Chapter 40
Ethan
The next day, Patrick calls early to let me know the Valiant Hearts boys are taking a day off from the clean up, which is great because it gives me a chance to think. Bandit and I head down the trail into the Pine Barrens for some peace and quiet.
The tall trees reach toward the sky, their trunks thick and sturdy, their needles a dark green against a backdrop of bright blue. Bandit’s tail wags eagerly as he bounds ahead, sniffing at the undergrowth.
I follow him, hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket, my mind turning over ideas—I tend to think better when I’m moving.
As we walk deeper into the woods, the silence of the morning is broken only by the soft rustle of leaves underfoot and Bandit’s occasional snuffle. I’ve always found peace out here, away from everything, where it’s just me, Bandit, and the wilderness.
“Bandit,” I call—he’s run off ahead and is out of sight.
He lets out a woof, and when I round the bend in the trail, he’s sitting there, waiting for me. I catch up and he walks by my side, glancing up, dark eyes attentive, ears perked. “I need to figure this out, buddy.”
He cocks his head to the side, like he’s considering my words, and I can’t help but smile a little. He’s been my constant companion through so much, and right now, he’s the only one I can really talk to. “Have you got any ideas?”
Bandit lets out a low woof and looks at me as if he’s waiting for me to hurry up and catch on, because he’s already got the answer. I can’t speak dog , so I keep walking, pine needles crunching under my boots, and let my thoughts tumble out.
“I’ve tried talking to her, but we can’t seem to see eye to eye. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.”
Bandit nudges my leg with his nose. Of course he gets it. Dogs are so fucking smart. I give him a solid scratch behind his ears. “You’re such a good boy. The goodest boy.”
We keep walking, me glancing up at the towering pines where soft shafts of light come through the gaps in the branches, creating a pattern of shadows against the texture of the rough bark.
“She’s so scared of relying on anyone, boy, and I get that, after everything she went through as a kid. Even though her moms have been there for her since she was adopted, she’s still scared of being a burden on them. But she doesn’t know we’d do anything for her. That we’d never leave just because she has ghosts from her past. What if…”
I trail off, the idea forming slowly in my mind. “What if I bring her moms into this? Trudy’s already here, and maybe if I invite Charlotte down, we could all have lunch together. Maybe if Blake sees that we’re all here for her, that she’s not alone, she’ll feel more supported, know that it’s safe to rely on us. It might be just what she needs. Maybe she’ll even open up about David to them.”
Bandit stops and sits down, looking up at me with those big, trusting eyes, as if giving his silent approval. The idea starts to snowball: I would’ve given anything for someone to have gotten my parents to agree to a meal together, even just for a day, for my sake.
I guess I’m just trying to do for Blake what no one did for me.
Maybe if my parents had come together like this, so we could all actually talk about the things that mattered, my childhood would’ve been different. Maybe I wouldn’t have felt so damn alone.
Hell, even now as an adult, I’d appreciate that kind of effort. Not that they’d ever agree to it… but Charlotte and Trudy are different. Even if there are issues between them, Blake comes first. I saw them when Blake and I were growing up, how much they doted on her.
Besides, Blake’s been worried about Charlotte being gone. She’ll be thrilled if I manage to get her here. I actually want to pat myself on the back for this brilliant fucking idea. This could really work. It feels like the big, perfect idea I’ve been searching for, the one thing that might cut through all this tension and fix what’s broken.
“It’s risky, I know,” I admit, crouching down to scratch behind Bandit’s ears again. “But what do I have to lose? I just want her to feel safe, to know that she doesn’t have to have it all figured out. That it’s okay to rely on me, on her moms. And that her family is okay, even if her moms aren’t together.”
Bandit licks my hand, his tongue warm and rough against my skin. Yeah, this is the right move, the one thing that could get through to her and show her how much I care, how much I’m willing to fight for us.
“Alright, boy,” I say, standing up and giving Bandit a final pat on the head. “Let’s get back. I’ve got a lunch to organize.”
As we make our way through the Pine Barrens toward where we parked, the plan solidifies in my mind. The idea of bringing Blake’s moms together for lunch is risky, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Blake, it’s that sometimes you have to take a leap of faith, do something a little unexpected.
I pull out my phone and bring up Blake’s home number, pressing the phone to my ear, listening to the ring tone. It seems to go on forever before Trudy finally picks up.
“Ethan, this is a surprise.”
“Hey, Trudy. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.” I try to sound as casual as possible. “I was wondering if you’d be up for grabbing lunch. Just a chance to catch up. I wanted to talk to you about Blake, but it’s nothing serious. Are you free anytime in the next few days?”
