“Tell them they’re welcome. We can stop at the furniture store, too, if you like. I know a guy who’ll give you a good deal on kitchen chairs and whatever else you need.”
“Don’t tell me you’re getting sick of sitting on that stool.”
“Nah, I love it,” he says, with a little grin. “But since you’re so clearly the type to throw fancy dinner parties, I figure you’ll need to seat more than one guest.”
I raise one eyebrow. “Are you making fun of the village recluse?”
“You’re not a real recluse. You just forgot how much fun people can be.”
“I take offense to that, Liam Wright,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “The only good people are cats.”
His face grows serious for a moment, then he says, “Is that because they have nine lives?”
I pause before answering, trying not to think about what he meant by that. “It’s because they mind their own business.”
“Touché,” he says, tipping back his mug.
* * *
The drive to Sydney is over an hour, and although I was temporarily concerned about awkward silences, we’re almost there and we’ve managed to fill them in. Liam has just been telling me about the weekend adventures he and his daughter take during the summer. They sail around to new places every Saturday or Sunday, depending on the weather.
“Gus told me you live on your boat during the summer months. Is that something you’ve always done?”
He shakes his head. “Not until after the accident. Olive had a lot of trouble sleeping. My mom came from New Brunswick to stay with us for the first few weeks and she’d get up in the night to rock her back to sleep, sometimes twice before morning.” He pauses for a second while he passes a slow semi-truck. Once that’s done, he continues, “Anyway, when my mom left, it didn’t take long for it to wear me out—getting up in the night, then up early for work. At some point, I remembered how well Olive slept on the boat, so I took her down there for the night. We both had a solid sleep for once, so we did it again. And after a while, I realized it also didn’t feel as lonely as the house.”
“Did you ever think about moving so you can be closer to your family?”
He shakes his head. “I could never do that to Sarah’s mom and dad, not after everything they’ve been through.”
“Right. Of course,” I say. “I’m just going to keep asking questions that are none of my business.”
“That’s okay, I’m used to it.”
“Good,” I say, with a smile. “Where do you live in the winter?”
“We have a small house up on Todd Hill. If you stand on a stool, you can see the ocean from the bathroom window,” he says, squinting his eyes. “I rent it out for the summer months, then we move back in the fall and ride out the cold.”
“Sounds like a very sensible plan.”
“Yeah, it’s worked out well. It’s not the house I shared with Sarah, actually. I sold that one the year after she died.”
“Fresh start thing?”
He shakes his head. “Money thing. I wanted to put money away for Olive’s education. It’s worked out well for the most part. Olive probably won’t want to live on the boat when she’s a teenager, but for now, it’s been good for both of us.”
I suddenly wish I hadn’t asked. I’ve forced him to think about something that wasn’t on his mind today, and maybe he didn’t want it in there. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, that’s okay. Friends want to know about each other.” He glances at me with that same easy smile he shows the world.
* * *
Liam stands patiently beside me while I test out kitchen chairs. We’re in a small shop, but the owner promises he can have me sitting at my table faster than any of the big box stores. I’ve tried every chair here to the point where I could reasonably say I’ve done dozens of squats today, but I have yet to make a decision. I wind up wishing I were curled up on my couch back in Manhattan, where the only thing I had to decide was what show to watch. Today is filled with countless choices to be made, and I’m never quite sure I’m making the right one. I also have the pressure of needing to hurry because I made such a big deal about never changing my mind, and it’s been nice having someone think I always know what I want.
I sigh, staring at the antiqued black wooden chair I’m considering. “Do you mind giving this one a try?”
He sits in it, and I wait while he pretends to cut a slice of some imaginary food, then mimes putting down his knife before having a bite and chewing thoughtfully. The entire time his expression is so serious that I can’t help but snort-laugh.
Finally, he looks up at me. “Well, it’s sturdy, it allows free movement of my arms, and it’s the right height for me to reach my steak.”
