5. To Possible #2
“Not a lot,” Ellie says. “We went to the market. I don’t think Dad will be allowed to go back for a while.”
Rhea turns to me slowly.
I set my menu down. “It was an accident.”
“It was legendary,” Ellie says.
“Those are not mutually exclusive.”
Rhea’s attention moves to me, quick and curious but not invasive.
Ellie bites back a smile. “Dad is working with her now.”
“Small town,” Rhea says. “We specialize in consequences.”
“Apparently.”
The food comes, and the fries deserve their reputation. Ellie eats one and tries not to look impressed.
“Ridiculous,” I say.
She nods. “Confirmed.”
Erin uses that as permission to slide the basket between them. Rhea and I let the girls disappear into their own conversation. They’re across from us, but somewhere else entirely, heads close, voices low, laughing at things neither adult is invited to understand.
I haven’t seen Ellie do that in a long time.
A simple thing. A normal thing.
It feels enormous.
Rhea notices me noticing but has the grace not to turn it into a moment. “Erin said Ellie might enjoy coming to the Penn Cove Water Festival. It’s a lot of fun. She’s more than welcome to come with us. You could join us too, if you’d like.”
Ellie looks up. “What’s a water festival?”
Erin gasps. “You don’t know? There are canoe races, food vendors, music, art booths, tribal canoe landings depending on the schedule, and people come from all over.”
“That sounds amazing.”
“It’s fun,” Erin insists.
Ellie looks at me. “Can we go?”
“We can check the schedule.”
“That means yes unless there’s an emergency,” Ellie tells Erin.
“Good to know,” Rhea says. “Are there many emergencies in your life?”
“Historically?” Ellie asks. “Yes. But since we left Boston, he gets to chill out more.”
I point a fry at her. “Careful.”
Rhea laughs again, then looks toward the water beyond the deck. “You’ll like it. Coupeville can take a little while to warm up and open up to newcomers, but events help.
People see you a few times, ask who you belong to, where you came from, why you’re here. Then eventually they decide you’re less suspicious than you were last week.”
“That’s comforting and marginally rational,” I remark.
“It should be. Last week’s suspicious is better than today’s suspicious.”
“I’ll note the distinction.”
The girls push back from the table at almost the exact same time.
“Bathroom,” Erin announces.
Ellie stands too. “I’ll go with you.”
Their escape is too coordinated to be anything but planned.
Rhea waits until they’re inside, then covers her mouth with her napkin and laughs.
I lean back. “I’m starting to suspect we’re being set up.”
“Starting?”
“I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt.”
“That was generous of you.”
“They were almost convincing if you ignore everything they said and did.”
Rhea shakes her head, smiling. “Erin told me in the car that Ellie’s dad seemed nice and probably lonely, but not in a weird way.”
I choke on my water.
Rhea winces. “Sorry. I debated whether to share that.”
“No, no. Please. Nothing says relaxing dinner like being psychologically profiled by a fourteen-year-old.”
“If it helps, she meant it kindly.”
“That’s what worries me.”
Her smile eases into something gentler. “They’re sweet girls.”
“They are.”
“And not as subtle as they believe.”
“Dear lord, no. They are not.”
She studies me for a second, not flirtatious now. Just human. “It’s good for them to see adults talk and laugh without making it complicated.”
I glance toward the restroom entrance where the girls vanished. “Yeah. It is.”
When they come back, Erin looks suspiciously pleased with herself. Ellie is doing her best to look innocent.
Dinner winds down slowly. The sun drops lower, and the deck cools enough that Ellie pulls her sweatshirt sleeves over her hands. I pay despite Rhea’s polite objection, and she thanks me without turning it into a contest.
By the time we reach the parking lot, Erin and Ellie have discussed the festival and made a vague plan to compare science homework that I hope really does involve science.
Rhea pauses near her car. “It was nice meeting you, Doc.”
“You too.”
She looks at Ellie. “We’ll see you both soon, I’m sure.”
Erin waves. “Text me when you get home.”
Ellie nods. “I will.”
We get into the car, and Ellie is quiet while I back out of the lot. Not sad quiet. Good quiet. The kind where the day plays inside your head instead of weighing on top of it.
Halfway home, she says, “That was fun.”
“It was.”
“Rhea’s nice.”
“She is.”
“And pretty.”
