Lydia’s voice was low and conspiratorial.
“I figured.”
“I’m hiding in your office,” she said, her voice hushed. “Amaya got your email to Gabbie and just called an emergency meeting of the creative team. She’s been hovering over Delilah’s desk for the last twenty minutes.”
“Oh, shit.” My phone suddenly felt like a rock in my palm, tempting me to run down to the waterfront and toss it into the lake. “Is that good or bad?”
“I don’t know, but it’s definitely something,” she said. “I thought you should know.”
“You’re the best,” I said. “She basically ignored my first message, so I kinda took a leap of faith.”
“I mean, your list did tell you to do scary shit,” she replied. “Are you still crossing things off?”
“You could say that,” I said bitterly, envisioning Mack’s name scribbled directly under the words “take a lover.” “I don’t have a dog yet, but otherwise, I’m feeling pretty accomplished.”
“Where on the list did it say ‘go rogue at work’?” she asked with a nervous laugh.
“I think it qualifies as ‘do something that scares you,’” I guessed, the nerves in my stomach doubling, work anxiety piling on top of what I’d just learned from Marla about Mack.
“Well, you’ve definitely scared Amaya. I’m proud of you,” she said. “Shit. I gotta go, I’ll call you back as soon as I know what’s going on.”
When I finally looked up from my phone screen, Steve was in the doorway to the kitchen, a massive cardboard box cradled in his arms.
“Special delivery for Clara Millen,” he said in his deep Maine accent. “A box of wishes.”
I let out a tight laugh, a sad sound of disbelief. Just hours ago I’d known exactly what—and who—I’d wish for. But now it was clear—no matter how much I wanted something more with Mack, there was no way that would ever come true.
33
I’D AVOIDED EVERYONE all afternoon by lingering in the kitchen of the dining hall, channeling my nervous energy into arranging and rearranging a kitchen cart full of treats. This was supposed to be a celebration, one silly, final hurrah in the form of a sugar rush, before we said goodbye to Pine Lake for the very last time.
My friends were all gathered on the other side of the door, hooting and hollering and ready to get their ice cream party on. Yet here I was, a storm cloud, heavy and dark, my big feelings about to spill all over the place.
Lydia had gone radio silent since her earlier call, but with enough deep breaths, I’d almost been able to convince myself that there was nothing to freak out over. Maybe Amaya hadn’t been rage-panicking over my unsolicited email directly to our client.
