/>
Why had she done that? Of all the stupid, impulsive—
And she wished she’d known about his father. If she had, she wouldn’t have asked that tactless question about his family. She’d probably hurt him, and she’d already hurt him enough.
And by pretending to be Harriet she hadn’t been able to offer anything more than conventional platitudes. Her twin wouldn’t have understood how close they were, or how much he had admired his father. Fliss understood that. For a fleeting second before he’d hidden it she’d seen the raw pain in his eyes, and she’d ached for him. She’d wanted to wrap him in her arms and offer whatever comfort she could. She wanted to tell him that she understood.
Instead she’d uttered a few meaningless words. And in pretending to be Harriet, all she had done was postpone the moment when she came face-to-face with him as herself.
Now what was she going to do?
The question wasn’t whether she would bump into him again, but when.
Which left her with only two options. Either she carried on pretending to be Harriet, or she confessed all and told him she was Fliss.
That would be both awkward and embarrassing. He’d want to know why she’d pretended to be her sister, and he’d read too much into it.
No, until she could work out a way to extract herself from the lie she’d spun, she’d have to continue the pretense. Which raised the question of what she was going to do about her grandmother.
She’d promised Harriet that she’d tell their grandmother she was Fliss.
And she would. She just had to hope Seth and her grandmother didn’t meet until after she had untangled the mess she’d made.
Why did everything she touched get so complicated?
Frustrated with herself, she flung open windows, letting in the smell of the ocean.
Then she went back downstairs into the kitchen and unloaded the food she’d bought at the roadside stand.
She piled fruit into a bowl and placed it in the center of the table. The long cedar table had a few more scratches than she remembered, but other than that it looked the same as ever. Some of her earliest memories were of staying here, and she was glad nothing significant had changed, as if by finding things the same, a certain level of happiness was guaranteed.
How many meals had they eaten here, the three of them, wriggling impatiently on their chairs, waiting for the moment they could return to the beach? Because summers had been all about the beach. The beach and freedom.
The beach and Seth.
And that was the problem, of course. Seth was part of almost every memory she had of this place. Which meant that somehow she had to fill her head with something else.
Fliss returned to the entryway and picked up her suitcase. She’d unpack and then drive straight to the hospital.
She’d tell her grandmother the truth, and then try to work out a way to unpick the lie she’d told Seth.
* * *
SETH FINISHED EXAMINING the dog. “Chester is doing well, Angela.”
“Good. I need him fit for the Fourth of July.”
“You’re doing something special for the holiday weekend?”
Angela lifted Chester down from the examination table. “No. We’re staying home. That’s why I need him fit. He hates loud noises. He was so scared last year I almost called you and asked for a tranquilizer.”
“That’s always a possibility, but there are other methods I prefer to try first.”
“Such as?”
“Back in 2002 there was a study by an animal behaviorist and psychologist that showed that classical music had a soothing effect on dogs in shelters.” Seth washed his hands. “And a few years after that another study by a veterinary neurologist showed that slower tempos, single instruments were more calming than busy, noisier music.”
“So you’re saying I should be playing Beethoven instead of Beyoncé?”