There’s a pause, and I can almost hear her weighing her options on the other end of the line. “Looks like today is my only free day until the end of the week,” she finally replies. “Where were you thinking?”
I give her the name of the restaurant. After a bit more small talk, we hang up and I call to make a booking, hoping I don’t need to postpone if Charlotte can’t make it.
Next, I look up Charlotte’s work number. I know this is going to be trickier. But if there’s any chance of bringing them together for Blake’s sake, I have to try.
The phone rings twice before she answers. “Charlotte Harris speaking.”
“Hi Mrs. Harris, it’s Ethan Carter, Blake’s boyfriend. How are you?”
“Good, thank you.” She sounds a little confused.
“I was thinking it would be nice to have lunch together if you’ve got the time today. I know it’s short notice, but there are some things I’d love to talk to you about relating to Blake. Is there any chance you could make it to Harbor’s Edge?”
There’s a beat of silence, and I can almost see her narrowing her eyes, trying to figure out what the heck this is all about. “Lunch, huh? Is it something serious? Is Blake okay?”
“Let’s chat over lunch,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Please.”
She sighs, but I hear the softening in her voice. “Alright. I’ll be there. Where and when?”
“Thank you,” I reply, feeling a small surge of victory, rattling off the details of the restaurant. “I’ll see you there.”
Blake is the last call. I’m deliberately vague, telling her I’d like to have lunch to talk things over, and she agrees.
With the calls made, I head back to the truck with Bandit, who’s patiently waiting by the passenger door. The plan is set. I’ve done what I can, and now I just have to hope that this crazy idea of mine works.
A few hours later, I pull up outside the restaurant I booked, killing the engine and sitting there for a moment, staring at the harbor in the distance. The water sparkles under the midday sun, boats bobbing gently in the waves, the scene almost too perfect, too calm for what I’ve set in motion.
There are probably a million ways this could go wrong, but there’s also the chance I’ll fix things. Maybe fix everything.
Here goes nothing.
The Italian restaurant is just as I remember it—cozy, with warm wood tones and nautical decor. The kind of place where you’re supposed to feel at ease—not too stuffy, but good food and great service.
I’ve reserved a table by the bay window, the one with the best view of the harbor. It’s set perfectly: white linens, gleaming silverware. I picked this spot because I wanted everything to be just right, but a sudden pang of doubt hits me as I sit down. It all feels a little forced, maybe even too hopeful. But there’s no choice other than to forge ahead.
As I settle into my seat, I glance around the mostly full restaurant, scanning the familiar faces. At a nearby table, Bob Randolf from the wildlife rehabilitation center sits with his wife, Maria, sharing a bottle of red wine, their laughter carrying softly across the room. He catches my eye, and I raise a hand in greeting, before he nods back.
A few tables over, Joy Parker sits with her mother enjoying a plate of linguine, chatting animatedly. She waves and I return the gesture, before picking up the menu and scanning it. A glance at my watch: everyone should be here soon.
Trudy shows up first. She looks a bit frazzled but still put together. She’s in her usual casual yet elegant style—light cardigan, blouse, jeans. Her hair’s pulled back neatly, and she gives me a warm smile, though there’s a hint of curiosity in her eyes.
“I love this place for lunch,” she says, glancing around before sitting down beside me. “But what’s this about? Is everything with Blake okay?”
Before I can answer, the door chimes softly, and Charlotte walks in wearing a black skirt with an oversized knitted sweater and sandals, her dark hair in a short afro, her big brown eyes widening when she sees us. She stops and just stares at us for a minute, before recovering and continuing toward us.
I can practically feel Trudy’s stare burning into the side of my face, but I stay focused on Charlotte, standing as she gets to the table.
“Hi Mrs. Harris.”
“Nice to see you, Ethan.”
“Charlotte,” Trudy says, standing up, smoothing her hair even though there’s not a strand out of place.
“Trudy,” Charlotte responds, giving a slight nod.
They both stare at me, and tension spikes briefly. I gesture to the table, giving them the small speech I already prepared: “I thought it might be nice to get everyone together. For Blake’s sake. I think she’s been under a bit of stress lately, and she could use the support right now. We all could.”
They exchange glances, and I can tell neither of them is particularly thrilled with the situation. Trudy’s face tightens, and Charlotte’s expression stays carefully neutral, but they both take a seat, sitting across from each other: the space between them like no-man's-land.
Charlotte’s the first to speak, her voice cool. “Look, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not sure this is a good idea. Maybe you two can meet for lunch and you can fill me in later.”
