Four Letter Word, page 3
Peyton didn’t mean to, but she was exponentially increasing Izzy’s stress level. “Alberto arrives in, like, eight hours,” she said, trying to stay calm. “I think it’s too late to cancel.”
“But it’s not too late to talk to your mom.”
“And say what, exactly?”
“Tell her the truth!” Peyton shook her head. “She’s your mom. She’ll understand.”
Peyton and her mom, Jeanine, had a very different relationship than Izzy and Elizabeth. It had been just the two of them since Peyton’s dad passed away ten years ago. They’d bonded in their grief, and half the time acted more like sisters than mother and daughter, staging sleepovers in the living room and sharing secrets about crushes and sex and God only knows what else. Izzy and her mom were close, but the idea of that level of mother-daughter bonding was about as foreign to her as Italian.
“It’s just…” Peyton gripped Izzy’s hand. “You’re not happy.”
What else is new?
“And I know I can’t, like, magically fix that or anything.”
No one can.
“But I also know that me and Hunter, well…” She squeezed Izzy’s hand, almost as fiercely as Izzy’s mom had done in the kitchen. “I’m here for you, Izzy. Even though I’m with Hunter, I’m still here.”
Izzy felt her chest muscles contract as her eyes welled up with hot tears. She had felt so alone since Peyton and Hunter got serious, more so than she realized. Which was why her connection with Jake had been so important. Would she still be considering Italy if Jake had reciprocated her feelings? That was a depressing thought.
“I know how much you want your mom to be happy,” Peyton said softly.
Izzy stared out the window as the tears spilled down her cheeks.
“I know your dad’s not…not around much.”
That was an understatement.
“And your mom’s…moods…are rough.”
“Moods” was a simplistic way to describe it. A mood was something you could control. Mental illness was something bigger and darker and more elusive, triggered by things that were difficult to predict and even more difficult to avoid. Medication had helped a little, but the right combination had proved elusive, and her mom’s emotional state had deteriorated since three of her four kids had moved out of the house. Izzy tried her best to keep her mom happy; she felt as if she was failing every day.
“Can we not talk about this anymore?” Izzy begged as she wiped her face with the backs of her hands. She hated how pathetic she sounded. And afraid. Always afraid.
“I just don’t want to lose you.”
Izzy glanced at her friend sidelong. “You make it sound like I’m joining a convent.”
“I hear there are a ton of them in Italy,” Peyton said, teasing. She always knew when to lighten the mood. One of the reasons she and Izzy were still friends. “Is ‘meet a hot priest’ on your agenda?”
“Ew.”
“Cuz if that’s what you want, I can probably dig one up in town.”
“Double ew.”
Peyton laughed. “See? No reason to leave Eureka!”
Izzy knew Peyton didn’t get it. She saw her entire life contained within the confines of Humboldt County. She’d been born and raised here, like her parents. And her grandparents. And her great-grandparents. They’d never left, finding happiness in the town where they were born and raised and died, and Peyton had every expectation of doing the same. Even though they were about to be high school seniors, Peyton had already found her future husband in Hunter, who had a career lined up running his dad’s fishing boat after graduation. Peyton would go to Humboldt State, just up the road from the house where she was born and raised, and then get some sensible white-collar job with health-care benefits and a retirement plan that would allow her to go part-time once she started making babies.
It was a good fit for her best friend, the dream future Peyton had mapped out since she was ten, but it wasn’t what Izzy wanted.
The problem, of course, was that she didn’t know what she did want—it was difficult to look out for your own interests when you spent all of your time thinking about everyone else—which made advocating for herself practically impossible.
“Pey, I know you don’t want me to leave—”
“It’s not that I don’t want you to leave,” Peyton said with a dramatic eye roll. “Okay, not just that. Lots of people leave for college. But they come back. If you go all the way to Italy…”
“I might not return,” Izzy said, finishing her friend’s thought.
“Yeah.”
That was the plan, whether Izzy went to school in California, or Vermont, or Florence. She was leaving Eureka and never coming back.
