Page 4

CHAPTER 4

Naomi

“How’s the job?” Eloise asks in her most annoyingly chipper, patent-pending Eloise voice. My brother’s wife is the happiest person I’ve ever met. I love this about her.

I also sometimes want to shake her and see if any of the happy will fall out of her proverbial pockets like loose change.

Covering the mouthpiece of the phone, I whisper “thanks” and take the box of gluten-free apple cider donuts from the smiling woman behind the counter.

Her smile is … disconcerting. Friendly, but with a knowing edge. I have the very strong suspicion she has just become my new donut dealer. I’m not sold on this apple cider flavor, however, which she assured me is a Harvest Hollow favorite. Bonus points for having gluten-free options, which means I can share these with Liam.

We’ll see how they taste, I guess.

With my shoulder, I hold the phone to my ear and push through the door, precariously but successfully balancing the box and my latte. Outside, wind whips straight through my hoodie and down into my bones. Immediately, my eyes start to water.

I hate winter. And I hate it more in the mountains where it’s not buffered by the mildness the ocean brings.

“The job is … fine,” I tell Eloise.

Fine would be a glow-up for my current position.

On career day in elementary school, I guarantee that no child ever says, “When I grow up, I want to be an office administrator.” Because what even is an office administrator? It’s the position Pam Beesley invented out of thin air in The Office . That’s how they should have described it on my company’s website: a made-up job from a fictional TV show.

Back on Oakley, I was an administrative assistant, which meant loads of paperwork, making copies, and sometimes fetching coffee. With my oh-so-glamorous office administrator upgrade, I still do some of that, plus now I order the paper and coffee. Technically, I think I’m also supposed to oversee the administrative assistants, but no one has explained what that entails, and the women in my new office don’t seem to want to be overseen. At least, based on the way they clump up together and shun me.

All in all, it’s unpleasant at best. The raise that looked good on paper somehow translates to only a few hundred more per month. Nothing life changing, and hardly impactful in the end.

“In other words,” Eloise says, her happiness now sounding a little bit more like sage smugness, “you don’t love it, the raise isn’t worth making the move, and you should have kept working at the bed and breakfast right here on Oakley with your family. Got it.”

She’s right, at least about some of it. But it would take actual torture to make me admit it. Or the threat of torture. Because all someone would need to do is pull out a pair of pliers or show me a sharp blade and I’d sing like a canary auditioning for American Idol .

But no one is threatening me, and I refuse to cave so quickly and admit to Lo that she’s right about anything—especially after only a week. It would invite a huge I told you so .

Even if she’d never say it, she’d think it.

Because Eloise did tell me the job I took at a real estate title company four months ago wasn’t going to make me happy. And she repeated it when I told her I was moving for a job with the same company. Before that, I’d been working at the bed and breakfast that Lo and her sisters started out of their grandmother’s old house, and things were good. Family and friends as coworkers can be a challenge, but not with Eloise and her sisters. I liked the hours and the ability to look out almost any window and see the ocean.

I can’t fully explain why I became discontented. I’ve never been able to put logical sounding words together in a way that adequately describes the restlessness that seems to live underneath my skin. It goes dormant sometimes, though I’m always aware of its presence inside me, waiting, building, humming like an electric razor. When the hum becomes a persistent and unignorable buzz, I have to find a way to get it out of my system.

Usually through a new job. A new apartment. Sometimes picking up a new hobby will suffice. This is usually when I try a new hairstyle or color. It just depends how loud the noise becomes, how strong the buzz.

Had I been born in a different time period, I would have really rocked the nomad life. Hoisting all my belongings into a bag I’d sling over my back, ready to pull up roots like tent stakes.

But I wasn’t born in another age, and in our current cultural climate, my urge to cut bait and run makes me look irresponsible and flighty.

It also wreaks havoc on the ability to maintain a relationship, as one might imagine, though Jake says my bad luck is more about the quality of men I pick. He’s not wrong, though I’m self-aware enough to know there’s a heavy dose of self-sabotage thrown in there. I have a hard time imagining myself in a serious, committed relationship. At least while Liam is young.

It’s so much work to find a good guy to date, but I’d also need someone who could do double duty as a dad or father figure. The idea is so intimidating to me, that I feel like I’ve essentially given up and resigned myself to short-lived relationships until Liam is out of the house. They’re too risky, too much pressure.

