CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Extreme Agony Weekends.” That’s what Willow had started calling her time with Russell. She didn’t dare sneak out to see Zoe. Not with Russell trying to be all Dad of the Year and Nola throwing fits because Russell kept wanting to do things like play games that Willow was lots better at than Nola. Apparently Nola’s parents had never played games with her. She had never even played Monopoly!

Meanwhile, there was Zoe—her mom, though Willow had trouble thinking of her that way—and having her come back had completely freaked her out. The night she’d figured things out, her mom had sat there on the ground and cried forever, tears and snot running down her face like she was a little kid. Finally, Zoe wiped her face on the shawl, which looked ridiculous once she took off the black dreadlocks and rainbow hat. With her real hair, which was cut short now but still blond and curly, she looked like a little boy dressed in old clothes for Halloween. Dressed like a hobo, which apparently she wasn’t.

“I’m not really homeless,” Zoe had said. “I’m not as much of a loser as I used to be. Promise.”

It was her mother’s voice, but a stranger’s face. In Willow’s mind, her mother had long hair and big blue eyes, smooth skin, and the kind of body you saw on movie stars who worked out 24-7. She was sexy and funny and unafraid, unless she was on something, and then she was either giggling like a maniac or nodding off and super calm.

Everything was wrong about this sad, scared person sitting on the damp grass of the Common. Willow’s mind had buzzed with questions she wanted to ask but couldn’t, because her mother looked like she might fly apart into little sparkling pieces of glass beneath the streetlamp. Zoe was trembling and talking too fast and trying to tell her everything was fine. She’d always been a great liar. Willow remembered that now.

“I know you’ve been having a hard time,” Zoe said, “but I’m here now to take care of you.”

“What are you talking about?” Willow said.

“I wasn’t going to interfere in anything. But now I see I could make your life better.”

How the hell would she do that? Willow wondered. Her mother had hardly managed to put food on the table and keep the electricity on even when she was working. Now she was homeless. “It’s okay. You don’t have to worry. I’m fine.”

Zoe had blinked in surprise. “But you’re not! You told me Catherine and Russell split up. That you had to change schools and leave your friends. That’s why I gave you the puppy.”

“I love the dog. But my life isn’t that bad,” Willow said, ticked off now because she was reassuring her mother like always. “I’m okay, Mom.”

The word “mom” nearly stuck in her throat. She was used to avoiding it with Catherine, out of loyalty to Zoe. Out of some delusional—or not, as it turned out—idea that her mother wasn’t really dead. Catherine would have a royal fit if she knew Zoe was alive and here, talking about taking care of Willow.

Oops. There was Catherine now, texting her, asking where she was.

“Shit,” Willow said. “I need to go home.” Desperately, she had grabbed her bag. “Will I see you again?”

Zoe had nodded without standing up. “I’m always right here. Every day, I’m waiting for you.”

Okay, so that was a creepy stalkerish thing to say, Willow thought now, as she heard Russell calling her from inside Nola’s house.

She didn’t answer. She was tired of everybody. Of every pathetic, so-called adult in her life.

Right now she was hiding in the courtyard of Nola’s house, sitting on the bench while Mike nosed around the garden, snorting like a piglet. Russell probably didn’t even know this courtyard existed. Not with the maid, Carmen, always taking care of things in the kitchen. Carmen arrived early every day, even on Sundays, to make food and pick up after them. It was nice in a way. But also weird. Very weird.

Willow had lied to Catherine about staying after school and using the darkroom. Instead, she’d been seeing Zoe. She had brought her mother food, clothes, and things she’d made: a bright blue scarf she’d knitted in middle school, which Zoe immediately started wearing; a mug she’d made in pottery class last year.

She had learned to ask only a few questions at a time. Otherwise her mom got all speed freaky. So far Willow had discovered that her mother had hitchhiked to Florida after taking the bus to Washington. Since then she’d worked jobs under the table at motels and restaurants.

“If you speak English, you’re a shoo-in,” she had explained.

She’d told Willow about Key West, where she’d spent the first two years. About how she’d visited Hemingway’s house and his double-pawed cats, and about the chickens that roamed the streets, even sitting on the tables in restaurants where she worked with Cubans and Dominicans and Haitians.

