The Girl He Knows (4 page)

“Better to be safe than sorry.” She finishes loading the appetizer tray and hands it to me. I scurry off to my mom and Gigi like the rat fink I am.

Not fifteen minutes at my sister’s house, and I’ve chewed my nails down to nothing, made small talk with everyone, eaten all the carrots, half the salsa, and drank one and a half oversize piña coladas. I slow down on the booze, considering being drunk will probably not work in my favor, and I reassess the situation. No one is the wiser about last night. I’m in control.

Tonight might turn out all right.

Maybe.

And then my very own mother throws me under the bus.

“Mercy, Sarah Grace. You certainly can host a dinner. You’ve enough food to feed the neighbors,” she says, taking in the smorgasbord Sarah Grace has prepared.

Sarah Grace shrugs and smiles, her head snaps up, her smile widens, and she looks right at Gigi. My stomach plummets.

“Gigi,” she cries. “Why don’t you invite your parents over? It’s been forever since we’ve seen each other.”

I pick up the remainder of my piña colada and toss it back. Gigi calls her parents. I pour another one and start chugging. Screw being in control. All hell has broken lose. It was stupid to think I could avoid Gigi’s family. Stupid.

“My brother is visiting?” Gigi poses the question to my sister. My mom and Nana ooh in unison.

“That’s even better. We haven’t seen Hank since the homecoming party. When was that, two? No, nearly four months ago. Dan, get the other table out of the garage.”

Sarah Grace takes off for her linen closet and starts gathering table-setting items.

My mother turns to me and attempts to fancy me up. She pinches my cheeks, straightens my dress, and squashes down my hair before she steps back to assess the results.

“Go put on some lipstick, sweetheart. It wouldn’t hurt you to try to impress Hank. He’s a nice boy. Imagine how lovely it would’ve been if you had married Hank rather than Trevor.” She shakes her head in what I can only assume is disappointment.

My mother never wastes a moment to point out my failed marriage. She didn’t seem to object six years ago when I was engaged to Trevor, pleased at his quiet, gentle nature. Now, a year after the divorce was finalized, all she can talk about is how she knew he was wrong for me, how he probably never loved me, and how he was probably always cheating on me. Though her remarks are heavy with truth, they are better left unsaid.

I bite back a snarky reply. “Marrying Hank would have been unlikely since we were never like that.”

I get myself another drink and catch my reflection in the mirror above the wet bar. My eyes are large, and my skin is pale. I look guilty.

“So you slept with him. Big deal. There’s no need to panic. It’s about time you slept with someone,” I whisper to my reflection. “Maybe next time pick someone more removed from the family.” With a firm nod of my head, I pour another drink and make my way back to the group.

People bustle around, setting up a second table on the deck, getting dishes, and moving chairs around, excited to see Poppy and Becky Lancaster. It’s clear how my one night can backfire in ways I never imagined. What I do out of town, where my family cannot bear witness, makes it seem as if it never really happens. But this, this was right under everyone’s noses.

“Paisley, don’t just stand there,” Sarah Grace calls to me as she carries chair cushions outside. “Grab the pruning shears and cut some hydrangeas. The vase is on the counter.” She stops and gives me a look. “What’s wrong with you?”

I tip my drink back and return her stare. I don’t see her. I only see a catastrophe in the making.

“Paisley,” she shouts.

I jump, put my drink down, and move toward the kitchen.

Gigi rushes by, shoots me a broad smile, and squeals, “This is going to be so much fun.”

Yeah, until she puts it together and the world implodes.

I try to return her grin, but I can’t force my lips to make a real smile. Instead I stretch them back. They curl upwards and I show teeth, hoping it’s enough. I move in what I’m sure is the opposite of warp speed, like an out-of-body experience. I head toward the kitchen and everyone’s running past me, chatting excitedly, yet it’s all white noise. It takes all of my brainpower to put one step in front of the other. Maybe I’m drunk? Maybe this is the afterlife. Gigi has worked out what’s happened and separated my earthy body from my spirit. Maybe it’s hell.

I snort. It’s definitely hell.

I don’t know how I do it, but I make it to the garden, snip some hydrangea blooms, walk them back inside, and put them in a vase. I’m heading back out to the table when I realize Gigi’s family has arrived.

Everyone’s talking, hugging, and acting as if they live hundreds of miles from each other instead of around the block. I’m afraid to make eye contact. Gigi’s father, we all call him Poppy, pulls me into a bear hug.