There’s also the memory of Liam’s biological father and the way his whole face went feral when I told him about Liam. Not that I knew Liam was Liam then, so it was more me telling him about the miraculous kumquat-sized human we had unintentionally created together the one and only and regrettable time we slept together.

Christopher’s eyes went wide, his mouth went slack, and I’m still shocked he didn’t dive straight through the glass window of the coffee shop where we met in order to escape the truth. I guess he did the figurative version, which was backing away from the table, hands up like I had a gun trained on him. I guess that’s how it felt to him.

“It’s not mine,” he said first. “You need a paternity test.”

I sipped my decaf peppermint tea, which wasn’t half bad even if it wasn’t coffee, and declined to answer. What was the point? Christopher was the only guy I’d slept with, and only the one time. No paternity test needed on my end.

More than once I’ve thought about taking money to Vegas since I clearly am good at beating the odds.

Christopher took my silence as some kind of threat because then he moved on to point a finger and tell me he wouldn’t pay for anything without a test and that he would call the family lawyer—his family was one of the old Savannah kinds who likely had a lawyer on retainer—and that we were done here.

Then he left. And that was that.

While I wasn’t sad about Christopher, the moment did leave me with the impression that my newfound growing baby made me part of a potentially undesirable joint package for men. And I know Christopher was a tool—which I realized long before that conversation—and shouldn’t get to represent all men, but it’s hard to shake the sense of doom I felt at his visceral reaction.

Sitting alone at that coffee table, swiping the whipped cream from Christopher’s untouched white mocha, is the first time I ever told Liam, “It’s you and me versus the world, kid.”

Even if I ever decided I was ready for something serious, I’m not sure anyone would be good enough to earn my big brother’s approval. The only one who came close was Cam. But since I never explained the breakup to Jake, I’m pretty sure my brother blames Camden.

Just as well. Not like it matters now.

Anyway . The restlessness leading me now to be freezing my butt off while carrying a box of apple cider donuts is just the way I’m wired. I need to go, to move, to try new things. My theme song is U2’s “Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.” But it’s hard to find a thing when you don’t know what the thing is.

The one constant in my life is the consistent, persistent ache for new, different, and more , which sometimes explodes into a crescendo of discontent I have to act on.

And then there’s Liam.

As a person who’s supposed to be a stable, functional member of society, my restlessness is inconvenient at best. Being a single mom? It’s an irreconcilable difference without having a divorce. Two unlike things forced to coexist: my need for frequent change and my son who needs some semblance of stability.

Sometimes I wonder if having a kid so young is what caused the restlessness, but I don’t like that train of thought. Sounds too much like blaming Liam for my issues.

In this particular instance, with the biggest move of my life, I know a good portion of the restlessness stems from what happened with Camden. It hasn’t been easy the past few years watching everyone around me fall in love while remaining the lone singleton on the island.

For half a second last summer, I thought I might be joining the falling-in-love club. And it actually sounded like a club I finally wanted to be part of.

But then I panicked, broke up with Camden, and after months of regret and hurt and rehashing this in my mind, I accidentally took a job where he lives.

In order to pull off the lie that it’s not a big deal, this move to my ex’s town, I’ve had to pretend I’m still stoked about this whole misadventure instead of terrified. My well-meaning family and friends—not just Eloise—would say I told yo u so but quickly follow it up with offers to help me move home. Frankly, the offers would be tempting.

“Where are you right now?” Eloise asks. “It sounds like you’re inside of a wind tunnel.”

It feels like I’m inside a wind tunnel. I’m hustling to my car, cheeks wet with cold-induced tears. “I’m picking up donuts and coffee. It’s freezing here. Disgustingly cold. But … refreshing,” I say, once again feeling the need to sell this whole thing.

“Ew,” Eloise says. “It’s a little colder than when you left, but the sun is out, and it feels amazing. I just got back from a walk on the beach.”

I’d like to kick her in the shins with my pointiest shoes.

I get my car door open and throw myself inside, immediately jamming the key into the ignition to blast the heat. “Stop gloating. You think me moving is a mistake, blah blah. I can outlast the cold,” I say. In all honesty not sure I can.

