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“Well, it’s not like it’s a big deal,” I say, outright lying.
“I know something happened on the island! Jamie and Hunter had this clandestine meeting with him as soon as you two got back,” Cat says. “But Jamie won’t tell me anything!”
“Oh my god, what did Carter tell them?” I screech.
“I have no idea! I only know that this meeting took place. And now Jamie knows more about my own best friend than I do,” she says, and sighs dramatically.
“Don’t tell me you need smelling salts,” I quip.
“I almost do!”
“I’ll tell you everything,” I say. “I promise. And not just because Jamie knows. I actually could really use a talk,” I tell her. “How about tomorrow night?”
“Jamie will be away in Portland for work, so you’re welcome to come here,” she offers.
“Perfect. I’ll bring ice cream.”
“And I’ll make tacos.”
“Can’t wait!”
We hang up, and I drive the rest of the way home in silence, contemplating the fact that Carter shared something about me and him with Jamie and Hunter. I’m used to no one in our friend group knowing. It’s not like Carter ever agreed that we wouldn’t tell anyone, but we’re both private and arrived at the same decision.
Carter is getting better at sharing himself with others. He shared so much with me while we were on Isle North—about his family, and his childhood, and yes, even a bit about his feelings for me. I can’t help but feel proud of him for sharing something with Jamie and Hunter, too. Even if I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall during that conversation, just to know what he said about me.
Carter is changing. He’s made that much clear. And when I park in my driveway and finally have the courage to look at his texts, he surprises me once more.
One is a picture of a desk, clear of everything but a huge cup of coffee and a laptop.
“Thesis writing crunch time,” the caption says.
The other is a photo of a puffin about to take off from the cliffs and head out to sea. It’s from the day we went bird watching with Archie.
Along with it he sent, “Thinking of you.”
And I have no idea how to respond.
27
ANGELA
If there’sone thing I’ll always love about being a nurse, it’s this: being so busy during the day that I barely have time to think about anything else. And that includes the texts Carter sent me yesterday.
Or what I sent back to him this morning.
But as soon as I am done running around the ER checking on patients and assessing new ones, those texts are the first thing on my mind. Especially the fact that what I sent back to him was a photo of a sunset moment I caught on Isle North, along with the message, “Missing our island.”
As soon as I finish my shift, I change out of my scrubs and dig my phone out of my bag.
Nothing. He’s sent nothing.
I take a deep breath, and let it out, and then do that five more times. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s busy finishing his PhD after all, and I don’t even know how much of a texter Carter is these days. He might be the type to look at his phone once a day, I reassure myself.
But that same bright, cold anxiety I always feel whenever I try dating men, still comes rushing in, reminding me of why, exactly, Idon’tdate anymore. Because it only takes oneunanswered text to remind me of all the texts and calls that Carter never answered seven years ago. To make me fearful that it’s the end, that I’ll never get a response or hear back from him again.
It makes me feel like I’m going crazy.
“Arghh,” I say out loud to the empty locker room. “Cat better have wine.”
