Wishful Thinking (8 page)

“Do you work on the farm, too?” Hazel asked. She was still trying to wrap her head around the fact that he slept only a few feet away from where she’d been holed up in the office all day. She hated being oblivious to things that were right in front of her. It made her feel like there was a secret code, and everyone knew it but her.

“Nah.” Luke shook his head, wiping sand from the heels of his palms. “I work at the yacht club in town. But I’ve been staying at Rosanna’s every summer since I was a little kid.”

Hazel felt a quick jealous pang. Had everyone at the estate been living with Rosanna and Billy forever? She imagined a younger Luke, playing in the waves, feeding the animals, eating family dinners at the patio table. They were
her
parents, but it seemed like Luke and the others already had something with them that she never would.

“What about your parents?” Hazel asked. The question came out with more of an edge than she’d meant for it to. “I mean, where do you live the rest of the year?”

“I was born in Virginia, but we moved around a lot,” Luke explained. “My dad’s a military defense lawyer. I made it to about the sixth grade before he had me shipped off to boarding school. Guess I should be grateful. After living with him, school was a walk in the park.”

“Where did you go?” Hazel asked. She’d always wondered what it would be like to go to boarding school. It sounded kind of nice, actually. During the school year, nobody had parents. Maybe she would’ve actually fit in.

“A couple places.” Luke shrugged. “Mostly in Maryland and D.C. Took a while to find the right spot. But I survived.”

Hazel stared at a patch of sand by her feet. She’d always
thought that knowing who her parents were would automatically mean she’d get to live in one place forever.

“What about you?” Luke asked. “I heard you’re from California. How’d you end up out here?”

Hazel tucked her hands inside the long sleeves of her shirt and let her hair fall over her shoulder, hoping it would effectively shield her face. She’d told the lie a few times now, but it still felt awkward on her tongue.

“My parents are traveling,” she said loudly, in that voice she sometimes used when she was called on in class and hadn’t been paying attention. It was a kind of fake confidence that she hoped would hide the fact that she had no idea what she was saying. “I didn’t have anything else to do.”

At least that part was true, and Luke seemed to buy the rest. “What about when the summer ends?” he asked. “Back to school?”

Hazel looked out at the water, and thought of the sterile halls of her high school, the anonymous cafeteria where she ate alone at lunch. The night of the party at the Ferry Building, she’d had only a few months until graduation. She hadn’t given much thought to what came next. There was that art school in the city, but she still didn’t think it was worth the tuition. And she couldn’t imagine ever living in New York.

“I have no idea,” she sighed, and Luke laughed. A Frisbee skidded to a stop beside them and Luke grabbed for it. He looked toward the water and tossed it to a stocky kid with a crew cut, waving one hand over his head.

“Join the club,” Luke said, clapping sand from between his fingers. “I always thought I’d have a better idea of what I wanted by now. I’m not all that worried about it, but my mom
is convinced I’m throwing my life away by not going to college.”

“Were you planning on it?” Hazel asked.

“I guess. I mean, I’m definitely not enlisting, which is what my dad thinks I should do,” he said. “I don’t know. I talked to Rosanna about it. She’s the only one who understands anything.”

Hazel hugged her knees to her chest and rested her chin on her forearms. “She seems really great,” she said, the same mix of pride and confusion battling inside of her. She loved hearing people saying nice things about her mother. But a familiar knot was twisting in her stomach. If all of the amazing things she’d heard were true, if Rosanna was so understanding and generous and kind, why had she given Hazel up at all? Now that she was seeing all that she’d been missing out on firsthand, it was hard not to feel even more disappointed.

Luke buried his heels deeper in the sand. “She’s the best,” he said plainly. “I have no idea what would happen to me if I didn’t have this place to come back to every year.”

Hazel turned to look at Luke, his profile glowing in the burnt orange light of the flames behind him. She had never talked this way with anyone, let alone a boy. The idea that he was actually, in the real world, more than twice her age, flitted across her conscience for a moment. But talking to him was so easy and comfortable that it was hard to remember it wasn’t real.

