Page 10 of Letting Go

Anchor, anchor, anchor.

"Hey," Laurel says, "do you need any help this afternoon with prep?"

For a minute I feel my Spidey senses go up. People offering help usually means a troubled-trade. That I'll have to jump through some uncomfortable hoops if I accept. Burying this world view is hard, but two beats later I'm reminding myself not to let that always be my first inclination. Laurel loves me. She's not trying to get anything out of me; she just wants to know if she can chop stuff in the kitchen. This is not a transaction for love.

My smile must come a little too late because she lays a hand on my shoulder. "What's wrong? Why do you always hesitate when I offer to help you?"

The wind whips her dark hair and she grabs it with one hand and brings it around to the front over one shoulder.

"I would love your help," I try again and smile.

"We're going to go back to The Inn, Cory," she says but stands still until he begins to make a move toward the beach trail.

"I need to stuff some of the Haddock for tomorrow," I say. I'll be off and nineteen-year-old Trent, though a great cook, will need them prepackaged, in the fridge, and ready to go.

"Gee, great. Fish."

Laurel has a long and troubled history with fish.

"Well," I say, crossing the causeway. "There's also corn popovers on the menu tonight."

"Mom's?"

I nod.

"Oh Cory, you are in for a treat!" she says, swooping down to kiss the top of his head as he trudges by.

Straightening, she helps Cory negotiate the granite steps. Cory drops her hand. We watch as he runs pell-mell toward The Inn.

The "So, what's between you and Bryce?" comes airily.

The question is intimate, sudden, and direct and I'm not used to speaking directly to anyone about my feelings—let alone family. I am only direct when the conversation is transactional. I feel like I'm going through some sort of cultural adjustment.

"What do you mean? Between me and Bryce?"

"The chemistry is cookin'" she says, laughing, letting her hair loose into the breeze. It catches and lashes out against the blue of the ocean

"There's no chemistry," I say. My hands dig deep in jacket pockets.

"Oh," she says, tossing her head back a little. "Okay. I'll remember that the next time you two are in a room." She pauses. "In fact, maybe I'll just say go get a room and then we'll see what happens."

"Okay, let's not ever say that again."

"Well, I'm not the only one noticing you two. Devon and I had Claire and Finn all figured out before they did—"

"I doubt that—"

"Point taken, but still. We're convinced you and Bryce would be perfect together."

"Who's the 'we'?"

"Me and Devon."

So not Claire. Somehow this matters more than I want it to.

I finally smile. "He's such a mystery man."

"I know." Here she scrunches up her little face. "But you are too, you know, so it’s kinda perfect."