Nash
SIX
I’d never really been a community guy.
Okay…Rick’s was, in a manner of speaking, a community space.
Locals knew it and went there when they needed a cheap, fast drink and a shoulder to cry on.
Tourists found it and called it a hidden gem, and somehow we still managed to fly under the radar.
But that bar was my place, where I made the rules.
It was more like my living room than anything else.
I wasn’t as good in settings like this: surrounded by other parents, kids running rampant and screaming and laughing and crying, absolutely surrounded by corny—and I do mean that literally—decorations, pumpkins, and carnival games.
“You hate this, don’t you?”
I looked over at my sister, who was watching me with a bemused smile instead of keeping an eye on her kids.
Her goofyass husband, Andy, was currently sprinting around in a scarecrow costume, chasing Henry and Rosie and Nell around a hay bale like his life depended on it.
Nell was shrieking with delight. Rosie was trying to bite the scarecrow.
Henry, who was seven, was filming himself making silly faces on Claire’s phone, which she’d asked him to use to take pictures of the kids and the festival with.
“I don’t hate it,” I said.
“You look miserable.”
“That’s just how I look in the daylight,” I said. “I’m a night owl and it’s early.”
“It’s ten in the morning.”
“Exactly.”
Claire snorted. She was wearing a flannel and jeans and somehow looked completely at home here the way she did almost everywhere, the way I never quite managed outside of Rick’s.
Lawyer, mother of three, still the only person in the world who could make me feel like I was seventeen and being called out for something I thought I’d gotten away with.
“You know if Reid is coming?” I asked. “Haven’t seen him at family dinner lately.”
Claire’s face fell. “I don’t know. He said he’d try.”
Which meant probably not. Which meant his oldest, Maya, was at home managing three siblings while her dad sat in that house trying to remember how to be a person. I made a mental note to stop by later, bring some beers, just sit with him.
It may have been a little strange, sure—trying to console the guy who’d married my high school sweetheart—but I’d found myself part of a pretty unconventional family, especially since my folks passed and Nell came along.
People even joked that me and Reid were brothers before Amy passed…
liked to say she ‘had a type.’ They rarely said the quiet part out loud: that Reid was a more successful, actually available version of me.
“You should call him,” Claire said, even though I was already way ahead of her. “Andy’s great, but I think he’s a little…I don’t know—too open?”
“So you’re saying I should call him because I’m not emotionally available.”
“I’m saying you should call him because you know what it’s like to feel like you don’t deserve to take up space,” Claire said simply. “And Reid is currently disappearing.”
I looked at her.
She looked back, and there was nothing apologetic in her expression. That was Claire. She’d say the thing, let it land, and then not rescue you from it.
She wasn’t wrong.
“I’ll call him,” I said.
“Today.”
“Today,” I agreed.
She nodded, satisfied, and looked back out at the field where Andy was still being used as a jungle gym.
Henry had given up the phone entirely and was now sitting on Andy’s chest declaring himself the winner of something.
Rosie was attempting to put a hay bale piece in her mouth.
Nell had detached from the pile and was standing a few feet away, brushing herself off with great dignity, the way she did when she’d had enough chaos and needed to regroup.
I watched her look around the field.
I knew what she was looking for before she found it.
Maggie was still over by the baked goods table, cider in hand, talking to the office admin. She hadn’t seen Nell yet.
Nell saw her.
She sprinted across the field before I could do anything to stop her, flinging her arms around Maggie’s legs. Maggie laughed and looked down, then she just scooped Nell up like it came intuitively to her. My girl…she needed a mom. Wanted one desperately.
She’d found one, but it would only last the school year.
“She’s really taken to Miss Laine,” Claire said. “That’s good.”
“Mmhm.”
“She’s pretty,” Claire added. “Single.”
“I sure as hell don’t think Nell’s going to start dating anytime soon.”
“I’m not talking about Nell.”
I took a long sip of my cider.
Claire waited.