Luke turned back from the water, the whites of his eyes glistening as he held her gaze. Hazel wanted to look away but couldn’t.

“I’m glad you saw that sign in town.” He smiled, his brown eyes warm and inviting. “I knew Aunt Ro would love that dress.” His hand moved closer to hers and he nudged her teasingly with one bent elbow.

Hazel squirmed from his touch, bolting upright. “Aunt Ro?” she repeated.

Luke was still leaning toward her, his fingers brushing against hers.

“Rosanna,” he said quietly. “She’s my mom’s sister. I just had a feeling you two would—”

Hazel sprung to her feet in one quick motion, nearly trampling Luke’s hand. Without a word, she turned and scurried back toward the steps.

“What happened?” Luke called after her, pushing himself up to standing as she started to climb to the top. “Where are you going?”

“I have to go back,” she called over her shoulder, every thud of her heartbeat exploding in her ears. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She could feel Luke on her heels and hurried to put more distance between them. Rosanna was his aunt. He was her
cousin.
Hazel felt sick.

“Do you want me to walk you?” Luke asked. Hazel glanced back at him again. His wide eyes were puzzled and searching. “It’s dark.”

Hazel paused, her hand on the splintered railing. “No,” she said. Her mind spun in dizzying circles. “I need to be alone.”

Luke stood frozen, looking up at her for a long moment before stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching back to the bottom step. He kicked at the sand before turning and walking back toward the fire.

Hazel watched him go, her breathing shallow and hard. She started back up the stairs, the dim light of the moon her only guide as she struggled to find her way.

T
he next morning, Hazel followed Jaime toward the barn, yawning and dragging her feet across the lawn. She hadn’t gotten much sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she saw the hurt look on Luke’s face when she’d left him by the fire. And then the dizzy sick feeling was back, lurking inside her belly. In the light of day, it was almost funny. Of course the first guy she’d ever cared about getting to know would be her biological relative. Of course.

“Rosanna wants your help today,” Jaime said, stopping abruptly in front of the studio and swatting the screen door open. Hazel looked up quickly, unable to stop the smile that was stretching across her lips. She couldn’t tell what she was happier about: the prospect of spending time with Rosanna, or the idea of an entire day without Jaime.

“She needs you to price some pieces for the show,” Jaime added, leaning over a low, mahogany table by the door and shuffling through a tall pile of papers.

“The show?” Hazel repeated, as Jaime lifted a heavy black binder and plopped it into her hands.

“Tomorrow night,” Jaime said, already halfway back out the door. “Rosanna’s having an art show in town. Last year tons of people came, though I’m pretty sure it was mostly for the free food.”

Hazel nodded and opened up the binder. Pages and pages of spreadsheets and numbers were separated by colored folders and tabs. She felt her smile fading as the tiny print blurred in her vision. More paperwork. How fun.

“There are stickers in the pocket,” Jaime directed. “Match the numbers on the price list with the ones on the back of the canvases. It’s not rocket science.”

Jaime swung through the screen door and started off toward the woods. Hazel watched until the girl had disappeared before dropping the binder heavily back onto the table. It was her first time alone in the studio and she wasn’t going to waste it staring at spreadsheets. At least, not yet.

Hazel crouched on her knees by the table and flipped through a pile of Rosanna’s paintings, some finished and framed, and some on stretched canvases waiting to be mounted. There were landscapes, many featuring the farm and nearby ponds, as well as intimate portraits. But even the paintings wider in scope seemed to focus somehow on a person, a face.

Hazel held out a smallish portrait of an older man fishing off a dock. The lines in his face were deep, and they faded into the shadow of the horizon behind his head. Hazel couldn’t believe how much expression Rosanna had captured in his dark, thoughtful eyes.

For the first time since she’d woken up on the boat, Hazel thought of her camera. She never took pictures of people, ever. It wasn’t like she’d spent a lot of time thinking about that fact; the opportunity just never came up. Who would she ask? She certainly wasn’t going to go up to a stranger on the street. And she never thought about photography as having anything to do with the people in the pictures. She took pictures because it was the only way she knew she existed.
I was here.
It was about anchoring herself in a moment, when everything else seemed to be floating off in the distance. It was a strange, personal connection, and she couldn’t imagine anybody else ever being involved.

