As I walk up the driveway, I can hear him whistling. It almost makes me smile.

His tan legs and worn Converse are visible first, sticking out from beneath the Mustang. He’s lying on his back, Duff’s skateboard under him, working on the underbody. I can’t see his face, and I’m glad. I’m not sure I can do this if I can see Jase’s face.

He recognizes my step, though. Or my shoes.

“Hey, Sam. Hi, baby.” His voice is cheerful, more relaxed than it’s been in days. He’s at peace, doing something he’s good at, getting away from everything else for a while.

I swallow. My throat feels thick, as though the words I have to say have snarled into a choking ball.

“Jase.” I don’t even sound like myself. Kind of appropriate, since I’d rather not think this is me at all. I clear my throat. “I can’t see you.”

“I’ll be out in a sec. I just have to tighten this up or all the oil will drain right out.”

“No. I mean I can’t see you anymore.”

“What?” I hear the crack of metal against bone as he sits up, forgetting where he is. Then he slips out from under the car. There’s a smudge of black oil on his forehead, an angry red spot. It’ll bruise.

“I can’t see you anymore. I can’t…do this. I can’t babysit George or Patsy or see you. I’m sorry.”

“Sam—what is this?”

“Nothing. I just can’t do it. You. Us. I can’t do it now.” He’s standing close to me, so tall, so near I can smell him, wintergreen gum, axle grease, Tide-clean clothes.

I take a step back. I have to do this. So much has already been ruined. I have no doubt Clay meant what he said. All it takes is remembering the look on his face when he talked about leaving his past behind, his implacable voice telling Mom to back up and drive away. If I don’t do this, he’ll do whatever it takes to ruin the Garretts. It won’t take much. “I can’t do this,” I repeat.

Jase shakes his head. “You can’t do this. You have to give me a chance to fix whatever it is I’ve done. What have I done?”

“It isn’t you.” The oldest, weakest breakup excuse in the world. And, here, the most true.

“This isn’t you! You don’t act like this. What’s wrong?” He takes a step toward me, his eyes shadowed with concern. “Tell me so I can fix it.”

I fold my arms, stepping farther away. “You can’t fix everything, Jase.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t even know it was broken. I don’t understand. Talk to me.” His voice lowers. “Is it the sex…did we go too fast? We can slow down. We can just…Anything, Sam. Is it your mom? Tell me what you need.”

I turn away. “I need to go.”

He wraps his fingers tightly around my upper arm to stop me. My whole body seems to shrink, as though I’m folding smaller into my skin.

Jase stares at me incredulously, then drops his hand. “You, like, don’t want me to touch you? Why?”

“I can’t talk anymore. I have to go.” I have to get away before I can’t do this, before I blurt out everything, no matter what will happen about Mom and Clay and the store. I have to.

“You’re just going to walk away—like that? You’re leaving it this way? Now? I love you. You can’t.…”

“I have to.” Every word feels like it’s strangling me. I turn away and head down the driveway, trying to walk calmly, not to run, not to cry, not to feel anything at all.

I hear quick steps as Jase follows me.

“Leave me alone,” I toss over my shoulder, picking up my pace, racing to my house as though it’s some refuge. Jase, who could easily catch up or outrun me, falls back, leaving me to wrench open the heavy door and stumble into the foyer, and then curl into a ball, pressing my hands to my eyes.

I expect to be called to account for this. Alice ringing my doorbell to beat me up. Mrs. Garrett coming over with Patsy on her hip, angry at me for the first time ever. Or George showing up, big-eyed and bewildered, to ask what’s going on with Sailor Supergirl. But none of that happens. It’s as though I don’t make a ripple as I drop off the face of the earth.

Chapter Forty-five

I’m not the one who was hit by a car. I’m not the one who has eight children and is expecting another. I’m not Jase, trying to hold it all together while thinking of selling the thing that gives me peace.

Waking up every morning and feeling like pulling the covers over my head gives me a kick of self-hatred. I’m not the one this happened to. I’m just some girl with an easy life and a trust fund. Just like I told Jase. And yet I can’t get out of bed.

Mom is extra-cheerful and solicitous these days, blending my smoothie before I have a chance to, leaving little packages on my bed with cheery Post-it notes. “Saw this cute top and knew it would look great on you.” “Bought some sandals for myself and knew you’d love them too!” She doesn’t say anything about me sleeping till noon. She ignores my monosyllabic conversation, amping up her own to fill the silences. Over dinner, she and Clay chatter away about getting me an internship in Washington, D.C., next summer, or maybe something in New York, fanning out the possibilities in front of me like paint chips—“How lovely this would look on your future!”—while I poke at my chowder.

No longer caring what Mom will say, I give notice at the B&T. Knowing Nan is just a few yards away, radiating anger and resentment through the walls of the gift shop, makes me feel sick. It’s also impossible to concentrate on watching every swimmer at the Olympic pool when I keep finding myself staring fixedly at nothing at all.

Unlike Felipe at Breakfast Ahoy, Mr. Lennox doesn’t get belligerent. Instead he argues when I give him my notice and try to hand him my clean, neatly folded suit and jacket and skirt.

“Oh now, Ms. Reed! Surely…” He glances out the window, takes a deep breath, then goes over and shuts his office door. “Surely you don’t want to make this Precipitous Choice.”

I tell him I have to, unexpectedly touched by how flustered he is. He pulls a small paisley silk handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me. “You have always been an excellent worker. Your work ethic is unparalleled. I would hate to see you Retire Impulsively. Is there…perhaps…a Delicate Situation on the job which makes you uncomfortable? The new lifeguard? Is he making Unwelcome Advances on your Person?”