Chapter Three: Danielle

Chapter Three

Danielle

“I could get used to this view.” Scarlet lowers her sunglasses and winks at Weston, Logan’s oldest brother and Scarlet’s husband.

“They do look good,” I agree, stretching my legs out in front of me. We’re lying out by the pool at Logan’s parents’ house, watching all the Dawson brothers help put in a new patio. Sweat drips down Logan’s chest, glistening in the sun. I grab my lemonade and take a big sip. I almost kissed Logan last night and watching him move heavy cement pavers is doing bad things to my head.

And even worse things to my body.

It’s a hot summer day, but the heat coming off of Logan is no comparison to the noon sun in the middle of June.

“I’m related to them all,” Quinn says, shaking her head. “Now I know how Dean feels when Archer and I joke about hooking up.”

“Oh, honey.” Scarlet pushes her sunglasses back up onto her nose. “You do not joke.”

Quinn flushes a bit but laughs. “It is fun to watch Dean recoil in disgust.” A cry comes through the baby monitor that’s sitting on the side table next to Quinn. She takes another drink of her lemonade and gets up with a sigh. “That was a short nap.”

“Want me to get her?” Scarlet asks.

“Thanks, but it’s okay. Keep getting that beautiful golden glow one minute in the sun gives you.” Quinn makes a face and shakes her head. “It’s so unfair.”

Scarlet wiggles her hips and laughs. “I’ve always tanned easily. Which is a good thing. Lying out in a bikini in the front lawn of my Southside apartment was always risky.” She shudders and starts to get up. “I should check on Jackson, though. He’s watched at least one episode of PAW Patrol now, and it’s time to get his little butt back out in the sunshine.”

They go inside, leaving me alone to watch Logan, Owen, Dean, and Weston work on the patio. I spend a few minutes admiring them all before I get up as well. I’m hot just sitting here in the sun tanning, let alone doing physical labor. There’s always cold beer in the fridge at the Dawson’s, and the guys could really use one right now.

Mrs. Dawson and Dean’s wife, Kara, are in the kitchen, getting lunch ready for us all. Mrs. Dawson looks up from the stove when I come in, pulling my swimsuit cover-up over my head.

“That smells amazing,” I tell her, eyes going to the stove. Then I notice a dish on a tray next to the oven. “Are those pin-wheels?”

“Thanks, and they are!” Mrs. Dawson turns down the burner and steps away from the stove. There’s a large island behind her, custom built to fit all seven of the Dawsons around it.

“I volunteered to make them for the church luncheon this Sunday. I have no idea what’s in them.”

Mrs. Dawson smiles. “I’ll give you my recipe as long as you promise not to share it with Karen McAllister.”

I laugh. “Deal. And thank you.”

“I didn’t know you were so involved in the church.”

“I’m not really,” I say carefully. I don’t regularly attend church but went last week with Grandpa after he pestered me to join him over and over. And the only reason I volunteered to do anything with this stupid luncheon was in hopes that Natalie Briggs would like me more. Which sounds so stupid now that I’m thinking about it.

I guess I do want to fit in here…more than I’m willing to admit to myself.

“Well, it’ll be nice to see you there. Maybe you can convince a certain son of mine to come with you.” She raises her eyebrows, and I’m suddenly really interested in a hangnail I have on my pinky finger.

“So, it’s a hot day out there. I was going to get something for the boys to drink.”

“Good thinking.” Mrs. Dawson beams, and I go to the fridge, pulling out four bottles of beer and taking them back outside. Shirtless and sweaty, Logan and Owen look exactly the same. They carry themselves differently, and I don't think they even notice it. It’s the biggest thing that gives them away, even when they try to fool me. Plus, Owen has a small scar on his forehead that Logan doesn’t have. If you didn’t know to look for it, you wouldn’t see it at all.

“Anyone thirsty?” I ask, holding up the bottles of beer. Owen turns to Logan, no doubt about to make a smartass comment, but Logan elbows him hard in the ribs before he gets a chance to get a word out.

