Chapter 35
Monty
My parents are eye fucking each other.
I’m trying to ignore it and focus on the story I’m telling. Trying to get it right for Peter, for Penny.
But focusing on anything other than the way I keep catching my father looking at my mother as if he’s seen her naked recently—or at least intends to see her naked very soon—is making it nearly impossible.
I blow out a breath when I catch my mother blushing at something my father whispers in her ear.
Penny squeezes my knee. I can’t help but glare down at her fingers. Is this what will happen to us if we continue like we are? Will we still have all this chemistry but choose to walk away because people change?
I roll my neck and inadvertently brush her hand off me when I stand up and launch into the beginning of a story about a deviant pumpkin—this one was always Peter’s favorite.
A half hour later I’ve completely botched the story, been told by two twelve-year-olds that I suck, and can feel the pitying eyes of everyone who matters in my life.
Penny seems concerned, my parents appear confused, and Gail is forcing a smile in my direction.
“You did great, Monty,” she says as everyone disembarks. “Thank you so much for doing this.”
My parents are the last to get off, besides Penny. They stop right in front of us and my mother opens her arms. “Oh, Penny, it’s been so long.”
Penny stands and gives my mother a hug first before turning to my father.
“I’m so glad you could both make it. Having so many people here tonight means a lot to my family.”
Fuck. Tonight isn’t about me, or my parents. It’s about Peter and the Darlings. And I’m fucking it all up.
I stand. “Yeah, thanks for coming.”
“Total fluke again,” my father says.
And my mother interjects, “Yup. Gail told me about this earlier when I ran into her out in the fields—”
“And I always like to come to these events—” my father adds.
“We both laughed when we walked up at the same time,” she finishes.
My father glances at my mother, a grin on his face, then looks back our way. “Would you want to grab dinner, maybe?”
Fortunately, Penny answers for us. “Oh, we have a few more rides to get through tonight.”
My father glances at my mom and he shrugs. “I guess I’ll go home, then.”
My mom eyes me and then turns back to my dad. “Or we could grab something together? We both have to eat.”
My dad nods quickly. “Yes. Right. Sure.”
What in the hell is happening?
My mother reaches out to hug me. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” I say, squeezing her back.
“Take care, Penny,” she says when we pull apart, reaching to hug Penny again.
When they separate, Penny adds, “Hopefully I’ll get to spend some time with you before you leave town, Mrs. Montgomery.”
My mother’s eyes widen. “Oh, you can call me Rebecca.”
Because she isn’t Mrs. Montgomery. I glare at my father.
Penny’s cheeks flush beet red, and for the first time since I arrived back in Hope Harbor, I hate seeing her like this.
She’s embarrassed and she has absolutely no reason to be.
My parents should be the ones who feel uncomfortable—walking around together as if nothing has changed over the past ten years.
“Right, of course,” Penny replies. “Well, it was good to see you both.”
My parents say goodbye once more before disappearing down the steps of the trailer, walking toward the fucking cottages where my mother is staying.
“Hey,” Penny says, voice soft, drawing my attention away from my parents’ fading shadows.
I rough a hand over my face. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I didn’t realize they were back together.”
“They’re not,” I mutter. My eyes go to the largest harvest moon above us. “Or maybe they are. I have no fucking clue.”
I feel Penny’s hand slip into mine and she squeezes my fingers. “If you want to talk about it—”
“I don’t,” I say too quickly.
She drops her fingers and steps back. “Right.”
Fuck. No. I don’t know how to handle this.
“I’m going to go see if my sister needs help.” Penny points toward the tent. “Come find me when you’re done?”
I muster a smile before pulling her in for a quick hug goodbye.
I don’t know how to articulate how tonight made me feel, and I don’t want to say anything that will make it worse, so instead, I watch her go.
I hate that I think this, but seeing my parents together again just reminds me that some stories don’t get a happy ending.
***
Sunday morning the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen has me smiling—Vovo must have one of her friends here. But as I round the corner, I’m caught off guard when I spot my mother sitting at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hand, laughing at something my grandmother is saying.
“Jake!” my mom says when she sees me. “Vovo and I were just talking about the year your father and grandfather dressed up as hot dogs for Halloween because they were your favorite. Do you remember when the Wilcoxes’ dog chased them all the way down to the water and your father fell off the dock?”