Then, when some detective came around, showing pictures of her, Zoe had moved to West Palm Beach and worked cleaning houses there for a while. Finally, she went to Homestead, a suburb of Miami. “It’s the palm tree life,” she said. “Can’t complain. I even had a little house in a mango orchard. You could hear mangoes falling to the ground all night long. First time it happened, I thought there were monkeys in the damn trees.”

Willow knew from the way Zoe pressed her lips together that she was trying to make her life sound postcard-pretty. Happy. Willow hoped her mother had been happy. But why hadn’t her mom taken her south to live the palm-tree-and-mango life, too?

Her anger was mixed in a thick soup of other emotions more difficult to name, since her mom was so obviously trying to help her now. She’d given Willow the puppy and had scared off that guy trying to steal her money. And just yesterday after school, Zoe had explained how, in the bus station, she hadn’t really left Willow alone.

“I wouldn’t have done that, baby!” she said, blue eyes so wide and bright that Willow could see them gleaming beneath the sunglasses, which Zoe still wore, making Willow wonder if she was high and hiding it.

“I was really scared,” Willow said. “Why didn’t you tell me someone was with me? Who was it?”

Zoe shook her head. “I was afraid of being found. I had to disappear. My friend Sandra? You remember her, the one with the little boy who had that crazy Mohawk?”

“Yeah, sure.” Willow pictured a gangly, dark-skinned woman with short black hair, but Sandra’s face was blurry. It was the boy she remembered better. Sandra’s son was a year younger than Willow and mean. He broke her stuff and once even hit her across the face with a metal travel mug while their moms got high together.

“Okay, well, Sandra stayed at the bus station with you until Catherine came,” Zoe said. “I couldn’t tell you she was there, because I was afraid you’d tell Catherine. And I knew Sandra would never keep her mouth shut if Catherine started asking her questions.”

“Where was she?”

“Wrapped in a blanket and sitting on one of the benches near you. See? I never left you alone. I looked out for you any way I could, right?”

“Right,” Willow had said, thinking, That’s a laugh. Sandra was a crack addict, nodding off while her kid ran wild. “I still don’t get why you had to leave without me.”

“Oh, honey, because it was so much better for you,” Zoe said. “I knew Catherine would take good care of you,” she added fiercely.

Zoe had gone back to wearing her wig and rainbow hat, and yesterday she’d had that big red shawl on over some kind of men’s baggy overalls. That bugged Willow. Why couldn’t her mother dress like a normal person?

Then it dawned on her: maybe Zoe was in hiding from somebody. From the police, even. Was that why she’d really left? Had she done something that could get her sent to jail?

“I’m happy enough, Mom,” Willow had said, and patted her mother’s shoulder. “You did the right thing.” She was still stuck reassuring her mom. But what else could she do?

Russell was calling her, his voice getting louder. “Willow? Willow, where are you?”

“Here,” Willow said, finally giving up on having any time to herself. “In the courtyard with Mike.”

“Oh.” Russell appeared in the doorway. He had stubble on his face, and his white button-down shirt was wrinkled and untucked over too-tight blue jeans. Hipster jeans and suede sneakers. Jesus. Nola must have taken him shopping with her daddy’s credit card, tried to make him look cool. It almost worked, except Russell still walked like a nerd, tipping forward over his feet.

“What’s up?” Willow asked.

“Just wondered where you were, pumpkin.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Right. Forgot. Sorry.” As Russell stepped into the courtyard, Mike trotted over to greet him, stubby tail going like a pendulum.

“Mike’s glad to see you, anyway,” Willow said, hoping Russell got the real message: I’m not. Leave me the F alone.

“I’m glad to see him, too. Mike and I have done a lot of bonding while you’ve been at school, huh, big fella?” Russell scooped the dog up.

Mike licked his face and neck, his tail still sending that signal: love me, love me, love me. Or maybe it was feed me, feed me, feed me. You could never tell with dogs.

Russell set the dog down again and sat on the bench next to Willow. She scooted over so she wouldn’t have to feel him touching her. God, why did guys want to be close to you all the time? She was never going to have a boyfriend. She was probably going to be a nun. Or maybe a lesbian.

