20. Noah

Tristan Palmerand I have been friends our whole lives. It made things a little awkward when my sister crushed on him in high school and he had a girlfriend, but we never let anything get in the way of our friendship. He's a good kayak buddy and a better listener, which I didn't realize I needed until I'm kayaking alone and anxious, since Tristan had to work and couldn't make it out with me today. I need to call him once I'm back on shore.

I row toward the beach, irritated by my steady anxiety as it flows but doesn't ebb. It's annoying that it's still plaguing me after an hour out on the ocean, when kayaking is one of the things I do to take a break from the anxiety and soothe my fears. I love being in nature and letting go. I read an article once about how experiencing awe is good for the soul, how awe can be found anywhere outside. It's a mix of reminding myself that I'm such a small part of this big world and also experiencing the beauty and grandeur of Mother Nature.

Today, awe isn't doing much for me. My heart hammers when I pull my kayak onto the sand and drag it to the resort's locker tucked against the side of the hill. I punch in the numbers to lock it away and pull out my phone. I'm not going to swim today. My heart won't calm down as it is.

I don't want to go up to the house, either, when I know Cat won't be there and two of my sisters will—with an ex-girlfriend in tow.

This is why you don't date your sister's friends.

It's been four days since Olive showed up in Sunset Harbor with Celine, and Cat has been weird ever since. She still comes to the house every day and completes the lists I provide each evening, but she's like an ultra polite ghost—moving around silently and disappearing the moment she's through with her tasks. It's a stark difference from the way she'd been hanging out with me more and more in the last few weeks. I miss her.

Not even beta testing the new open world game we've been developing is helping. I don't like feeling like I'm somehow, even inadvertently, causing Cat discomfort.

That must be why my anxiety is skimming at a steady low burn. My heart is beating like an idling Jeep, humming with more power than normal. It isn't going into overdrive or anything, so there's probably nothing to worry about.

But still. I start walking down the beach and dial Tristan's number.

He picks up, much to my relief. "Hey, man."

"How's work? You missed a calm day on the ocean."

Tristan groans. "Don't rub it in. Are you at the reserve?"

"No, just the resort's beach." I rub a hand over my face and close my eyes.

"What's wrong?" Tristan asks.

How can he tell? Did I sigh without meaning to? I haven't really talked to him about the anxiety, or getting kicked out of the office until I get a handle on my mental health, but it's not really the sort of thing I want to discuss over the phone. "Just trying to juggle a lot of things at once, I guess."

"Any balls you can drop for a while?"

Are there? I've handed the work ball over to Gina almost fully, but the sisters and Cat?.?.?.? There's not much I can do about that until Olive leaves. I don't know what happened between them, but something obviously did.

"I don't think so. I want my sisters to go back to New York, but I can't kick them out. This house is just as much theirs as it is mine."

If only they would stop talking about our parents' arguments and the family chat I've silenced—but that won't happen.

"You can stay with me," he offers.

I smile, glancing up at the resort my family owns. He's a good friend for offering. "Thanks. I might just move into the pool house."

"Right. The pool house. Because you have multiple houses on your own property." Tristan laughs. "Just leave Sunset Harbor for a while, man. What's keeping you here? The ocean? They have ocean in Costa Rica, too."

Running off to another gorgeous island sounds more than incredible right now. I doubt Scout's board of directors would even consider it a red flag for me to up and leave, because they commanded me to take time off. What's more calming than a trip to the Caribbean? When I picture myself checking into the Belacourt Resort in Costa Rica, however, I don't picture myself alone.

"Cat," I tell him. She's the person keeping me here. There's no way I'd leave her halfway through the summer. She's probably not anywhere close to hitting the number she needs to pay off Otto's medical bills. Money aside, I don't want to be away from her. I've enjoyed spending time with her so much I'm pretty sure her distance is part of the reason I've been so off-centered the last few days. "I promised to hire her until the end of July. I can't just leave now."

"You could give her jobs from a distance."

"She's a personal assistant, man."

"Take her with you, then."

"Yeah, if only," I mutter. "Things have been going great until Olive showed up. I don't know why?—"

"Seriously?"

My heart thuds. The Jeep is revving now. "What?"

"Olive's here? She's one of the sisters staying at your house?"

"She got here a few days ago."

He gives a humorless laugh. "No wonder Cat is being weird, then. Didn't Olive bully her? That has to be awkward."

I stop in the middle of the beach, heedless of anyone who might be lying in the cabanas or walking through the sand. "What?"

