“Ha. Ha,” she replies. “Actually, we’re looking at bigger places now. We want a second bedroom I can use as a home office and a guest room. In case you and Ty ever come back here.”
“Look at you growing up,” I say with a smile.
“Yeah, well it was bound to happen.” Dixie laughs but it stops as quickly as it started and her voice gets heavy. “I miss you, by the way. It’s hard enough not having Dad here, but not having you here either makes it harder.”
Her confession makes my heart ache so painfully my eyes water. “That’s why I couldn’t move back to San Francisco. I couldn’t be there without him. I couldn’t be around all of you and not have him there.”
“Oh Win, it’s got to be harder on your own,” Dixie says softly. “We’re helping each other through it here, and we’d help you through it.”
“You wouldn’t be able to,” I whisper back and fight the overwhelming need to cry. “Alone is better for me.”
“Alone with Ty,” Dixie corrects and I let out an audible sigh. “You are with Ty…right?”
“Are you concerned about me or about Ty?” I snap.
“Whoa. What the fuck, Win?” Dixie says, offended. “We shouldn’t be fighting. Why are we fighting?”
“I’m sorry,” I reply. “I just…I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she replies and pauses. “Is this about the letters Dad left us?”
My heart pinches painfully like it suddenly doesn’t fit in my chest. She hit the nail directly on the head. My dad left each of us letters, which my mother gave us the morning after he passed. None of us knew he was going to do that, so it was a shock and it was also bittersweet. We had one last chance to have some of his humor and wisdom, but he was candid and open even more so than he’d ever been in life, at least in my letter. I didn’t ask what he’d written to my siblings. I didn’t want to know and I didn’t want to share my letter with them. This was my little piece of him to hold on to alone forever. And now that she’s brought it up, I can’t take a deep breath and I can’t respond to her even if I wanted to, which I don’t. Dixie being Dixie just talks for me. “I know Dad said a lot of really amazing things in mine, but he also said a lot of things that were so insightful they were almost painful.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, managing to get my voice back just a little. “He gave me a lot to think about.”
“Me too,” she replies softly. “Winnie, if things don’t feel right in Toronto with Ty…come back. Anytime. Please. You are not alone.”
“I’m good where I’m at,” I reply vaguely so I’m not technically lying to her. “I mean it’s hard. It’s the hardest time of my life. But I’m where I need to be to get through it.”
“Okay,” Dixie sniffs and I realize she might be crying. “We all miss you, Win.”
“I miss you guys too,” I confess and it’s the truth. I just know that I need my space right now. “I’ll call you soon. Love to everyone.”
“Love you too. Hi to Ty. Bye.”
“Bye,” I reply and hang up.
I instantly regret not telling her I broke up with Ty and came back to the cottage. But I know that I would regret it more if I did tell her. She would tell everyone. Mom would be worried. Sadie would be calling me all the time. Jude would take this as some kind of project—fix broken Winnie—like he used to do when we were kids and I was self-conscious and painfully awkward and he would always try to make me feel better. Jude’s easy confidence always made me feel like it made my awkwardness more evident and I think he felt guilty about that. I love them all—desperately—but I need to find my own way through this. Through my dad’s death and my failed relationship and my feelings about the rest of my life.
I take a sip of wine and stare out at Holden’s dark trailer. Guilt fills me again. I was an ass to him when he was just trying to help me. I have been an ass to him since I saw him, not that he didn’t deserve it. Ugh. I take another sip of wine and tip my head back. My stomach growls. I decide to order some pizza and as I’m on the phone with Bill’s Pizza I spontaneously order two large pies. One with my typical cheese blend and one with pepperoni, pineapple and mushrooms—the pizza Holden always ordered when he was a kid. I remember it because I thought it was a weird combination and because, to me, pineapple on pizza is a blight against humanity. I don’t know why I remember that about him, but I do.
It’s the off-season, so Bill’s isn’t too busy and the order shows up, delivered on the back of a scooter as usual, by the same guy who has been delivering pizzas since he was sixteen. Then he was a pimply faced, gangly thing. Now he’s a heavy-set, bearded guy, but he still has the same thick New England accent.
“Sadie, right?” he says as I open the screen door.
“Winnie,” I reply and I hand him the cash in my hand.
“Oops. Sorry,” he says. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen one of you without the others.”
I try to give him a smile as I take the pizza boxes from him and wait for my change. “Tell your brother good luck this season. San Francisco Thunder is my favorite team.”
“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” I smile again. I never tell him. If Jude knew how many times someone gives me a message about how talented, cool, hot he is, his ego would be bigger than he is.
The pizza guy leaves and as his scooter starts away from the house, I notice Holden walking toward it. Well, weaving is probably a better description. Huh. Holden is drunk. This both disturbs me and fascinates me in equal parts, but it shouldn’t. It should only make me fearful because I remember drunk teenage Holden and he was mean. I remember it clear as day. We didn’t drink a lot as kids, mostly because everyone knew we were underage and we had to walk two towns over to find a place that would take our fake ID, but on the occasions we managed to get alcohol, Holden would end the night punching someone or something. Mostly it was people—he’d pick a fight with anyone. And if no one took the bait he’d punch trees, kick parked cars, knock mailboxes off their posts. He was just plain scary.
I watch him as he stumbles, tripping over a slight lip in the sidewalk, curses and continues on to his trailer. It’s dark outside and he’s on a crash course for the lawn chair he left in the driveway so I reach over and flip on the outside lights. He stops and looks up, but he doesn’t say anything. He just stands there staring. He isn’t frowning or snarling, which is a good sign, so I open the screen door and hobble out and down the stairs, still holding the pizza boxes.
I stop before him and hold the boxes a little higher. “I bought you a pizza as a peace offering.”
