Free The One That I Want by Marilyn Brant Page B

been said between Dane Tyler and me the night of the dress rehearsal—and after we’d watched The Proposal for at least our tenth time each and devoured a pint of gelato straight from the container—the hour had finally come to talk to my daughter.
    “How did the first day go?” I asked Analise.
    She was almost gasping for air when she replied, as if she’d been running to keep up with a schedule that had left her breathless. “It was good, Mommy,” she began, and then went on to list the stream of activities that started within moments of the parents’ departure from camp earlier in the day.
    I just listened and smiled—relieved and heartbroken at the same time that my baby girl had been forced to be so resilient. That such frenetic action was needed to break the pain of separation but, yet, that it could be done in the course of an afternoon and evening.
    I told her enthusiastically, “Wow, you did a lot today! That sounds wonderful, honey.”
    While inside I whispered, if only to myself, “I miss you with my whole heart.”
    ~*~
    It was, perhaps, too much to expect that even the madcap daily routine of Camp Willowgreen would be enough to change the emotional circuits in my daughter’s brain for an entire month. I wasn’t, however, expecting her meltdown to come in the middle of my dinner date with Kristopher.
    “I told them to bring us only the crispy fries,” he informed me with a grin I recognized, almost as if it had come straight out of our high-school yearbook.
    “Hope they follow orders,” I replied, crossing my arms with mock severity. “Otherwise, we’re out the door.” I pointed to the exit of Sloppy Joe’s threateningly, which made Kristopher burst out laughing.
    “Yeah. Somehow, I don’t think Joe is sweating in fear of losing our business,” he said. A funny statement to us both because Joe Redland, the owner of Mirabelle Harbor’s beloved burger joint, was one of Kristopher’s second cousins.
    Not only that, Sloppy Joe’s was always packed—usually with repeat customers. We wouldn’t be missed in this carnivorous crowd. They served the juiciest burgers, the sauciest wings, the tangiest barbecued pork, and the most succulent ribs on the North Shore. All that and they also had crispy fries.
    “Hey, you brought back an old friend tonight!” Joe Redland himself said to Kristopher, as he did a proud walk-through of his restaurant.
    “So nice to see you again,” I told him, and I meant it. Joe was a good guy.
    He clasped my hand and said warmly, “I’ve missed seeing you, Julia. I’m so, so sorry about Adam.”
    A lump formed in my throat, so I just nodded. I hadn’t been here since the accident. Had it really been that long?
    The older man squeezed my hand tightly for a second before letting go and turning to his cousin again. “So, what’s going on with your mom and that firecracker sister of yours?” he asked, grinning.
    A look I couldn’t interpret flashed across Kristopher’s face. He looked—for want of a better word— wary . I thought about what Yvette had said on the drive up to the camp about him being secretive. My plan for tonight was to figure out more about him in the now. The adult Kristopher Karlsen. To see if I got the feeling that he was, indeed, hiding something.
    “They’re doing great,” Kristopher said with an extra (pseudo?) burst of cheerfulness. “Haven’t talked with Tricia in a couple of weeks but, last I heard, she was planning some sort of trek through Maine with a few fellow hiking enthusiasts.” He laughed (forced?) and seemed to expect Joe to find it equally amusing.
    The owner’s smile broadened. “Yeah, we could always count on your big sister for adventure. But you’re no slacker yourself, kiddo. How long are you gonna stay up in these parts, hmm? Planning the next big move or—” He shot a glance at me. “Ah. Maybe you’ll stick around a little longer this time?”
    “Maybe,” Kristopher said quickly.
    “Well, it’s