"Remember? It's been a while, so it's hazy, but I thought Olive bullied Cat pretty badly in middle school."

"They were friends."

"For a little while, yeah, but things went south."

"How far south?"

Tristan sounds like he's sucking the air through his teeth. "Man, it was a long time ago. I can't remember the details."

I do, though. I remember Olive being Cat's friend for a while. I remember being with Olive at Sunrise Cafe when we ran into Cat and having milkshakes together. I remember saying Cat was cute—I'd lowkey been crushing on her for a while and just wanted to feel out my sister to see if Cat had said anything about me. The next thing I knew, they weren't friends anymore. Olive hated it when I liked her friends. She's possessive. But bullying? He had to be thinking of someone else.

Except it made sense. When Cat had seen Olive for the first time, she froze like a deer in headlights then walked out of the house. Olive avoids the topic whenever I bring it up, and they tiptoe around each other like there's actual dislike there. Or shame. Whatever a decade-old feud brings up in mature adults.

I must have gone too deep into my head because Tristan's calling my name.

"Noah? You there?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I had no idea, but it explains a lot." I rub a hand through my hair and start to pace again.

"Maybe give Cat a few days off?" he suggests.

"Good idea."

"Sorry, man. I figured you knew. It wasn't really a secret."

How did I not know? Was I so in my head back then I didn't notice, or did Olive keep it from me? She is cunning and intelligent and possessive. Not a great combo for a thirteen-year-old, I guess. Though it makes her a killer businesswoman now.

"Thanks for telling me. I better go." So I can call Cat or Olive or just vomit. I'm not sure yet which direction my body is going to let me go here.

"Okay." Tristan sounds worried. "Call me if you need anything."

"For sure." I hang up and run a hand through my hair. My heartrate isn't slowing down, and the kayak didn't help at all. I pull up my email and send a message to Dr. Stein, telling her about my physical symptoms. She's mentioned medication a few times, but I've been wary of trying them. Maybe it's time to test something out. My mind is racing, my breathing is irregular, and I just want to claw out of my body.

I put my phone away so I don't watch my inbox for a response. I can't tell if the pulsing in my ears is my own heartbeat or the waves crashing behind me.

I think I need to go for a run.

Somehow,I end up in the middle of Sunset Harbor's town square. I'm a block from Cat's house, and my feet carry me her direction before I consciously decide I want to go there. It's pretty stupid, actually. I'm into this girl, right? So I'm going to show up at her house at the end of June after a run when it's hot and humid and I'm sweating profusely?

Not a great look, Noah.

I press forward anyway. The sun beats down on me with suffocating heat. It feels good to push myself. I like that I can't tell anymore if my crazy pulse is from anxiety or exercise. At least for a little while, I get a break.

I walk when I hit Cat's street because I need a minute to decide what to say. I still haven't figured it out when I round the corner and find Otto outside, waxing his surfboard in the open unattached garage. He looks up, and his face tightens when he notices me.

I lift my hand in an awkward greeting.

He waves me over. "Cat's in the middle of a jam session right now."

Did I hear that correctly? I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. He just smooths the wax over the board.

"A jam session?" I ask, hoping he'll clarify.

"Blackberry, I think. I'm not sure if she has enough. She was fretting."

"Oh." She's making jam. That makes sense. "How are you, Otto?"

He nods slowly. "I'm well enough." He stops waxing the board and shoots me side-eye. "I worry about my little girl, but as far as she reports, things have been going well while she's working for you."

"She's been an enormous help."

"I know."

It feels like that awkward moment before a school dance, hanging out with a girl's dad while I wait for her to come down the stairs. What does he want me to say? What is it he's holding back from saying to me? I clear my throat and speak the truth. "Cat is an extraordinary person and a hard worker. You've done a great job raising her."

Otto peers at me like a seer. Is he a witch? A warlock? I must have spent too long in my game the last few days, because I'm seeing magic where there isn't any.

"That girl raised me," Otto says quietly. "She has my whole heart. Don't break hers, Belacourt."

My throat is dry. This is the Dad Talk, and I'm totally not expecting it. Why would he say anything like that to me unless he thought I was dating Cat? It doesn't add up.

His skin is tan and wrinkled, his shirt open and flapping in the warm breeze. I can't imagine how terrified Cat was to lose him to cancer. Now he's healthy, strong, and wary. "Kitchen door's at the back of the house. She won't want to step away from the stove right now."

He's giving me permission to go see her. It's symbolic, I think, since I don't really need his permission, but I'm grateful for it. Somehow that makes it mean more. I nod my thanks and leave, following the shaded path between the unattached garage and the house, tall bald cypress trees lining the way.

