Page 147 of Save the Date
“Mmm, maybe my senior year of high school, so that’s like, ten years ago.”
“Nobody in your family mentioned that the house was gone?”
“No, but that’s understandable. My mom was never really crazy about staying at Loblolly. It was too much like camping for her, but I adored being here. We used to come over a couple times a year for a week or two at a time with my uncle Les and his family, but Les has been dealing with his own family stuff for the past couple years. His wife has breast cancer, and my cousin was nearly killed in a car wreck last Christmas and is still in rehab. I don’t even know if Mom knows Loblolly has been torn down.”
Brooke propped her elbows on her knees and looked out toward the riverbank. Cara took the time to study her. Her short, uncharacteristically messy hair was held back from her face with a rolled-up red bandanna, and she wore a pair of too-big wrinkled khaki shorts and a lime-green tie-dye T-shirt. It looked like she’d gone shopping at the St. Marys Goodwill.
“Did my mom send you to get me?”
“No. I promised not to tell where you’d gone. The only other person who knows where we are is Bert, my assistant. It was his idea for me to text you.”
“Then why are you here?”
Cara didn’t answer at first.
“Shhh. Look.” Cara nodded in the direction of Loblolly. A herd of horses had drifted up and they were nosing about the vegetation around the foundation. There were six of them, four mares and two colts. They were so close, she could hear them whinnying.
“They’re so beautiful,” Cara whispered. “Where did they come from?”
“Nobody really knows. When we were kids we used to pretend they were pirate horses. Some people think they came over with Spanish explorers in the 1500s, but there would have been horses on the early plantations too, plus the Carnegies had their own stables. The Park Service has tried to figure out ways to manage the size of the herd, because they say the horses eat the sea oats and beach grasses that are needed to control beach erosion, but a lot of people love those horses, so it’s just another hot topic on the island.”
“Did you ever try to ride one of those horses?” Cara asked.
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“I came here to Cumberland to find you and make you understand what a big mistake you’re making. Now you. What are you doing here, Brooke?”
Brooke hugged her knees to her chest. “I guess I’m looking for me too.”
“Oh God,” Cara groaned. “Spare me the existentialism.”
“I just wanted things to slow down a little, okay? I’ve been working all these hours for this trial coming up, and then Friday, my boss came in and said the other side had decided to settle out of court! It was like this huge load had been lifted. But I still had all the wedding stuff to contend with, and my dad and Patricia, and yes, even my mom, although she means well, it was all too, too much.”
Brooke studied Cara. “Haven’t you ever wanted to run away?”
“Sure,” Cara said. “All the time. Everybody wants to run away at some time or another.”
“But not everybody does.”
“True that.” Cara paused, trying to remember the speech she’d rehearsed on the ferryboat. “Harris and your mom are worried sick about you, Brooke. Your mom knows the pressure you’ve been under, and she told me she’s afraid you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Me?” Brooke looked shocked. “Mom thinks I’m suicidal?”
“She doesn’t know what to think. And Harris—he really loves you, Brooke. He broke down in tears when I talked to him. He blames himself for your leaving.”
“He did?” Brooke looked away.
“Why didn’t you just let them know you were going to take a few days off?” Cara asked. “They would have understood.”
Brooke was looking down at something on the floor. She lowered a fingertip to a plank, then lifted it up so Cara could see a tiny ladybug perched there.
“I didn’t plan to leave. I’d been dreading the bachelorette party. I’ve never understood why a girl feels the need to get dressed up in some stupid ‘I’m the Bride’ tiara and beauty-pageant sash and go riding around town with her girlfriends in a limo, getting shit-faced on candy-colored cocktails.”
“Then why have one?”
“Holly—she’s my best friend. And Harris’s sister. I couldn’t hurt her feelings and tell her I didn’t feel like going clubbing. It’s not normal to not want a bachelorette party. Finally, I made myself put on my game face. I was almost ready when I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize. There was no message, just a link.”
“To Harris’s Facebook page,” Cara said. “And the stripper photos.”
