Happy Place

AS SOON AS we step into the house, I know something’s wrong. It’s too quiet, still. Wyn and I make our way to the kitchen without seeing or hearing anyone.

“Where do you think they are?” he asks, checking the time over the stove. “They should be back by now.”

“I’ll see if Kimmy and Cleo are in the guesthouse,” I say. “You want to see if Parth and Sabrina are upstairs?”

Wyn nods, and I let myself out onto the patio, heading through the gate at the side.

There’s no sign of life in the guesthouse, but I knock on the door anyway. Where is everyone? I type into the group text as I make my way back to the patio. On a whim, I go to the top of the stairs down to the shore.

Parth sits on the rocks below, sun gleaming off his dark hair and wind rippling through his jacket. I pick my way down, calling his name as I go. He glances over his shoulder at me, then goes back to staring out at the water.

“Where’s Sabrina?” I ask.

A shrug in response. It triggers a sinking sensation in my gut. I lower myself onto the rock beside him, stretching my clay-streaked legs out toward the water. “For what it’s worth,” I say, “Wyn and I, we’re really sorry we didn’t tell you.”

He looks up. “You should’ve. But I should’ve come straight to you when I saw Wyn’s text too.”

I follow his gaze out to a white boat drifting toward one of the small islands off the coast. “I hope eventually you can forgive us.”

His gaze flickers to me. “Forgive you? Harriet, you’re already forgiven. You’re like a sister to me, you know that? I’ll always forgive you. You’re family.”

My heart pangs. “I thought being family just meant you have limitless time to hold grudges.”

Parth scoffs and tucks an arm over my shoulders. “Maybe for some people. Not for us.”

“If you’re not out here contemplating how we’ve failed you,” I say, “then why all the forlorn gazing into the sea?”

He smiles, but it fades fast. “Sabrina and I got into a fight. She walked out.”

“Oh my god, Parth. I’m so sorry. This is my fault,” I say. “I’ll call her and—”

His arm slides clear of me, and he angles toward me. “It’s not,” he says. “Honestly, a part of me has been waiting for her to back out ever since we got engaged. I mean, she only agreed to get married because her world was falling apart. No matter what she said, I knew she wanted an anchor. And a part of me always expected her to run. Last night we argued, and she went downstairs to cool down, and when I woke up she was gone. Hasn’t answered her phone all day.”

“She’s scared, Parth,” I say.

He scoffs. “We’re talking about Sabrina. She isn’t scared of anything.”

I puzzle for a minute over how to explain it. “You know what you just said to me? That we’re family?”

He nods.

“Well, for you and Cleo and Wyn and Kimmy, that means one thing,” I say. “For Sabrina and me, it’s different. In our families, there was no coming back from fights. Her dad would rather divorce than apologize, and in my house, arguments always ended with everyone leaving. Things never got resolved; they calloused over.”

“What are you saying?” Parth asks.

“Sabrina didn’t run because she doesn’t want you,” I say. “She ran because she’s scared that, in the end, she won’t be worth chasing.”

Parth’s eyes lock onto mine, his face slackening as he takes it in. “Shit.” He scrambles to his feet. “We need to find her.”

“We will,” I promise.

•   •   •

CLEO AND KIMMY have just gotten back from their massages when we reach the house. They haven’t heard from Sabrina either, and after we all take turns calling and texting her to no avail, we accept that we’re going to have to look for her.

“You two were supposed to spend the morning together,” Cleo points out. “What were you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Parth says. “She’d planned it all, and there were no details on the itinerary.”

“No address?” Wyn asks.

Parth stares at him. “Oh, yeah, there was an address, but how could that possibly benefit us?” he deadpans. “No, nothing! For all I know, she left in the middle of the night. For all I know, she’s lying in a hospital bed right now!”

“We’ll find her,” Wyn says. “Don’t assume the worst.”

“This is my fault,” Parth says. “I was upset about how everything went down last night, and I blamed her. Like I hadn’t been totally on board. I was, completely, and when it blew up, I turned it around like I’d had nothing to do with it, and now she’s gone.”

Cleo’s eyes go distant as she retreats into thought. “We need to be logical here.”

“You’re gonna hate this,” Wyn says, facing Parth, “but what if we called her family?”

“There’s no way she’d go to them,” Parth says. “She hardly tells them anything. I mean, my family’s already planning a blowout wedding, and hers doesn’t even know we’re engaged yet.”

“Then we’ll look around town,” Cleo says.

“We’ll find her,” Kimmy promises, rubbing Parth’s shoulder.

“We should split up,” I say.

Wyn and Parth take the Land Rover. Cleo and I use her station wagon. Kimmy hangs back in case Sabrina shows up at the house.

Most of the places we frequent on these trips are downtown, but there are also some beaches and parks worth checking, along with a couple of other towns we occasionally visit.

But when we reach Bernie’s—packed, thanks to the sunshine and the fact that it’s Lobster Fest weekend—I realize a part of me was banking on finding her here, sipping coffee and watching seagulls fight over hash browns on the patio.