Cat is humming along to the radio. She's blurry through the screen door, standing at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. When I walk up the steps, I can feel my body coming down from its run. My heart rate is slowing, because even just being this close to her is calming. Cat is a trip to Costa Rica. She's the break from working full time. She is our small island at sunset on my family's cove. She's wholesome and good.

My feelings for her run deeper than a crush. They're real. It hits me with force while I stand on her back porch, listening to her hum along to Post Malone and stir at the stove. I want her in my life. I want this image in my life forever.

Just maybe without the screen door between us.

She looks up as if she can sense me watching her, then squints. "What are you doing here?"

I cross the deck and pull the door open, stepping into the kitchen. It's small, so I'm closer to Cat than I realized when the screen door slams shut behind me. "Just out for a run."

"I can see that." She gives me a once-over, but I still look at her face. Her arm doesn't quit stirring the whole time.

"More jam?"

"Blackberry this time." She checks her timer, then looks back at me. "I wanted to make a crumble too, but I ran out of berries."

"Who knew you were such a homemaker?"

Her face freezes in a weird smile. "Not yet. Homemaker implies I have a family, right?"

She wants that? "I don't know the definition. I guess, to me, it just means someone who makes a house a home. It looks like you've done that here for you and Otto."

"My mom did it first." She pulls out a huge metal bowl and sieve insert, then picks up two hot pads to grip the sides of the pot. Water is heating in a charcoal-colored speckled pot on the back burner while Cat lifts the jam and pours it slowly through the sieve and into the bowl. "She made this place a home. Otto and I just kept it up."

"Did she teach you how to make jam?"

Cat glances at me before focusing on her jam again. "Yeah. I helped her a lot in the kitchen. They're her recipes I'm following."

"She sounds lovely."

"She was," Cat says simply. When she puts down the empty pot, we both stare at the sieve, watching the jam drip slowly while it catches most of the seeds.

"Listen, Cat. I feel like things have been off the last few days. I just wanted to apologize for any uncomfortab?—"

"It's fine," she says brightly, pushing past me to pick up the empty jars. "Don't worry about it."

"I have been worrying about it, actually." Over-worrying. Since Tristan's revelation, my brain has been going haywire. "I don't want to be the reason you're uncomfortable. If my sister is causing you any awkwardness, we can work around her."

"Like, you'll tell me when she isn't home so it's safe to come by?"

I shrug. "Yeah. Or I won't give you any jobs at the house. You don't have to clean while she's there or drop things off. I'm always happy to meet you elsewhere. Besides, we both have to head out of town tomorrow anyway. I doubt she'll return after that."

Cat nods slowly, her eyes searching mine.

"For what it's worth," I say, my voice dropping, "I didn't know about your history until today."

Cat straightens. "What?"

"I didn't know. I knew you guys stopped being friends?—"

She scoffs. "It was a little more volatile than that."

My throat is dry. My hands are shaking. I hate that my sister did this to her, and I had no idea. "How bad was it?"

Cat removes the sieve and sets it in the sink, then starts funneling jam into a jar. "Pretty bad."

I feel responsible. If I hadn't had a crush on Cat, would she and Olive still be friends?

"Were my parents notified? Did you take measures with the school?"

"Otto got involved and had to meet with your parents and the vice principal. It was messy, but Olive let it go after that."

"Cat—"

"I really don't want to talk about this anymore." She fills another jar, then turns to me, her ladle hovering above the bowl like she's not quite ready to let go. "You really didn't know? Olive didn't come home from school every day and tell you some new humiliating story about me?"

"Not about you."

"Hmm." She keeps peering at me. "I figured she bragged about her conquests."

Conquests? That word choice is so specific and gross. I want to be a kid again so I can pull thirteen-year-old Cat into my arms and comfort her. Or pull adult Cat into my arms now and do something more.

I shake away the thought, but another one comes quick on its heels. "Are you busy?"

She looks at her jam with her eyebrows up.

"No, I mean after this." I gesture to the whole jam explosion in the kitchen. "I should go home and shower anyway."

"I just need to seal these jars and clean up." She hesitates. "Then I'm free."

"Perfect. Meet at my house—no, we can do the entrance to the resort—when you're done here. Wear clothes you don't mind getting dirty."

She looks intrigued. "Why? What are we doing?"

"You'll see." I start to back out of the kitchen, taking a mental heart picture of the way Cat is looking at me now. "Come hungry."

She gives me a half smile. "I always do."