Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Lou
Milo opens the door to cabin three, but instead of stepping inside, he lingers outside, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “There’s something I need to do,” he says after a moment.
Since I want to be alone, I nod and close the door as he walks away.
The numbness doesn’t fade. I stand in the living room, staring at the worn sofa and forest green curtains and the beam of sunlight on a sky blue rag rug on the floor, waiting for the pain to come.
Before it can, there’s a knock at the door. I open it to find Gina, her arms full of brown paper bags, tears in her eyes. She drops the bags and wraps me in a hug.
“I’m so sorry to hear about Gallo’s.”
That opens up a sliver of pain, but not the avalanche I’m waiting for. Gina doesn’t give me time to see if more will come. She pushes clothes into my hand and starts up the shower.
So I shower off the smoke that clings to my skin and hair, and dress in the extra-large Happy Lake T-shirt Gina left. There are no shorts or pants, no undergarments, but the T-shirt is long enough.
She’s waiting for me when I step out of the bathroom, taking my dirty clothes and promising to return them freshly laundered.
I smooth the T-shirt down to make sure it covers my bare ass as I sit at the dining table. Gina left a variety of food from the Lodge’s shop on the table, but I’m not hungry.
Has Clay left yet? I had hoped Briar at least would come to say goodbye.
I tap my fingers on the table and stare at the clock on the wall until a soft tap at the door startles me. It shouldn’t be Gina yet—maybe Milo. I don’t want to see anyone else while I’m not wearing a bra, underwear, or any trace of make-up.
I open the door a crack, then wider because I wasn’t expecting him.
Clay is standing there, grim and pale and uncomfortable, wearing clothes that look like Benji’s, Gina’s backpack resting at his feet, another one on his back.
“Here.” He hands me a family pack of Pop-Tarts.
I cross my arms, but the hem of the T-shirt climbs up my thighs, so I drop one arm to tug it back down. “I don’t want Pop-Tarts.”
“It’s not…” he glances over his shoulder, then back to me, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Gallo’s was underinsured. You’ll need this.”
His money. The money he accused me of stealing. “I don’t want it.”
“Take it anyway.”
“Why?” I ask, studying that closed-off look on his face. “So you can feel better about leaving me?”
Something that might be pain flickers in his honey brown eyes as he stares at my feet.
“So you can start over.” He finally meets my gaze, and for a second, I can see it. He’s as wrecked as I am. He looks away.
When I don’t take the box full of cash, Clay sets it on the front step. He takes a few steps back, then turns to go, picking up Gina’s backpack. “Goodbye, Ms. Gallo.”
Panic claws at my throat, so sudden I can’t stop the word from escaping. “Stay.”
He halts, his shoulders hitching, but he doesn’t turn around. He barely turns his head.
I clasp my hands together, trying to keep my voice steady. “Would it be so bad to stay and work it out?”
“You’re the romantic realist. Tell me—what is there to work out?”
Right. The romantic realist says if he doesn’t see it, then there’s nothing to work out. We had a good thing, but it wasn’t a forever thing, and that’s fine. The sooner he goes, the sooner I can move on.
Except…I want to be with him, even now, when he’s so set on breaking my heart. When he lied to me and I lied to him, and we’re both too terrified to try to make things right.
Maybe I am terrified, but I’ve lost everything. What else is there? Pride? What good is that going to do me now?
Fuck it.
“I love you.” There. It’s out. I said it, and I can’t take it back. I take a deep breath and let it out shakily. “If that’s not worth anything to you, walk away.”
For a heartbeat, I hold onto hope.
He nods, a tight little jerk of his chin, and all my hope shrivels as he turns to walk away. Like I told him to have a safe trip instead of handing him my heart.
I watch him until he disappears around a corner of the loop road. Only then do I pick up the Pop-Tarts box and carry it back into the cabin. It drops onto the kitchen table with a loud thump.
This time the emotion comes—great big wracking sobs and hot, steady tears. I throw myself onto the sofa, bury my face in a pillow, and let it all come out.
Gallo’s. Clay. I know which loss is bigger, and I cry harder because I can rebuild the bar, but I can’t rebuild his trust in me or mine in him if he’s not willing.
The tears feel like they’ll never stop, but they run their course like a summer storm.
When it’s over, I push myself off the couch and go into the bathroom, where I wet a washcloth with cold water and hold it to my burning, puffy eyes.