It’s a good memory and, under different circumstances, I’d laugh, or at least smile, but the sight of my mother in our family home hits me straight in the chest. And not in a good way.
“What are you doing here, Mom?”
Vovo frowns. “Ah, amor, is that any way to speak to your mama?”
Chastened, I shake myself off and head to give my mother a kiss on the cheek.
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Hi, Ma.”
Vovo tilts her cheek up to me and I plant a kiss on the side of her face, too.
“That’s my good boy. Are you hungry?” She pats my chest and smiles up at me. “I’ve got your favorite p?o francês.”
I don’t have time to answer as she starts to prepare a plate of my favorite bread, scrambled eggs, and bacon. I settle into the seat beside my mom.
“I was just telling Vovo about how gorgeous the sunrise was today on the farm. That place really is something special.”
“I haven’t spent much time there since getting back,” I admit. “Though I know Walker and Gail have been working night and day on the renovations.”
“That’s because he’s spending all his time with Penny,” Vovo says with a big smile. “Besides, the cow they have is a menace.”
“Daisy?” My mother laughs. “She’s adorable! Just this morning she was sitting with Gail and I out on the Adirondack chairs. Tally feeds her with a ginormous baby bottle. It’s the cutest thing.”
Vovo mutters something under her breath in Portuguese. She still hasn’t come round to the idea of a cow being a pet.
“You ready to go boating?” My father’s voice sounds upbeat as he walks into the kitchen, his gaze zeroed in on my mother.
“Boating?” I ask, looking between them.
“The airline lost my luggage,” my mother starts.
“And your father reminded me that he still had a few things of mine here that might fit, so he suggested I come check the crawl space. And then when he mentioned he was taking the boat out for an hour—” She scrambles for words as she looks to my dad for help. “Well, I always liked boating.”
“I thought you were here so we could plot.” I hate that I sound so bitter, but I can’t seem to help it. Seeing my parents like this has brought about so many difficult memories.
“You’re right. We are.” My mother frowns before turning to my dad. “Maybe another time.”
“Of course.” His smile falls but he slips his hands into his pockets and nods. “I’ll just go grab those boxes and you can sift through them.”
“I’ll help.” My mom jumps up before facing me. “I’ll be right back.”
What the hell is going on?
My parents disappear down the hall as Vovo appears by my side with the pan, pushing more eggs onto my plate. “Amor, you seem to be thinking very hard.”
“Don’t you find it strange they’re trying to spend all this time together?”
She doesn’t answer me right away, and instead heads back to the sink.
“You can’t explain love,” she says finally with a shrug.
“Love?” I bark out. “They’re divorced! Have been for ten years.”
Vovo only offers me a small smile before returning her attention to the dishes in the sink. The phone beside me blares—it’s my mom’s—and when I see the airline’s name on the caller ID, I figure they want to talk to her about her lost luggage.
“Hello,” the person at the end of the line says. “I’m looking for a Rebecca Montgomery?”
“This is her son. If you wait one moment, I can grab her. Have you found her luggage?”
“Yes! It will be here waiting in the office at baggage claim if she wants to come pick it up.”
“Excellent, I’ll let her know.”
I hang up the phone and tell Vovo I’m going to find my mom to deliver the good news.
Maybe we can take a ride to the airport together and I can figure out what’s going on between her and my dad.
And then, once we’ve got everything out in the open, and I’ve stopped by the farmers market to see Penny, we can get back to plotting.
That’s what I should be focusing on—finishing this project and getting my book ready to submit to my publisher. That’s the whole reason my mom is here, the whole reason I came to Hope Harbor to begin with.
The crawl space is upstairs, behind my father’s closet, so I head up to his room in search of them. I’m about to call out, but the words die in my throat when I find my mother pressed up against the closet, her arms wrapped around my father’s neck, his mouth on hers.
I stumble back into the hallway.
I’m so confused. So angry.
Years ago my father asked my mother for a divorce. And everything I’ve done since that moment feels like it’s been a reaction to his choice to end their marriage. He never gave us a choice when he said he wanted a separation from Mom all those years ago.
But this? Parading my mother around town and kissing her against closets? It feels like I should have a freaking say in this.
Knowing I have to get out of here before I say something I regret, I rush down the steps, telling Vovo I’m going to pick up my mom’s luggage, and then I peel out of Hope Harbor as quickly as I can.