“Paisley, we don’t see enough of you. You need to come over more often,” he says.

They could have seen a whole lot of me this morning.

“I’ll try, Poppy,” I say. Looking at him, I see what Hank will look like when he’s his father’s age. He passes me over to their mom, and my eyes meet Hank’s, who is hugging my mom. He winks and I glare. His mom gives me a warm embrace, and I feel dirty. If she knew, would she be disappointed?

“You look lovely. You doing OK out there in Daytona by yourself?” Ms. Becky asks.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m doing all right. It’s good to see you.”

When she lets go, I head inside to the bar and refill my wineglass. Goose bumps cover my arms, and I sense rather than see Hank come up behind me. I’m caught off guard at how close he’s standing. He takes my glass and finishes it off.

“What are you doing later?” He wiggles his brows.

My knees threaten to buckle.

“Ahh. I...I...Uh.” I’m tongue-tied. I step back as Gigi approaches. She pours a glass of wine and gives me a curious look before turning to Hank.

“I didn’t know you were coming to town,” she says.

Using telepathic means, and what I hope are pleading eyes, I try to convey to him not to say anything, but he refuses to look at me. It’s odd having this secret and pretending otherwise. It makes me nervous and sweaty. I struggle against the maddening urge to chew my already ravaged fingernails. Instead, I clutch my hands in front of me.

“I don’t run everything by you,” he teases.

There’s a pause lasting longer than it should.

“Hey,” she says, wagging her finger between us, “did you two hook up?”

Hank is still holding my glass or it would have crashed onto Sarah Grace’s perfectly polished hardwood floors. Panic has shut down my bodily functions, and I’m going to wet myself any minute now.

“Huh?” It’s all I can come up with.

Hank, the big oaf, takes another drink.

Gigi looks at me, puzzled. “You know. Last week at the surf competition in Cocoa. When I canceled. I’m sorry I bailed last minute. Did you two get together?”

Hank drops an arm around my shoulder. “Sure did. We made out, didn’t we, Paisley? Competition was fun to watch, saw some sharks, scored some free surf stuff including a Ron Jon’s Surf Shop T-shirt.” He squeezes my shoulder, pulling me toward him.

“Yep. It was fun.” I nod uncontrollably. I try to pull myself together, stamp back the panic, and force a smile. I focus on a spot over her head and try to think of something other than the make-out session Hank and I had on the beach that night, because tingly heat is climbing up my neck and I’m trying to beat it back.

Gigi leans toward me. “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting weird.” She sniffs my breath. “I think she’s drunk. Cut her off, Hank,” she teases as she walks away.

“Relax,” he whispers. He drops his arm off my shoulder, pinches my ass, and leaves with my drink.

I berate myself for drinking too much, for not being quick on my feet with a response, for going to the stupid beach to begin with because, let’s face it, all roads lead to here. At this very moment, I’m experiencing the infinity wheel of karma hell.

Sarah Grace comes over and asks me to help her set out the food. It’s a distraction I welcome. Dan’s put two tables in a figure-eight layout so no one will sit with their back to another. It’s like watching a bad comedy as people jockey for various seats and my mother’s obvious attempt to make sure Hank and I are seated together. Try as I might to avoid it, I end up sitting next to Hank anyway.

Before we pass the food, Nana raises her glass for a toast. It’s a family tradition done at every meal. Everyone picks up their glasses.

“
Slainte
,” my nana toasts.

“
Slainte
,” we repeat and clink glasses, but I need something more than a toast for good health. How about some good luck?

I pick at my food and notice Hank is picking at his, too. Will this new awkward always be a part of us? I reach over, take my wineglass from him, and toss back a gulp.

“You should slow down on the hooch,” he whispers.

“You should shut it,” I whisper back and take a second gulp.

“You keep it up, you might find yourself waking up in the same bed tomorrow you did today.” He squeezes my knee.

I choke on my wine. The ugly kind, where you can’t talk because you are too busy gasping for air, the kind of choke where people stop eating and look at you, waiting to see if you’ll need the Heimlich or not. Hank continues eating with one hand and stroking my knee with the other.

“Paisley dear, ya OK, darlin’?” Nana asks, while whacking me on the back.

I nod, wheezing as I suck in air and grab Hank’s hand on my knee, twist it, and try to push it off. He chuckles and removes it.

