Maine Squeeze (12 page)

Darn Ben and his definitions.

He looked at me, then down at the deck, then back up at me. “One or two dates is a fling. Not two months.”

“But see, sometimes the way you feel about a person is that they're like a fling, like that's how
un
important they are to you.”

“And you spent two months with a guy you didn't care about. Wow. That really makes me feel good about us.”

“No! I didn't mean … Sorry. Okay, so it wasn't just a fling. That was a poor choice of words. We … we went out last summer.”

“So why are you telling me about this now?”

Because I have to? And because Sam won't be my friend if I don't?
“Well, it's just … this guy, Evan? He came back this summer. I didn't
know
he was coming. I hadn't even heard from him in months. I mean, I'd barely heard from him since the day he left.”

Annoyingly, the image of our painful good-bye scene actually had the nerve to flit through my brain the split second I said that. The early-morning fog, the long romantic hug, the never wanting to let go....

“We didn't keep in touch,” I said to Ben. Or at least I did, but he didn't. “So I had no idea he'd be here again. Which is maybe why I never mentioned him. Anyway, he's here.”

“Really. Where did you see him?” Ben's voice was flat, almost like a monotone.

“Bobb's.”

“He came in for dinner or something?” Ben asked.

“Well, uh, yeah. In a manner of speaking.” This was going to be so, so awkward. “He works at Bobb's.”

“When did he start? Last night?” Ben asked.

“Actually … maybe a few days ago.”

“And you're just telling me this now,” Ben said, not as a question.

Oh, no. I knew I shouldn't have waited so long. He was really angry. I'd never seen him like this. “We hardly have any of the same shifts, so I haven't seen him much, and I didn't think it was a big deal,” I babbled. Now, on top of everything, I was lying.

“Just … don't. Look, I have stuff to do.” Ben stood up and walked over to the steps that led down to the main deck.

That could have gone a lot better, I thought as I watched him glide down the steps. I mean, it could hardly have gone
worse
.

Right?

After a few minutes, I tried moving down to the lower deck to see if I could talk to him. First he walked past me without making eye contact. Then when he was standing beside Cap Green, I went to try to join the conversation. But Ben moved away, leaving me alone with Cap, the chatterbox of the ferry industry.

I was stuck on Moby with Ben, who hated me now. I looked longingly at the inflatable life rafts hanging on the wall and the preservers stacked beside the door. Making a run for it sounded tempting. Ben would probably help by giving me a push in the direction of the island.

I had a new rule. It didn't have anything to do with the house, but just for fun let's call it Rule 13, because it felt so unlucky.

Never have important discussions on a boat when you are halfway through a round-trip.

Chapter 10

“So, I'll see you later?” I asked.

Ben mumbled something as he leaned over to unlock his bicycle, but I didn't quite catch it. I decided not to push my luck right now. He was still angry with me. He probably didn't want to see me later, or even
think
about seeing me later. He hadn't spoken to me on the way back to the island. (Me, I had made small talk with tourists, and it was the longest forty-five minutes of my life.) I had to give him some time to let him deal with the news about Evan, and me and Evan.

“Okay, well, um, take care,” I said awkwardly as he pulled his mountain bike out of the rack beside the Landing.

“Ben! Where are you going?” Haley shouted from the takeout window.

“Hi, Haley!” he called back.

Well, at least he was talking to
her
. He wasn't doing that hate-by-association thing.

“Where are you going?” Haley asked.

“I've got to get home,” Ben said. He didn't explain what the big rush was. Obviously it involved getting away from me.

“Hey, you want a FrozFruit for the road?” Haley offered. “We got more coconut in today.”

“No thanks. Tomorrow, though! See you later.” Ben gave me a cursory glance, and immediately his grin faded. Then he climbed onto his bike and started pedaling away.

“Bye!” I called after him, trying to sound as sweet as I possibly could, hoping I'd erase this new, bad impression I'd apparently made on him. Then I walked over to Haley. No, more like crawled.

“So, how did it go?” Haley asked.

“Couldn't you tell? Ben hates me now.”

“Hates you? Come on, be serious. What flavor do you want?”

“I'm not hungry. Anyway, you saw how he was,” I said. “Not even talking to me.” I stared at the tubs of ice cream. “Cookies and cream,” I sighed.

Haley scooped ice cream into a sugar cone and molded the scoop so that it would stay in the cone. “So he's a little put out,” she said. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

“I don't know. I think I
would
,” I said.

She dipped the ice cream into the bowl of chocolate sprinkles—we call them “jimmies,” but I know not everyone does, because I ordered them that way once when we went back to Chicago to visit and everyone treated me like I was a freak. “How did he really react?”

“He kind of didn't say anything. I mean, he was mad at first. And he's still mad. That pretty much wraps it up, I think.”

Haley handed me the cone, then rang up the sale and slipped a dollar into the register. “Don't worry. He'll be angry for a while, but he'll get over it. He loves you. He'll understand.”

“Thanks for saying that.” I started to lick the ice cream. “I hope you're right.”