I’ve only made it about ten minutes down the road when my cell rings. I spot Penny’s name on the screen and groan, silencing it right away. I can’t talk to her right now. I’m not sure what I’d even say. My head is spiraling, my heart a mess.
My phone rings again, but this time it’s my mom. I silence that one, too.
Another call rolls in, this one from my father. I am definitely not answering that one.
The second I hit a red light, I type out a quick text to my mother telling her I’m grabbing her luggage and that I’ll call her later.
The trill of my cell phone sounds once more. It’s my dad again. Fuck. Why can’t they both just give me a little breathing room?
A text pops up.
Penny: Hey, what time are you coming over?
I tug at the back of my neck and stare up at the red light. I don’t think I can see her today. I’m just…I’m spiraling and I need to get my head on straight before I do something stupid like unload everything that happened with my parents on her.
Me: Sorry, I can’t do this right now. Just give me the day to get my head on straight.
Then I power down the phone.
***
Half an hour later I storm into the airport, the long drive with the windows down having done nothing to fix my foul mood. I hate how out of control I feel—like my chest might pop. My heart is pounding wildly.
I’m an asshole, avoiding Penny like this.
But I’m no good at this stuff. I never should have agreed to be her fake boyfriend.
Never should have let myself believe we could be something real.
I’m my father’s son. As much as I might think I’m in love with Penny, one day I would ruin it.
Thinking about my dad possibly stringing my mom along now fills me with rage.
If I was actually a good guy, I’d catch the next flight to New York and leave before I do any more damage.
I’m scanning the terminal—searching for the airline’s office, my jaw locked and my fists balled—when I hear the first chords of the piano. I groan when the damn piano man starts to play “L.O.V.E.” again.
My gaze snags on the way the man’s shoulders shift as he dances to his own music. He’s swaying with a joy very few people can muster when playing for a crowd of one.
There’s not a single other person in the terminal, and yet he plays like this is the performance of his life.
I try to ignore him, try to walk by to the airline offices. But as I pass, I spot the smile he’s wearing in my peripheral vision.
I’m just angry and irrational enough to turn around and glare at him. His happiness is offensive. Which says far more about me than it does him.
“You don’t have to play for me,” I can’t help but say.
The man continues tapping on the notes. “I’m not.”
I glance from side to side to emphasize how no one else is here. “They pay you to play for no one?”
“Oh, I don’t get paid to play.” I watch as his smile grows. “I’m playing for my wife.”
I scan the empty luggage-claim area. “Your wife?”
He gets to the last note and then drops his hands to the bench, spinning around to face me.
“Yup. Married for forty-nine years to my sweetheart.”
I frown. “Is she watching on a camera or something?”
“That’d be pretty hard from heaven.” He chuckles. “But maybe.”
And now I feel like the biggest dick. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I had forty-six beautiful years with my Susie.
‘L.O.V.E.’ was our wedding song and I used to play it for her every day.
After she died, I couldn’t shake the need to still play it, so when I saw the piano at the airport after traveling to visit my daughter, I asked around about who normally uses it.
No one did, so they said I could come in and play whenever I want. ”
I lean against the piano. Unable to help myself, I ask, “Was it worth it?”
He frowns in confusion. “Was what worth it?”
“Marrying her. Loving her. She’s gone and you’re here, alone, was it worth it?”
Maybe it’s a harsh question; it’s definitely an odd one to ask a stranger. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to ask Vovo. I’ve never had the courage to speak to anyone about this crippling fear of loss. Until now.
And I’m sure I’ll look back and feel like an ass—I already sort of do—but after the past twenty-four hours, I can’t hold the question in any longer. Is joy worth the eventual pain? Is love worth it?
The man beams at me as he sets his fingers back on the keys, playing a pretty tune that I don’t recognize. “Best decision of my life.”
I nod, trying to figure out how he looks so damn happy when he’s lost the love of his life.
As if reading my mind, he pauses the tune and says, “She loved me until her last breath, and I love her still.” He gives me a knowing look.
“That’s the dream. Or at least it was ours.
Would I have loved to go first? Of course.
I miss her like crazy. But we don’t get to pick the endings of our stories, so I’m making the best of mine. ”
I grab a twenty out of my wallet and stuff it into the cup he has on top of the piano. “I’m Monty, by the way.”
“It’s lovely to meet you, Monty. I’m Joe.”
“Could you play ‘L.O.V.E.’ again?”
He winks at me. “I think I know that one.”