2. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Carrington
A s soon as the rental car door closes, Thea starts speaking. She’s nervous. She’s never been good in silence. One time, what seems like a lifetime ago now, she said she had to speak because if it were up to me we’d communicate solely with eye contact and grunts. She wasn’t wrong.
“...And then a few years later we decided to expand to the side lot that used to be there, you remember?” She doesn’t take a breath or pause for me to answer. She also hasn’t looked at me, she’s been staring out the window and fidgeting with her hands in her lap. “...installed the distillery. They took such a gamble, but it’s paying off—the town loves the changes. And Rip’s recipes have really put RED on the map.”
Rip? I vaguely remember the kid a year or two behind us in school. Quiet. She was always friendly with him. I didn’t realize he was still here. I always thought he was someone who would get out of a small town if he could. Hell, everyone should get out of here.
Thea falls silent when I put the car in park in front of Goldfinch Funeral Home. I let out a sigh, finding a tiny bit of comfort that at least something still looks the same as I remember.
After I hung up the phone with Thea yesterday, it took me ten full minutes outside of my restaurant just breathing in and out to patch myself together enough to go in, give a quick summary of what happened to my friends, and then hurry to my apartment to pack. I was lucky enough to get the first flight out to South Carolina. I spent the two-hour drive from Myrtle Beach to Indigo Hill talking to my bar manager and best friend, Seth, figuring out how to handle everything for the next few days while I’m… here.
Seth takes everything I ask of him in stride. I met him right after arriving in Seattle, and we hit it off immediately. He reminds me a little bit of Brooks with his dry sense of humor and take-no-shit attitude. Unlike Brooks, however, the guy is as driven as they come and puts his career before almost anything else in his life. My restaurant wouldn’t be what it is without him. Hell, I might not be here without him.
When I pulled up to where my parents’ diner used to be and saw the new two-story structure with a Ripple Effect Distillery and Restaurant sign hanging proudly above the welcoming wooden double doors, I checked that the car’s navigation led me to the right address. My parents’ old place was the typical roadside diner with vinyl booths, Formica counters, and sticky menus that hadn’t been updated since before I was born. The only appealing aspects of the diner had been the wrap-around patio and the large lot it sat on. My parents had taken over the place because they got it for a steal when the previous owners retired. They never updated it—just made as-needed repairs to keep it going.
I had begged them to let me make changes with the food, the decor, but they never wanted to hear me out. Always placating me with “maybe next summer,” citing finances as the main reason. I guess I missed them coming into money.
I was only sure I was in the right place when I saw Thea step out and lock the door, her hair catching the last of the sun’s rays. She was always the most beautiful during golden hour—glowing like the sun itself.
16 Years Ago
(15 years old)
I take a running leap off the wooden dock and cannonball into the cool water, hearing a high-pitched squeal right before my head goes under. Popping up, I push my wet hair from my eyes and look over to Thea, still on the dock wiping droplets off herself with her palms.
“You’re going to regret that, you ass!” The huge smile she gives me as she shouts the threat tells me I don’t actually have anything to worry about. Thea’s been my best friend for as long as I can remember. We met in kindergarten and instantly hit it off. We don’t live in the same neighborhood, and our parents were never friends, so school was the only place we got to hang out. Because the town’s so small, we ended up in all the same classes for years, allowing us to grow up together.
From diapers to Depends we always say. “Okay, Lem. Sure.” I swim over to the edge of the dock and pull myself out of the water. As I stand, my eyes catch on her purple manicured toes and slowly rake up her tanned legs, over her purple swimsuit—a bikini her mom finally let her wear; it’s been one-pieces up until this summer—all the way up to her golden, sun-drenched hair. I never noticed until now just how soft her hair looks in the evening sun, wavy and wild as it swings around her shoulders.
It’s the middle of August, and the sun sets late, so we often go for evening swims to unwind after a day of helping my parents at the diner—me as a busboy and Thea as hostess. We only have a few more weeks of this; school will be starting up again soon, and we’ll be sophomores.
I finally meet her eyes and see she caught me looking at her— shit, was I checking her out? My face heats, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Like what you see, Dillon ?” she says in a mocking tone. She knows I’ve been trying to get the nickname to stick all year now. Everyone easily accepted when Brooks asked to be called by his middle name but have not afforded me the same courtesy. I guess being named Hugh Grant warrants a nickname more so than Cary Grant. My parents thought they were being so cute when choosing our names—they forgot we actually have to live with them and survive high school.
Her mouth quirks in a smile, making her lips look pouty. Why am I noticing all of this? This is Thea. I know she’s pretty—I do have eyes. Other guys in school have made comments; I’ve even heard Brooks’ friends say she’s gotten hot. I don’t think it hit me until this moment that she might be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.
I’m standing just a foot or two in front of her, and her eyes don’t leave me. She’s expecting me to say something, maybe even do something. But my mind is blank, my stomach knotting in on itself, and I panic.
She squeals again, this time with much less cheer, as I grab her shoulders and shove her into the water.
