10. Jake
JAKE
By the time we come back around to the split in the loop, Mo slows. One path takes me toward the boathouse. The other takes her back to Holey Moley.
She looks down at Hank first. He’s the safer place to put her attention.
Easier than looking at me when the walk has gone better than either of us probably expected.
And worse too, because now I know exactly how easy it still is with her.
“Hey, Hank the Tank,” she says softly. “Thanks for chaperoning.”
Hank snorts and leans his solid block of body lightly against her shin, accepting the gratitude on behalf of the profession.
I clear my throat. “He takes the job seriously.”
Then she looks up at me, smiling, and I catch enough of the old Mo in it to make something in my chest pull tight.
“Thanks for walking,” she says.
She doesn’t say thanks for not making it weird. Doesn’t say thanks for not asking questions or dragging ten years of silence and one catastrophic thank you into the middle of The Point. Just thanks for walking.
“Anytime,” I say. “If you want.”
She gives me a small nod. The kind that says don’t get ahead of yourself, Wheeler, but maybe don’t disappear either. Then she turns toward Holey Moley.
My hand reaches for her before I can stop it. I catch myself and let it fall.
There was a time when I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Would’ve bumped her with my shoulder. Would’ve hooked two fingers in the belt loop of her shorts to slow her down. Would’ve reached for her because reaching for her was as normal as breathing.
She glances back over her shoulder, and for a second I think maybe she’s going to say something else. Instead, she points at Hank. “He’s… very handsome,” she says, like she’s talking about a movie star and not a bulldog with chronic gas.
I huff a laugh. “Don’t tell him that. He’s already hard to live with.”
Hank lifts his head at the sound of himself being discussed and smiles with all his bottom teeth.
Mo’s smile opens a little wider then. For a flash, she looks so much like the girl I spent every summer with. Same mouth. Same eyes. Same look where she’s trying not to laugh and losing.
“See ya,” she says.
“Yeah,” I say. “See ya.”
She turns and heads toward the bakery, and I watch her long enough to notice the way she still counts out her steps. Long enough to see her tuck her hair behind one ear before she reaches the door.
Hank sits down hard on my foot and lets out a long bulldog sigh. I look down at him. “We’re fine.”
We stay there for another few seconds anyway. Me looking toward Holey Moley. Hank planted on my foot like an anchor with jowls. Then I blow out a breath and nudge him lightly with my leg. “Alright,” I say. “Let’s head down to the boat.”
The Pinch of Tides rocks gently at the end of the dock. I unclip the line with one hand and grab the fold down ramp with the other. “After you,” I tell Hank.
He waddles aboard and climbs onto the bench, then drops into a frog-leg sprawl that takes up almost the whole thing. I sit in the little slice of space he leaves me and lean my forearms on my knees.
Psskt. My text tone goes off. Beer top popping open.
I already know it’s going to be some nonsense before I even look.
The Pumper: Well well well.
Charlie, do not.
The Pumper: Too late the town group chat is lighting up.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, dropping the phone onto the console instead of throwing it off the port side.
I stand and start piddlin’ with things on the boat that don’t need piddlin’ with. “Okay,” I say out loud.
Hank opens one eye.
“This morning I was a man minding his own business.”
Hank sighs and shuts it again.
“And now,” I go on, “I’ve become public entertainment.”
The Gilligan’s Island theme song starts playing. My general ringtone.
I glance down, expecting Charlie again or Wayne somehow already hearing about it from three states away.
Oh. Hell.
It’s not Charlie.
It’s Maddy.
I hold the phone in my hand without answering. By the second three hour tour, Hank lifts his head, looking from me to the phone and back again, annoyed the song is disrupting his nap. “You’re not helping.”
I swipe to answer and put the phone to my ear. “Hello,” I say carefully. “Am I speaking to Maddy or Granny?”
“You took my Emory for a walk.”
Granny.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sit back down on the bench before this conversation knocks me overboard. “It was just a walk, Maddy.”
“In Blue Crab Bay, a walk is a press release.”
I lean forward, forearms on my thighs. “That’s not my fault.”
“Didn’t say it was.”
“I didn’t—“
“Don’t you explain yourself to me,” she cuts in. “I’m calling to say thank you.”
I wasn’t expecting that. “For what?”
“For not being a fool.”
I look out at the bay. Hank shifts closer, eavesdropping. “Maddy, I don’t want to push. I don’t want her feeling cornered.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then, quieter, “Good. Because she’ll bolt. You know that.”
I shut my eyes. “I do.”
Because I do know. I know what it looks like when she turns panic into motion and what it feels like to be the thing left standing when she does.
“She’s trying,” Maddy says. “But she’s still fighting herself. Makes me want to shake some sense into her, but I’m old, and my shoulders don’t do that anymore.”
I can’t help but laugh at that. Maddy has a way of hitting a sore spot and making you laugh in the same breath.
“Walk with her,” she says. “Talk to her. Be patient.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And feed that dog,” she adds briskly. “He’s looking skinny.”
I look over at Hank. Hank, who is built like an ottoman. He’s anything but skinny. “Noted.”
“Alright,” she says. “I just wanted you to know I saw it. Goodnight, Jake.”
“It’s afternoon.”
She hangs up.
I lower the phone and sit there with it in my hand for a minute. Then I set it down beside me and stare out at the water. Beside me, Hank resettles and flops his head on my lap and goes back to snoring.
There’s nobody here but me and him, so I let myself say the one thing I’ve been trying not to admit.
“I missed her.”