4. Clover

Islam the door so hard a couple jars on a shelf holding a collection of Trish's jams rattle against each other.

I barely hear the sound.

My body feels like it's been plunged deep into freezing cold water for the past five minutes, and I'm only dragging myself out now.

The shop is empty, the only light inside coming from the small woodstove flanked by a couple armchairs and rickety side tables. Trish must be in the back.

The rest of the mismatched seating options sit waiting for the first rush of customers to arrive. The space is divided between the café and dining area and a small shop stocked with homemade preserves, spice mixes, and DIY baking kits, as well as a freezer full of oven-ready meals.

Normally I like scanning the aisles to see what new concoctions my sister has come up with, but today, I head straight for the nearest chair and collapse onto the seat before dropping my head between my knees.

"Clover, is that—"

The swinging door to the kitchen creaks as Trish comes out from the back, her footsteps echoing through the empty room and coming to an abrupt halt when she spots me. She gasps and then speed-walks the rest of the way over to me.

"What are you doing?" she asks, with typical Trish bluntness. "Why are you sitting like that?"

She stops just beside my chair and places a hand on my back, only to make a sound of disgust and snatch it away a second later.

"Why are you covered in mud? Clover, what the hell happened?"

Her voice sounds like it's coming from far away. I try to answer to her question, playing the events from out in the parking lot over in my head like a movie.

A snort of laughter bursts out of me.

It's insane. It's absolutely insane. There's no way she just drove up to Riverview in a golf cart, puked, and then left while I stood there looking like some kind of mud-encrusted bog creature.

The more I think about it, the harder it is not to laugh. After a couple more snorts, I have to sit up so I can clutch my stomach and break out into big, wheezing, donkey-like guffaws while Trish watches me in horror.

Her slack-jawed expression just makes the whole thing even funnier. My abs cry out in protest as I laugh so hard I stop breathing.

"Clover!" Trish barks, planting her hands on her hips. "Snap out of it! You're freaking me out."

I have to squeeze my eyes shut and concentrate on getting some oxygen before I'm finally able to start calming down.

"Y-you're n-never going t-t-to believe what just happened," I stammer, my eyes still closed.

"Well, you look like you just wrestled a Sasquatch," she retorts, "so I'm ready to believe just about anything. Now tell me."

I gulp and then pry my eyes open. She's still got her fists resting on her hips. One of the members of her infamous apron collection, this one featuring a design of two kittens shooting laser beams out of their eyes, is stretched across her chest.

"I-I was in the parking lot," I answer, "and…and…s-someone drove up."

I clamp my jaw shut, unable to get any more words out.

I can't say her name.

All my frantic amusement fades as the sensation of being sucked underwater crashes over me again.

If I say it out loud, that means it really happened. That means she's really back.

Trish squints at me when I stay silent.

"Someone?" she repeats. "Did someone splash you with their car or something?"

I shake my head. There's a lump in my throat, like a plug holding down everything rising up within me. I don't know what's going to happen when I pop it out and let the rest of the words loose.

"No," I manage to answer. "Not…not someone. Not just someone. It was…I saw…I mean I think I saw…saw…"

I trail off when I see the confusion on Trish's face morph into the last thing I was expecting.

Dread.

Her features smooth out into the kind of grim mask you only put on when you know exactly what you're bracing to hear next.

"Oh no," she murmurs.

I tilt my head, my senses sharpening.

"Oh no what, Trish?" I ask, my voice blank even though I can feel the first pinpricks of anger building on my skin.

Trish takes a step back.

"Clover," she says before pausing to swallow. "You know how I told you I wanted to talk to you about something?"

I blink at her. She swallows again.

"Well," she continues with a slight wobble in her voice, "it's, uh, some news. From David."

My shoulders start to shake. I wrap my fingers around the edges of my chair and squeeze hard.

"You knew," I say, not even bothering to frame it as a question.

Trish is still for a moment, and then she nods.

I suck in a sharp breath. "Is this what you wanted to tell me last night? You really didn't think that was more important than Gilmore Girls? How long have you known? How long has she—"

I cut myself off before I can finish the question. My throat has swelled shut again, blocking me from saying anything about her.

Trish sighs. "I'm so sorry. You're right. I should have told you sooner. I just couldn't find the right moment. You've been so busy with graduating and moving all your stuff back here. I know it's been stressful. It's a big adjustment, and—"

"Wait," I interrupt, "you've known since I graduated?"

That was almost three weeks ago.

Trish at least has the decency to look guilty. She fiddles with her apron strings for a moment before answering.

"David told me she was coming here for the summer back at our big opening bonfire—"

I let out a squawk of disbelief. I was at that bonfire. I was right there, and no one told me.

Trish pauses, but when all I manage to do is shoot daggers at her with my eyes, she continues.

"He didn't feel like it was his place to tell you directly. He thought you might feel better hearing it from family. I was trying to find the right moment. I swear I was, Clover. I just wanted to make it as easy as possible for you, but then he texted me yesterday to say he was driving down to pick her up, and I knew it couldn't wait any longer. I didn't think she'd have the nerve to literally drive straight here in the morning. That's nuts. Who does she think she—"

"Stop."

