Chapter Six
Aiden
Getting Pops in the car proved more difficult than I’d expected. And not because he was ill. He kept trying to get me to go back, finish splitting the wood. Instead, I drove us down the narrow, graveled road. “Leave it. I’m taking you home.”
There was a disgruntled tsk, and then Pops smacked his fist against his thigh. “I’m done pussyfooting around this. Every time I try to bring it up, you change the subject or leave the room. No more, Aiden.” He paused to gather his thoughts, and I wished I hadn’t offered to drive him home. “You’ve changed. You’re harder, meaner. You told a tiny woman, Nellie’s granddaughter, to chop her own wood. It’s not you, and I don’t like it. Son, I know Alice’s leaving was difficult, but isn’t it better that she did it before you were married?”
“Yeah, Pops. She was nothing if not kind and considerate. I’ll be paying off that not-a-wedding for many years to come. I’m reminded every month as I transfer funds for the designer wedding dress, the out-of-season flowers that needed to be flown in, the gourmet food, the banquet room at the Bar Harbor Inn... At least I got to keep the cases of wine. Too bad I don’t particularly like wine. I think she vetoed beer at the reception so I’d be left with nothing.”
Pops tsk-tsked again.
“And, yes, I will return the ring soon.” I squirmed at the thought of everyone in the jewelry store carefully not looking at me as I return a $10,000 ring for the woman who took off a year ago, the day before our wedding. She left me an empty apartment and a note.
Sorry, Aiden. I just can’t, was all the explanation I’d been given. Sorry, I just can’t marry you? Sorry, I just can’t love you? Sorry, I just can’t stand the sound of your breathing? What the fuck was it that she just couldn’t?
“You’ve been saying that for almost a year, but I can still see that damn box in your pocket.” His fingers tapped on his thigh. “I told you I’d help you pay off that debt?—”
“Stop. You’re not paying my damn bills. I was the idiot who thought Alice loved me. The bills are a monthly reminder of why I shouldn’t trust women.” My hands tightened on the wheel.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” Pops actually sounded concerned about my sanity.
“I don’t know. I guess some of them are okay. Mrs. MacPherson, the old librarian, seems pleasant enough.”
Pops tsked in annoyance again, prodding a grin out of me.
“Well, you know that Katie?—”
“Ran out on her husband? Yeah, I’d heard that. Apparently, she wasn’t considerate enough to realize that she just couldn’t before they got married.”
Pops gave me a disgusted look. “That was not what I was going to say. Nellie doted on her?—”
“Yeah, and how often did she visit Nellie? I haven’t seen her since she was fifteen. You said she visited, but she was clearly never in town long enough for anyone else to notice. Hell, she didn’t even come to Nellie’s funeral.”
When I pulled up to his front steps, I turned off the engine, rolling my shoulders to relieve the tightness. “Listen, Pops, I know you mean well, but, no. Stop, okay? I’m not interested in that one.”
“I’m not saying you should be. I’m angry with her for not being with Nellie more, especially at the end, but... Nellie loved that girl to the moon, and I think she’d be mad as hell at me if I didn’t try to help her.” He touched the door handle but then turned back to me. “You used to be so sweet on her, you couldn’t take your eyes off her.”
“That was a long time ago. People change.”
Chapter Seven
Kate
I wandered through Gran’s house. It was exactly as I remembered, but with a new horror-movie feel. Heart pine floors, tall windows overlooking the ocean and town, walls the color of butterscotch, furniture in blues and whites, but all of it was covered in a combination of dust, dirt, feathers, and droppings. What the hell?
I walked through the tiny house, terrified of what was living in it. Chaucer sniffed everything. Although he wasn’t barking, he raced from room to room, ears twitching at every skitter and squeak. I prayed I wasn’t in immediate mortal danger. I found three windows that had been left wide open, their screens chewed and ripped. I guess that accounted for the apparent influx of woodland creatures taking up residence. I closed the windows but then worried that I’d probably just trapped them in with me.
When I made it back to the living room, I surveyed the mess there. “This is going to take forever.” I just wanted to lie down and sleep for a week. Judging by the beds upstairs, some of my forest neighbors had felt the same way. Looking warily at the couch, I approached it slowly, reaching out and carefully lifting a cushion. Something small and furry with a long tail raced across my foot and down the hall. Chaucer barked and bounded after it. I may or may not have shrieked. I found myself with my back against the front door, watching the room, terrified.
“We’re sleeping in the car!”
I eventually pried myself from the door and went in search of cleaning supplies. I swept and mopped, washed down walls, dragged chewed and soiled mattresses down the stairs and out the front door. The only bright part of my day was finding love letters Gran had exchanged with Grandpa. I had a flash of worry that they’d contain passages more graphic than I could deal with in relation to Gran. Luckily, they were charming and considerate, loving and funny. I sat in the middle of her bedroom, tears streaming down my face, so happy that Gran had had this man—and later Mr. Cavanaugh—in her life but hollowed out by my own inability to inspire this kind of devotion in another person.
By nightfall, I was sweaty, depressed, and covered in substances best not contemplated. My last task of the day was to clean the bathroom and then take a long, scalding shower. I stood under the water, tension leaving my muscles, and I finally let go of what I’d been holding tightly in check. My Gran was dead. She’d called for me on her deathbed, and I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to pray over her grave and say goodbye. I wasn’t there. Instead, I was feeling sorry for myself a country away because I’d chosen to marry a faithless bastard. I was a fuckup, plain and simple. I sobbed against the now-white tiles, drowning in self-loathing.
Cleaned, dried, and wearing comfy clothes, I walked back downstairs, Chaucer at my heels. I’d put out his food and water bowls as soon as I’d started cleaning, so at least he’d been fed. My stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. I found a plastic container of granola. It had been gnawed upon, but the rodent hadn’t made it through. I’d already thrown out all the boxes of foodstuffs. They hadn’t survived the critter-pocalypse.
I stuffed a few handfuls of cereal in my mouth and choked, before washing it down with tepid tap water while dreaming of mashed potatoes. Maybe some baked mac and cheese. I needed comfort food, stat! Instead, I ate another handful of granola and called it good. My stomach hurt. Apparently it was disgusted with me too.