“I’ll always come visit you,” Izzy lied. “You’re the only thing in this town I give two shits about.”
“Not ideal,” Peyton said, feigning irritation. “But I’ll take it.” She reached over the center console and hugged Izzy tightly. As they sat in the idling car, hanging on as if it was the last time they’d ever see each other, Izzy was reminded of what a tight bond they had, and how important that bond had been to her for so many years.
It was almost enough to get her to stay.
Almost.
BAGELS TUCKED SAFELY AWAY IN THE BACKSEAT, PEYTON headed toward the harbor. She seemed content not to renew their recent conversation.
They drove through Old Town, passing within two blocks of Izzy’s house, through an area filled with Victorian homes. These painted ladie—mostly bed-and-breakfasts for the bustling tourism industry—made up most of Izzy’s dad’s clientèle. He specialized in restoring furniture and woodwork in old houses, and as they passed each vibrantly hued facade, Izzy could recall the refinished wardrobe that her dad had delivered to one, the wainscoting he’d installed in another. A replica corbel to match the one cracked during an earthquake. Restored porch swing that he’d found at a scrap yard when he was seventeen and kept at Grandma and Grandpa’s house “just in case” he ever needed it. The period replacement stained-glass doors he’d gone all the way to Santa Rosa to source. Each structure had some piece of Harry Bell’s handiwork, either inside or out. Her dad’s skill was on display all over his hometown. No wonder he loved it here.
Her eyes drifted down to the water, an incredibly beautiful view she’d taken for granted her entire life. Despite its location in the northern wilds of California, Humboldt Bay was oddly serene. Buffered by breaker islands, the natural harbor had been stumbled upon by Europeans before the signing of the Declaration of Independence, though its hidden entrance between rocky, inhospitable cliffs and the rolling monotony of sand dunes within had been discovered and forgotten more times than anyone could recall. Which seemed about right to Izzy. These days, Eureka was the kind of place she wanted to forget.
The boats continued to filter into the bay: fishing charters, mostly, like the one Hunter’s dad ran. It was the same boat that his father had operated back in the seventies, when commercial fishing was still somewhat profitable. Now, Hunter and his dad ferried tourists and hobbyists out to fish deep-water halibut, rockfish, albacore, and crab, depending on the season, in a forty-three-foot Delta sportfisher named Bodega’s Bane, a boat Izzy had seen coming and going from her bedroom window for as long as she could remember.
Everything and everyone in Humboldt County was connected to each other in that annoying and sometimes insidious way that visitors liked to call “quaint” in tones that denoted their regard for such small-town trappings, so long as they were only experiencing them from the outside. It was the kind of place where people didn’t lock their doors when they left the house, where every single one of Izzy’s teachers from kindergarten through high school had taught all three of her brothers before her, where you married someone you grew up with and stayed forever.
Don’t get stuck here, Izzy. Promise me.
Peyton pulled into the parking lot near the entrance to Halvorsen Park, which was directly across the water from the Bodega’s Bane’s slip, and leaped out of the SUV as soon as she cut the engine. Her eyes were fixed to the west, where three boats were slowly cutting through tranquil water. The first two—a shiny new sportfisher and a smaller skiff that probably fished the Klamath and Eel river—led the parade, and bringing up the rear was the much broader Bodega’s Bane. As soon as the blue-and-white boat was in sight, Izzy spotted a figure on the bow, waving an orange-sleeved arm high above his head.
Peyton jumped up and down excitedly, blowing kisses to Hunter like he was coming home from war instead of a day at sea. They were close enough in the narrow channel of the inner reach to actually have a ship-to-shore conversation, and as the boat approached, Peyton called out to her boyfriend.
“Catch a big one, honey?”
Hunter cupped his hand to his mouth. “That’s what she said.”
