Broken Hearts, Fences and Other Things to Mend (28 page)

“Oh, right,” I said quickly, as I gave up trying to place him,

looked down at the menu, and ordered the lobster roll.

“Awesome choice,” Ty said, nodding with satisfaction. “You?”

he asked, turning to Josh.

“Um . . . the burger,” he mumbled. “Medium.”

Ty shook his head. “Dude,” he said disapprovingly, before tak-

ing his order pad and leaving.

“You can’t get a burger at a seafood place,” I said when we

were alone again. “I think it’s against the rules.”

“Yeah,” he said with a sheepish smile. “I, um, don’t like sea-

food that much. Or, actually, at all.”

“But . . .” I said, looking around. Even if Josh hadn’t remem-

bered being here before, there was no way he wouldn’t have fi g-

ured out that this was primarily a seafood restaurant, between

the name and the décor and the fact that the sign in the parking

lot had told us to PARK HERE NOW, SEA FOOD SOON! “Then why are we

eating here? We can go someplace else. But,” I added, “we might

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have pay for the stuff we just ordered.”

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“No,” Josh said, and I was actually kind of relieved. I’d really

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been looking forward to my lobster roll. “I just wanted to take

you someplace good. It didn’t matter that this wasn’t my kind of

food.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “That’s really nice of you.” It truly was,

and it took me aback. I couldn’t help but wonder if Teddy would

have done that for me.
Of course,
was the immediate answer that

fl ashed through my head. But a moment later, I still found that

the question was lingering. Teddy and I had mostly gone to vegan

restaurants, but our restaurant choices had always been dictated

by his current ethical dietary needs. I suddenly knew, without

even being able to say how, that he would never have taken me to

a restaurant he didn’t want to go to, just to make me happy. It

wouldn’t even have occurred to him.

“So your parents are divorced?” Josh asked, bringing me back

to the moment at hand. “You mentioned a stepfather . . .”

I nodded, feeling the tiny stab I always got in my chest when-

ever I had to answer that question. It was certainly easier now

than it had been right when my parents had made their separa-

tion offi cial, but that didn’t mean I could talk about it without

feeling anything. Despite the fact that so many years had passed,

talking about it still felt a little raw. “About fi ve years ago,” I said.

“I live with my mom during the year.” I held my breath after I

said this, hoping he wouldn’t ask any follow- up questions about

my father.

“It’s just me and Hallie and our mom, too,” Josh said. “My

dad’s . . .” He looked at me, then away. “Not in the picture,” he

fi nally fi nished, with a note of fi nality.

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I nodded, but I couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. I

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certainly wasn’t going to tell him that I knew about his father—

because while Gemma Tucker knew, Sophie Curtis would have no

idea— but I was a little hurt he didn’t trust me enough to tell me

the truth. Getting off the subject of our parents, though, seemed

like a good idea, as there were far too many potential land mines

we could set off if we weren’t careful.

“So,” I started, but at the same moment, Josh asked, “What

does your dad do?”

“Oh,” I said, looking down at the paper placemat that covered

the wooden table. “He’s a writer,” I said, trying to keep my voice

casual, hoping with everything I had that he wouldn’t ask what

kind, and what his name was. Josh nodded, but didn’t ask any

follow- ups, which I was grateful for, if a little surprised. “What

about your mom?” I asked after a moment. Now that it appeared

he wasn’t going to press me on the details of my dad’s writing, I

was actually really curious about what Karen had been up to in

the last fi ve years, especially since the Internet was not being

very helpful.

Josh glanced at me, and his face took on a slightly guarded

look. “She’s just . . . doing the mom thing,” he said, looking away

from me and out at the water. I got the distinct feeling somehow

that we were both keeping secrets, talking in code. “It’s a beauti-

ful sunset,” he said, pointing, and it might have seemed like he

was trying to change the subject, but the sunset
was
absolutely

stunning. “Actually,” Josh said after a small pause. “That’s not

entirely true about my mom. She’s—”

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BEEP- BEEP- BEEP.

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I jumped, startled, and Josh frowned as he reached into his

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pocket and pulled out his phone. He silenced it, then looked down

at it, shaking his head.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I really don’t know why this keeps

happening. It beeps every time I have an e-mail.”

“Was it something earth- shattering?” I asked, but Josh wasn’t

even reading the e-mail, and was just putting the phone back in

his pocket.

“Not at all,” he said. “It does it for every single one, and I can’t

get it to stop. I reprogram it every night, but it doesn’t seem to

stick.”

“That’s annoying,” I said, all the while wondering if there was

any way for us to go back to what he had been saying just before

the interruption. I felt like I’d been on the verge of uncovering

part of the Karen mystery. But before I could even try to steer the

conversation back that way, Ty appeared with our orders.

“Enjoy!” Ty said, barely looking at us as he dropped the plates in

front of us and hustled away, confi rming my suspicions that even a

subpar waiter was probably ashamed to be serving nonseafood.

“This looks great!” I enthused as I took in my lobster on a roll,

slathered with mayo and served with a side of fries and coleslaw.

“This looks . . . okay,” Josh said, clearly trying to sound up-

beat as he stared down at his admittedly pathetic- looking burger.