“Of course I'm right,” Haley said. “I'm a Boudreau, and Boudreaus are always right. Or at least they always think they are.”

I laughed. “Haley, what if he doesn't forgive me? What if he gets mad at—at Evan, and they fight or something?”

Haley looked at me and frowned. She seemed annoyed by the suggestion. “Ben's not like that. When he's mad at someone, he keeps his distance. Now be quiet and eat your ice cream and forget about those guys for a second. Put your feet up. Relax.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said.

“I'm not acting like—” Haley stopped as she noticed she was about to unfold a napkin for me. “Anyway, eat.”

“So, speaking of. Have you seen your parents lately?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. I went over there to see how they're doing. They're still mad I'm not working for them. They kept saying pitiful stuff like, ‘Well, we're about to go under, not that you'd care about that.'”

I smiled. I could just picture Haley's mom saying that. “She thinks guilt is one of the food groups.”

“Oh, yeah. She's horrible. And she's
good
at it, too, which is the worst part. So I'm going over there at two to help out.” She rolled her eyes. “I cannot
wait
for September.”

I was on my way back into the kitchen to put in two orders and grab some food when I saw Evan delivering a trayful of plates to one of my tables.

There. He was doing it again.

I hated how he kept bringing food to my tables, as if I needed help, as if I couldn't handle it on my own.

Ten minutes later, I walked into the kitchen to pick up another order that was ready and caught him doing the same thing. “What are you doing?” I asked. “I can get those.”

“I know, but I'm right here.” Evan shrugged. “Besides, all my tables are parking right now. I don't have much to do.”

“Yeah, but I can still handle it,” I said. “I don't need your help.”

Evan turned to look at me. “You know, last summer you loved it when I did this.”

“Yeah, well, last summer I loved a lot of things you did,” I said before I could stop myself. I bit my lip, wishing I could take it back. I couldn't believe I'd just said that. I had to follow up with a witty retort immediately. Danger, danger! Actual feelings emerging!

Evan was grinning at me in that annoyingly seductive way of his. It's amazing how far nice green-blue eyes can
get
a person in life. It's like a get-out-of-jail-free card.

“But, you know, as the saying goes … that was then. This is now.” I gave him what I hoped was a withering, devastating look. Probably I just seemed really crabby. Not the soft-shell kind, either.

“Wow. Deep.
Insightful
.” Evan nodded. “I bet Bates can't wait to get a hold of your mind.”

I took the plates of food off his tray, briefly considered tossing them into his face, thought he might get burned, and instead started loading them onto my own. If only I were closer to the refrigerated pie case, I thought. I'd love to see his annoying, charming smile covered in blueberry or coconut cream.

“We
could
just swap trays,” Evan said. “You know, an empty one for a full one? Or do you have a close personal attachment to that one—you guys go way back or something?”

I heard a laugh behind me, and glanced back at the coffee machine. Blair was standing there, laughing at Evan's ridiculous tray joke. Great. Now we were amusing other people. Even more than we usually did.

I hoisted the heavy tray and headed out to the dining room. When I walked through the swinging door, somehow the tray slipped from my fingers—sweaty, no doubt, from my Evan encounter—and tipped a little, and I jostled a side dish of coleslaw off the tray. Of all the luck. It landed right on my foot, then I almost slipped on it and fell down.

I hate coleslaw. What or who is “cole” and what is “slaw” about cabbage and mayo, anyway? If I ever had a side dish named after me, I hoped it would not resemble a “slaw.” Colleenslaw. That's about how good I felt about myself as I scraped it off the carpet five minutes later.

It was all Evan's fault. Everything was.

(a) The fact that I had coleslaw shoe.

(b) The fact that I'd just had to get up close and personal with the carpet.

(c) The fact that Ben wasn't speaking to me and probably wouldn't be for the rest of the day.

I pulled off my apron and tossed it into the laundry hamper beside the kitchen door. “What are you doing?” Evan asked. “You're not leaving, are you?”

“No. I'm taking a break.” I walked through the kitchen to the back door and stepped outside. For some reason he was following me.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I'm fine.” As I was walking onto the docks, it started to rain. As if my day could get any worse. I should have known it was about to rain because the kittens that hung around the docks were nowhere in sight. They have cat-dar. They can tell when storms are coming, sort of like my hair.

“This is all your fault, you know,” I said.

“Me? What did I do?” Evan asked.

“You know, you have a way of ruining things just by standing there.”

Evan started to laugh. “I think you're giving me a little too much credit. I can't actually make the weather change.”

And then we just stood there for a minute, not saying anything. I couldn't think of anything
to
say. I was speechless. I'd spent hours rehearsing all the things I'd say if I ever saw him again, if we were ever alone again. Now I couldn't open my mouth. Which was so ridiculous, considering.

“So, what was your winter like?” Evan finally asked.

I knew he was trying to be nice, to make conversation, but it made me so angry that he had absolutely no clue what my winter had been like.
And my fall, and my spring?
I wanted to ask him.
And basically everything since last August 29th, or whatever day it was in November when you just vanished?

“Colleen?”

“Oh—fine,” I said. “Just fine.”