Broken Hearts, Fences and Other Things to Mend (21 page)

wish I’d chosen to make some other fl avor, because then Hallie

would have at least had some sugar to soften the blow. “About

that. It’s—”

“I’m sorry to be a pain about it,” she said. “Normally I would

say keep it as long as you want! But I kind of need it this

afternoon.”

“Oh,” I said, gulping for air a little. “Um . . .” I knew I just

needed to step up and tell her that I no longer had a functioning

bathing suit to give her, because it had disintegrated in the

swimming pool, through no fault of my own. But as soon as I

thought this, I could hear how ridiculous it would sound— like I’d

wrecked her bathing suit and was now making up silly excuses

for what had happened.

“The mother of the girls I babysit for gave me a gift certifi -

cate as a thank- you, and I wanted to show her what I bought,”

she continued, not seeming to realize that I was about to pass

out. “And I’m sitting for them today. So would it be possible to get

it this afternoon? I’m happy to come to you if that’s easier . . .”

“No!” I gasped. Then I said, all in a rush, “You were nice enough

to lend it to me, the least I can do is bring it to you. No prob.” As

soon as I said this, I started to panic even more. Why was I prom-

ising this? I had no bathing suit to bring to her. What was I doing,

saying no prob? It was
not
no prob. It was a big prob.

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“Great,” Hallie said, smiling. “And thanks for the cupcakes

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anyway. It’s the thought, right?”

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“Right,” I echoed, my head still spinning. “You bet.”

“See you later?” Hallie asked, I nodded. She waved and headed

back around in the direction she’d come from, already putting

her earbuds back in her ears.

I staggered to the SUV and got in, feeling shaky. Why had I

just promised to bring her back a swimsuit that was currently in

pieces in my trash at Bruce’s? Why hadn’t I just told her the

truth?

I didn’t turn on the car right away, but just sat there in the

sweltering heat, knowing the answer as soon as I’d asked myself

the question. I didn’t do it because I didn’t want to let her down or

make her life harder, yet again. I’d done enough to her when we

were eleven, and now I had to destroy her swimwear as well?

But how was I going to get a replacement? Because that’s

what it seemed was going to have to happen, unless I wanted to

gamble on the chance that my dad had secret sewing skills he’d

never happened to mention to me.

It was incredibly hot in the car, and I lifted my hair off my

neck to try and cool down a little. Maybe I would think better if I

turned on the AC. Or maybe I could stop and get some ice

cream . . .

I gasped. Just like that, it came back to me— standing with

Hallie and the twins outside Sweet & Delicious, Hallie telling

me that her newest bikinis had come from Sur la Plage. Maybe

there was hope after all. With a new sense of purpose, I turned on

the car, pulled out of the driveway, and headed back to Quonset.

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“O
ui?”
As soon as I had stepped inside Sur la Plage, a tiny

chime sounded, and a saleswoman with a thick French

accent, dressed all in white, materialized immediately. “Can I

help you, ma de moi selle?”

I reached for my bag, crossing my fi ngers on the other hand.

“I really hope so.” I’d gone back to Bruce’s, dropped off the cup-

cakes before they melted entirely, and picked up Hallie’s suit so I

could try and buy an identical version. Then I’d come downtown,

and luckily found a parking spot near the bathing- suit store. It

was nice and cool inside, done in white and green, with what

sounded like French pop music playing softly from hidden

speakers.

I pulled out the pieces of what remained of Hallie’s suit and

held them out to the saleswoman, who wrinkled her nose and

took a small step backward. “I need to buy a replacement for this

-1—

bikini.”

0—

The woman looked down at the bikini, and then shook her

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head sadly. “Did you go swimming . . . in a
pool
?” she asked,

practically whispering the last word, like it was vulgar.

“Well, yes,” I said. “I had just assumed it was . . . you know, a

regular bathing suit.”

She gave me an almost pitying smile. “The name of this shop

is
Sur la Plage,
” she said. “It means ‘on the beach.’ In French,” she

added, as though maybe I hadn’t put that together. “All of our

bathing suits are made of nothing but untreated, all- natural

fabrics, and therefore are only intended for fresh or salt water.

Not
chlorine,
” she said, pronouncing the last word with disgust.

“There was a disclaimer on the suit. We take no responsibility if

you do not follow the guidelines.”

“Right,” I said, glancing down at the pieces of the suit again.

“I saw that a little bit too late.” The woman gave me a one-

shouldered shrug. She clearly had no sympathy for me. And since

she worked in a store that sold self- destructing bathing suits,

maybe it made sense that she didn’t even seem surprised. “Do

you have another one of these that I could buy?” I had been se-

cretly hoping that she would offer to replace it for free, but clearly

that was not going to happen.

She motioned for me to hand her what was left of the suit,

and looked at the sizes. “We may have a few left,” she said. “Let

me check.”

She glided off to the back, and I crossed my fi ngers that she

had one— if she didn’t, I was really, really in trouble. My phone

buzzed in my bag, and when I pulled it out I saw that I had a

missed call from Sophie, and I resolved to call her as soon as I

—-1

fi nished with this.

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Sophie and I hadn’t really talked since I’d come to the Hamp-

tons, just exchanging texts and voicemails and missed calls.