“Where’s Nola?” she asked.

“Taking a nap. Pregnancy makes women tired.”

“Apparently.” This was, like, Nola’s third nap of the day. Unless she was doing something else in her room, like posting more Instagram photos of her stupid belly. Fine with Willow. She was just counting the hours until she could go home.

“Look, while we’re alone, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am about all this,” Russell said. “Especially about you having to change schools. How’s it going in Cambridge?” He turned to face her on the bench, one foot crossed over his knee, putting his hipster shoe on full display.

Willow looked away and noticed how all the leaves on the ivy crawling up the bricks of the building had fallen off, leaving only the vine. It looked like the vine was trying to choke the building. Or maybe that’s just the way she was feeling. “School’s okay.”

“I know it’s not what you’re used to,” Russell said. “I’m sure it’s a big adjustment. I went to public school for two years, and believe me, I know the difference. It’s a factory, right? The upside is that if you can survive public school, you can survive anything in life.”

“The corollary being that if I can’t survive public school, I can’t survive anything in life,” Willow said.

Russell laughed. “Nice use of logic there. No. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m sorry. I misspoke. I was just trying to convey my opinion that it takes real moxie to change schools, especially when you’re going to a big, more impersonal institution. It wouldn’t be surprising, or at all abnormal, if it took you a while to like it.”

“I like public school,” Willow said. “It’s pleasingly anonymous. Nobody knows what a freak show I am.”

“You’re not a freak show!”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Joke, okay? Really. I’m okay.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.” Russell’s voice was louder now. His confident classroom voice. He went on about the importance of a good education, saying, “Any school is what you make of it,” and that Willow had to stay in honors classes and take a prep class for her SATs if the school offered one, blah, blah, blah.

“Of course,” he added, “many fine colleges are now eliminating standardized testing from their admissions requirements. And you can always do an electronic portfolio to beef up your résumé—you know, send in your art and English papers and whatnot.”

Willow stared at him. What the hell was he telling her all this for, when she was only a sophomore? And why was he sweating like that?

Finally she got it: Russell was having a mini panic attack. He was talking about school because school was all he knew, and he didn’t know what else to say to her. Pathetic.

“How about you?” she interrupted suddenly.

“Me?” He touched his shirt pocket to be sure.

“Yeah. How are you doing?”

Russell straightened up on the bench beside her. “Fine, I guess. But I wish I had a job. I’ve never been without a job. Not since I was your age.”

“Yeah? Are you interviewing at places? I mean, other than your friend’s school in New Hampshire?”

He shook his head. “Nothing else has come up. But I’m hoping I’ll get that job. My friend is the headmaster there.”

Of course he was, Willow thought: all of Russell’s friends were headmasters or deans. He was old and had been teaching for a long time. But who would want him, after what he did?

“How’s your mom doing?” Russell asked.

Her mom? Willow’s mind flitted around, trying to find a place to hide. Then she remembered: Russell didn’t know. To him, “mom” meant Catherine.

“She’s fine,” Willow lied.

“Good. I’m glad.”

Willow knew she shouldn’t say more—why kick a guy when he was down?—but she couldn’t help it: she wanted to pour salt on whatever wounds Russell had inflicted on himself. “You know she’s dating somebody now, right?”

“No. I didn’t know that.”

Willow had read a description in some book about color draining from a person’s face, but she’d never actually seen it happen. Now she did: Russell turned as white as the bench they were sitting on, as if he’d been transformed into stone, too.

She felt a little zing of fear. What if he had a heart attack and keeled over? She didn’t even know CPR! Probably Carmen did. Carmen seemed to know how to do everything. Just yesterday she’d gotten a wine stain out of the carpet and made a chicken casserole that looked like it should be in a magazine.

Russell ran his hand through his hair. It was getting grayer, Willow noticed. Probably because he couldn’t keep up with Nola in bed. Gross. “What do you know about this guy?”

“Not much. His name is Seth. He seems cool.”

“Is he nice?”

