Erin read Hank’s note about climbing and found more written on the back. Dear Erin: We don’t have Dove chocolate, Twix, Oreos, or Butterfinger. And we have nothing anywhere close to fudge stripe cookies. But we do have Haribo gummy bears, agreed far and wide to be the very best. (I tossed in some pineapple lumps and chocolate fish, which are my favorites.) I hope this cheers you. Sorry about your bad week.
She flipped over the package of Caramel Crowns to find a note scrawled in Sharpie: Twix? Caramel Crowns had caramel inside, not entirely unlike Twix. The Squiggles had a note, too: Oreos? The huge Cadbury bar: Not Dove, but our best. At the bottom of the box, a small white box held a rectangular piece of chocolate cake: I doubt you’ve found your favorite café slice yet. Based on everything else I know you like, I chose chocolate caramel for you.
Lucky guess. And how had he known about everything else? She reread his notes. She couldn’t remember mentioning any of this to him.
This box of sweets was the most thoughtful gift she’d ever received. And it was from Hank.
She picked up the box and found him and Pippa playing guitars at the dining room table. Felicity was home and prepping dinner.
Felicity said, “Hank, what are your plans for the holidays?”
“Rock climbing with the crew. We’re heading up to Wharepapa for ten days.”
Erin said, “You take off work for the school break?”
“Most of New Zealand just stops for two weeks. People don’t want you working in their house when they’re home with their kids, or when they’re away at the batch for a week.”
Erin said, “Are we going to the beach for a week?”
“A bach—B-A-C-H—is like a summer place or holiday house,” Felicity said. “We’re thinking about the North Island. If we don’t head up there, we might hit Tata and Pohara on Golden Bay.”
Tata and Wharepapa were so New Zealand.
Hank said, “I should go.”
“Thanks for the box.”
He studied his shoes. “No worries. And the rock climbing offer still stands.”
This guy had searched all over Christchurch for something approaching a comforting care package for her. She couldn’t very well say no. “Sure. I’ll try next week.”
Hank hugged Pippa good-bye. “Lesson on Sunday?”
She gave him a thumb’s up and saw him out.
Erin asked Felicity, “So, what’s Golden Bay?”
“Huge crescent beach on the north end of the South Island. It stretches forever. On fair days, you can see from one tip to the other. We don’t have a bach, because we like to explore. What did Hank bring you?”
“A box of sweets.”
“That was a pretty big box for sweets.”
“Yeah,” Erin said, opening the Caramel Crowns. “He did a good job.”
Hank had searched for ways to comfort her and had been so attentive he somehow knew exactly what she needed.
Erin needed to see Ben.
She drove up the long driveway to find him perched on the front porch in jeans and a striped sweater. Ben pulled Erin from the Fiat and into his arms; he was an instant balm to her panic.
Bushy firs shielded them from the street, but not from Ben’s next-door neighbor, who weeded his garden between surreptitious glances in their direction.
When Ben pressed Erin up against his house and kissed her, she didn’t care who could see. Who needed a swimming captainship when she had Ben?
He slipped his hands to her backside and shifted Erin into their most comfortable vertical position: limbs encircling each other to maximize contact.
When their frantic, hungry kissing relaxed into sated pecks, Ben toyed with Erin’s ringlets. “Symphony practice good this morning?”
Erin nodded before voicing the fear growing within her. “I told you about those new girls—the Quigleys—do you think Waterson will kick me off the team because of them?”
“I think—” Ben’s hands swept across her belly, searching for the right words. “I think a lot can happen in a few months. Look at us! Last May I didn’t even know you, and by July we were—well, you know.”
Their relationship had taken root quickly, growing from unknown to full force. Within two months, Ben had become her present and her future.
She searched his face for answers. “But what if it’s over for me?”
“So what? You gotta find that silver lining. You can make more of my basketball games. And you’ll have more time for moon gazing, right next to me instead of over the phone.”
The moon’s constant presence comforted and fascinated her. Nothing outside of Wheaton fascinated Ben, but witnessing Erin’s awe during a penumbral lunar eclipse had inspired him to indulge her. They often stared at the moon during their brief nightly phone calls; it was the one daily moment that was irrevocably theirs.
Erin had also believed swimming, speed, and competitiveness defined her and was irrevocable. Before she could explain that, Ben was kissing her again.
Swimming, cello prowess, and great (but not amazing) grades formed what Erin’s guidance counselor had dubbed “the tripod of her Columbia candidacy,” and a third of that tripod was teetering.
Time with Ben might diminish the pain of leaving swimming, but Ben had no pull at Columbia; she couldn’t put him on her résumé. An Ivy League education—complete with solid connections and lucrative opportunities—would propel Erin into a great medical school, a great job, a great life. Erin’s mom attested that breaking into the Ivy League after undergrad was a steep, uphill battle, so she needed to get in now.
Erin needed to be exceptional.
Ben kissed up her neck and held her so close that his features blurred in her vision. “Hey, I get that you’re worried, but it will all work out. This won’t change us. I love you, and that won’t change. We’re solid, Erin.”
Here their opinions diverged. Ben had already committed to play basketball for Stony Brook, where he could keep his car and visit her in New York City on weekends. Rejection from Columbia would be fatal: she and Ben would have an expiration date.
Ben kissed Erin, but she struggled to lose
