The energy in the room gets tense fast. Both Sadie and Dixie’s eyes are bouncing between Winnie and me like they’re watching a tennis match. Winnie frowns and her eyes grow cold. I refuse to give in, snapping my mouth closed and folding my arms over my chest. Finally, without a word to me, she turns to her sisters. Dixie clears her throat. “You’re all about the personal time,” she says and Winnie looks at her quizzically. Fuck. I change the subject again.
“Don’t worry, I’ll have this place looking perfect long before your wedding to the crazy goalie,” I say, hoping Winnie forgets her sister’s last comment.
“Well that shouldn’t be hard because we don’t have a date set anyway,” Dixie explains and both her sisters spin their blond heads to face her. “What?”
“I thought you were settling on Canada Day?” Sadie says, confusion masking her features. “Mom was looking to book the church July first.”
Dixie shrugs. I start to feel like a fly on a wall, eavesdropping on something I shoulder so I clear my throat. “I’m going to wait for Mike on the porch.”
I head out of the room, but I can still hear them talking.
“Dix, did something happen? Are you and Eli okay?” Sadie asks.
“No! We’re great. He’s perfect. I love him more than ever,” she announces and it’s filled with passion and confidence. I feel a weird longing feeling start to fill my chest. God, I want Winnie to talk about her feelings for me with that type of conviction. “I just am not in any rush to get married.”
“Really? Because it’s all you could talk about for the first two months after Eli put that rock on your finger,” Sadie says and I could hear the smile in her voice. “What changed?”
“Dad died,” Winnie’s voice is as clear and sharp as a glass shattering.
“It doesn’t feel right doing it without him.” Dixie’s voice cracks on every single word.
I start to feel really bad about eavesdropping, but as I take a step toward the door, to go wait on the driveway, Winnie speaks again and stops me in my tracks.
“Because nothing is right without him. So don’t do it. It’s not like you’re going to lose anything. You two live together. You’re in love. Screw a big event that’s just going to remind everyone Dad is gone.”
“Winnie!” Sadie barks in protest, which is exactly what I want to do too. But it’s definitely not my place. Still, I’m disappointed in Winnie’s attitude. Clearly any progress I thought she’d made in getting a handle on her grief didn’t happen. She’s still drowning in it and she’s wants her sisters to drown with her. Fuck, Winnie. My heart breaks for her and at the same time, I want to shake her.
Before anyone can say anything else, there’s a loud honk. My eyes dart to the road and find Mike’s pickup pulled up to the curb. He’s hopping out as he calls to me. “Get down here and help me unload supplies!”
I swing open the porch door and do what he asked mostly to avoid confronting Winnie about what she just did to her sister. The horn must have startled the girls out of their conversation too because before I can lift the first two paint cans out of the truck they’re bounding down the stairs, one after another. None of them say anything to me but Sadie does give me a wave good-bye as they pile into her rental and drive away. Winnie refuses to make eye contact.
“There’s three hot chicks living here now?” Mike asks with a grin and I just nod. “If all your jobs are like this, I’m available whenever you need help, buddy.”
He chuckles as he carries a bunch of rollers and a bucket of paint toward the house. I glance back one last time toward their retreating car before following him.
15
Winnie
Umm…lady, I don’t want to get involved in some weird stalking thing between you and your boyfriend,” my Lyft driver, Sterling, says in a nervous tone.
“He’s my contractor, not my boyfriend,” I explain, and I realize that doesn’t make me look less crazy. “I will give you a twenty-dollar cash tip.”
“I’m not supposed to take tips outside of the app,” he informs me.
“Okay, Dudley Do-Right. Well, then I’ll give you a twenty-dollar tip in the app,” I counter. “Just keep following that white truck, but don’t get too close.”
I am officially off the deep end and I don’t even need to see Sterling’s judgey expression in the rearview mirror to confirm it. I’m sure if I hadn’t just left Dixie and Sadie at the airport, they would be telling me the same thing. Still, knowing that doesn’t stop me from doing what I’m doing—following Holden.
I had taken a Lyft from the Portland International Jetport, blurry-eyed from crying through my good-byes to my sisters, when I saw his truck heading in the opposite direction down Route 1. I glanced at the clock on the dashboard and realized it was three-thirty and he was going to his mysterious recurring appointment. So, I stopped sniffling and crying and told Sterling to turn his black Prius around because we needed to go the other way. When he did and asked for a new address to punch into his Waze app, I told him to just follow the white truck. And here we are—about three cars back from Holden’s truck, going God knows where—and I’m sure Sterling will give me the worst passenger rating ever, but I’m still going to make him tail Holden. Even if it means I have to use Uber from now on.
Last night, as I lay in Holden’s bed, curled up on his chest, I admitted to myself that I wanted him for more than just this moment in time. He is one of the few things that helps me get through the day. But I need to know how big a risk I’ve taken, and since he won’t tell me where he goes every day, I’m going to force my Lyft driver into being my sidekick as I act like a private detective…or an unhinged girlfriend.
Holden follows Route 1 along to South Portland where he turns off on a familiar street and within seconds I realize where he’s headed. The ice arena. I spent way more time at an ice rink in the summer than any normal kid vacationing in Maine. But normal kids don’t have a hockey prodigy as an older brother. Jude played hockey twelve months a year, which meant when we were at the cottage, he played here. Holden used to play with him, but this was his year-round rink, since he lived here.
The long narrow road dead-ends at the arena, so as soon as Holden pulls into the large, pothole-filled parking lot and turns right, I demand that poor Sterling turn left and park in between a van and a Hummer.
“Listen, Winnie, I’m not, like, judging you, but this is not what Lyfts are supposed to be used for,” Sterling lectures.