Logan takes his beer and motions for me to join him by the side of the pool. I grab my lemonade and stick my feet in. Logan takes a few gulps of his beer, hands it to me, and dives into the pool. I close my eyes and look away, trying to quell the longing in my heart.

“That’s much better.” He swims to the side of the pool and reaches for his beer. I extend my arm and hand him his beer. He chugs the rest, sets the empty bottle on the side of the pool, and goes underwater again. I lean back, thankful for the hot summer day. No one will question why I’m fanning myself right now.

Swallowing hard, I shut my eyes and think about the pinwheels I need to make for church this coming Sunday.

“Uncle Logan!” a little voice shouts. I open my eyes and sit up, watching Jackson run at full speed toward the pool. Scarlet is right behind him, reaching for his hand. He’s faster, and Jackson jumps into the pool. Logan swims forward and grabs him.

“I can swim now,” Jackson retorts, pushing Logan away. Logan laughs and lets his nephew go but stays close by just in case. I finish my lemonade and lie back, getting splashed by Jackson and Logan only a minute later. I jerk up, narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips.

“It’s on,” I warn them and dive in.

*

I type a reply only to delete it. Biting my lip, I shift my eyes from my computer to Orange Cat, a cleverly named orange tabby, I know. He’s one of the three barn cats Grandpa has let inside. We also have Black Cat, who is—you guessed it—black. And Tabby, a grey tabby cat. Creativity is obviously not Grandpa’s strong point.

Nearly half an hour has passed and I still haven’t replied to my sister’s email. I don’t know what to say. My heart skips a beat in my chest butterflies swarm in my stomach. Closing my eyes, I flop back on my bed, mulling everything over.

I left home—after only being back for a few months—because of the way things went down. My sister’s fiancé made a move on me. And I got blamed for it. I’d had too much to drink that night. My dress was too tight. Too short. I showed too much cleavage.

It was all my fault. I couldn’t stay there and watch things unfold. Only a few days after I confronted Peter about the shit he pulled, he proposed to my sister. And my lack of support further proved my “jealousy.”

I’ve hardly spoken to my mother, father, or sister since I’ve come to stay with Grandpa in Eastwood, and I can only imagine what they’d say about the life I’ve made for myself here. They’d probably be horrified to find out I haven’t stepped foot inside a country club or a five-star restaurant—and have no intention to do so. I prefer the slow, hot summer days in rural Indiana, where I get to sit on the front porch with a—gasp—bottle of three-dollar wine in my hand as I watch tractors and horse trailers pulled by big pickup trucks going up and down the road all day.

I’ve gained a few pounds since I’ve moved here. Cut my own hair a time or two. And I really like going to the farmer’s market every Tuesday morning. This is far from the life I imagined I’d have, but that life was laid out before me with little choice of my own.

Get into a prestigious college? Check. I was a legacy and my father played golf with the Dean of Admissions. I graduated with a business degree and decent grades. Phase one of my life was complete. Now I needed to land an aristocrat asshole of a boyfriend to eventually settle down with and spend our summers in the Hamptons. Roger was tolerable at first, but that ended quickly. I went to Canada before I told my parents we ended things.

I close my eyes and let out a breath. My whole life has been mapped out with the road paved in front of me. I don’t know what it’s like to stray from the path and figure out who I am. It’s a strange and harrowing feeling to have this emptiness inside me, longing to meet the person I’m meant to be.

It’s almost as if I miss myself, which doesn’t make sense at all, I know.

But what I do know is for each time I’ve fallen, I’ve gotten back up, just like Grandpa told me to do. Only, once I’m on my feet I’m left teetering, ready to fall with the next gust of wind. He told me I need to find something to hold onto, something to ground myself, and then put down roots.

I don’t know how to do that.

“Fuck you,” I say to my computer.

“Are you chatting with an online boyfriend?” Grandpa says, walking past my open bedroom door.

“Hah.” I push myself up and raise one eyebrow. “If only.” I look back at the computer and shake my head. “It’s just another job rejection.” The lie leaves my lips before I have a chance to really think about it. All I know is I don’t want to bring up Diana’s wedding yet. Grandpa has been at odds with my mother since the day she ran off and married my father, who put Roger’s asshole-ness to shame.

