Author: Kristan Higgins

My plan…well, it sucked. But at least it was something. If I had to drop by his apartment every four hours until I found him, so be it.

It was, of course, the final step in the “Harper is a Human” campaign. In this past week, I’d babysat for Kim (I now sported two bruises on my shin and a bite mark on my wrist, but had also learned what Pikachu was). I took Tommy out to dinner and picked up the tab, bought Carol a Dustin Pedroia poster. I even cooked dinner and had Bev, Willa and Kim over for a girls night.

And I wrote a letter of apology to Jack and Sarah Costello, telling them how much I had always loved being included in their family gatherings, and how much I regretted causing Dennis any pain. And yes, I’d checked in with Dennis. He was doing A-okay, it seemed. Good old Dennis. He’d been sweetly surprised that I wasn’t back with Nick.

Not yet, I wasn’t. But I was going to try. And if Nick wouldn’t forgive me, or didn’t want me back…the thought caused another dry heave.

“So you’re going?” came a voice. Kim, little Desmond on her hip, smelling of sunscreen and salt water.

“Yeah.” I pulled a face and zipped my suitcase closed.

“It’s good, Harper. It’s really romantic, actually.”

“Right. Even if it does have that restraining-order feel about it. But I guess it’s worth a try.”

“’Do or do not. There is no try,’” she intoned.

“Who said that? Winston Churchill?”

“Yoda. Please. I have four sons. Star Wars is my life.”

“So now the Muppets are giving me advice?”

“Count your blessings. It could be TeleTubbies.” She leaned down and gave me an unexpected kiss on the cheek. Desmond kicked me in the ribs, then smiled angelically. “See you when you get back,” my friend said.

“Thanks, Kim,” I replied. I looked at her and forced a smile, which became genuine after a second. “Thanks.”

“Go get him, sister!” she called as she left the room. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Worst-case scenario, you’ll be right back where you are now.”

That was another thing. Here…here was no longer what it had once been. The contentment (the smugness, let’s be honest) I used to feel with my life had evaporated like the morning mist, and I was just like the rest of humanity—all of us poor, pathetic dopes battered by the storms of love. Utterly clueless.

I glanced at my watch, tried not to puke, succeeded and got up to find Coco’s crate. At the sight of her carrier, she immediately put on her Chihuahua-orphan look. Took a step forward, then held up her front paw as if wounded.

“Your paw is fine,” I told her. “What’s the problem? Don’t you want to see Nick? You love Nick, remember? Is this a sign? Are you trying to tell me not to do it? Speak, Coco. You’re much smarter than I am, God knows.”

She hunkered down and gave her tail a little wag—See? I’m so cute, remember? Don’t make me go into the evil crate! I’m not a city girl!

Who could blame her? Air travel was punishing enough without being caged. And she’d been so stressed in New York…all those horns and sirens, that eternal roar. With a sigh, I sat down next to her.

“Okay. You can stay. But I have to go, baby. You understand, right? Want to go to Kim’s?” Then, thinking of Kim’s litter of male children, I winced. “How about Willa’s?”

My plane left in an hour and a half. Plenty of time to swing by Willa’s—she and Chris had rented a place in Oak Bluffs. I’d seen them a couple of days ago; they still had to get their furniture and stuff from New York, but it was a cute house. Chris seemed good; mentioned AA and the balm of steady work. Willa, for her part, had enrolled in an online class…anatomy. She wanted to be a nurse. It seemed like a good fit for her sunny personality.

I called my sister’s cell. “Hey, you,” I said. “I need a favor.”

“Sure!” she said.

“Can you babysit Coco for a few days? Actually, it might be longer.” My legs gave a watery wobble. “Maybe a week, even.”

“You bet. Where are you going?”

“New York,” I said, swallowing sickly. “Say again?”

“New York City.” I took a breath. “I’m…I’m…I’m going to see Nick.”

“Um…Harper? Nick’s here.”

“What?” I squeaked. “Here? What do you mean, here? Where’s here? At your house?”

“Calm down, calm down,” she said. “He’s on the island.”

“What’s he doing here?” My heart clattered.

“Chris rented a U-Haul yesterday, drove down to the city and packed up our stuff. Nick drove back with him to help unload. So he’s here. But Harper, he just left, like, ten minutes ago. He wanted to catch the seven o’clock ferry out of Oak Bluffs. Then, shit, he’s getting a car service to Logan and going to Seattle or something.”

I looked at my watch. It was 6:22. “I’m on my way,” I blurted.

“Should I call him? Tell him to wait?”

“No! No. Um…he might not want to see me.”

I flew out of the house, leaving my dog yapping a reproach for not taking her. In a spray of crushed shells, I peeled out of my driveway, cutting off an earth-raping Hummer with Virginia plates and earning a few enraged shouts. I ignored them, my little yellow car eating up the road. The route from Menemsha to Oak Bluffs usually took about half an hour, more with tourist traffic. Which we had in droves, it being Columbus Day weekend. I’d never make it if I went through Vineyard Haven proper, so I went down past Fiddlehead Farm, through Tisbury, my hands clenched on the wheel. Past the airport. Onto Barnes Road, where I got stuck behind a minivan from New Jersey.