“Kill me,” Izzy grumbled. She wasn’t jealous of their relationship, per se. Izzy had never been the kind of person who felt as if she needed a romantic partner to find fulfillment, but though she rolled her eyes at the copious public displays of affection and gross little sex jokes, the simple intimacy of her best friend’s relationship looked kinda nice. Something she might want to find.
Something I thought I had.
But that felt impossible now. Izzy wasn’t the type of girl that people remembered. She blended into the background, with lank, ashy blond hair that couldn’t hold a curl to save its life; a pale, almost wan complexion; colorless cheeks. She had an utterly unremarkable face, with utterly unremarkable features, which were so utterly unremarkable that even the baristas at her favorite coffeehouse had to ask her name every single time she ordered, even though she’d been going there for years. Izzy wanted someone in her life that actually saw her. Made her feel special.
Jake had done that.
But unremarkable girls like Izzy didn’t attract guys like Jake Vargas. And he’d made that abundantly clear through his silence.
As the boat cruised by, another figure climbed out beside Hunter. Izzy stiffened. Even with a woolen cap on, Izzy instantly recognized the burly stature of Jake Vargas.
He stood a good two inches taller than Hunter, but his build was thicker and sturdier than that of his lithe friend. Dark brown curls peeked out from beneath his cap, hinting that Jake’s hair had grown out from the close-cropped buzz cut his retired military dad preferred, and Izzy felt a flutter deep in her stomach as she realized that she’d see him up close and personal in just a few minutes. Not the usual flutter of fear, though. This time, it was excitement.
Izzy pulled her eyes away from the deck of the boat. Excitement? Had she lost her mind? Jake wanted nothing to do with her. Most likely, he wouldn’t even hang out with the three of them after the boat docked. This was as close to Jake as she was going to get.
Bodega’s Bane turned into a row of slips on the barrier island across from the inner reach. Jake and Hunter hurried around the deck tossing orange buoys over the side. Izzy knew from experience that it would take at least half an hour before Hunter finished mooring the ship, unloaded the tourists and their catch, and drove over the bridge to the park. Peyton spent that time touching up her makeup and inspecting her outfit while Izzy pulled out her phone, desperate to divert her thoughts from Jake. Thankfully, her mom was really good at monopolizing Izzy’s mental space.
Six texts from her, all regarding Alberto.
What kind of coffee does he like?
Milk or cream? Real sugar or fake?
Should I get out extra blankets in case he’s too cold in the house?
Did Dad add weather stripping to the front door like I asked?
Will Alberto need a plug outlet converter or should I get him an American voltage cell phone charger?
What kind of phone does he have?
Izzy didn’t have answers. She and Alberto had exchanged a few messages over social media, but the Wi-Fi coverage in Alberto’s town outside Florence was spotty, so they hadn’t been able to do a face-to-face online chat. Their conversations had so far consisted of polite niceties and expressions of excitement, and Izzy had gotten the impression that Alberto’s English was limited. Like he might have been running his sentences through Google Translate. It made sense that he was coming to the United States to study English, both at college and with Izzy’s mom, though how he was going to function for an entire semester at Humboldt State was a mystery.
“Finally!” Peyton squealed as Hunter’s white F150 pulled into the lot. She leaned back against the door of the Explorer seductively, hands on her hips. Hunter practically launched himself out of the driver’s seat the instant the truck stopped moving.
“Heeeey, babe,” Hunter said, slipping his arms around Peyton’s back and pulling her close. Their kiss was deep and intimate, the kind of prolonged making out Izzy imagined might happen before sex, except instead of the privacy of Hunter’s bedroom, they were standing in a parking lot while cyclists pedaled by on the coastal path and off-leash dogs chased squirrels up sycamore trees.
After watching for a few seconds longer than she should have, Izzy peeled her eyes away and found Jake standing beside her.
Izzy fought to keep her emotions in check, tamping down her nervous excitement. Which was difficult, because he looked really, really good.
Dammit.
“Hey,” Jake said.
Izzy’s excitement dissolved into anger in a heartbeat. After weeks of avoiding her, he offers a nebulous “hey”? Like nothing had happened? That didn’t even deserve an answer.
