Maine Squeeze (6 page)

Nuns. Come on! Like they'd let Evan ride with them for more than ten minutes. Didn't they automatically recognize Satan? Weren't they specifically trained for that sort of thing?

Then again, maybe the nun bit wasn't even true—Evan had a habit of embellishing things, of saying things that were obviously exaggerated. Such as: “I love you, Colleen.”

“Why didn't you just call someone to come pick you up?” I asked.

“What would the fun in that be?” He stepped closer to me. “Unless, of course, you were the one who came. Still got that Volvo?”

No. I drove it into the ocean when you broke my heart. Sadly, however, I survived
.

“Of course,” I said.

And there we were, the last place I expected to be, just standing in Bobb's kitchen, looking into each other's eyes.

And I was thinking:

I will kill Trudy with my own bare hands for hiring him back.

“Well, I'm not starting until tomorrow, so I guess I'll see you then,” Evan said. “Bye for now.”

“Okay. Whatever,” I mumbled under my breath.

As he walked away, I looked over at Sam, who was studying the schedule, which was on a clipboard hanging from the back of the storeroom door. Trudy did the schedule in pencil. Sometimes it was tempting to erase an entire week … like now, for instance.

When Sam met my gaze, I mouthed the words, “What the …”

And she whispered back, “I know!”

It was a good thing the lunch shift at the restaurant was beginning. I kept my mind off Evan by visiting with the kitchen staff, the cooks and busboys and dishwashers—most of them had worked at Bobb's the summers before, like I had, so it was more of a reunion.

Even though it was a Tuesday, the restaurant was very busy. Lots of islanders came in to celebrate the beginning of summer, to mark the fact that Bobb's was even open for lunch. And there was a ferry full of retirees from Florida who were traveling together across New England on a bus tour. They kept making jokes about the ferry being worse even than the bus, which was saying a lot, apparently.

One table took so long to order that my mind completely started to wander. I couldn't get over the fact that Evan was here, that I'd just talked to him. I had a hundred questions I wanted to ask him. I was so angry and so excited at the same time. It was a really bad combination; I wanted to talk to him, but if I did, I'd only yell and scream at him.

There it was, that intense pull I felt toward Evan. I could say I'd keep my distance from him. But this was Bobb's, where we both worked. And we were on the island. There weren't that many places to hide.

For some reason I suddenly remembered how we'd sneaked into the old, abandoned lighthouse last summer, after an open-house party at our neighbors' place. We'd sprinted up to the top, climbing up the circular stairs, laughing and pushing each other, until we were standing on the little ledge, looking out at the water. Then we started kissing and soon we were moving on to other things. “Nobody can see in, don't worry,” Evan had whispered in my ear.

We'd gotten into enough trouble when my parents were around to keep an eye on me. What would it be like
now
?

But wait! Colleen!
I scolded myself. Evan and I weren't together, and I didn't want to be. He'd been fun last summer—but that was all it ever was with him. Fun. Ben and I had something deeper, more serious. Everyone thought we'd get married one day, and we probably would.

I smiled and looked at the first retiree to finally decide on her order. “Would you like soup or coleslaw with that?”

Behind her, I saw Evan outside through the plate glass window. He was standing on the dock, talking and laughing with Stan Mathews, one of the lobstermen who supplied the restaurant. As they talked, Evan was skipping rocks on the water.

The older woman cleared her throat. “Excuse me, doll. But what's the soup again?”

“Oh! Ah.” I had to glance at my order pad to remember, which was rather pathetic. We had the same soups every Tuesday last summer. “Clam chowder or tomato bisque,” I said.

“Did you say
chowdah
?” a man at the table asked. “Come on, say it. Chowdah!”

I smiled politely, said “Chowdah” as best as I could, and finished taking everyone's orders. Then I went into the kitchen, clipped the slip to the carousel, and came back to the table with rolls in a plastic basket shaped like a lobster trap.

“Look at that! Oh, Bill, look at that. How quaint!” one of the women said.

Before I could go over to the bar for their drinks, I caught Evan looking at me through the window. When he saw me looking at him, he smiled and waved.

How quaint, indeed. How ridiculously, nauseatingly, shockingly quaint.

Chapter 5

“So.
That
was awkward,” Sam said as we walked to the house that night after the dinner shift, at about ten o'clock. She smoothed back her dark brown hair and refastened one of her small gold barrettes.

My feet were so tired from being on them all day that I was starting to rethink this walk-to-work-and-back exercise plan. I was going to need new sneakers. I was going to need a new bike, and not the one-speed hand-me-down from my grandmother that I usually rode all over the island. (Though I couldn't imagine getting rid of the cute wicker basket on the handlebars. My grandmother made it herself. She was so multitalented—she could sew, knit, and draw like nobody's business.)

“What was awkward?” I asked. “Running out of the special at five thirty and then having to tell everyone we were out of clams at six? I mean, what seafood restaurant runs out of clams? Trudy must have lost her predicting skills over the winter.”

“No, it wasn't about the
menu
selections.” Sam laughed. “You know what I'm talking about, Coll!”

“Oh, right. When that guy at table nine asked you if you would be working tomorrow, too? What was he … like, forty, forty-five?” I'd seen a guy wearing a goofy khaki hat with earflaps smiling and flirting with Sam.