Eloise hums. Even her stupid hum is happy. “But you don’t like the cold. Or your job. You don’t need to stick this out as a way to pass some test no one gave you.”

I take an angry bite of donut to keep me from snapping at Eloise and almost moan at the taste. That woman inside is definitely going to be my new donut dealer. This town is onto something with these apple cider donuts.

“How do you know how to read me so well?” I demand. Eloise has only been in our lives a few years. A permanent fixture now, being married to my brother. But still. It’s a little scary how she can hear my lies even through the phone.

“Jake gave me a Naomi decoder ring for Christmas.” She pauses, like this is some kind of gotcha moment. Honestly, a Naomi decoder ring sounds great. I’d like one myself. “Just kidding! Obviously. I just know you. Remember—I grew up with two older sisters. It’s impossible to survive without picking up some mad observational skills. This just so happens to be one of mine.”

True. Especially true thinking about Merritt and Sadie. Mer, the oldest Markham sister, has chilled a lot since moving to Oakley and taking Hunter, the island's hottest single commodity, off the market. But she is one of those hyper successful, driven, type-A kind of women. I can only imagine growing up with her as top dog.

Then there’s Sadie—every bit as headstrong and opinionated as Merritt, only usually running in the opposite direction. It’s practically a nuclear combination. I’ve witnessed Lo smoothing things over between her older sisters almost effortlessly, heading off budding arguments and steering them toward a greener pasture where everyone gets along.

Eloise is every bit as strong as her sisters, just in a different way. Less combative and more sneakily coercive.

I lick my sticky fingers clean and put the car into gear. It’s almost time to pick up Liam from the Summit. “Ugh. Your logic is impeccable, per the usual. What was your degree in, again—psychology?”

“Literature. How’s Sir Liam?”

I could not be more grateful for the conversational switch. Eloise has been calling Liam that ever since he had to dress like a knight for a school thing. I mean, sure, he was adorable. But Eloise said he really looked like he was a knight. Look—I’m biased toward my kid. Trust me. But I don’t know what she was seeing. The chain mail I found in a costume shop was missing whole chunks, like it belonged to a knight who definitely didn’t make it through the battle or was fired by a dragon. Not to mention that it was an adult size, which meant it came down to Liam’s knees.

Still—Eloise persists with Sir Liam.

“School is good so far. I mean, it’s only been two weeks, but he’s doing well academically—no surprise there. And I think he’s made a few friends already.”

This is a huge relief to me. Liam’s tendency to hyperfixate on topics, not understanding why no one else cares, can be like his own scarlet letter, setting him apart in negative ways. Through no fault of his own, he spent a lot of his early years around adults. He didn’t ever speak like a kid or relate to kids. But he can sit through a conversation about inflation or work-life balance and totally track. He’s kind and loyal and fun, but he doesn’t color in the lines or always act like the other kids.

In the last year or so, he finally started to make more friends outside of Izzy, Hunter’s daughter. I wasn’t sure how his fledgling social skills would translate off the island though, and I was more nervous about this than running into Camden. Even last week coming out of the Summit, a few kids waved and one boy who looked a little older gave him a friendly looking slap on the back.

I swear, I got teary-eyed watching it and had to work really hard to recalibrate my face by the time Liam reached the car.

Just as hard? Not asking if Camden was there. But that would be the kind of news I’m not sure he could have kept to himself. I think I would have seen it in his face or body, a sense of sadness weighing him down like a heavy cloak.

I was both relieved and disappointed that he said nothing. At least, not about Camden.

Liam had plenty to say about hockey and talked of nothing else for three straight days. Three. Days. I’ve gotten used to him talking hockey, but it hits different when he’s talking about it in relation to himself.

It was even worse .

Telling me about how to stand with your weight over your feet, not leaning too far forward, while I made dinner. Describing the sound of the ice when someone does a hockey stop when he should have been doing homework. Talking about finding the inside and outside edges of the blades while I was setting up his school lunch account online.

The one thing he didn’t talk about was Camden.

I should be relieved. I am, kind of. But I’m also disappointed. Somehow the constant hockey talk and the notable lack of Camden talk made my mind spin out with questions and worries even more wildly than before.

But I don’t want to be the one to first break our unspoken vow of silence regarding Camden.

