JP will just have to make their own memories at Ram Pasture—ones that are more powerful.
Amy cranks up the music—Pearl Jam, because it’s a band they both like—puts her bare feet up on the dash, then takes them down because of the state of her toes. She reaches for JP’s hand. This is going to be fun. Relaxing. A much-needed reconnection. It’s a beautiful day with a scrubbed-clean sky, no humidity, a light breeze. The low vegetation and open land on the way out to Ram Pasture remind Amy of pictures she’s seen of the African savanna—but then, on the horizon, a thin blue ribbon appears. To the left, she catches the first glimpse of Little Ram Pasture Pond, which is ringed with rugosa roses in full pink and white blossom. Amy spends so many long hours in the salon that she forgets the rest of the island is outside showing off like this.
“You were right,” she says. “Paradise.”
They set up chairs and their blanket, place the cooler in the shade of the umbrella. JP peels off his T-shirt and Amy studies him. They haven’t had sex for weeks—not since a few days before Vivi was killed—and it looks like he’s lost some of the weight that he put on when he first opened the Cone for the season (too much peach cobbler ice cream). Still, his body is nothing remarkable, although Amy doesn’t care what he looks like. She loves him. She loves him. Has the magic worn off a little, has her infatuation settled into something less urgent? Yeah, sure. That’s what happens. But there’s still a surge there, an energy.
She puts a hand on his back and tries to turn him for a kiss but he goes charging into the water. He’s an exuberant and fearless swimmer; it doesn’t matter to him how big the waves are or how cold the water is. Over the years, Amy has conquered most of her fears, but the fact remains that she didn’t grow up near an ocean. She went to the beach infrequently and when she did it was the decidedly calmer and warmer Gulf.
Beyond JP, she sees the dark, sleek head of a seal, and although there’s a certain delight in seeing animals in their natural habitat, she knows that seals can mean sharks. She walks to the water’s edge and lets the foamy waves nip her feet, but she’s not going in.
She repairs back to their camp and decides to stretch out on the blanket rather than sit in a chair. Half-heartedly, she opens her book. It’s been so long since she’s looked at it that she should probably start at the beginning.
When JP comes back, he rubs a towel over his head and says, “Do you want to take a walk?”
“I just got settled.”
“Oh,” he says. “Okay.” Instead of sitting in his chair, he plops next to her on the blanket. “Amy?”
She props herself up on her elbows and sucks in her stomach and tenses her thighs. “JP?”
He’s silent for a second and Amy realizes that the moment she’s been dreading is upon her. We probably should have a talk at some point.
“I know that things haven’t been easy for you since Vivi died,” he says.
Understatement.
“Don’t worry about me,” Amy says. “I’m worried about you. And the kids.”
“I worry about the kids too,” JP says. “I need to make them my focus.”
“Of course,” Amy says. She has kind of stalled where the kids are concerned. She hasn’t seen any of them since Vivi died. “Maybe we should invite them over for dinner?” This sounds like a solid starting point, but dinner for their family is a pipe dream. JP works at the Cone every night until ten, Willa lives in married bliss with Rip, Leo is leaving for college in another month, and Carson also works at night, plus, sorry, she’s not the family-dinner type.
“Amy,” JP says. “I want to take a break. No, that’s misleading. I want to break up. I want you to move out. I want us to go our separate ways.”
The words hit Amy like pellets, and her jaw drops in increments until her mouth is hanging fully open. She knows she must look shocked. But she’s not shocked. If she were very honest, she would admit that the second she let JP Quinboro kiss her in the wineshop after drinking two and a half bottles of Cristal, she knew this was one way it could end—with JP cutting the line, deciding