I feel a little better for finally letting it all out. Empty rather than numb.
I come out of the bathroom to another knock on the door. My heart leaps to my throat with the possibility it could be Clay, but my head knows better.
My head is right. It’s Milo, who walks in with a dark look on his face and scratches up and down his forearms.
“I didn’t take Briar for a scratcher,” I say with a sniffle.
He tugs the rolled-up sleeves of his unbuttoned flannel shirt down to hide them, and without a word, goes to the kitchen and starts making a pot of coffee. He doesn’t comment on my splotchy face or red eyes, but I wouldn’t expect him to.
I lean against the back of the couch, watching him in silence. Whenever we were together, Milo was always something of a gruff caretaker, so I’m not surprised he’d make me a cup of coffee, but I am surprised when he sits down with a mug of his own, looking like he wants to say something.
“How are—” He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh when he realizes how stupid that question is.
I choke out a little laugh. “Well, my home and the business that was in the family for nearly one hundred years burned down this morning,” I say, walking slowly up to the table and my waiting cup of coffee.
“The man I thought might be the one accused me of stealing from him, yet before leaving town, he stopped by to give me this.” I upend the Pop-Tarts box, bundles of cash falling to the table.
“And he was hiding Rita’s will the entire time.
So I’m not doing great.” I tug the hem of the T-shirt down so I can sit, pick up the coffee, and take a sip. “How about you?”
Milo starts to say something, then stops with a frustrated laugh. He might not have lost his business or home today, but he’s losing Briar.
“You kidnapped her cat or something?” I motion to his now-covered scratches.
He tugs on one sleeve self-consciously. “I’m not here to talk about her.”
“But you’re here to talk? We don’t talk.”
He frowns. “We talk.”
“No. We used to fuck, but we’ve never really talked.” We talked business a little. Sometimes a specific goal—he wanted to get a hold of a certain kind of reclaimed timber, I wanted to look into a new distributor. We never talked about anything personal.
He glances around the room before his eyes return to me. “Did you want to talk about this? I’m not…I want to be a good friend.”
I find myself nodding, even though I’m not in the mood to talk.
“You lost a lot today,” he prompts when I don’t immediately spill my soul.
“I’ll rebuild.” I haven’t landed on my feet, but that doesn’t mean I can’t claw my way back when I’m ready.
“I’m not talking about the bar.”
I take a deep breath. “I know.”
“He made you happy.”
He did. I had that, at least, even if it was only for a little while. “Did she make you happy?”
For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to answer me. He leans back in the chair, stretching out his long denim-clad legs and crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been miserable,” he answers with a raw honesty that leaves me speechless. “But…”
That ‘but’ hangs there, and after a while, he shakes his head.
“It’s hard,” I say.
Milo stands and pulls a flask from his pocket, unscrews it, and pours a measure of booze into my coffee first, then his. “There’s always day drinking.”
“We’re going to need more than that little flask.”
He takes out his phone, types a message, and drops the phone onto the table with a grimace. “Done.”
We talk some. Mostly, we commiserate in silence. That’s okay. I don’t need to rehash what went wrong with Clay, and I know what I’ll need to do about my bar. But it feels good to sit with someone else who’s hurting.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a knock at the door. Milo gets up to get it, while I twist in my chair.
Benji is standing there, with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a can of Reddi-Whip in the other.
Milo grabs both with a gruff thanks and moves to close the door, but Benji sticks his foot in the way, leaning in to give me a sympathetic look.
“I heard about the fire. I’m sorry about your bar, but I’m glad you’re safe. ”
I manage a smile. “Thanks, Benji.”
He hesitates. “Is Clay here?”
I shake my head. “He’s leaving with Briar as soon as she finds the cat.”
A hurt look crosses Benji’s face.
“I’m sure they’ll say goodbye before they go.” Briar, at least, would want to. I’m less certain about Clay.
Benji glances at Milo and motions to a couple of scratches on his neck. I hadn’t noticed those. I quickly raise my cup to hide my face.
“Where’d you put Trouble?” Benji asks, narrowing his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Milo says, kicking Benji’s foot.
The door closes most of the way before Benji braces an arm on it. “He'd better be somewhere safe. With water and food. Where he can’t overheat. And he needs toys.”
“He’s fine.”
“And litter or you’re going to have a mess.”