I can only assume this means Liam didn’t see him because he absolutely would have told me. Wouldn’t he? Before we moved, I would have been sure. But now, I’m dealing with the new Liam—the one who stole my credit card to sign up for hockey classes. I can’t be sure what to expect now.

But surely he would have said something .

After meeting Camden, Liam latched on. Hard.

You and me both, buddy.

In fact, it was this —seeing Liam get starry-eyed over Camden—that made me realize I needed to end things. Because it wasn’t just my heart on the line. At the end of the summer, no matter what wishful thinking kind of talk Camden and I might have, he would leave me. And leave Liam.

I didn’t think either Liam or I could take the heartbreak if we attached any more to Camden. Fear made the restlessness start humming under my skin until I just blurted out, “I think we should stop seeing each other” in the middle of an otherwise perfect date. Not my best move.

Hearing about the breakup was the first and only time Liam has ever yelled at me. He shouted Why would you do that? and Something is wrong with you (that one stung) and called me stupid, which didn’t hurt but did get him grounded. He took off on his bike before I could enforce his first-ever grounding.

When he came back, he was no longer angry but resigned and sad.

Drooping shoulders. Red eyes. Trembling lower lip he bit so hard it bled.

I hugged him, ungrounded him, and we went for dinner at my dad’s place. A pirate-themed bar isn’t normally the place to cheer up a kid, but Liam has always loved Bard the parrot and my dad’s grilled cheese on gluten-free bread he stocks just for Liam.

Watching him perk up slightly as Bard quoted Shakespeare didn’t reassure me I’d made the right choice breaking up with Camden before things got harder. It made me imagine what things could be like if I hadn’t. Because I could suddenly see Camden in the kitchen with us, being present in his quiet way. Bringing his steadiness into my chaos.

I started to do something I rarely do: second guess myself. I got a feverish case of whatever the breakup version is of buyer’s remorse is.

Is breakup remorse a thing?

A legitimate illness or not, it led to me making a mistake I’d rather not think about right now, parked in the shadow of the Summit. I’d rather stuff another apple cider donut in my face, so I do, while Eloise catches me up on Oakley gossip. I turn the engine off to save on gas, hoping the heat in the car lasts until Liam comes out.

By the time Eloise is finished with her updates, I’ve decided to tell her about Liam and the hockey classes. So far, I’ve managed to keep it from everyone back home (namely, my dad and Jake), and our schedules haven’t lined up for Liam to talk to them. I’m sure it would have been the first thing he said.

So, Eloise will find out. It’s shocking she hasn’t used her built-in Naomi radar to guess already.

“You want to know what stupid thing your Sir Liam did?” I ask, heart beating a little more wildly than it should.

“Is that even a question? Absolutely.”

“First off, he borrowed my credit card.”

“No! Liam? No. Not Sir Liam. Wait! Was it to fund a nonprofit or donate to an animal shelter?”

“No.”

“Did he … buy a set of vintage encyclopedias to read when he’s bored?”

“No, but only because he’s hoping you and Jake will get him one for Christmas.”

“Ooh, good idea. So, what did he do?”

“He signed himself up for”—j ust say it. Just say the word, it’s not like Beetlejuice —“hockey. Some youth training classes for six Saturdays with the Appies.”

“The Appies, as in the team where your ex plays?”

“Yes,” I grit out.

There’s a beat of silence. Then raucous laughter.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” I mutter.

“You’ve watched The Empire Strikes Back a few too many times with Liam,” she says.

“Yeah, well. If the Wookiee comparison fits …”

“That took less time than I thought,” Eloise says, wheezing.

“What did?”

“Liam trying to get you and Camden back together.”

“That’s not what he’s doing,” I say quickly. And quite defensively, despite my efforts to hide it. “He’s just hockey obsessed, and we moved to a town where hockey is, like, a whole thing.”

“Sure. Tell yourself what you need to tell yourself. He’s absolutely going to Parent Trap you.”

“He absolutely is not doing that.”

Is he? What if the lack of Liam talking about Camden is actually some kind of surreptitious long-game plan?

No. It couldn’t be. Liam couldn’t have known we’d end up moving here, since I didn’t even know until a month ago. And back to the Bruno thing, Liam hasn’t so much as uttered Camden’s name since the night he yelled at me and rode off on his bike. A ten-year-old isn’t crafty enough to mastermind something like that.

