39. Jake
JAKE
Ithought maybe Mo would come over last night after I sent the Morse code. She must’ve already been asleep.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s get some brekky. You hungry?”
Hank stretches halfway off the side of my bed, front legs straight out, then yawns like he’s been up all night instead of snoring hard enough to shake the mattress.
I pull on flannel lounge pants and head for the kitchen. The mornings have cooled off enough now for flannel, and the floorboards are cold under my feet. Just enough to wake a man up before coffee does.
I start the coffee and look, same as I always do, at the window above Holey Moley. Dark.
“Morning, Mo,” I say anyway. She’s either still asleep or already downstairs baking.
I crack open the kitchen window and the door to the porch for a cross breeze. Cold salt air moves through the room. Then I get breakfast started.
A minute later Hank finally waddles in.
“Nice of you to join me, sleepyhead.”
He gives me one of those looks that says he does not appreciate sarcasm before breakfast and keeps heading toward the front door. A few seconds later, the screen slams behind him.
I flip the sausage and hear somebody outside talking to him before he starts knocking to be let back in. “Be right there,” I call.
He knocks again.
Bulldogs are stubborn, impatient, and deeply committed to conserving energy. House hippos who only rush themselves so they can go lie down somewhere else.
I start warming his breakfast, pour my eggs into the buttered pan, then go let him in.
I make his bowl and mine, then carry both out to the porch. The sun is just starting to work its way up over the water. Hank settles in the chair beside me.
The last time I sat out here, Mo was with me.
We’d made seafood Alfredo while pretending neither of us noticed how domestic it felt.
As if it was normal for her to be in my kitchen.
Normal for me to look at her across a dinner bowl and think I could do that every night for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.
I cut off a piece of sausage and look out at the water. “It’s going to be a good boat day, Hank.”
I want to go get her right now. Bring her coffee. Take her out on the boat. Keep her with me all day and see what we get into. No plan. Just her and me, water and sun and whatever comes next.
But I told Bethany I’d accept the morning deliveries while she drove Ainsley to the airport, so I finish breakfast and bring the bowls inside.
“Come on, buddy. We’re going to The Knuckle.”
He gets to his feet, then waits by the basket where I keep his bandanas. “What are we thinking today?”
He noses the pale blue linen one Ryan sent because it “matches his eyes.”
“Solid choice.”
I throw on jeans and a light blue button-up to match Hank. Then I clip Hank into his harness, tuck my feet into boat shoes, and head out.
The Knuckle is quiet when I unlock it. I flip on a few lights, prop the back door open for fresh air, and start opening up. Chairs down off tables. Condiments filled. Tabletops wiped. Silverware rolled.
“Anybody here?” Cade hollers from the back.
“Yeah, in here.”
He comes through the swing door from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a rag. “I put Bethany’s produce in the cooler for her.”
“Thanks. Appreciate that. Want something to drink?”
“Nah. I’m good.” He leans his forearms on the bar. “Heard Tampa’s in trouble at quarterback. They gonna be okay this season?”
I keep rolling silverware. “They’ll figure it out.”
“They’ve never been the same since you retired.”
I glance up at him. “That’s generous.”
“It’s true. Tell Bethany I’ll see her tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. Thanks, Cade.”
A few minutes later, Tommy walks in the back with Bethany’s seafood just as she comes in through the front.
“Thanks for covering,” she says, already reaching for the delivery slip.
“Anytime.”
She signs the paper, hands it to Tommy, and thanks him as he heads out the back.
“See ya, Jake.”
“Later, Tommy.”
Bethany turns to me. “What’re you and Emory doing today?”
I shrug. “Don’t know yet. Thought about taking her out on the boat.”
“Did you already tell her you bought the island?”
“No.”
Her eyebrows go up. “You’re still sitting on that?”
“I want it done before I surprise her. Allen started the cabin last week and said I’ll have something to look at later next month.”
“Only you would buy the island you two used to play on.”
“It’s not just any island.” I grab Hank’s leash off the hook. “It’s Moke’s Island.”
Bethany leans against the back bar, looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
“You look different.”
“I’m happy.”
The word comes easy.
Easier than it has in a long time.
“Unless you need me, I’m going to get Mo some coffee and go see her.”
Bethany smiles. “Go on, lover boy.”
Hank and I head up the dock and cut toward Tall Tales. I wave at Willard sitting on his bench at the edge of The Green. He tips his hat.
I wave to Miss Hattie farther down the loop. She presses both hands over her heart and shakes her head.
Inside Tall Tales, Hank gets his cookie before I say a word.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” Walt says.
“Thought I’d surprise Emory with a coffee.” I glance toward the menu board, then back at him. “She hasn’t been in yet, has she?”
Walt just looks at me.
“Walt.”
He clears his throat. “No. She hasn’t.”