I hold up a hand, and Trish falls silent, but it's not just her I'm speaking to. It's this whole situation. I need it all to just stop for a moment so I can catch up.

Trish bites her lip and rocks on her heels like it's taking all her concentration, but she stays quiet.

I breathe in and then slowly let the air out.

Then I do that again.

And again.

"She's back," I say after my third exhale. "Neavh is back."

I don't stutter when I say her name. I don't quiver or lower my voice. I'm still squeezing the chair so hard my knuckles are turning white, but I don't back down. I draw on whatever strength I managed to summon when I told her to get the hell out of the parking lot, and I remind myself she doesn't get to do this.

She doesn't get to show up in my town and throw my whole life off course.

Not again.

"I'm sorry, Clo."

Trish is still hovering a few feet away like I might spring up and attack her at any second. I raise my eyes to meet her deep brown stare, and I see more than just alarm there. I see how concerned she is, not just by me, but for me, and I know she really does regret how this turned out.

"Ugh," I groan. "It's really freaking annoying that I actually believe you thought you were doing the right thing."

"I should have told you sooner," she says as she steps closer.

She reaches for the chair opposite mine and then pauses until I nod my approval before sitting down.

"But I mean, Jesus Lord," she continues, "how could anyone have predicted she'd show up in the parking lot while you were literally on your way here so I could tell you about her?"

I shrug. "Whoever could predict that could probably have predicted she'd be driving a Spongebob golf cart."

Trish does a double-take. "Excuse me. A what now?"

I shake my head and bite back a grin. "Let's just say this has officially been the most fucked up morning of my life."

She gives the collection of twigs and dried fir needles still stuck to my clothes a once-over. "Uh, yeah, I can definitely believe that."

I pluck a desiccated leaf off my arm and crumple it between my fingers. I watch as bits of dust fall to the floor, clump by clump.

Trish coughs, and I realize I've been staring into space for several seconds.

"Are you, um, okay?" she asks. "Do you want me to call Emily? We can have an emergency sisters meeting right here and now."

I'm about to tell her that's not necessary when a new realization hits.

"Wait," I say, jerking my head up. "Did Emily know about this? Did Dad know about this? Has the whole freaking town been talking about this behind my back?"

Trish waves off my frantic questions.

"No, no. Don't worry about that. I kept it to myself."

I squint at her. She scoffs.

"I did!"

I keep squinting.

"Okay, fine, I told my girlfriend," she concedes with a huff, "but that's it. I wouldn't go around gossiping about you."

Trish is not exactly known for her subtlety. While I do believe she wouldn't spread things around, she and Emily are pretty much guaranteed to share the same scope of information on everything.

"You promise?" I ask.

Trish places a hand on her chest. "I swear."

The reassurance only makes me feel better for a couple seconds before I sigh and slump in my seat.

"Guess it doesn't really matter," I say. "By the end of the day, the whole town is going to know she's here. I'm never going to hear the end of it."

Trish reaches over and pats my shoulder. "It's okay. It was years ago. I'm sure most people don't even remember you two had a thing."

I give her a look.

"Trish. It's River's Bend. People still talk about that time the drummer of The Tragically Hip pulled in and asked for directions at the bar, and that happened thirty years ago. Of course they're going to remember that one of the Rivers girls had a thing with David's cousin."

She taps her chin with her finger for a moment before nodding.

"Okay, maybe some people will remember, but they'll stay quiet about it if they know what's good for them."

I huff a bitter laugh. "Sure. That's likely. I just…I just want it to stay in the past. I'm fine when it's all in the past. I just…"

My voice gets thick, and Trish scoots her chair closer to wrap an arm around my shoulders.

"I know, babe," she murmurs. "I know."

Despite urging myself to stay strong, I lean into her touch.

"It was four years ago." I've started whispering now, which makes it easier to keep my voice from cracking. "I shouldn't care. I don't care. It was just some dumb teenage summer fling. I just… Why the hell is she back here? Why can't she just stay in the past?"

Trish brushes her thumb up and down my mud-caked sleeve.

"I wish I could make it easier," she coos. "You don't deserve that, not back then, and not now. I don't care what she had going on in her life. You don't just run away from someone you care about without saying a damn thing."

I sniff and start squeezing the chair again, fighting to keep it together.

"She's had four years to reach out to you," Trish continues, "and she never took the opportunity. She's got some nerve just showing up here without a word."

I wince and blink to clear my eyes. I refuse to cry over this. The whole town already saw me break down over Neavh once. I'm not going to let that happen again.

I let Trish keep stroking my arm for a few more minutes. When I can trust myself to stand, I tell her I'm going for a walk to clear my head. After a few rounds of assuring her I'll be fine, she lets me go.

My gaze drifts over to the tire tracks leading out of the parking lot as soon as I've shut the shop's door. I can still see Neavh standing there, like a ghost of all the thousands of times I've imagined seeing her again over the years.

Trish was right; she's got some nerve showing up here, but it's not because she's never tried to reach out since that summer.

It's because she did—just once.

She reached out at a time when she was maybe the only person in the world who could understand what I was going through, and I still told her to go to hell.

She told me I meant everything to her, and I lied and told her none of it ever meant a damn thing.