“Bye, Benji.”
The door closes—not because Milo forces it, but because Benji is probably off to find the cat.
“Where did you stash him?” I ask as Milo sets about making us Irish coffees.
“He’s in the spare bedroom in Diana’s cabin. He has food and water and a litter tray.”
“You think Briar won’t look there?”
He shrugs.
“So what’s the end game, here? You hid her cat so she can’t leave, but you’re making me an Irish coffee. Shouldn’t you be—I don’t know—talking to her? Convincing her to stay?”
Milo grumbles something unflattering about Reddi-Whip, but he squirts a massive pile of the stuff onto my coffee, and an equal amount onto his.
“I’m sorry,” I say sweetly. “What was that?”
“I panicked,” he admits, setting the mugs down on the table. He looks wretched as he adds, “There is no plan.”
“So tell Benji where the cat is. He can magically find him, and she’ll be gone. No more making you miserable.”
Milo frowns at my suggestion. “Clay will leave, too,” he says after a moment.
He’ll leave when he wants to—with her or without her. But I don’t say it.
“Want to know something?” I swirl my finger through the Reddi-Whip.
“Clay lied to me. He found Rita’s will—not the forgery Travis managed to produce after she died.
Gallo’s was always mine. He didn’t tell me.
He let me think he owned half the bar. And I was ready to forgive him, to listen to his reasons.
To rebuild that trust, because he was worth it.
” He’d been willing to give Travis everything to prove what I was worth to him.
Given how quickly my value dropped, maybe I shouldn’t trust that I was worth so much to begin with.
Milo stirs the cream into his coffee. “You said he accused you of stealing from him?”
I lick the Reddi-Whip off my finger and explain to Milo that I’d moved the money, worried that Travis’s friend was sniffing around the bar. Milo listens, but in the end, he shrugs.
“No, I need more than a shrug,” I insist. “Pick a side.”
He takes a long drink of his coffee to delay, but I wait him out.
“He had a knee-jerk reaction,” Milo reluctantly says, “because he’s an asshole with trust issues and you fucked up. But he fucked up, too, and if he can’t see that, if he’s not willing to listen to you, then that’s on him.”
“Wow, you wobbled admirably down that middle line.”
Milo is saved from responding by a knock on the door. This time, I get up to get it. It’s Gina, with my clothes all neatly washed and folded.
“Are you two okay here?” she asks, eyeing the bottle of whiskey. “It’s just…”
“Just what?” I ask, setting my clothes on the nearest chair so I can step into my underwear and jeans.
“I have seven cabins to clean this morning.”
“Isn’t Benji helping with that?” Milo asks.
Gina gives me a quick, almost apologetic glance. “He’s talking to Clay. I can’t find Briar, and Diana has work to do at the Lodge.”
Clay hasn’t left yet.
I don’t know what to think about that. Should I read anything into it?
Probably not. He’s likely still waiting for Briar.
Milo stands up. “I can take the cabins. You stay with Lou.”
Gina’s expression does something complicated, but before she can figure out what she wants to say, I cut in.
“Why don’t you both go clean the cabins, and I’ll enjoy some quiet before half the county descends on me with lasagnas and cast-off socks?
” It was like that after Rita’s house burned down.
“Then you can both come by later to smother me with love. Deal?”
Gina nods. “If you need anything, call, okay?”
I promise I will. Gina gives me a quick hug, and Milo gives me a one-armed embrace, and then I’m alone.
I slip my bra on under my T-shirt, then tie the T-shirt in a knot above my navel.
The bundles of cash on the table—did Gina even notice them?—go back into the Pop-Tarts box, and for the sake of tradition, I take the box into the bedroom and tuck it under the bed.
Then I flop sideways across the recliner in the living room, Reddi-Whip in hand, not to start dreaming about rebuilding or to make any plans, but to grieve.
I don’t have to pull myself to my feet to tough this out, and there’s no point in pretending that’s who I am.
It’s okay if I’m knocked on my ass for a while. I’ll get back up when I’m ready.
Clay might have left, but I’m not alone.
I’ve never been alone. And now that I’m down here on my ass, I realize Rita, Loretta, and Marcella were never alone, either.
We have Happy Lake and Havenwood, the locals and the summer cabin visitors, the regulars and the newcomers.
Friends and community. I won’t have to do this on my own.