That was her move—she’d drop something and then just wait, comfortable in the silence, completely content to let it sit there between us until I did something with it. I think it was a law school thing. I really didn’t care for it.
“You have a thing for her,” Claire said when I didn’t offer a response.
“I do not have a thing for Nell’s teacher.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Claire teased.
I shoved her shoulder. “Get out of here with that uppity bullshit,” I laughed. “You’re such a smartass.”
“I know you,” she said. “And I’ve spent enough time talking to her that I caught a vibe. Even if you don’t like her, she likes you.”
“I’m twice her age.”
Claire hummed. “So…you’ve done the math. Thought about it.”
“Never in a million years.”
“Liar.”
Maggie had put Nell down now and was sitting in the grass with her, braiding a strand of orange ribbon into her hair. They looked perfect together.
“You are literally staring,” Claire said.
“I love my daughter,” I drawled. “Sue me.”
Claire didn’t respond. I kept watching Maggie—I mean, Nell.
Then I heard Claire raise her voice and move away from me, footsteps crunching in the dry fall grass. “Well, hey stranger!”
I followed her voice to find Reid Kowalski walking into the festival, his second grader, Sadie, sprinting off to play with the other kids.
He looked like hell—gray hair losing its previous dark color fast, overgrown, messy, beard the same way.
He had a loose flannel on over a t-shirt that had seen better days, shoulders hunched forward.
But he walked toward us…gave Claire a one-armed hug, then me.
“You made it,” Claire said with a smile, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Proud of you.”
I winced. Didn’t think that was what he wanted to hear, but…what did he want to hear? Was there anything you could even say?
“It’s good to see you, man,” I said.
“Same to you,” he murmured. “Keep meaning to come by the bar, but with the kids…”
He trailed off. We all went silent for too long.
“You should really get some help around the house,” Claire said. “We could all pitch in—”
“I’m fine,” Reid interrupted, his voice a little heated. “We’re good. We don’t need anyone.”
Claire pressed her lips together and let it go. She was smart enough to know when to back off with Reid the same way she was smart enough to know when to back off with me. It was one of her better qualities.
I looked at him.
He looked out at the field where Sadie had found Nell and they were already in motion together, running toward the ring toss. Something moved across his face watching her—relief, maybe, or the grief of watching your kid be happy when you can barely hold yourself together.
“She talked about this all week,” he said. “Couldn’t not bring her.”
“Glad you did,” I said.
We stood in silence for a minute, watching the kids. Claire had the good sense to drift toward Andy, who had finally been released from his jungle gym duties and was now attempting to win something at the bean bag toss with great enthusiasm and poor results.
“She loved this damn festival,” Reid said. “Never let us miss it, not one year. I should have volunteered…for her, at least.”
“No shoulds here,” I asked. “You’re doing your best.”
He frowned.
“My best isn’t good enough,” he said, voice hoarse. “Maya’s holding the whole house together, and she shouldn’t have to do that. The boys are angry. Mostly at me, I think.”
“People are gonna feel what they’re gonna feel.”
“Very comforting, Nash.”
My eyes slid toward him. “I don’t think there’s anything I could say that’ll comfort you, man.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, roughly: “No. There isn’t.”
We stood with that for a bit. The festival carried on around us—kids shrieking, the bean bag toss, someone’s toddler crying about a dropped pumpkin—and Reid just stood there in it, present and completely somewhere else at the same time.
“Keep thinking I should sell the house,” he said finally. “Start fresh somewhere. Give the kids a clean slate.”
“Right, because leaving your support system is absolutely the best way to recover from loss.”
“Fuck you.”
I raised my hands. “Not trying to be an asshole. Just saying.”
“You’re always an asshole.”
We both laughed. It felt good. And as we went silent again, my eyes went back to Maggie Laine.
She’d gathered a horde of kids around her now, pouring cider for everyone. They ran off, immediately spilling it on themselves and her, and she looked down at her yellow dress, then back toward the school.
I needed to stop staring. I knew that.
But I also couldn’t seem to stop.