“I don’t know,” Willow said, then relented: she could only torture Russell for so long. He was too easy. “I’ve only met him once. He came by the house a couple of nights ago to borrow a cookbook, and I was in the kitchen doing homework. I haven’t had an actual conversation with him or anything like that.”

“Oh. Well. I hope things are going well for her,” Russell said. “Catherine deserves every happiness.”

She did, Willow thought. And yet they were both cheating on her: Russell with Nola, and her with Zoe. She felt her cheeks go hot with shame.

Russell stood up and slapped his hands on his knees. “Well. I’m glad we had this little talk. Aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want to do now? Want to play a game or something?”

Willow rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to entertain me every minute, right? You could go work on your book or something.”

Russell got this faraway look. “My book. Right. I’m actually a bit stalled on the manuscript at the moment. And I don’t get to see you very often. Our time together should be extra special.”

He leaned forward, putting his face so close that Willow could smell coffee. “I know you think I’m a shitty dad and a loser,” he said.

Before Willow could come up with a response—as if there were anything to say to that but “yeah, duh” unless she lied again—Nola flew into the courtyard, her hair flying everywhere, her eyes big and dark. “You have to come!” she said, tugging on Russell’s sleeve.

“Why? What is it?” Russell pulled her close. “Take a breath. Remember that stress is bad for the baby.”

She jerked away. “The baby’s fine. I’m the one who’s not. Dad’s here!”

“Your father? Here in the house?”

“Yes!” Nola was whimpering. “I told Daddy not to come over, but he never listens.”

Russell’s face had gone white again. “Does he want to see me?”

“I don’t know,” Nola said. “He just started shouting at me, so I ran.”

Willow stood up. She was curious to meet this guy who hadn’t even taught his daughter to play Monopoly. Who apparently thought it was perfectly okay to let an eighteen-year-old girl live alone in a house after her mom died, screw one of her teachers, and have his baby. He was an even worse parent than Zoe when she was high.

“Oh no,” Russell said, pushing Willow’s shoulder so she’d sit back down. “You stay here. This could get ugly.”

“This is already plenty ugly,” said the man standing in the doorway. “One ugly family.” He gestured with his chin to Willow. “Your daughter, I presume?”

“Watch yourself. Nobody wants you here, Bill,” Russell said, stepping in front of Nola and Willow. “Turn around and go home.”

“Nobody wanted you to mess around with my daughter, either,” Bill said. “Yet you couldn’t help yourself. You fucked up her life. You know how much I’ve spent on private school and therapy and clothes for this kid? Hundreds of thousands! All down the toilet because you couldn’t keep your prick in your pants.”

Willow’s armpits were tingling with fear. Bill was built like a square, his hips as wide as his shoulders. He wore a knee-length yellow wool coat and big rings on his fingers. His head was almost bald, and his ears stuck out like handles.

“Guess I’d better go do homework,” she said. “You want to come, Nola?”

Nola nodded and stepped toward the door, but her father grabbed her by the arm and yanked her back. Meanwhile, Bill’s eyes moved up and down Willow’s body. It felt like bugs were crawling all over her. Or Tom’s fingers.

“You stay right here, girls,” Bill said, still looking at Willow. “You’re a fine little package. Maybe we should double date. Tit for tat, Russell? You can get it on with my daughter while your girl and I hook up.”

“Don’t you dare speak about my daughter that way,” Russell said.

Bill laughed, tipping his head back far enough for Willow to see his silver fillings. “Right. Like you’re on moral high ground, buddy.” He looked at Willow again. “What do you say, sweetheart? Want to have dinner with me tonight, since my own damn kid won’t have anything to do with me? I could show you the town. It’s a pretty nice place, Boston, as long as you’ve got money. And a job.” He flicked a glance at Russell and stepped toward Willow.

She froze in place, panicked, but Russell charged him like a bull, head down. Bill sidestepped almost in time, but Russell caught him on the shoulder and the two men toppled into the shrubs.

“Dad, stop!” Willow screamed, just as Nola yelled, “Dad! Stop it, damn it!”

The two girls looked at each other, and Willow was startled to see Nola mirroring her across the courtyard, mouth open in shock. Then Nola stepped forward, grabbed Willow’s hand, and tugged her over to the faucet and hose on the other side of the courtyard.