“Good. Let me get her usual.”
When Walt hands the coffee over, I look down at the cup.
Blank. “No words of wisdom today?”
He shakes his head and turns away to wipe down the espresso wand. I stand there for a second looking at him. Then I take the coffee and leave.
Hank and I head to Holey Moley.
The place is packed. I can hear people talking before I even reach the door. When we walk in, every head turns, and the room goes dead still.
Nobody says good morning. Nobody says anything.
“Morning, all.” Nothing. Not a smile. Not a nod. Not even Mr. Humphrey’s usual hmph.
What the hell.
I look down, wondering if I forgot to put on pants or something.
Maddy looks up from behind the counter.
“Out,” she says to the room. “Everybody out.”
The shop erupts all at once. Chairs scrape. People start moving.
Even Mrs. Kravitz doesn’t linger.
A minute later, it’s just me, Hank, and Maddy standing there.
“Maddy?”
She walks around from behind the counter. “Jake…”
I lift the coffee cup a little. “I brought this for Mo. She upstairs?”
Maddy looks at the cup.
Then at me.
“No, Jake. She’s not.”
I wait. My heart starts beating harder. Hard enough I can feel it in my throat. “When will she be back?”
Maddy’s eyes start welling up. Maddy doesn’t cry easy. She’ll cuss, threaten bodily harm, and reorganize an entire crisis into an actionable list, but she does not cry easy.
“She’s not coming back.”
I stare at her. My hand tightens around the coffee cup. “What do you mean?”
“She’s gone, Jake.” Her voice breaks. “She left late last night.”
The cup slides out of my hand and hits the floor.
Coffee splashes across the old wood boards.
I don’t look down.
I can’t.
Last night.
While I was lying in bed.
While I was thinking maybe she’d come over.
While I was waiting.
She left.
Again.
I hear Maddy saying my name, but it sounds far away.
“Jake,” she says sharper this time. “Honey, are you all right?”
I look down at the coffee spreading across the floorboards. Her coffee. The cup still rocking back and forth where it landed. The one Walt made blank because there wasn’t anything to write on a cup for this.
My chest feels caved in and too tight at the same time.
I turn and walk out.
I don’t remember The Green.
I don’t remember who I pass.
Only that I’m suddenly back at The Knuckle, sitting at the bar with both hands flat against the wood like I need to hold onto something solid.
Bethany looks up from the end of it.
“I need a drink.”
She doesn’t ask what happened. Doesn’t tell me it’s too early or it won’t help. Just reaches for a bottle, pours something amber into a glass, and slides it toward me.
I drink it in one swallow.
Nothing.
“Again.”
She pours another.
I knock that one back too.
Still nothing.
It should burn.
It doesn’t.
I pull out my phone and text Ryan.
She did it again.
Jake, I’m sorry.
I wasn’t enough for her to stay.
Jake. Don’t.
I planned a future with her. Again.
I know.
That one is the gut punch.
Because I did. I started building a cabin on our island.
I’d been thinking about porch swings and kitchen windows and whether she’d want the bed to face east or west. I’d been thinking about next month.
Christmas. Her creating recipes in the kitchen.
Her bare feet on the dock. Her voice calling for Hank.
I’d been thinking as a we.
Like a fool. A fucking fool.
I set the phone facedown on the bar and scrub my hands over my face. Maybe I pushed. Maybe I asked for too much. Maybe she felt how bad I wanted her here. How fast I’d let myself believe. Maybe she looked at all of that and saw exactly what I’ve always been afraid she sees when she looks at me.
Too much.
Too ready.
I don’t know.
That’s the worst part.
I don’t know if something happened.
I don’t know if she cried.
I don’t know if she looked back.
I just know she’s gone.
A hand closes over my shoulder.
Charlie.
He doesn’t say anything.
Just leaves it there.
Bethany sets another glass down in front of me and looks at Charlie. He gives her a small nod.
I stare at the drink.
Don’t reach for it.
Hank comes over and puts a paw on my leg. That does more to steady me than the whiskey did. I look down at him. His eyes fixed on mine. Worried. Trying to help in the only way he knows how. “Thanks, buddy,” I whisper.
Charlie squeezes my shoulder and takes the stool beside me.
Bethany comes around the bar and sits on the other side.
Nobody talks.
Good.
Because there’s nothing I can say that won’t split me open.
I keep staring at the grain of the wood under my hands.
This morning, I sat on my porch and thought about bringing her coffee.
An hour ago, I was picking out Hank’s bandana and thinking about boats and breakfast and how happy I was.
Happy.
I almost laugh at that.
Now her coffee is on the floor of Holey Moley.
And she’s gone.
We sit there in silence while I try not to feel exactly what it feels like to be left all over again.
Only this time is worse.
Because this time I let myself believe she was staying.