Present
(31 Years Old)
The car door closing behind Thea brings me back to the present, and I’m left alone surrounded by silence and her scent —lemons and something floral I’ve never been able to place. The smell tries to pull me down into another memory, but before I let it, I open my own door.
We enter the funeral home and are immediately hit with the overwhelming smell of flowers—lilies, I think—along with an undertone of stale carpet. The space is warmly lit and decorated in creams and blues, meant to be calming, but my breathing picks up anyway. I didn’t really understand until this very moment, staring at a generic painting of a boat on calm water hanging opposite the door we entered through, what Thea was coming here to do. My brain can’t seem to focus or process anything with her around.
Mr. Goldfinch appears in the doorway to the right of the foyer. He’s a balding man in his sixties with kind eyes and a gentle voice. His presence soothes the tension building in my chest a fraction.
His face flashes with surprise when his eyes land on me, probably because my presence here not only wasn’t the plan, but no one in this town has seen me in thirteen years. “Mr. Grant, Ms. Ashford. I’m so sorry for your loss. Please, follow me right this way.” He motions for us to follow him into a sitting room with a prominent fireplace.
The decor matches that of the foyer, with a navy couch facing two plush, off-white chairs, a stone fireplace off to the left, and a coffee table in the middle. A grandfather clock ticks in the corner. There’s a box of tissues on the coffee table, and my eyes catch on it and can’t seem to let go. How many boxes does he go through in a month? Does he buy them in bulk? Are they one-ply or the soft, premium kind? He seems like he would spring for the expensive brand name.
I look over to Thea, who has taken a seat in one of the chairs, and she shoots me a quick, curious look, snapping me out of my daze. I’m doing it again. Dr. Ferris would tell me I’m dissociating. Anything to avoid thinking about why I’m here. Back in my hometown. In this room. Standing in front of the sweet man with the kind eyes who will be responsible for putting my parents six feet in the ground.
Fuck. I can’t do this. The short reprieve Mr. Goldfinch’s presence brought me has disappeared, and I’m now seconds away from hyperventilating. I didn’t get to talk to them again. I have barely even thought about them in years after the blow up that drove us apart. Just fleeting half-thoughts, mostly in the background of memories when my mind drifted to my childhood. To her.
Both Thea and Mr. Goldfinch are now seated and looking at me expectantly. I’ve barely taken two steps into the room, and I am seriously considering turning around, running out of the building, jumping into my rental car, driving the 3,000 miles back to Seattle, and pretending this isn’t happening. My lungs feel like they’re seizing. I clench my fists where they hide in the pockets of my jeans. I can’t do this.
“Where’s Brooks?” My even tone surprises me. It doesn’t betray any of what’s going on in my chest. I can’t take a full breath, but I sound as if I’m asking about the weather. Thea glances up at me with a look I can’t decipher. Huh, I guess I’ve lost the ability to read her.
“I don’t know. He… took off on his motorcycle shortly after we got the call. I’ve been trying to reach him, but he won’t answer my calls or texts. That’s… why I called you.”
That doesn’t surprise me. It’s what Brooks does when shit gets hard. Rides off on his bike—motorcycle now—blows off steam God-knows-where, and reappears like nothing ever happened. He’s been that way since we were kids. Not sure he’ll be able to pretend this one away though. And if he’s not answering Thea’s calls or texts, he’s certainly not going to pick up for me.
There’s a long pause, and Mr. Goldfinch clears his throat. “Would you like to have a seat, Cary? You can stand if you’re more comfortable, but we do have a few things to discuss.” After another hesitant second, I take my hands out of my pockets, sit in the other chair, and lean forward, elbows on my knees. “I know this was very sudden,” he continues. “Have you given any thought to the kind of service you’d like for them? Did your parents ever discuss their wishes in the event of their passing?”
Thea sniffles, but I don’t dare look. If I see her crying I’m going to lose it, and I don’t know what that would even look like. I shake my head in answer to Mr. Goldfinch’s question without making eye contact with either of them. Honestly, Thea would probably know more than I do if they had any wishes in that regard. Maybe I should have just let her handle this alone.
Mr. Goldfinch nods in understanding. He pulls a brochure from a pile on the table and opens it to an array of pictures featuring different colored wood and fabric. “We have several options for caskets. Thankfully, we have your family plot reserved, they will lie with your grandparents…” His voice fades out. I’m watching his lips move, but all I hear is the same buzzing sound from last night. That and the tick-tock of the clock behind me. The seconds pass, minutes, hours maybe. I can’t tell anymore.
“Can I just take this with me and look it over tonight?” I blurt out. Again, my voice is much calmer than my thoughts. I sound bored even to my own ears. The room falls silent—I guess I cut him off mid-sentence.
“Certainly.” Mr. Goldfinch’s tone is as kind as ever. “Let me go grab a few more from my office so you can make decisions about flowers and headstones as well. Excuse me.” He stands and quietly shuffles out of the room, leaving Thea and me alone. We both stare ahead where Mr.Goldfinch sat just a moment ago.
