This Is What Happy Looks Like(50)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

But all he wanted was to run in the other direction.

When he saw Mrs. O’Neill—standing on a chair to pin the end of a banner to the gazebo—the memory of Ellie’s plans for the day scissored through him, and before he could think better of it, he took off down the street. He tugged up the hood of his sweatshirt to hide his face, moving past the people setting up with his hands shoved in his pockets. At the end of the street, he turned off along the harbor road, past the boats swaying gently in the quiet waters. All of the lobster for today’s celebration had been caught already, and where the docks would usually be busy at this hour, there was only silence. Later, people would undoubtedly be out on the water to watch the fireworks, but at this early hour, even the Go Fish listed sleepily, excused from a day of filming, just like Graham.

By the time he reached Ellie’s house, the chill was gone from the air. He’d expected she would be asleep, or on the road already, or else busy inside, so when he rounded the corner of the driveway, he was surprised to see her framed by the open mouth of the garage. She was holding a small backpack, her hand on the door of the car, a salt-rusted sedan that had surely been around for years.

“Hi,” he called out, and she whirled around, her eyes wide and a guilty blush spreading across her cheeks. But when she saw it was only him, she relaxed again, letting out a shaky laugh.

“I thought you were my mom,” she said, opening the car door and tossing the backpack inside. She was wearing jeans and a purple tank top with a pair of sunglasses perched on her head, and she had about a thousand new freckles spread across her cheeks after spending yesterday at the beach.

“I get that a lot,” Graham said, walking over to lean against the trunk. “Typecasting.”

She smiled at this, but it was quick to fall flat again. “Did you see?”

He didn’t have to ask what she was talking about. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t bring myself to look. But Harry said they didn’t get your name.”

Ellie lowered her eyes. “Not yet, anyway.”

They were both quiet for a moment, and then she cleared her throat.

“I have to get going,” she told him.

Graham nodded. “I’m coming too.”

She looked at him sharply. “No, you’re not.”

“What time are we leaving?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard her, but she only frowned up at him, her eyes narrowed.

“I get it,” she said. “I get that you want to get out of here today. But last night changed things. This is important, and you’re way too conspicuous.”

“I told you,” he said, attempting a smile, “I’ll wear a disguise.”

Ellie shook her head again. “Sorry.”

When she turned to head back into the house, Graham followed her without an invitation. “What do you think will happen?”

She spun to face him, her green eyes measuring him. “There are a million different possibilities,” she said. “We could stop for gas and someone might recognize you. Some twelve-year-old girl in the next car could look over and start texting all her friends. We could have photographers following us on motorcycles.” She paused and shook her head. “You,” she said. “We could have photographers following you on motorcycles. This is going to be tricky enough without having Graham Larkin as a wingman.”

He was stung by the way she said his name, like he was someone she didn’t even know, but he refused to back down. They were in the kitchen now, and Ellie opened the door to the fridge, peering at the shelves like she’d forgotten why she was there in the first place. He walked up beside her, feeling the cool of the artificial air on his bare legs.

“I have to do this alone,” she said, her voice soft.

From where he was standing, he could see the freckles sprinkled across her pale shoulder, and he could smell her shampoo—something sweet, like lavender. He swallowed hard, but didn’t say anything.

After a moment, Ellie shook her head. “You’re too conspicuous,” she said again, but this time, the words were wavery and Graham took a step closer.

“Then let’s not take a car,” he said, an idea taking shape in his mind.

She turned, just slightly, but enough to find herself angled between Graham and the door. “What, then?” she asked, and he smiled.

“We’ll go by boat.”

From: [email protected]

Sent: Thursday, July 4, 2013 7:18 AM

To: [email protected]

Subject: (no subject)

I’m running a few minutes late, but I’ll see you down there. I can only assume you’ll be the one with the mustache…

Chapter 19

They agreed to meet at the harbor in an hour.

Graham went to get a few things in town, including the keys for the Go Fish from the prop trailer, while Ellie fumbled around on her computer, trying to plot the course from Henley to Kennebunkport. From what she could tell, if they made good time, they could be there in just over two hours. It wasn’t yet seven o’clock, so even if the news broke early, they should still be able to beat it there.

Outside, the sky already had the makings of a perfect summer day, and the water stretched out as wide and still as a great blue carpet. As Ellie walked into town, her backpack heavy on her shoulders, she counted the merits of their plan in the same way she might count the benefits of an extra ice-cream cone (calcium) or a few extra minutes of sleep (energy). There were a dozen ways she could try to justify taking the boat, but mainly, they were avoiding the biggest snag in Ellie’s previous scheme: the fact that she’d have to somehow borrow Mom’s car. She’d still been working out how to handle that particular issue when Graham had shown up, all confidence and conviction, and she’d let herself get carried away with him.

The truth was, it didn’t matter how she got there: by car or by boat or by high-flying hot-air balloon. No matter how she arrived, the ending would be the same: she’d have to face her father. And the idea of standing before him as he tried to register just who exactly she was—a look of confusion in his eyes, or worse, something even more dismissive, a look of annoyance—was almost too painful to contemplate.

Her reason for going was simple: she was planning to ask him for money. But she also knew it was a lot more complicated than that.

Closer to town, the road dipped away from the trees, curving toward the water, and where the air would normally be filled with the sounds of boats—the deep pealing bells and the blaring of the horns—there was now only the discordant notes of the band as they cued up on the green. From a distance, Ellie could see a blur of red, white, and blue, the usual chaos of food and music and games that colored the festivities, and she was counting on all of that to distract Mom later on, when it would no doubt occur to her that she hadn’t seen her daughter all day.