Though I’m sure I really do have a rejection email in my inbox somewhere. I’m either overqualified by having a degree and a little bit of grad school under my belt, or I’m lacking experience since I only have a degree and a bit of grad school under my belt. It’s an infuriating process that makes me want to give up looking for a job entirely.

“You already have a job.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I don’t want to bartend the rest of my life.”

Grandpa leans against the doorframe. “Why not?”

I open my mouth but can’t come up with a legitimate reason right now. “I, uh, I’d like better hours. I work late a lot.”

“But you’re a night owl, just like me.”

“True. I don’t know.” Shaking my head, I open my computer again. “I guess I just thought I’d be doing something more fulfilling in my life by now. I’m almost thirty and, not that I don’t love living here, it’s just that, well, I’m living here.”

Grandpa gives me a wink. “Feel free to move your shit to the barn then.”

I laugh and look back at the computer, heart lurching when I see Diana’s email glowing on the screen before me.

“What’s really bothering you, Ellie?”

Dammit. Why is he so perceptive? “Diana,” I start and let out a breath. “She’s getting married this summer and wants to know if we’re coming to the wedding since I never responded to her invitation.” I shake my head. “I can’t believe she’s marrying that guy…after everything he did, how can she want to marry him?”

Grandpa lets out a deep sigh. “Some people…some people are as blind as they want to be.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they know the truth is right there in front of them, they just choose not to see it.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” I run a hand through my long hair. “I’d give anything to have tunnel vision every now and then.”

“You take after me. We’re not built for tunnel vision. We see everything, and sometimes seeing everything makes you feel it all too. You may not see how much of a blessing that is now, but someday you will.”

The knot in my chest loosens. “Maybe that’s why…never mind. It’s silly.”

“You thought it and almost spoke it. Can’t be that silly.” Grandpa raises his silver eyebrows. I purse my lips and hold his gaze, looking away only a few seconds later.

“Fine. Maybe seeing everything, feeling everything, is what’s distracting me from figuring out who I’m supposed to be. It’s like no matter how hard I try to find my place in the world, I just can’t. I get one foot up on the ladder only to slip and fall.”

“Stop trying,” Grandpa says like it’s simple. “You are exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

I force a smile and nod, then motion to the computer. “I don’t know how to respond. She wants me to be a bridesmaid.”

“Do you want to go?”

It’s a simple question, yet it has a weight to it. Saying I don’t want to go to my only sister’s wedding makes me feel like a terrible person. Diana might value her socialite status more than anything else, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love my sister and wish her well.

Because I do.

Which is why this is so fucking hard.

Peter is bottom-of-the-barrel scum, hailing from a pedigree-rich family. He’s the second son in the Abbington line, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get his fair share of the family cut. He’s a shoo-in to fill someone’s position in his father’s company and can get Diana into any country club on the east coast just by dropping his last name.

“I want to go to her wedding,” I finally admit. “Because I’ll regret it if I don’t. Besides, if I don’t, how will I compare her first wedding to her second? Or third?”

Grandpa laughs. “That’s the spirit, kid.” He pushes off the wall and heads down to the first level of the house. Each stair creaks under his feet, and the screen door going out to the front porch groans and then snaps shut. Grandpa refuses to fly, so he won’t be going to Diana’s expensive Maui wedding.

I look at the email from my sister again and take a deep breath as I type.

Hey, Diana,

The wedding is coming up soon and Hawaii is the perfect place to tie the knot! It’s so exciting :-) I’d be honored to be in your wedding party, and I’m thrilled you even asked!

“Grow some balls,” I mutter to myself and delete everything. I squeeze my eyes shut and start again.

Hey, Diana,

I hope all is going well between you and Peter, and I’d love to be part of your big day. You’re my sister, and I will always love you and support you no matter what.

Take care,

Danielle

My words still sound contrived, but I hit send anyway and then quickly close my laptop before I have a chance to regret replying to the email. I really do wish her well. In a perfect world, Peter snapped out of his man-whoring, asshole ways.

But we don’t live in a perfect world. We live in the real world, and the real world—more often than not—dishes out its fair share of hard times.