“We should ask the host,” Cleo says, “in case they’ve seen her.”

But they haven’t. Though, to be fair, the streets are so packed with face-painted, ice-cream-cone-eating tourists that, for once, it’s actually feasible that Sabrina could blend in with a crowd.

We check the Roxy Theater, ask the ticket agent (today in a porkpie hat) whether he’s seen her, and when he refuses to answer with anything other than a shrug, we each buy a ticket and split up inside to check both theaters. Not there either.

We check Murder, She Read; the wharf; and the Lobster Hut, as well as the Lobster Hut’s heavily graffitied bathrooms. We even check the tattoo shop on the very off chance that she’s enacting some small rebellion and getting her own wicked pissah tattoo. She’s nowhere to be found, and our next call goes straight to voicemail.

“She must’ve let her phone die,” Cleo says.

“That’s not like her,” I say.

“You think she was lying about hotels being booked up?” Cleo says. “Could she have checked in somewhere?”

I pull up a search for available rooms in the area. Nary a hotel, motel, bed-and-breakfast, or hostel available in sight.

The group text chimes with a text, and we both jump.

It’s only Wyn, whose number I’d unblocked again. Any luck? he writes.

None. You? I ask.

Parth’s really worried, Wyn replies. He’s going to call hospitals. Just to be sure.

My stomach flips. Keep us posted.

You too, he says.

Cleo’s nose wrinkles as she scans our list. “That’s all the usual spots. She wouldn’t . . . be reckless enough to sail off by herself, would she?”

The blood rushes out of my stomach. “She’s a pretty confident sailor,” I say. “And I think sailing is sort of her happy place. It makes her think of her mom and when . . .”

“Harry?” Cleo says. “What is it?”

“Her mom,” I say.

“What about her?” Cleo asks.

“It might be nothing,” I say. “But I’ve got one more place for us to check.”

•   •   •

“STOP THE CAR!” I shriek, with such conviction that Cleo instantly obeys, right in the middle of the road.

Although road is a fairly aspirational title for the wooded lane the GPS has directed us onto. One has to assume that there’s a parking lot somewhere ahead, but parking no longer matters because (1) the little open-air chapel is visible through the trees on our right, and (2) a cherry-red Jaguar sits parked on the dirt shoulder.

Cleo hits the gas again and pulls over. We check the car first—empty—then scramble over the short stone retaining wall to hike up the hillside toward the chapel.

The damp green woods give way to a manicured garden. In its center, a pavilion of gray stone stands, ivy crawling up its left side. Butterflies move in dizzy spirals through the flowering bushes hugging the steps, the distant crash of waves the only sound.

No wonder Sabrina’s parents’ wedding made such an impression on her. This place is beautiful. It feels like nothing could go wrong here, nothing bad could happen.

When I start forward, Cleo hangs back. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times. “What if she wants to be alone?”

She has a point. It’s possible.

But people don’t run or hide only when they want to be alone.

“What if,” I say, “she needs to know she isn’t?”

Cleo takes my hand. We climb the steps to the back of the pavilion.

There are a handful of timeworn pews, a flagstone floor, and a few wooden arcades on either side. Straight ahead, a stone arch frames a slice of pure Maine blue water in the distance.

Sabrina sits cross-legged before it, staring out. The whole scene is serene, down to the faint chirp of birds overhead. Then she looks over her shoulder at the sound of our approach.

I’d braced myself for some measure of awkwardness after everything, but the second we see her drawn face, puffy and red-rimmed eyes, last night’s fight stops mattering.

Both Cleo and I run to her, kneel on the ground, sling our arms around her.

“You scared us,” Cleo says.

“I didn’t mean to,” Sabrina whispers.

We peel apart, sitting in a triangle, the same way we did so many nights in our musty freshman dorm room.

“My phone died a couple hours ago,” Sabrina says finally. “And . . . I guess I wanted to put off the inevitable.”

“The inevitable?” Cleo says.

Sabrina draws her knees into her chest, wrapping her willowy arms around them. “The end of the trip? Goodbye? Everything’s changing, and I’m not ready.”

It’s like someone has taken an ice cream scoop to my chest, hollowed me out.

“I wanted to put it off, but Cleo’s right,” she says. “We’ve been growing apart for years.”

“Sabrina,” I say. “You have no idea how sorry I am I didn’t tell you what was going on.”

“It’s not just that.” Sabrina lifts her chin. “When I found out about the breakup, I was hurt, and then after a while, I was mad, but then—I don’t know. I realized it’s been the six of us for so long. And the five of us for even longer, and the three of us before that. And it’s not only that you kept this huge thing from us. It’s that . . . it felt like if you and Wyn weren’t together, then you didn’t want us either. Like you’ve been phasing us out.”

“Sabrina, no,” I say. “I promise I wasn’t. I’m not.”

“Maybe not consciously,” she says. “But that’s why you didn’t tell us, right? Because we’re friends with Wyn. Because our whole friendship is tangled up with your relationship, and if you two grew apart . . .”

“Wyn and I didn’t grow apart.” I can’t get it out any louder than a whisper. “I pushed him away the same way I did to the rest of you. And it was always about me, not you or anyone else.”