“I agree,” Trudy adds, her tone matching Charlotte’s. “We’re not exactly in a place where we can just sit down and have lunch and pretend like everything’s fine.”
I try to stay hopeful despite all the evidence to the contrary. “I get that, I do. But maybe this could be a start? For Blake’s sake?”
Trudy sighs, her fingers tapping against the table, a soft, rhythmic sound. “I know you mean well. Look, why don’t you start by telling us what’s going on? You said Blake’s been stressed. Has something happened?”
Shit . I was hoping Blake would be here by now and all of these conversations would be taking place organically, Blake so happy to have all the people who love her here, so grateful, that she opens up. One thing she would not want is me worrying her moms by telling them all about David.
“Let’s just wait for Blake. Please. She’s been carrying a lot on her shoulders lately, and it’s not fair for her to do it alone. We’ll just have a nice lunch and remind her that we’re all here for her.”
Charlotte shifts in her seat, looking out the window at the harbor. “I just want to do what’s best for Blake.”
“And so do I,” Trudy says, but there’s a hardness to her words that makes me wonder just how deep the rift between them really goes.
I’m trying to act like this is all totally normal, but it’s pretty clear I’m walking on a tightrope. Thankfully the waiter comes by to take our drink orders. I order a beer, Trudy asks for a glass of white wine, and Charlotte goes with water.
As the waiter walks away, I try to lighten the mood, talking about the wetlands and how the cleanup is going there. But I can see it in their eyes—they’re not really listening. They’re here physically, but their minds are somewhere else, locked in a silent battle with each other.
As the seconds tick by, the tension between Trudy and Charlotte only thickens, and I start to wonder if I’ve just made a colossal mistake. Trudy’s sipping her wine a little too quickly, and Charlotte’s eyes keep darting to her watch. The small talk is dying a slow death, and the more I try to salvage it, the worse it gets.
I thought maybe this lunch could be a turning point. That seeing each other, being in the same space, might remind them of the good times, of the reasons they were together in the first place. I wasn’t expecting them to reconcile, but at least be glad for the chance to get together as a family and reassure Blake they’ll always be here for her. But that’s seeming less and less likely.
I keep trying to make a conversation happen, but I’m basically pushing a boulder uphill. I really hope Blake gets here soon.
“So, how’s work been, Charlotte?” I ask.
“Busy,” Charlotte replies, her voice clipped. She doesn’t look up from her glass of water. “Lots of travel lately. I’m based out of Philadelphia now, which helps.”
“That must be difficult,” Trudy says, her words edged with something hard and uncomfortable. “Being away all the time.”
Charlotte shrugs, not meeting Trudy’s eyes. “It’s a necessary part of my job. Always has been.”
The silence that follows almost makes me wince. I glance between them, searching for something, anything, to say that might ease the tension, but nothing comes to mind.
“Well,” I start, clearing my throat, “it’s good that we’re all here. For Blake.”
Charlotte’s eyes finally meet Trudy’s, and there’s something in her gaze—regret, maybe, or just exhaustion. “Yes,” she says quietly. “For Blake.”
I can see it now, the walls that have been built up over time, too high and too thick for a single lunch to tear down. And in that moment, it dawns on me how na?ve I was, pulling them together like this, hoping for Blake to see how thoughtful I was.
Every word between them is clipped, every glance loaded with unspoken history. It’s the kind of atmosphere that makes your skin crawl, and it reminds me of being a kid again, stuck between my own parents during those rare moments they came face to face.
I remember the dread that would settle in my gut, knowing the storm was coming, feeling powerless to stop it. And now, here I am, in the middle of someone else’s storm, that same old helplessness creeping back in.
I’m starting to sweat, the whole situation inching closer to imploding, when I spot Blake through one of the windows walking toward the restaurant in jeans and a black jacket cinched around the waist. Her hair is down in loose waves, her pretty face making my heart skip.
She pushes open the door, scanning the room for me. When she sees us sitting together, her eyes flick from me to her moms, her brows knitting together in confusion.
Pausing mid-step, there’s a tension in the way she holds herself, like she’s preparing for impact, and suddenly I know I’ve miscalculated badly.
My heart plummets. This was supposed to be my big, perfect gesture, the thing that showed her how much I care.
As she walks toward us, the shock on her face says it all, and the weight of my mistake settles on my shoulders. I walked into this restaurant thinking I was doing the right thing, that I could be the hero in Blake’s life.
But I’m pretty sure my good intentions won’t matter, and I’m left with the crushing certainty that I’ve just made everything between us even worse.