I dismiss the idea entirely. It’s preposterous.

“Also—Liam on skates,” Eloise says. “How’s that going?”

I give her credit for not actually commenting on Liam’s lack of athleticism. He comes by it honestly. I enjoy the occasional yoga class—child’s pose is my personal favorite—but anything involving running or throwing or kicking balls is beyond my skill set. The most athletic thing Liam does is ride waves at the beach. He’s a strong swimmer, but anything on land or involving hand-eye coordination? Nope.

It’s honestly why I didn’t nix this whole thing—the non-refundable payment aside. I figured after the first week, he would realize ice skating wasn’t his thing and maybe it would kill off his whole hockey obsession.

Sadly, we’re back for week two, and he practically dove out of my moving car when we got here.

“I haven’t seen him skate yet, but he’s apparently doing fine. He loves it, anyway.”

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him skate?” Eloise demands.

“He’s old enough that I can just drop him off.”

The silence on the other end of the line is like a loaded gun. Then Eloise says the words I’ve been hearing echo in my head all week.

“Naomi. You can’t not watch Liam just because you don’t want to risk seeing Camden.”

The guilt I’ve been trying to ignore rises up, clogging my throat.

She’s right. She’s absolutely right. It’s been killing me to not be inside that building, watching over my very uncoordinated child as he tries to navigate a sheet of ice with blades on his feet. Even though I’d be a different kind of nervous wreck actually watching him.

Last Saturday I couldn’t even eat until I picked him up and saw him in one piece, smiling.

The coffee I’ve been sipping turns to acid in my gut, and I hope I can keep those donuts down.

I should be in there. I know it.

While I’m well aware of my shortcomings and imperfections as a mom, I also know I’ve mostly done well by Liam. He’s a good kid on his own merits, but I haven’t screwed him up. I’ve supported him and given him freedom to be himself and encouraged him to chase after his interests. Even this one, while gritting my teeth the whole time. But this is the very first time I’ve honestly felt like I’m making a poor choice—the wrong choice—as his mother.

Still, the idea of possibly running into Camden is a strong enough deterrent that I double down.

“I’m just using the time to run errands alone,” I lie. “Camden’s possible presence here is irrelevant.”

“No,” Eloise says, finally sounding serious for a moment. I like it way less than when she was laughing at me. “No, it’s very relevant. Not just to you but to Liam. Naomi, why did you break up with Camden? And don’t give me the whole story about how it was just casual. I saw you with him. You were anything but casual.”

She’s right. Of course she’s right. But it’s hard to articulate the breakup when, in hindsight, it’s so dumb.

“Did he do something?” Eloise presses, her voice a little softer.

“No,” I confess in a choked voice. “It was me. I … panicked. Liam started to get attached, and when I thought about how it would work long-term dating someone who lives in another city and has such a weird career, it just seemed like cutting ties sooner would save Liam disappointment later.”

And save me heartache , I don’t add, though I’m sure Lo knows me well enough to know this too.

Spoiler alert. It didn’t save either of us from anything.

“Oh, Naomi.” Eloise sighs.

“Plus, I had no reason to know if Camden was thinking about moving beyond the casual summer dating we agreed to. As it turns out, he wasn’t.”

“How do you know?”

I swallow, prepping myself for the humiliation of this next admission. “Because I tried to walk it back. I called him and told him I messed up. Asked if we could talk. He said … it was for the best.”

“I’m so sorry,” Eloise says.

I really don’t like the way her words or the kindness with which she says them dig way down deep and make me squirm.

But what I like even less is what I see out of the windshield. Or— who I see, striding across the parking lot with purpose toward my car.

My mouth goes dry. All the oxygen in my lungs is suddenly gone. For a beat or two, my heart seizes up, pausing mid-beat.

“I’m so sorry,” Eloise repeats, “but I think you were both lying to yourselves and maybe to each other. And I know you didn’t ask for advice but?—”

“I need to go,” I say, interrupting her.

I stopped listening fully the moment the Summit doors opened and a tall man walked through them.

“We’re not done talking about this,” Eloise is saying as I hang up.

No, we’re definitely not done with this subject. There will be even more to say.

Because Camden is now standing by my car window, staring in at me with the intense brown eyes that have haunted my memories for months.