Chapter 37
[Neve]
I’d love to say I have clarity the following morning, but I don’t. Instead, I have thirteen missed phone calls from Tate and too many text messages to count.
While my sister continues to stare at me and offers to take the day off from work, I tell her to go instead. She has a life. She might as well live it.
“I’m going home,” I tell her. I need my own space to think. To plan. To decide what’s next.
My first intention is to return to Tate’s house and collect the few belongings I have there. A smattering of clothes and toiletries. And Wren’s things. But then, I realize he bought those items for her, for his house.
I’ll just need to start over, just like with everything else.
As I drive toward Lovewell Landing, needing to pass through town to get to my place, I suddenly feel the need to turn down Love Lane.
A strong gust of wind scatters leaves from a pile at the edge of someone’s yard across the street, momentarily blocking my view and causing me to pull over for a second.
The last thing I want is a car accident, especially with Wren in the vehicle. Also, because this isn’t my car. It belongs to Tate.
When my heart rate lowers, I pull down the short lane and park in front of the old firehouse, and stare out the window, reminded of Tate’s excitement about the building. How he told me to think about starting my own garage. Something smaller, something specialized. Something mine.
I stare at the FOR SALE sign while blindly reaching for my phone.
“Seaside Real Estate. Roz speaking.” Her cheery voice fills the phone after the first ring.
“Hey, Roz, it’s Neve Snowe.”
“Neve!” she screeches. “How are you, honey? Oh my gawd, I heard you had the baby. Is she the cutest? I bet she’s the cutest. All you Snowe girls are so beautiful.”
“Thank you, Roz. I’m calling—”
“And congratulations. Tate Love is the father,” she lowers her voice like she’s sharing a secret I didn’t know. “He’s so handsome, that one. Just a real fox, if you know what I mean.”
I huff. I know what she means, but I’m not willing to play along.
“Roz, I—”
“I know, I know. He’s too young for me. Besides, I’m happy with my Earl.” She sighs. “But a girl can look.”
“Rah—”
“And so romantic what he did for you,” she says.
I’m stunned into silence, confused. How does she know about the at-home barn dance? Then I figure maybe one real estate agent to another or something like that, although Tate is pretty big potatoes compared to Roz. I don’t know what kind of dealings he’d have with her on the local level.
And I don’t care.
I clear my throat. “Roz. The firehouse.”
“What about it, yeah?”
“The old firehouse is for sale.”
A heavy pause falls between us. “Uhm.”
I wait, holding my breath.
“Well, honey, it sold.” Confusion fills her voice, but I’m the one frustrated.
“The FOR SALE sign is still on the building.”
“Oh, we just keep that there until the owner takes position. Free promo, ya know. Like you call in, and that’s gone, but maybe I have something similar to sell you.”
Did she have something else? Another garage? Another firehouse? Maybe an old gas station.
But suddenly, I’m too deflated to ask.
“Sounds like good marketing,” I mutter. I definitely got caught up, believing this might be a good plan B, just like the lie of a Bucky Beaver being built over Rusty’s Wrecks.
“Thanks for the information, Roz.”
“Anything you need, honey. You keep that in mind if you ever decide to sell that cute little house on the cliff. I’m your real estate girl.”
My house. I couldn’t think about one more change.
After we hang up, I continue to stare at the firehouse, feeling like another blip of hope has popped. Evaporated into the air.
Then, it starts to rain, and I still. I stare out the side window, never having felt so hopeless in my life.
When a horn honks beside me, I flinch and turn toward the other vehicle. I roll down the window with the ease of automation, compared to the hand crank in the Bronco, and face Fisk in the driver’s seat of an official Master Baiter’s pickup truck.
“I thought that was you,” Fisk says, his voice rugged and cheerful.
“Hey.” My attempts to muster any joy falls flat.
“Heard about you and Tate,” his voice still too peppy.
“Oh?”
“Congratulations on the partnership.”
With my hands on the top of the steering wheel, I sag into it.
The partnership. Tate was up for a promotion to partner, and he told me he wasn’t taking it. I told him I didn’t want him to not take it. I didn’t want to be the reason he gave up something he worked so hard to achieve.
And apparently, Tate must have taken the partnership after all. Step one in his departure from Lovewell Landing.
“Yeah.” My voice is still lifeless.
Fisk’s thick brows crease. “You okay, honey?”
I’m reminded of Roz and her overzealous enthusiasm about Tate and me, and Wren, and then her tone dropping, concern dominant in her voice, just like Fisk’s.
“I’m good,” I lie, then squint toward the windshield. “I need to get home,” I say, hitching my thumb toward the back seat where Wren is sleeping again.
Fisk gives me a casual wave, ending our chat. I salute him back, then roll up my window.
The rain comes harder. The weather certainly matches my mood.
When it rains, it pours.