“That’s what you get,” I teased him as I took a big bite of my

lobster roll. It was delicious, and I hadn’t realized how hungry I

was until I started eating. I paused after my third bite and nudged

the other half of the lobster roll toward him. “You want to try it?”

Josh shook his head. “I told you,” he said. “I don’t really like

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seafood. I never eat it.”

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“Have you ever even
had
a lobster roll?” I asked, taking an-

other bite. “Because it really doesn’t even taste like lobster. It

mostly tastes like butter.”

“Well,” he said, considering, looking over at my plate. “I do

like butter.”

“Come on,” I said, pushing my plate toward him until it

rested against his. “I dare you.”

Josh raised his eyebrow at me. “A challenge?” he asked, and I

nodded. “You know, I never walk away from a dare,” he said, a

glint coming into his eyes. He reached over and picked up the

other half of the lobster roll, then took a cautious bite.

“Well?” I asked.

“It’s not bad,” he said. He took another, bigger bite this time.

“You were right. It’s pretty buttery.”

“See?” I asked, smiling. Josh offered me the rest of the roll,

but I shook my head. “All yours,” I said. “I’m just happy I was able

to introduce you to the wonder that is the lobster roll.”

“Well, I consider myself enlightened,” he said, taking the fi nal

bite and then reaching over and taking a handful of my fries.

“Hey,” I said, laughing, pulling the plate back toward me. I real-

ized I was no longer worried about whether this was a date or not. I

was just having fun. “I said the lobster, not—” I stopped short. My

stomach had just lurched violently, and a wave of nausea crashed

over me. I could feel perspiration beading on my forehead, and my

heart was beating hard, but not in a full- of- excitement way. No,

this was more like an oh- my- god- I’m-about- to- throw- up way.

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I gripped the edge of the table hard and tried to take deep

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breaths. After yesterday, I had been worried about embarrassing

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myself again, but these worries had mostly been things like get-

ting food stuck in my teeth and not realizing it until the end of

the night. But now, as another, fi ercer wave of nausea hit me, I

realized I had a worry that certainly trumped it— a very real con-

cern that I might throw up, in public, and in front of Josh.

I could hear him start to say something, but I couldn’t really

make out any words over the roaring in my ears. I closed my eyes

tightly for a moment, just trying to breathe, hoping this would

go away as soon as it had arrived. What was causing this? Had

the lobster been bad?

“Sophie?” I heard Josh say this, and opened my eyes to see

him looking concerned, leaning toward me, his expression wor-

ried. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“I think,” I said, swallowing hard. I got dizzy suddenly and

snapped my mouth closed, trying to breathe through my nose,

not caring any longer if I looked weird. I just needed to get out of

there. “I think I need to go home,” I managed. I looked across the

table at him, and in so doing caught a glimpse of my discarded

lobster roll bun and half- eaten fries. Just the sight of them was

enough to send my stomach rolling again.

“What?” Josh asked, looking even more worried— not to men-

tion a little freaked out.

“I need to go,” I blurted, all in one breath. I wasn’t trusting

myself to say too much. It was even worse now than it had been

just a few moments ago. “We need to leave. Now.”

“Now?” Josh echoed. “Are you—”

“I’m going to be sick,” I said, standing up and pushing myself

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back from the table. I fumbled for my bag, and with shaking

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hands tried to extract my wallet, but Josh was on top of it, drop-

ping some money down on the table. I walked across the patio,

bent over slightly, just trying to tell myself to breathe, that this

would be over soon. It had to, right?

As we headed out of the restaurant, I saw Ty leaning on the

doorframe, watching us go. I glanced back toward Josh to make

sure he was still behind me (he was, looking more freaked out

than ever) and when I looked back, Ty had vanished— probably to

check that we’d paid and weren’t skipping out on our bill.

I practically ran toward Josh’s truck, yanking open the door

before he had a chance to open it for me. He hurried around to

the driver’s side, and as soon as he turned on the engine, I un-

rolled the window, breathing in the fresh air.

“Um,” Josh said as he pulled out of the parking lot, “do you

need to go to a doctor or something?”

“Home,” I managed, leaning even farther out the window

and letting the cool air hit my face, which now felt like it was

burning up. “Just take me home.” Despite the breeze, I could

feel myself sweating, and I ran a hand over my face and eyes.

When I looked down at my hand, I saw that it was now covered in

black, and knew I was probably rubbing off most of my carefully

applied eye makeup. I closed my eyes. I could only imagine how

bad I looked, but at the moment, I didn’t care about that as

much as I cared about getting home without completely humili-

ating myself.

“Should I drive slow?” Josh asked, and, with what felt like a

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lot of effort, I turned my head to look at him and opened my eyes.

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“Is this better for you? Or . . .”

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“Fast,” I said. I had started to feel clammy, and my pulse was

racing, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to hold out for too

much longer. “Drive fast.”

Josh stepped on the gas, and the car lurched forward. I closed

my eyes again and made myself keep breathing. It was just a few

more minutes. I could handle it. I could.

“Do you think it was the lobster?” Josh asked from across the

car and just the one word was enough to make my stomach heave.

“Don’t say that,” I muttered.

“What?” Josh asked, sounding genuinely confused. “Lob—”

“Yes, that,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “Just . . . don’t.