This Is What Happy Looks Like(51)
Author: Jennifer E. Smith

As she stepped onto the long boardwalk, hurrying past the shuttered bait shop, she craned her neck to see if Graham was already out on the boat. The film crew had been given a prime slip for the duration of their shoot, and Ellie knew the trickiest part would be getting out of the harbor unnoticed. The whole town would be up in the village, but it wouldn’t be long now before some of them would begin to load up their own boats. Today was a day for sailing and drinking, for bobbing out under the blazing sun until the sky flipped over into dark and the fireworks were sent scribbling out over all of it. For now, she took comfort in the fact that even if someone saw them, they would never guess their plan; it was only her mom she had to worry about.

Near the gated entrance to the harbor, Ellie was startled to see Quinn up ahead on the road. It was disorienting to run into her here, in this of all moments, and she couldn’t help feeling unprepared. They were far enough apart that she could have pretended not to notice her. But when their eyes met, she saw the slightest hitch in Quinn’s step, the smallest pause in her momentum. Ellie offered her a smile, and she came to a reluctant stop just a few feet away, the two of them regarding each other across the bed of yellow flowers that separated the boardwalk from the road that ran parallel to it.

“Hi,” Ellie said, and Quinn yielded a polite smile. She was wearing a blue shirt from Sprinkles, and it took only a moment for Ellie to realize which one it was.

“You got the stain out,” she said with a grin, and something flickered to life behind Quinn’s eyes where before there had been only a carefully maintained coolness.

“It’s not great,” she said, holding out the hem to examine it. “But my other ones were dirty.” When she looked up again, she seemed to be considering something. “I still have to give yours back.”

“Keep it,” Ellie told her, and she smiled—this time, for real. “It’s the least I can do as your wardrobe specialist.”

“That day was sort of a mess,” she said, and Ellie knew she was talking about more than just the milkshake. She was talking about all of it, everything that had happened since the movie trailers had arrived in town.

“Listen…” Ellie began, but Quinn interrupted her.

“You’ll be at the party later, right?” she asked, her voice light. They’d gone together ever since they were little, year after year spent running through the green with a cupcake in one hand and a sparkler in the other. When they were ten, they stole a whole box of firecrackers and slipped down to the beach at the end of the night, setting them off one by one, and it had since become a tradition. Because of all that had happened this summer, Ellie had assumed this would be the year it would end. But now, the way Quinn was looking at her, she wasn’t so sure.

She glanced off toward the boats. “I don’t know,” she said quietly, surprised to discover that her throat was tight. She wished she could tell Quinn where she was going. It had always been the two of them through everything—every adventure and every expedition—and now there was this awful distance between them, and she tried not to think about all the stories they were missing out on, all the little moments and bigger milestones that had happened over the past few weeks without the other knowing.

Quinn furrowed her brow. “You don’t know?”

“I have to run an errand,” she said, which was as close to the truth as she could manage. “But hopefully I’ll make it back in time.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie could see Graham approaching from the opposite direction, and she was relieved when he turned toward the boat. Her eyes slid back to Quinn. “You’ll be there?”

She nodded.

“With Devon?”

“Of course,” she said, her tone abrupt, but then she caught herself, hesitating for a beat before inclining her head. “And Graham?”

“I don’t know,” Ellie said honestly.

Quinn looked thoughtful, her features void of the sharpness that had lately become so routine when they were together. “Well, maybe we’ll meet up.”

“I hope so,” Ellie said, trying not to sound too eager. But she was overcome by a sudden and powerful wish for things to go back to how they used to be. She wanted to stand on the beach and watch the firecrackers go twirling out into the darkness. And she wanted Quinn to be at her side. Not this Quinn, exactly, but the old one. She wanted her best friend.

“I’m late,” Quinn said, and to Ellie, this felt like the worst kind of dismissal. “I should go.”

“Okay,” she said. “It was really good to see you.”

The expression on Quinn’s face was difficult to read, and it took a long time for her to respond, so long that Ellie was certain she wasn’t going to say anything at all. “Your e-mail,” she said finally. “I didn’t get a chance to write back…”

“It’s okay,” Ellie said quickly, and Quinn hesitated for another long moment before nodding, her eyes soft.

“It’s gonna be hot today,” she said. “Don’t forget to put on some sunscreen.”

Ellie smiled. “I won’t,” she said, but what she was thinking was, Welcome back.

As she made her way over to the harbor entrance, she felt a peculiar buoyancy, a lightness that carried her toward the boat. The sound of the seagulls was bright against the dull rush of the waves, and everything seemed to glint beneath the sun. The morning felt like a mixing bowl just waiting for its ingredients; there was a sense of possibility to it, a promise of something more to come.

When she pushed open the gate that led to the docks, it was to find Graham waiting by the boat, looking unnervingly handsome even in yesterday’s wrinkled clothes. She searched his face for any signs that he’d checked in with Harry during the time they were apart, trying to gauge whether anything had changed, but there was nothing but his usual smile, a smile that seemed to be just for her.

“Ahoy,” he said, lifting a hand as she approached. “Ready to set sail?”

“They were okay with you borrowing it?” she asked as he held out a hand to help her climb aboard. She hopped over the gap between the starboard side of the boat and the dock, landing unsteadily on the wooden baseboards of the interior. It was much bigger than it looked from afar, and older too—not made up to look old, as she’d suspected, but properly old. She’d half expected it to seem fake, more like a movie prop than a real working lobster boat, but other than a few metal cinches attached to the sides to fasten the cameras and hold them steady while filming, it bore no signs of the production.