I keep my eyes on the road. “She is.”
Ellie turns toward me. “That’s all you’re saying?”
“That is the safest amount.”
She laughs, and the sound moves through the car with the night air.
At home, the house is lit by the porch lamp and the kitchen light we left on. There are still boxes inside. Two unfinished rooms. A list of things to fix.
But tonight, when we step through the front door, it feels less like a property we bought and more like a place waiting for us to call it home.
Ellie gets ready for bed, then finds me on the porch ten minutes later with a glass of water and a sweatshirt zipped to her chin.
“I’m not going to bed yet,” she announces.
“Clearly.”
She drops into the chair beside mine and pulls her knees up. The air smells like more rain is coming, and the water beyond the house is dark except for small shards of reflected light.
We sit without talking for a minute.
Then Ellie says, “Mom would’ve loved that restaurant.”
I look over.
She keeps her eyes on the water. “The deck. The view. The fries, probably. She would’ve pretended to want salad and then stolen ours.”
I laugh, and it comes out easier than it would have a year ago. “She absolutely would’ve stolen fries.”
“And said she was only checking the seasoning.”
“Quality control.”
Ellie laughs.
I lean back. “She probably wouldn’t have loved the part where you and Erin attempted to arrange my social life between the water glasses and the ketchup.”
Ellie’s head snaps toward me. “We did not.”
“El.”
“We were trying to be helpful.”
“You were very obvious.”
She groans and covers her face. “We thought we were normal.”
“You announced the table had four seats before anyone asked and made us sit beside each other.”
She drops her hands. “Fine. We were bad at it.”
“Terrible.”
She nudges my chair with her foot. “You don’t have to be mean.”
“I’m a victim.”
“You had chowder and a pretty woman laughing at your jokes. You’ll live.”
I let the words settle. There’s no bite in them. No fear either. Just Ellie, fourteen and too young for some things, old enough to see others.
“She was nice,” I say. “And you don’t have to worry about me.”
“I’m not worried.”
I look at her.
She sighs. “I don’t want you to be alone forever.”
The night changes around that sentence.
She says it softly, without drama, and it finds every tender place I have.
“I’ve got you for a little while longer,” I say. “That’s all I need right now.”
She looks down at her sleeve, picking at the cuff. “I know. But eventually I’ll leave. College or whatever. And you’ll pretend you’re fine because that’s your whole thing.”
“My whole thing?”
“Taking care of everyone and saying you’re fine.”
“That is a rude and not entirely inaccurate summary of your father.”
She doesn’t smile.
I reach across the space between our chairs and hold out my hand. She takes it.
“You’re all I need, El,” I say.
Ellie’s fingers tighten around mine.
“For now, Daddy. Can we agree?”
“Yes, my sweet El. We can agree.”
We sit quietly and watch the water.
“You know, every time we came through this part of Washington, your mom would start talking about what it would be like to live by the water. Walk in town. Know the people at the bakery. Complain about tourists while technically being one.”
That gets a small laugh.
“She would’ve liked Erin,” Ellie says.
“She absolutely would.”
“And Rhea too.”
“Yes, but not as my girlfriend.”
She kicks me. “And she would be nice to the porcupine.”
I look toward the water.
“I don’t know about that one.”
Ellie watches me, but she doesn’t push.
Good kid.
“Your mom had a generous read on people,” I say. “But she also didn’t suffer fools. So she would’ve given Annie a fair shot and then told me privately whether I was being an idiot.”
Ellie smiles faintly. “Sounds right.”
The porch settles around us. My daughter beside me, her hand in mine, talking about her mother without breaking open.
For a quiet minute, Beth sits there with us.
When Ellie finally stands, she bends and kisses the top of my head.
“Night, Daddy.”
“Night, El.”
She heads inside, and I hear the stairs creak under her feet.
I stay on the porch after the door shuts. I trade the water for a short pour of single malt and sit with the glass resting against my knee.
The clinic is waiting for me tomorrow. So are the charts, the files, the patients, and Annie Lockhart with her sharp eyes and sharper opinions.
But tonight, the house has the echo of my daughter laughing over dinner with a friend.
For the first time since I signed the papers, Coupeville feels like home might be possible.
I lift the glass toward the water.
“To possible,” I say quietly.
Then I sit there a while longer, letting the night have the last word.