“But it’s not just you, Harriet,” Sabrina says.

Cleo touches her hand. “Things have been . . . complicated for me, Sabrina. That’s all.”

“You know,” Sabrina says, watching a butterfly pirouette past, “I was really, really happy when I was a kid. My parents were happy. And then they weren’t. And when they separated and moved on . . . it took a while, but they both found happiness again. Or, you know, their semi-twisted versions of that.

“With new partners and new kids. Everyone got this fresh start. But I wasn’t a part of either one. I was part of their relationship. And once that was over, I bounced back and forth like—like a memento or something. The only thing that ever felt permanent to me, like it belonged to me, was this place.” Her voice pitches higher. “Until I met you two.”

She’s always been so tough, and it breaks something in me to hear the vulnerability in her voice.

“I met you,” she says, “and I finally belonged somewhere again.”

“I felt that way too, Sab.” I scoot closer.

“Me too,” Cleo says. “High school was hell for me. I mean, I chose Mattingly because I didn’t know anyone going there, and the best social situation I could dream up for myself was total anonymity. Those first few weeks of hanging out were, like, this weird out-of-body experience. I’d never had friends like that, the kind you do everything with and talk to about everything. Honestly, I kept waiting for you both to find new people and move on.

“And then one day—it was right before fall break, and we were hugging goodbye, and I realized I’d stopped waiting. Without even realizing it. I knew you were my for-lifes then. That’s what my parents call each other. Because no matter what, they’re always going to be family. And that’s you both. The relationship can change shape a thousand times, but you’re always going to be in my life. Or at least, that’s what I want.”

“Same,” I say. “No matter what happens with Wyn, I’m always going to belong with you. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, Sabrina, and I’m so sorry I made you feel like you were just a part of my relationship with Wyn. You’re a part of me. You’re so deep in my heart that I couldn’t get you out if I tried, and I don’t want to. I know how lucky I am to have you. To have people who love me enough to hold on even when I’m scared to let them close.”

Cleo and Sabrina each grab one of my hands, their fingers lacing into mine.

“God, I’ve been crying a lot this week,” Sabrina manages tearily.

“Me too,” I say. “The magic of the cottage, I guess.”

“Same,” Cleo says. “Except in my case, I think it’s pregnancy hormones or—”

“WHAT!” Sabrina whirls on her, her hands jerking clear of ours to clamp onto the sides of her face in a perfect imitation of Macaulay Culkin’s big Home Alone moment.

“Shit!” Cleo says. “I was going to tell you in a speech!”

“You’re fucking serious?” Sabrina shouts.

“We’re in a chapel,” Cleo says.

“Oh, please. God’s heard it all. But me! I’ve only once ever heard one of my best friends say she’s motherfucking pregnant!”

“Well,” Cleo says, “I’m motherfucking pregnant. Surprise.”

Sabrina cackles, her feet kicking against the floor.

“And before you ask,” Cleo says, “yes, I told Harry first, but not on purpose. She ambushed me this morning, and it happened a lot like this.”

“Well, as long as Harry ambushed you,” Sabrina says through more breathless, shrieking laughter. “Honestly, anything else you both want to get off your chests, now’s the time! I’m incapable of anger right now, I think.”

“I broke your straightener in college,” I tell her.

“Once I had a girl stay over who used your toothbrush, thinking it was mine,” Cleo says.

“Okay, gross,” Sabrina says. “I could’ve gone to my grave without that second one.”

“I’m the one who lost those vintage Ray-Bans we used to share,” I admit. “God, that’s actually a huge load off.”

“Oh!” Cleo chirps. “I told that one shitty poet you dated that I was a witch, and that if he ever contacted you again, I’d hex him so his dick fell off.”

Sabrina touches her chest, evidently moved. “See, this is why you’re going to be a great mother.”

“I didn’t know you did that,” I tell Cleo. “If I had, I probably wouldn’t have told the same guy that my dad was in the mob.”

A laugh cracks out of Sabrina. “I have the best friends.”

“Best family,” Cleo says.

The ache in my heart is almost pleasant. It spreads through my limbs into my hands and feet, a heaviness, like love has its own mass and weight. “You know,” I say, “Parth’s not going anywhere either.”

Her gaze averts. “If you and Wyn couldn’t even make it work . . .”

I grab her face in my hands. “You’re not us,” I say. “You are so, so, so much braver than me, Sabrina.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m serious,” I say. “You can do this, if you want to.”

Her voice is a wisp. “I do want to. He’s the love of my life. I want to marry him.”

“Then let’s get you home,” Cleo says.

Sabrina swipes the tears out from under her eyes. “Let’s go home,” she says with an air of relief. As if, now that she’s made the decision, she’s unafraid.

On our way to the cars, Sabrina throws one last look back at the chapel, the trees below, the water out ahead.

She smiles. Like when she looks back at it, all she sees is the happiness of that day she spent here with her parents, rather than the pain of what came after.

Like even when something beautiful breaks, the making of it still matters.