The men were still scuffling on the ground, Bill on top and trying to punch Russell’s head. Willow ran over and leaped onto Bill’s back, trying to pin his arms, but he shook her off. Finally, Nola managed to unfurl the black hose, and she turned it on full blast, aiming the water at her father.

“Jesus Christ!” Bill yelped, and covered his face.

In an instant, Russell was out from under him, scrambling to his feet, dripping and shouting.

Bill held up both hands. “All right, all right. Shut off the friggin’ water! I can take a hint. I’m outta here.”

“I’ll show you the door,” Russell said, his face red and determined.

The two of them disappeared into the house. Nola looked at Willow and shook her head. “Sorry about my dad. He’s only half human.” She smoothed her hair, shivering a little, and started to cry.

Willow went to her and towed Nola by the arm into the kitchen. Carmen was already gone for the day, so Willow rummaged around until she found some instant hot chocolate packets and two mugs. She dumped the packets into the mugs, added water, microwaved the drinks and brought the chocolate to the table after stirring it. She set one mug in front of Nola, who was drying herself off with a dish towel but still trembling.

“Thanks.” Nola had stopped crying, but her eyes and nose were red. “You’re as nice as your dad.”

“My mom’s even nicer,” Willow said, but this time she was thinking of Catherine when she said “mom,” not Zoe. She had no idea if Zoe was nice. A weird thing not to know about your own mother.

“Lucky you.” Nola cupped her hands around the hot chocolate.

She looked so miserable that Willow blurted out the truth. “Actually, my real mom isn’t that nice. She’s kind of screwed up. You haven’t met her. Only Catherine.”

“Where is your mom, anyway?”

“Nobody knows,” Willow said hastily, wary now. Zoe had made her promise not to tell anyone that she was back in Boston.

Besides, Willow had no idea if Zoe even planned to stick around. Zoe didn’t seem to know, either. Which totally sucked. Nana should know that Zoe was alive, at least.

“How do you know your real mom’s not nice, if she’s not around?” Nola asked.

“I lived with her until I was ten,” Willow said. “She did drugs. And she hooked up with some pretty creepy guys. Guys way worse than your dad, I bet.”

“Doubt it.” Nola made a face. “My dad belongs in jail. Anyway, at least you have Catherine and Russell, and they seem to really care about you.”

“They’re okay. Why do you say your dad should be in jail?”

Nola bit her bottom lip. “He’s a prick,” she said. “A perv. A self-absorbed asshole even when Mom was dying. Good thing we had Carmen.”

“He seems pretty mad about Russell. He probably thinks he took advantage of you.”

“That’s what all men think when an older guy gets involved with a younger woman,” Nola said, lifting her chin. “But I am so not a victim. I had a crush on Russell starting junior year.”

Ew, Willow thought. Gross. “It didn’t bother you that he was married?”

“I never really thought about it, because I never thought anything would actually happen,” Nola said. “I know that sounds stupid, but it’s true. Your dad didn’t want anything to do with me at first. I pretty much had to throw myself at him for two years before he knew I existed.”

“You shouldn’t have done that.” This was the least damning thing Willow could think to say.

“Duh. I know.” Nola stared down at the mug between her hands. “Basically, I wasn’t thinking. I was just, I don’t know. Being. I didn’t actually mean to get pregnant. Now I’m sorry. Sorry as shit. Not because I don’t love your dad and want a baby—I really do—but because now I know you, and I can see that I fucked up your life. And I can say I’m sorry over and over, but that won’t really change anything, will it?”

Willow had to work to keep her mouth closed, she was so shocked by Nola’s admission and by the fact that she was actually starting to feel a little sorry for her. “No. But you didn’t do this alone, remember. Russell helped get you pregnant. And he obviously loves you.”

“You think so?” Nola whispered, swallowing hard.

“I do think that,” Willow said, even though she wasn’t absolutely sure.

“Thanks. Still. I would take it all back if I could.” Nola looked like she might start crying again. But she took a sip of hot chocolate and made a face. “Ow. That’s really friggin’ hot.”

“Because it’s hot chocolate,” Willow said.