“How’s your mom?” I finally say when I don’t hear the funeral director coming back anytime soon.
Thea scoffs. She shakes her head and looks down at her hands in her lap. Her fingers fidget with her many rings, a habit she’s had since we were kids. Since I started finding rings left behind by tourists and giving them to her. I recognize a few, but she has several new ones. Including one on the ring finger of her left hand. I can’t drag my eyes away from it. Is she married? Engaged? She can’t be. Brooks would have told me. Right?
“Did I say something wrong?” My voice is calm despite the turmoil I feel inside. I know I sound put-together. I know this isn’t how people outwardly react when someone close to them dies.
“Do you even care?” Her words are angry, and the outburst catches me off-guard. “It certainly doesn’t seem like it, so why are you even here, Carrington? I’m sorry this is such a huge inconvenience to you, but I think your parents deserve a lit—” She’s cut off by Mr. Goldfinch entering the room again. He looks us over and can clearly feel the tension. With a sympathetic smile, he hands over the pamphlets, then we say our thanks and make our way outside.
As soon as we’re on the sidewalk, Thea pulls out her phone and starts dialing. She puts the phone to her ear and a few feet of space between us.
“Hey,” she says quietly to whomever is on the other end, her back to me. “Yeah, just finished.” Her tone is different to the one she used with me inside. It’s full of warmth and something else I can’t quite put a name to. There’s a pause while she listens. “I ran into Carrington… yeah, he’s here.” A pause. “Mhm, he’s going to take me back to RED to grab my car now… no, I’m okay. I’m going to head home. Can I see you in the morning?”
I finally identify her tone. Tenderness . She’s speaking to someone she cares for. I can’t remember the last time I heard her sound this way toward me. Long before I stopped hearing from her entirely, that’s for sure.
I start walking toward the car and stop in my tracks when I hear, “Yeah, okay. Love you, babe.” My heart stops mid-beat. My eyes snap to her as she turns around. I’m not sure what my face is doing, but the small smile the phone call pulled out of her quickly falls, replaced by… sadness? Anger? Worse yet, could it be indifference? She’s so guarded, I can’t read her anymore.
Love you, babe. Of course she has someone. They’re probably engaged judging by the ring on her finger. I don’t know why the thought tightens my chest. It’s not like I haven’t moved on. And if… this hadn’t happened, I would probably be with my own “babe” right now.
Shit, I promised I’d call her when I got here.
We break eye contact and get in the car. The ride back to the restaurant is silent, and for once, I can’t stand it.
Thankfully, it wasn’t difficult to find a last minute hotel room. The town gets a huge influx of tourists and vacationers during the summer months drawn by the lake, but in the off season, it’s just the locals.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, the pamphlets from the funeral home lie beside me. I tossed them there when I got back, right before I ran to the bathroom and emptied the bile from my stomach. I don’t think I ate anything today. There may have been coffee at the airport before I boarded, but the memory is hazy.
My thumb trembles as it hovers over Brooks’ name on my contact list. I run my other hand through my hair a few times, down my face, and over the scruff I keep trimmed short. It’s been three… no, four months since we spoke. Maybe more. We dial each other a few times a year, exchange a few words, and wrap up each call in under ten minutes. I thought he was keeping me updated on what was going on here. He always told me, “Same shit, different day.” And on the rare occasion when I got up the nerve to ask about Thea, he always told me she was fine. I’ve clearly missed so much.
Before I get a chance to click on Brooks’ name, my phone rings in my hand. That Girl From That Bar flashes across the screen. An image of the flirty face she directed my way when she handed my phone back to me after programming her number in it six years ago flashes through my mind. I was hooked right then and there.
“What’s up, Arizona? How you likin’ the rain, girl?” I say automatically and cringe. I’m running on fumes and apparently just falling back on habit. It’s how I’ve greeted her pretty much daily since our first date where we stumbled upon an outdoor showing of Twilight at a local park and stayed to watch as a joke . I know it’s not appropriate, but my brain has completely checked out.
“Bear? Baby, how’s it going out there? Are you okay?” Her concern for me is evident in her words.
“Yeah,” I say with a sigh. “It’s good to hear your voice. It’s been a long day.”
“I’m so sorry, baby. How can I help? Do you want me to come out there? I can see if I can get a flight tomorrow.” As great as it is to hear her voice, I hesitate to say yes. It’d be nice to not feel so alone here, but thinking of her here doesn’t sit right. She doesn’t fit the life I left behind over a decade ago. I just need to wrap things up here and get back. “Bear?” I’ve been quiet too long.
“No. No, it’s alright. I’ll only be here for a few more days. I’ll come back after the funeral.”
“Are you sure? I’d like to be there for you.”
“Yeah, I’m just going to finalize the arrangements and tie up some loose ends. I’ll see you in a few days. Can I call you tomorrow?”
“Okay, of course. I love you, babe.”
I hang up the phone, and love you, babe repeats over and over in my head, but the voice saying the words isn’t that of the woman waiting for me in Seattle.