“How are you liking Jacksonville, Hank?” my sister asks.

“It’s nice to be close to home. That’s for sure.” He leans back and puts an arm across the back of my chair. “It’s the little things you miss. You get a good idea of how you define home when you’re homesick. Puts it in perspective.”

Everyone nods and looks thoughtful, as if he’s shared the path to enlightenment.

I do an eye roll.

“You dating anyone special yet?” Of course, my mother is the one to ask this nosy question.

“Momma, he’s only been home four months.” I give her the stink eye, but she doesn’t care.

“Hush, Paisley. For all I know he met a nice Asian girl and brought her back.”

She dismisses me with a wave. The women in my family turn toward Hank to wait for an answer.

“Yeah, he’s left her in the car outside,” I mumble to Gigi across the table and she sniggers.

“I didn’t bring anyone from Japan home.” He laughs. “It takes a special person to be with a service member. The hours are crazy and the deployments can be long. I was deployed a fair amount in Japan, so it wasn’t easy to meet people. Besides, I find most girls want to stay close to home. Moving halfway across the world takes an adventurous spirit.”

My mother and Nana exchange looks. The scheming has begun.

“I’m the perfect example. I won’t even move the fifty minutes to Tampa for John’s work,” says Gigi.

“Paisley couldn’t wait to get out of Lakeland.” Momma pitches to Hank.

“That’s not true. I love Lakeland. It’s just easier to stay in Daytona.” Plus my job and network of friends are there, but never mind that.

“Pish.” She doesn’t even look at me, her focus solely on Hank. “You
do
know Paisley’s free now, and she’s always had such an adventurous spirit. You may not want to date a divorcée, not many people do, but she’s a good worker, and if she would do something with her hair, she’d be rather pretty.”

“Momma,” Sarah Grace exclaims on my behalf.

Momma smiles at the group and winks at me. “Hush. Y’all know I’m not being ugly. I have good intentions.”

“She always does,” I whisper to Hank, who cuts his eyes to me before looking at his plate.

I can sense everyone’s eyes on me. The room is quiet except for the scraping of Momma’s fork on her plate. No one knows what to say.

“And her teeth are real, too,” I say, showing off my pearly whites before I reach over and toss back the rest of my wine.

It’s gonna be a long night.

An annoying buzz rouses me from my slumber. I bury my face in the pillow and hope it goes away.

It doesn’t.

I crack an eye and sigh with relief when I recognize Gigi’s guest room, in her
current
house, not her childhood bedroom.

The buzzing starts up again, and I swat at the bedside table, desperate to smash whatever is causing my disturbance. My hand grazes my phone; its vibration tickles my fingers. Squinting at the screen, I take a second before recognizing Hank’s number.

“What?” I croak. Cotton mouth, a sure sign I drank too much.

“You might want to drag your sweet ass out of bed. You’ve got a thirty-minute window to pick me up before the folks get home from church, or your secret will be out.” He’s matter-of-fact.

“I’ll be there in ten.” I hang up and fling my phone on the bed.

Fueled by adrenaline, head pounding be damned, I pop out of bed, pull on new undergarments, my jeans, and a clean T-shirt. I stuff my possessions into one of my large shopping bags, straighten the bed covers, and bolt for the door.

Gigi’s husband, John, stands in the kitchen drinking coffee. He takes one look at me, pulls out a travel mug, fills it with coffee, and passes it to me while I’m putting on my shoes. The civility of it startles me, but I’ll take it because I’m desperate.

“Thanks. Tell Gigi I have to get home and I’m sorry I didn’t help clean up.” I look at the remains of the strawberries and champagne we finished off, after my sister’s dinner, with regret. Had I refrained, my head might be more amiable to movement.

He reaches in the cabinet, pulls out a Tylenol bottle, and passes me two capsules.

“Thanks again,” I say and dash out the door.

It’s breakneck speed to get to Hank’s parents’ house before they come home. Naturally, I catch every red light. I chew five sticks of mint gum and my thumbnail.

I dread this drive home. A speeding ticket may be worth getting, to shorten the time we’re in the car together. I pull onto his parents’ driveway within ten minutes of hanging up and am not the least bit surprised to see Hank waiting outside. I’m tempted to blow the horn nice, long, and loud, three times, right in his face, but the early hour and the pounding in my head make me suppress the urge. He bends over, picks up a small brown-paper bag, comes to the driver side door, and pulls it open.