And then both of them were laughing.

•   •   •

It was too early to check into their rooms, but Darcy and Eve dropped off their luggage at the inn. Eve wandered alone around the small town of Baddeck during Darcy’s meeting, feeling strangely exhilarated to be here. Instead of remembering only the sorrow and confusion she’d felt, waving to Andrew as he’d wept on the dock, now she was thinking about how liberated she’d felt, too, coming here with Catherine, as if she’d put an entire country between herself and Andrew and the mess their marriage had become. She was happy today. Perhaps that was enough.

On impulse, she bought Darcy a few birthday presents: a green plaid scarf, a wedge of cheese, a small bottle of whiskey distilled on Cape Breton. Then she walked down to the lake, admiring its shoreline and the way the hills and boats were reflected in the water.

Eve watched a bald eagle swooping down from the surrounding hills to fish, still thinking about how different this felt from her last trip here, when she’d been alone with Catherine and in such turmoil. She’d been so sure she was going to leave Andrew, despite Malcolm’s death.

When she returned from Cape Breton, however, her mind made up, Andrew had managed to talk her into staying with him. “Nobody said marriage would be easy,” he’d said. “What I did to you by being with Marta was unspeakably hurtful. I know that. It’s understandable that you felt compelled to turn to someone else. But I’m wholly committed to you, to Catherine, and to our marriage. Please. Give me a second chance, Eve. You won’t regret it.”

Eve had finally given in with equal parts relief and disappointment and said she’d stay with him. She did it mainly because it seemed unfair to deprive two children of a loving father when she could come up with no better alternative for their lives together. And she’d been happy with Andrew again, eventually.

Now, as she remembered Marta’s recent mysterious call, Eve shivered in the breeze. She had stayed the course of her marriage and had believed that Andrew would remain faithful to her as well. Obviously, he hadn’t been—and probably not for a long time. She’d been such a fool. Maybe that was the worst revelation of all.

Eve’s mood was glum when Darcy returned, but he quickly cheered her up. He was in good spirits because he’d convinced one of the farmers who owned a tract of land in the hills above Baddeck to install an experimental wind farm. Besides, as they drove out of town and toward the national park, the scenery became more breathtaking with every passing mile and took her mind off everything else.

She had never made it past Baddeck with Catherine. Now, as they proceeded along the winding coastal highway toward the village of Ingonish on the Atlantic side of the island, Eve found herself nearly speechless as the mountains rose above the sea, eventually so steep that it seemed like the road was an afterthought between the rocky beaches and a solid wall of forest.

“We’re not actually going to hike up there, are we?” she asked, pointing.

Darcy grinned. “Whose birthday is it?”

“Oh, all right, party boy. As long as you’re prepared to carry me partway.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I’d carry you anywhere.”

She laughed and turned her face back to the window.

Past Ingonish, they pulled into a parking lot and started up a trail that led up into the mountains. It had been cold the night before; the frozen grass crackled beneath Eve’s feet. In several especially steep legs of the trail, wooden staircases had been built over the rocks.

It was eerily quiet as they paralleled a river meandering down the mountain. The water was iced over in places, glistening silver, but Eve could hear the rush of a distant waterfall. At one point she brushed against a pine tree and smiled when the branches sprinkled tiny ice flakes over her, a sudden miniature snowstorm.

She glanced above her now and then, hoping to see the trail finally flatten out around each corner. Despite her steady running habit, she grew increasingly winded as she followed Darcy, who kept up his chatter even though his backpack was big enough to carry a calf.

Bear kept wandering off the trail; he made Eve jump by startling a grouse into darting across the path right by her feet. The dog looked more surprised than anyone and made Eve and Darcy laugh with his bewildered expression.

“I can’t believe you’re still talking and walking,” Eve grumbled after an hour of steady climbing. “How old are you again?”

“Old enough to know a good photo op when I see one. Here. Stand in the sun by that boulder.”

She complied, glad to rest for a minute, removing her wool cap at the last minute and running a finger through her curls. Darcy lowered the camera after he’d taken the picture, shaking his head. “You must have been an adorable ten-year-old, with those freckles and curls.”