But as her eyes examined the fisherman’s leathery face, Hazel couldn’t help but feel inspired. The portraits were so powerful. Maybe she should try branching out.

Hazel leaned the fisherman back up against the wall and stood, her foot accidentally knocking a framed canvas onto its side. She lifted it up, and gasped when she realized it was a painting of Luke. He was crouching over the front end of a small sailboat, hooking a rope around a metal cleat, his jaw set in concentration. Even from the side, Rosanna had managed to highlight his dimples and the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Hazel quickly flipped the frame facedown and grabbed the binder off of the table. It was time to get to work. She didn’t want to be bothering with things like stickers and price lists when Rosanna came back.

Two hours later, when all of the paintings had been priced and Rosanna was still nowhere to be found, Hazel grew tired of waiting. Jaime hadn’t told her what to do next, and Hazel
was sick of spending so much time alone. She hadn’t needed a dressmaking fairy godmother—or to go back in time and across the country, for that matter—to do any more of that.

Hazel left the binder on the table and made her way across the lawn to the main house. She slid open the glass door to the kitchen, secretly hoping to find Emmett armed with more breakfast treats. But the house was quiet. The only sound was the gentle swirling of a ceiling fan and the echo of surf on the rocks.

Hazel was about to give up when she heard the murmur of voices at the other end of the front hall. She tiptoed past a long wall of photos. There were a few of Rosanna and Billy, many of Billy and Buster the dog, and one of Luke with a woman who could’ve been Rosanna’s twin—clearly Luke’s mom.
My aunt,
Hazel thought with a shiver of disbelief. There was even a photo of Jaime, looking young and happy and sitting atop a carousel horse.

The hallway wrapped around another wing of the house, and as Hazel followed, stepping carefully on the polished floorboards, the voices grew louder and more intense. One voice was much louder and angrier than the rest, and Hazel realized that they were coming from a door at the end of the hall. She saw a flickering shadow beneath the door and turned quickly on her heels, but it was too late.

The door swung open and Jaime stormed out, her cheeks flushed and her dark eyes red and raw. Hazel stepped to one side, ready with an excuse of needing a bathroom break. But Jaime silenced her with a look as she passed.

Seconds later, Luke appeared in the hall, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth pursed and serious. “Jaime,” he called
after her. But she was already at the front door. “Jaime, wait!”

“Leave me alone!” Hazel heard her call through an open window in the foyer. She could feel Luke breathing at her shoulder, and they watched together as Jaime disappeared into the woods.

“She’ll be all right,” a fragile voice spoke behind them and Hazel turned around. Rosanna stood at the open door. She looked as put-together as ever in a cable-knit white cardigan and dark jeans, but her eyes looked tired, her skin tighter and drained.

The room behind her was one that Hazel hadn’t seen before, and from the hulking computers and dark leather furniture she guessed it was Billy’s office.

Rosanna put a hand on Luke’s shoulder and squeezed. “Just give her some time,” she said. Her eyes quickly landed on Hazel and she paused, as if considering whether or not she should say any more, and then stepped back into the office. The door snapped shut behind her.

Hazel stood glued to the floorboards. Her blood was pounding in her temples, and she didn’t know what to say.

Luke shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the office door. His shoulders were slumped and he looked somehow smaller than he had the night before.

“Are you okay?” Hazel asked. She felt like she needed to say something. After the way she’d run out on him at the bonfire, she at least owed him that.

Luke looked up at her, as if he’d forgotten she was there. “Yeah,” he said, forcing a smile. “I think I just need some air.”

Hazel nodded and watched as he started down the hall.

“Coming?” he asked from the front door.

Surprised by the invitation, Hazel hurried to meet him on the porch.

They walked along the path to the beach, past the wooden staircase at the cliff, and onto a trail in the woods. The trail led to a clearing and a small pond that Hazel recognized from one of Rosanna’s paintings.

Hazel stole sideways glances at Luke as they walked. His head was down and he seemed to be seeing nothing but the tops of his green striped flip-flops.