things were different, I might be disappointed. He’s cute, and smart, and weird in a good way.
But he’s also very much not available. Not really. I remind myself that his fiancée is missing. He’s home taking care of his mother, who has a serious mental illness. What Caden needs is a friend, not a summer fling. And the new Anna wants more than that too. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to slip my hand over his on the armrest, rest my head in the dip between his neck and shoulder. But I think this is the start of a real connection, not some hookup. I keep my arms wrapped tight around my knees and resolve to keep the boundaries firm between us.
* * *
That night, I dream I’m back at Windermere again. The estate glimmers in moonlight, ethereal and grand. The walls are free of vines and the sturdy columns that stretch from the ground to the third-floor balcony extend like pale white pillars toward the sky. No peeling paint. No dust or cobwebs to sully the rocking chairs on the front porch. The grass is manicured and lush with the glistening residue of late afternoon rain, and in the front of the property, shielded from the road by a stately and freshly trimmed hedge, is the koi pond. Their lithe orange and white bodies gleam just below the surface, then vanish, swift and stealthy, far into the water’s black depths.
I’m looking down on the estate from above, and then I’m on the balcony, sitting all the way at the edge, legs pressed through the wooden rails and dangling down, down in the night. In the dream, the height doesn’t scare me at all. My fingers dance across the top of the railing like it’s a set of piano keys.
I’m not alone. On the balcony next to me sits a girl, a year or two older, with olive skin and the same unbridled mane of thick black hair spilling down her back. She wears a dress so yellow it’s almost gold, and one gold sandal dangles from the tips of her toes.
“You’re going to lose that,” I hear myself saying.
She laughs, and the sound shimmers in the summer night. Her head tilts back until I can see her teeth flash, two rows of pearls in the moonlight. My eyes travel down to the bright golden gleam of the initials ZS dangling against the birthmark on her collarbone. She swings her leg, one swift kick, and releases her sandal into the sky. It rises in a hasty arc, then surges soundlessly to the thick carpet of grass below.
When I draw my eyes back to the balcony, I’m alone. I glance down at my body, and a gold-yellow dress now hugs my skin where shorts and a worn T-shirt used to be. One of my feet is bare, and suddenly the ground seems very far below. I draw my legs back through the slats in the balcony railing and pull my knees in to my chest.
I wake with a jolt, grope for my phone.
It’s almost three. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the darkness, I know I’m not going to get back to sleep. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, grab my hoodie, then make my way out of the cottage and onto the pool deck.
Night-lights dance along the water’s edge. It’s cool out here, but not uncomfortable. Curled up on one of the loungers, I pull up Messenger, open my latest exchange with Starr. Still no reply. I start to type.
Thinking about you tonight. What do the stars look like from the Magic Kingdom?
A drink would help me get back to sleep. I crane my neck, stare behind me through the windows into the Bellamys’ dark kitchen. Almost as much as I want a drink, I want to know more about Zoe. But I’m all out of podcast episodes, and I’m not sure what’s left to google. I open up Instagram and type her name into the search. Her profile is still up, but the photos stop in December. Scrolling backward, it’s mostly landscape shots of the beach in winter, then Providence in the fall, bright bursts of changing leaves and Zoe’s startled reflection captured in a puddle. Further back to California, tangerine sunsets and seagulls soaring above a marina. I have to scroll back to last spring to find many pictures of Caden, but there they