Also, it seemed like things were getting hot and heavy with her

barista, and Sophie tended to get really wrapped up in whoever

she was dating for the fi rst few weeks (or days, more accurately,

as so many of her relationships had a short shelf life) so it wasn’t

that unusual to have not been in touch. But I’d also been avoid-

ing talking to her, because I knew I’d have to explain what I was

doing here— basically, pretending to be her. And since I’d given

her so much grief over her Clarence Hall dating deception, I had

a feeling I was facing a big
I told you so
. But despite that, I needed

to talk to my BFF and get her opinion on all of this. I made a

mental note to call her back as the saleslady returned. “Well?” I

asked, crossing my fi ngers again.

She nodded and held up the suit, looking just like it had when

Hallie had given it to me— new and beautiful and not wrecked

and in pieces. “We had one left in your size,” she said, walking

behind the register, and I followed, feeling relief fl ood through

me. Everything would be okay. I could get it back to Hallie today,

and she’d never have to know that it wasn’t the same one she’d

given me.

“Great,” I said, pulling out my debit card. I wasn’t the greatest

with saving money, and the haircut and color had put a serious

dent in my bank balance. My mom had given me some money

before I left, maybe feeling guilty that she was going to a castle

and I was going to Long Island. But I was pretty sure I could

-1—

handle the cost of a bikini.

0—

“That will be three nineteen,” she said as I just stared at her,

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not sure I’d understood, since I’d never heard of a bathing suit

being that inexpensive.

“Three . . . nineteen?” I repeated hopefully.

“
Oui,
” she said, looking down at the register and nodding.

“Three hundred and nineteen dollars.”

I felt the store start to tilt slightly, and I grabbed onto the

shiny white counter for support. “For a
bathing suit
?” I blurted

out.

She just sighed. “All our suits are made of nothing but un-

treated, all- natural fabrics . . .” she started.

“Right,” I said, nodding, not needing to hear the whole speech

again. My head was swimming as I slid my debit card back into

my wallet. That was more money than I had ever spent on any-

thing, let alone a bathing suit. Especially someone
else’s
bathing

suit, for that matter. But I didn’t see any alternative— this didn’t

look like the kind of place that would let you bargain. “Okay,” I

said, swallowing hard as I pulled out the For Emergencies Only

credit card my dad had gotten for me. It had my name on it, but

it was linked to his card and all the bills went right to him. I had

never used it before, and knew it was not supposed to be used for

things like shopping. But I didn’t know what else I could do. I

handed the card over, my heart racing. I would just tell him what

happened, and then pay him back. Maybe he’d let me do it in

installments.

The saleslady rang me up, cut off the tags when I asked her

to, then pushed the white receipt across the counter to me. I signed

the receipt, and she placed a copy, along with the suit wrapped

—-1

in tissue paper, into a shiny shopping bag. “
Merci beaucoup,
” she

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said as she handed the bag to me. “Come again,” she added, and I

just nodded, not wanting to tell her that unless I won the lottery,

there would be no way that was going to happen.

I left the store and headed into the bright sunlight, my head

still spinning a little over the price and what I’d just done. I was

pretty sure my dad would understand. But even though I knew

he was making a better living now as a screenwriter than he ever

had as a novelist, he still seemed to have a struggling writer’s ap-

proach to money— that is, he was always reluctant to spend any

of it.

But I fi gured I would deal with it when I had to. I headed in

the direction of Quonset Coffee, feeling very much in need of an

iced latte.

O O O

“Gemma?” Sophie answered on the fi rst ring, and I smiled, just

hearing her voice, as I settled down on the bench outside

the coffee shop and took my fi rst sip of iced latte. “Oh my god,

hi! How are you? Have you been . . .” Sophie asked, her voice

suddenly slower and more concerned, “baking?”

“No,” I said, deciding not to tell her about the cupcakes, be-

cause I didn’t think one batch counted. “I’m okay,” I said, realiz-

ing as I said it that it was true. Despite wardrobe malfunctions,

vanishing heels, cupcake errors, and prohibitively expensive

bathing suits, I was certainly doing better than when I had been

-1—

sobbing over
Ghostbusters
and living in my bed. “How about

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you?”

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“Well,” Sophie said, and launched into a much- more- detailed-

than- I-wanted description of her last makeout session with the

barista— whose name was apparently Blake— which had in fact

taken place in his coffeeshop, which seemed to me like it was

probably violating all kinds of health codes.

“So what’s new with you?” she asked, once she’d fi nished the

makeout recap. “What’s happening out there?”

I took a breath. This was the perfect time to tell her what had

actually been going on, and the secret life I had landed myself in

here. No time like the present— which was, incidentally, the title

of the straight- to- DVD Christmas special in the time- traveling-

animal franchise. “Actually, the thing is, Sophie . . .”

“Sophie?” I turned around, and clutched my phone as I saw

Josh stepping out of Quonset Coffee, holding what looked like an

iced tea.

“Hi,” I said in a strangled voice, my thoughts racing. How

much had he heard? Had he just heard me call someone else what

was supposed to be my name?

“Gemma?” Sophie called loudly through the phone, causing

me to clamp my hand over the tiny microphone. “Hello?”