“Come on, come on, come on, don’t you have your own shore?” I muttered, chewing my cuticle. When the coast was clear, I passed them, flooring it. Hey. I was from Massachusetts, thank you very much. Speed limits were for other states.

But I hadn’t counted on traffic being so damn thick as I came into Oak Bluffs. Short of driving on the lawns (a definite option) and vehicular manslaughter (not so much), I wasn’t going to make it. Tourists decked out in Black Dog hats and T-shirts milled around, and the road was packed with cars.

I glanced at the clock. 6:56.

I wasn’t going to make it. Not on my own, anyway.

I snatched up my phone and pressed the number of someone known and liked by virtually everyone on this island, someone with friends in high places. “Pick up. Please, please, please,” I chanted. My prayer was answered.

“Dude, how’s it hanging?”

“Oh, Dennis, thank God. Listen, I have kind of an emergency. I need to stop the ferry.”

“Why?”

I hesitated. “To stop Nick. To try to get back with him.”

“Awesome,” Dennis said sincerely, and I felt such a rush of affection for him with that word, because Dennis’s heart didn’t have room for resentment.

“But I’m stuck in traffic, and I’m not gonna make the ferry. I thought about calling in a bomb scare—”

“Uncool.”

“—I know, and I don’t want to get arrested. So. Can you help me? I just need a few minutes.”

“Let’s see.” There was a thoughtful pause. “I think Gerry might be working tonight. I’ll make a call, sure.”

“Really?” Hope, that thing with feathers, gave a healthy flap.

“I’ll give it a shot.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You bet, dude.”

“Dennis, you’re the best.”

“Yeah, whatever. Hey, Harp, listen. You should probably know…I’m back with Jodi.”

“Jodi-with-an-I?” I said automatically, veering around a Mercedes whose driver clearly didn’t know ass from elbow and was trying to turn onto a one-way street.

“Yeah. We hung out the other night, and it was like old times.”

I laughed. “Invite me to the wedding, okay, Den?”

“Dude. Totally.” There was a pause. “Good luck, Harper.”

My throat tightened abruptly. “Thanks, Dennis.”

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally drew within view of the ferry landing. Unfortunately, there was a concert at the gazebo in Ocean Park, and we were inching along. But the ferry was in, even though it was 7:09. Maybe I’d make it after all, and God bless Dennis Patrick Costello. I’d pay for his honeymoon with Jodi, I vowed I would.

Then the air tore with the sound of the ferry’s horn. “No!” I groaned. “Oh, damn it.” I was still two blocks away, there was nowhere to park, dang it all, and my teeth ground in frustration. But then again, if I didn’t catch Nick today, and it was looking as if that was a very real possibility, I could always try some other time.

Except that some other time didn’t have the same appeal as right now. Now. It had to be now.

I pulled over, double-parking next to a red Porsche, and hurtled out of the car.

“You can’t park there!” called a cop.

“Emergency!” I said, bolting across the street. The ramp to the ferry was a long post-and-beam structure, and tonight, it was full of people taking in the sights or seeing off their friends. “Excuse me, excuse me!” I called, pushing through the crowd. “Stop the ferry! Hold the ferry, please!” My feet thudded along the wooden slats as I ran, then jumped over a coil of rope. A radio was playing somewhere, and my busy brain registered the lyrics. “Sweet Home Alabama.” It had to be a sign from God, or Bev, or the universe.

The horn sounded again.

“Stop the ferry!” I shouted. “Please!”

“Too late, lady,” said one of the ferry workers as he tossed a rope to one of the men on board. “No one past this point.”

Then I saw Nick. He stood on the lower deck of the boat, staring out at Martha’s Vineyard as the ferry inched away, the ever-present wind ruffling his hair, his gypsy eyes distant and…sad.

Well. He wasn’t going to be sad anymore, damn it.

“Nick!” I bellowed. “Nick!”

He didn’t see me.

“Nick!” I turned to one of the ferry workers. Leonard was embroidered over his pocket. “Leonard!” I barked. “Stop this ferry.”

“Unless this is a medical emergency lady,” he said in a thick New Bedford accent, “or you’re packed with explosives, no can do. Sorry.”

“Stop it or I’m jumping in!”

“Don’t even joke about it, okay?” he said, doing something to the control panel on the boat slip. “You can get arrested for that. And if you get close enough to the propeller, you’ll get sucked right under.”

The propeller was in the back of the boat. I’d aim for the side.

Do or do not. There is no try.

Egged on by Yoda and the surefire knowledge that I loved Nick Lowery more than anything, I ran as fast as I could for the end of the dock, and when the end came, I kept running, and for one incredible second, I was airborne and weightless, flying through the air.

Then the outside world went silent as I went under, bubbles roaring past my ears, and, oh, crotch, the water was frigid! I kicked to the surface and emerged, sputtering, salt water stinging my eyes, my skin crawling in a wave of goose bumps. I coughed and looked up at the boat. I couldn’t see Nick, just the massive hull of the boat about twenty feet away. People on the dock yelled and pointed. Treading water, I pushed the sodden hair out of my eyes.

“Gawddammit!” bawled Leonard the dockworker. I glanced back at him as he pulled out his radio and barked into it. “Hughie, we got a fuckin’ nut in the water! Kill the engines!” He looked at me. “Idiot!”