“How are you?” he pressed.
Lonely. Wounded. Pissed off. Izzy didn’t think she could speak without screaming in rage, so again, she kept her mouth shut, merely offering a shrug in response.
Which seemed to confuse Jake. He whipped the woolen cap from his head, freeing the fledgling curls, and his brown eyes scanned Izzy’s face. Was he looking for forgiveness or explanation?
After a few seconds of awkward silence marred only by the occasional slurping sounds from their mutual best friends, Jake opened his mouth to speak, but before he could formulate any words, someone hooted from behind them.
Another ship was passing through the inner reach, and two fishermen stood on the bow, applauding the make-out session. Peyton giggled and broke the embrace, though her hand still caressed the back of Hunter’s neck.
Hunter gave the fishermen a thumbs-up, then swung Peyton around to face Jake and Izzy. “Dudes, should we go to my place?”
Sitting alone with Jake in Hunter’s shabby-chic living room while he and Peyton hooked up was not part of the afternoon plan. Thankfully, Peyton was on the same page.
“Why don’t we get some lunch,” she said, then winked at Hunter. Izzy wondered if that was a promise of a later hookup.
“I’m starved,” Jake said quickly, slapping Hunter on the back. “Aren’t you?”
Everyone seemed really intent on getting lunch.
“Right,” Hunter said with an audible huff. “Lunch.”
Peyton grabbed his hand and spun him away from the water. “Let’s walk. It’s a beautiful day!”
Izzy glanced at the gray, damp sky and wondered if love made you believe that even the grossest days were gorgeous.
PEYTON AND HUNTER LED THE WAY, HIS ARM STILL POSSESSIVELY draped over her shoulders, and Jake and Izzy fell into step behind them. L Street was relatively quiet in the late afternoon as tourists geared up for dinner in Old Town, and the lack of other people accentuated the tense silence between them, thickening like cornstarch in boiling water.
Finally, at the second intersection, Jake cleared his throat. “So how’ve you been?” he asked.
One word. That was all he’d get from her. “Fine.”
“Good fine? Bad fine?”
She stopped abruptly, her anger spilling over. “Well, you’d know that if you hadn’t ghosted me.”
Izzy practically choked on her own words. She was so used to placating the people in her life, de-escalating tensions and trying to keep everyone happy, that speaking her true feelings felt like she was spewing poison.
“That’s fair,” Jake said softly. “I deserve that, and I’m sorry.” He offered no explanation, just stared straight up L Street, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his Dickies work pants. Izzy wasn’t sure if she was irritated or relieved by his response.
Yep, no. Irritated. She’d shared so much with him: her fears about what was happening in her life, her worries about her mom and about her future, her sense that her dad had completely checked out of the family. Jake’s disappearance felt like a betrayal. An abandonment. And she needed to know why.
“That’s it? I’m sorry?”
She watched Jake closely, catching his flinch. Guilt wrinkled his lips, and he couldn’t look at her. “It’s just…I mean…” Jake sighed, and his eyes shifted back to her face. “I had an amazing time in Monterey.”
“Um, great.” What did that have to do with her?
Jake began to walk again, slowly, with purpose. “It was nice to be around people who were interested in the same things I love. It showed me a future, you know? A path.”
Izzy had no idea what that was like.
“And that path…” His voice trailed off, and he ventured a glance at Izzy walking beside him. He smiled at her shyly, then his eyes darted away. “You know, one of the other interns is going to be a junior at Humboldt State this year,” Jake said, totally changing the subject. “They’ve got a top-five program for oceanography, and Tamara’s double majoring with marine biology.”
“Oh-kay…”
“She’s got a job at their marine lab up in Trinidad that could turn into a full-time position once she graduates, and she said I can come any time and check out the facility.”
So that was it. Jake had met a girl over the summer.
“That’s so nice of her,” Izzy said, bitterness creeping into her tone. She couldn’t help it.