Eve put a hand to her face, damp with sweat, embarrassed. “Now you’re making me feel like my nose must be running and I have a milk mustache.”

“You’d be cute even then.”

“What were you like at ten?” Eve asked as they started up the trail again.

Darcy’s answer surprised her: “Sad and lonely.”

“Why?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I was a little weirdo. Hyperactive—back in those days, schools dealt with the problem by pinning me in a corner with empty desks, so I couldn’t bother anyone—and lonely at home. I was an only child and my parents were very close. The sort of parents who wanted time to themselves more often than not. The upside was that I spent a lot of time outside and still love to explore. I’m never bored, because I got good at entertaining myself at a young age. What about you? What were you like at ten?”

“Overprotected,” Eve said. “My father was a professor at the University of Wisconsin. My mother could have been, but she stayed home with my siblings and me. My brother died a few years ago, but my sister still lives there in Wisconsin. I haven’t seen her in years.” She stopped. No need to tell Darcy about the hoarding.

“What were they like, your parents?” he asked.

“Oh, you know. Intellectuals. Liberals. My mother read constantly and wore her hair up in a French twist, like some sort of actress in an Ibsen play. She was very cool and removed and efficient. We were never close. She showed me only the finer things in life. Things that could come in useful at a dinner party, like how to use a finger cup and which fork to use.”

“Good Lord. And here I’ve been licking my fingers around you like a savage.”

“Yes, well. I’ve pretended not to notice. We’ve only ever eaten food outdoors. I’ve never seen you in a restaurant.”

“And now you never will,” he promised. “I’d be too terrified.”

Amazingly, they had reached some sort of summit. To Eve’s disappointment, there was just a field with short, scrubby pines and mottled yellow grass. Then Darcy pointed. “There’s our view.”

She turned and took in a sharp breath at the sight. The grass gave way to giant boulders and a drop-off beyond the rocky outcropping. Far below, she could see land jutting into the sparkling Atlantic, a peninsula with a white building on it. From here it looked like a toy castle.

“That’s the Keltic Lodge,” Darcy said, then guided her over the plateau to a narrower trail leading to another rocky seat. From here, they had a 180-degree view, not only of the sea, but of the canyon far below. The land fell in bright folds of color to a silver ribbon that snaked through the valley.

“Huh,” she said. “It was almost worth that bloody climb.”

“It’s certainly no ordinary Monday, right? Happy birthday to me,” Darcy sang. He put down his pack, unzipped it, and began unloading so much food that Eve started laughing, watching him arrange it all on a plaid blanket. “You were expecting twelve people, I see,” she said.

“You never know who might show up at a party.”

The array of food was astounding: several cheeses and sausages, two crispy baguettes, grapes and apples, shortbread cookies, dark chocolate truffles. And champagne, with fluted pink plastic cups, which Darcy produced with a flourish.

They sat against the rocks. The sun was warm enough that they shed their vests and fleece jackets. Eve ate more than she should have before reclining back against a sun-warmed boulder with a sigh.

“I might have to copy your birthday ideas,” she said. “This is a great party.”

“I’d have to agree,” he said. “When’s your birthday again?”

“February.”

“Ah. A bit tricky to hike up here in the winter without snowshoes.” He brightened. “I know. We can do Chile. The Andes would be perfect in February. Summer weather.”

“All right,” Eve said recklessly.

It happened as she leaned forward to clink her glass to his: Darcy kissed her, his mouth tasting of champagne and chocolate and all of the outdoors.

Eve was so taken aback that she let his lips touch hers without moving. Then, even more alarmingly, her body responded before her mind did. Heat rose in her belly as Darcy somehow pulled her over the food on the blanket between them and onto his lap without knocking anything over and without causing them to tumble off the cliff.

“That was quite a move,” Eve said, pulling away just enough to glance over her shoulder at the drop below. “I’d say it’s the champagne making me dizzy, but I suspect it’s my fear of heights.”

“I think it must be passion,” he said, pressing his lips to her neck now, making her shiver.

“Me, too,” Eve said, and kissed him properly this time, dizzy with the moment, with the champagne and the altitude and the feel of this man’s body against her own most of all.