Pippa’s dreams were better. She squealed, “Lamb pies and spring holidays and sisters!”
Erin twisted to wish Pippa good night.
Felicity smiled at Erin before turning out the light and singing about a Wonky Donkey. He had three legs, one eye, and he liked listening to country music, and he was quite tall and slim, and he smelled really, really bad. He was a stinky-dinky, lanky, honky-tonky, winky wonky donkey.
Erin conjured an image of him and fell right to sleep.
TEN
Midnight in Christchurch was 7 a.m. in Wheaton, so naturally Erin was wide awake.
Restless, she checked her phone every ten minutes until a burst of air resonated from Pippa’s bed. Erin’s eyes shifted left and right in the black room as she pondered what was next.
She flinched when the stench of gas reached her. How could a sweet, small girl make such a massive, foul fart?
Erin surfed Reddit on her phone. She caught up with Good-Time Girl, a seventeen-year-old Christchurch chick who never showed her face but constantly posted about parties, fashion, and sporting events. She tried counting laps in her head, which usually triggered sleep.
But her brain was no match for jet lag.
After Pippa’s third gassy spell, Erin stealthily climbed out of bed and crept into the hall.
She opened the door to the warm side of the house to find it no longer warm. Shivering on the living room sofa, Erin felt bone-cold, as though she never would be warm again.
Wheaton winters were far colder than Christchurch’s and often buried under feet of snow, but her house—the whole thing—was always comfortable.
Erin knew nothing about building fires, so she returned to her suitcase for merino socks, a second sweater under her jacket, and gloves. Suspecting she couldn’t get any colder, Erin slid open the back door and wandered out into the night.
The Wakefields’ picnic table beckoned her. Lying on it, she dared to look up at the sky.
Blessedly overcast. Just as well. Spying the moon would reopen her Ben wound again.
When they started dating—when Erin tried desperately to bond them together in meaningful ways—she enthused about her astrophysics course at Harvard. Ben was interested until she tried filling his brain with the most fascinating stuff: how amazingly fast Jupiter rotates or that orange dwarfs can stay stable for thirty billion years. Thirty billion years was enough time for life to spark and evolve and a whole host of things to happen in a different solar system. Erin hyped herself into a frenzy of possibilities, but when nothing sparked Ben’s interest, she backpedaled to popular astronomy like constellations and moon phases.
Erin loved the moon. Ben often said she had given him the moon, and after he’d dumped her unceremoniously, the moon no longer felt a part of her. She hated him for taking the moon from her. Even more, she hated herself for giving it away. Before Ben, it had been hers and hers alone.
That wasn’t true, of course.
Before intensive study consumed Erin’s summers, July and August had belonged to her grandparents on Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, the U.P., where Erin immersed herself in Lake Michigan and old music. Her grampa taught her new ways to play guitar chords. They played board games and hiked late into the night, always with a promise never to tell Mitchell and Claire they’d slept until noon.
Constellations and the moon had interested her then, because her grampa was the best storyteller she’d ever known. Together, Erin and her grandfather had studied planets and read about other galaxies.
Ben had stolen all of that from her.
Why was I even with him?
She could pretend to forget, but with her eyes closed, she imagined his warm breath behind her ear as his lips tugged lightly on her earlobe. Her heart still leapt at the thought of rolling around during marathon make-out sessions on his parents’ alabaster rug. Or in her bedroom when she snuck him in. Or in her Fiat when they were desperate.
He’d said she was amazing and that he loved her.
Erin was pretty new to love, but she believed love should outlast a little embarrassment. If Ben had really loved her, he would have stood up for her amid rumors.
He should have.
Erin wasn’t getting Ben back. She didn’t want him back, except when she did. She missed their private jokes and sharing stories, and how much he loved her body. She had loved so much about him, until he’d broken her heart. Then she’d hated him. And still loved him.
Regardless, she would never get him back.
She caressed Grandma Tea’s ring through her glove. Claire hadn’t mentioned the ring.
Just as well. Claire wasn’t getting that back, either.
Erin buckled into the backseat of her dad’s silver Mercedes. Mitchell grabbed the passenger seat so he could reverse out of the driveway.
Claire said, “I need you to drop me at the office after the airport. The McKinsey deal is going down today and I have to prove a worthy managing partner. A smooth deal will prove I was the right pick.”
“No doubt,” Mitchell said.
Erin took a deep breath and steeled herself. When they reached the end of the driveway, she gasped. “Oh! I forgot my passport! I’ll just be a sec, promise.”
She unbuckled, ran back into the house, and sprinted upstairs to her parents’ room. Like a cat burglar, she tiptoed into her mother’s walk-in closet. Digging into the ornate wooden jewelry chest, Erin slid aside necklaces and a diamond tennis bracelet to find a small satin ring box. She opened it and memories of Grandma Tea flooded her mind.
A wide, flat, silver ring with channel-set diamonds and sapphires scattered light on the ceiling. It was too large for her ring fingers but fit her left middle finger perfectly. Erin had loved the ring and its history for years; her grandparents’ great love story made the