“If I were working tomorrow, which of course I
am
, do you think I'd tell him?” Sam shuddered.

“Too bad there aren't more restaurants on the island,” I said—and as soon as I did, I realized how very, very, very true that was. More places to eat would mean more places to
work
. And that would mean I wouldn't have to work with Evan again.

“Yeah, we know that,” Sam said, sounding exasperated. “So anyway. What about
Evan
?”

Sam and I had had a brief chance to talk in the kitchen about how freaked out I was, but it wasn't easy to really dish while Cole, the dishwasher, was trying to eavesdrop (and not dishdrop). We were short two people that night, and things had gotten so busy that I hadn't spent that much time thinking about Evan. Which was a blessing not even in disguise, but a flat-out obvious blessing for which I would be eternally grateful.

“I mean, how shocked were you when you saw him?” Sam asked.

“Let's just say that my blood pressure hasn't quite gone back to normal yet.” In fact, it felt as though maybe there was a
new
normal that was going to be a lot higher than it used to be. Evan and Ben and me. In the same town. Surrounded by water. Oh, joy.

“He looks, I hate to say it, good,” Sam commented. “Really good. He's definitely still working out a lot, or doing triathlons or whatever—you can tell.”

“Maybe you should go out with him this summer, then,” I suggested.

“Are you serious? No way!”

“Come on, I saw the way you guys were hugging each other.”

“Yeah. Very moving, wasn't it?” Sam scoffed. “He was just being a drama king, as always. You said he wanted to major in drama, right?”

“Last I knew, yeah.” I let out a sigh. “He looks … older or something.” I thought about Evan's face. I thought about the way Evan had put his hands on my waist when he saw me. I thought about our tragic good-bye scene in the fog, on the docks, last summer, when I felt like I would fall apart when I saw him get onto the ferry. And how did I not go
with
him, so I could draw the pain out another forty-five minutes?

Then again, it was okay to make a fool of myself on the island—people knew me here. It wouldn't be okay to be crying the entire way there and back on the ferry.

“You're right, he did look older. Except I think he was wearing the same exact things he wore last year. But then, maybe I am, too,” Sam said.

“Just the Bobb's uniform. That doesn't count.”

“At least they got us a few new T-shirts. My old ones were so worn out, it was ridiculous. But okay, why did he just show up like that? Why do you think he didn't tell anyone, like
you
?”

“He probably feels too guilty for blowing me off last fall. You know?” I asked.

“Evan? Guilty?” Sam shook her head. “He doesn't strike me as the kind of person to feel guilt. Or remorse. Or have regrets.”

“Or feelings,” I added.

Sam laughed. “Come on, don't get upset. All I meant was that he's more of a live-for-the-moment type.”

“Yeah, live for
his
moments, anyway,” I said. “He could care less about my … moments. Whatever that means. God, listen to me, I'm ranting about
moments
now.”

“So the summer's not starting off exactly as we expected,” Sam said. “But you know, Evan can go his way this year, and you can go yours. You don't have to worry about him—you're with Ben now.”

I smiled, thinking what perfect revenge it was that I had an even better boyfriend now. Ben never ignored me; he was never rude to me; he respected me; he loved me; he'd never cheated on me; we'd never even fought about anything more serious than what pizza toppings to get. Ben wasn't like Evan, and I loved that about him. He was dependable, reliable, and even unflappable when I got into my anxious college-application-due mode and yelled at him for photocopying my collage art in the wrong reduction size.

(Temperamental artist. Yuck, I know. I try not to live up—or is it down—to that stereotype, but sometimes I can't help myself. Honestly.)

Anyway, it all boiled down to one thing: Evan was more flash, less substance.

Flash was overrated.

Flash was like a tall hot fudge brownie sundae with extra whipped cream that tasted great at the time but gave you a stomachache later.

Flash left you sobbing as you stared at your empty e-mail inbox.

I was through with flash.

When we walked up the driveway, Haley and Ben were sitting on the front porch of the house, talking and laughing.

“Hey!” I said, walking up to them. “No fair having fun without us, while we're still wiping down tables.”

“And no fair sleeping in, while
we're
already at work for two and a half hours,” Haley replied. “Right?” she asked, turning to Ben.

“Yeah, we have a much worse deal. Do you know how cold it is at six
A.M
.?” He smiled at Samantha and got to his feet. He was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, shorts, and untied basketball sneakers. “You must be Sam. Hi.”

“Hey, Ben, nice to meet you.” Sam shook his hand.

“I've heard a lot about you,” Ben said, smiling. “I'm sure about half of it is true, right?”

“Well, all of the
good
stories are true, anyway,” Sam said. “Disregard any of the others.”

“Come on, there aren't any bad stories about you,” I said. “Unless you count the time you made the tartest lemonade in history for a rude customer.”

Sam grinned. “Well, that wasn't necessarily bad. She left, didn't she?”

“Hey, what's that?” I asked, pointing to a familiar-looking orange backpack that was sitting beside the porch swing.

“I heard you have an extra spot in the house, so …” Ben shrugged.

“Uh-huh.
Right,
” I replied.

“No, actually, I brought back some books I borrowed from your dad,” Ben said.