He lets me go. “Head to bed. I’m going to refill the ice tray so you’ll have some in the morning. You’ll need it.”
“Thanks, Dad. Love you.”
As I start up the stairs I hear him chuckle. “Love you too, slugger.”
1
Winnie
Someone is awake and walking around the cottage, but I don’t bother to find out who. I just stay in my dad’s rocking chair, holding my now cold cup of coffee, staring out at nothing. There’s nothing about the screened-in porch that protects me from the chilly predawn Maine air but despite that I’m in only a T-shirt and thin pajama pants. The numbness the cold is creating in my limbs matches the numbness I’ve been feeling inside for the last five days. Since my father died.
“You can’t sleep either, huh?” Sadie says as she steps into the doorway from the living room and immediately wraps her arms around herself. “Holy crap, it’s freezing. You must be a Popsicle.”
She disappears momentarily and comes back with two hand-knitted throw blankets from the living room. She hands one to me, but I don’t move to take it so she kind of tosses it in the air and it lands across my lap. She sits down in the rocking chair next to mine and wraps herself in the other blanket. We don’t speak for a few moments. We both just rock. I stare out through the screen at the empty street in front of the house and she stares at me.
“You can talk to me, you know?” Sadie finally says, her voice low but a little shaky. Sadie has been the strongest of all of us since our dad was diagnosed with ALS a little over four years ago. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that she’s a nurse. She deals with illness and death just about every day so she is able to compartmentalize her emotions. I’m twenty-nine, a year and a half older than her, and I’ve never learned to do that.
“Talking isn’t going to help,” I say in a scarily steady voice. “Nothing will help. It’s over. He’s gone.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Her features are ravaged with pain, but she swallows it down and pulls her left hand out of her blanket cocoon just long enough to wipe a tear as it starts to fall. Sadie sniffs and takes a deep, slow breath. Then she nods. “This is why we should talk about it. Remember all the wonderful times we had with him.”
“I remember them,” I assure her and take a sip of my cold coffee. The funeral yesterday was filled with good times. Fourteen people spoke, sharing funny and poignant memories of my dad. There were photos of all the great times—from his wedding to Mom to each of our births to his grandchild’s birth to our final Christmas together—on display around the urn. I have no trouble remembering all the wonderful moments with my father, but they aren’t bringing me the peace everyone seems to think they should.
“I still feel empty. Alone. Broken,” I confess to my sister and lift a hand, showing her my palm, before she can say anything. “And please don’t tell me that I’m not alone. I know that I’m not, technically, but that doesn’t change how I feel.”
She sighs softly and nods. Now it’s her turn to stare out into nothing, but she doesn’t do it as long as I do. I would do it forever if I could. Sadie stands, pulling the blanket tighter around her. “I’m going to watch the sunrise on the beach. You should come.”
I shake my head, no. I think she’s going to argue with me, but then the floorboards in the living room creak loudly and I see her boyfriend, Griffin, appear in the doorway. He’s bleary-eyed, dressed in only sweats and a T-shirt. Griffin is a coach for the San Francisco Thunder, the professional hockey team my brother plays for. He and Sadie have been dating only a year, but their bond is strong and she has never been happier.
“Hey,” he says to both of us and then steps onto the porch. He reaches out to tenderly run a hand over the back of Sadie’s head. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“I’m going to the beach to watch the sunrise.”
“I’ll come too,” Griffin replies simply. “Let me grab a jacket or something.”
I hold out the blanket Sadie gave me for him to take. He hesitates, but accepts it. Sadie unlocks the porch door and starts down the stairs. Griffin hesitates again, his dark brown eyes on me. I give him a weak smile, which I can tell by the expression on his face he isn’t buying it as a reassurance that I’m fine, but Griffin is a smart guy and he knows there’s no way I can be okay right now, so he doesn’t push me. He returns my smile and follows Sadie out the door.
The cottage is filled to the brim with family. On top of Sadie and Griffin we have my youngest sister, Dixie, and her fiancé, Eli; my brother, Jude, and his wife, Zoey, and their son, Declan; and my mom stuffed into this five-bedroom cottage. Oh and my boyfriend, Ty. So I know it won’t be long before someone else is up and in my face. I love my family more than anything. I’ve willingly sacrificed a lot to be with them during the hard times, and I regret none of it. But…right now, for some reason I can’t understand, I don’t want to be anywhere near them. Or anyone. I feel a flicker of guilt at that thought, but I also know I can’t control my feelings.
I stand up and put my coffee mug on the side table before heading inside. I can hear my mother in her room, which is the only bedroom on the main floor. She’ll be out soon. I grab my purse off the kitchen table where I left it yesterday afternoon and walk back to the porch where I slip into some flip-flops that might be Dixie’s and head out the door.
I wander around the small town, still quiet because basically no one else is awake, for over an hour, avoiding the beach and sticking to the streets so I don’t run into Sadie and Griffin. My dad loved the beach, but he also loved other parts of Ocean Pines. The shuffleboard court where we used to have annual family tournaments. The ice cream parlor where we’d often get dessert. He’d always order mint chocolate chip on a sugar cone with rainbow sprinkles, or jimmies as they call them in New England. He used to play hide-and-seek in the small but thick pine forest at the edge of town when he was a kid. This whole town—every inch of it—makes me feel close to him, like he’s still here. That makes me feel better and worse because he’s not. He’s gone forever.
When I walk by the tiny grocery store, Cat Cannon, the owner and a childhood friend is flipping the sign from closed to open. She gives me a small wave, opening the door. “First batch of cinnamon buns are just being pulled from the oven.”
“I’m not hungry, but thanks anyway, Cat.”
She gives me a sympathetic, knowing smile and smooths her hands on her apron. “I know you’re not. But fact is you have to eat something. Might as well be these works of art.”
She opens the door wider and the sugary scent of the cinnamon buns her family is renowned for wafts out toward me. My brain may not want to eat, but my neglected stomach is controlling my feet. I start to walk toward her. Cat smiles as I walk into the store, which is about the size of a double-car garage. There are three rows of canned and boxed goods, a commercial refrigerator with cold essentials, and a deli and baked-goods counter where the best cinnamon buns in the state can be found, usually only briefly as they sell out as quick as they can be baked every morning.
Cat passes me and makes her way behind the counter. I’ve known her since I was six. We spent every summer hanging out at the beach or running around town. I even worked at this store with her, making subs and lobster rolls and ringing in orders for a few years. We both went off to college, but Cat gladly took over the store for her parents after she graduated. I swear she only did it so her mother would finally give her the coveted cinnamon bun recipe.
She pulls one warm bun from the tray as I step up to the counter. “Do you want one for Ty too?”
I shake my head before she’s finished the sentence, which makes her expression dim. “Actually, give me six. If I bring one for Ty but not Jude or Dixie or everyone else, they’ll disown me.”
Cat smiles and reaches for a box under the counter. She opens it and starts placing the buns inside. “Are you heading back to San Francisco soon? The whole town is basically packing up right now, as usual, so I thought you would be too.”
