21
Chloe
I spendthe night working on the Hawkins website trying not to spy on Logan with his son. But it’s hard. They spent about an hour in the front yard just before sunset having a snowball fight and then, River just chased Chewie around for a while, and finally, they built a snowman. And then Logan sent me a photo of the snowman with the words‘Next time you’ll build it with us.’
I could hear River’s giggles through the windows and they were infectious. The sound caused the corners of my lips to quirk up in a smile. The sound of Logan’s laugh that usually followed River’s made my insides melt.
I couldn’t see River’s face clearly the two times I peeked out the window because he was too bundled up—hooded coat, scarf, knitted hat—and I was dying to know if he looked like Logan. One day I’d know. I was disappointed when Logan called to tell me that Bethany didn’t want River meeting any new people this first weekend. Logan sounded so remorseful I found myself consoling him. It really was okay. I just wanted the weekend to go smoothly for Logan.
Even though it’s after eight, I can’t find anything good to watch on TV, so I decide I might as well keep working, and I grab my iPad. I’ve never been a fan of social media, and I closed all my personal accounts after Jackson died. I couldn’t bear to keep looking at all the photos of us together and our happy times that kept popping up as memories, and also, Paul was using Facebook and those sites to stalk me and contact me. I opened up a new dummy Instagram, which I use for client situations like this. The name on it is Lelah Echo, an anagram of my name, so Paul wouldn’t find me. It takes me a minute to remember my password. When I do, I start typing in hashtags using versions of their restaurant name to see what comes up. A ton. Lots of locals have tagged the Hawkins Lobster Shack in photos taken at the restaurant for family outings and celebrations, including Mrs. Green, I see. The nosy old lady is on Instagram? I shake my head with a stupefied smile as I take a peek at her profile. It’s mostly pics of her needle point projects and her kids, Cassidy, Ronan, and Eddie. I know everything about them because Mrs. Green is as liberal with her gossip about her own family as she is with others. Cassidy is the youngest, and she’s a freelance journalist who also works at Dunkin’. Eddie works in the pharmaceutical industry and lives in Portland. Ronan works with Logan and Jake as a fireman. Jake robbed Ronan of the Captain position, according to Mrs. Green, and she’s furious because Ronan is now threatening to transfer out of Ocean Pines. She doesn’t want him to move away.
Anyway, the picture she posted is of her, Ronan, and a pretty brunette woman at Hawkins on a picnic table on the deck that’s opened only in the summer. She posted a caption ‘Trying to talk Ronan and Courtney into grandbabies over lobster rolls.’
I find another picture from that lady, Mrs. Cofax, who Logan and I ran into tobogganing. She’s standing in front of Hawkins blowing a kiss at the camera. She’s got on the brightest orange lipstick that matches her hair color. She’s in a very tight, leopard print jumper and the caption says, ‘I come for the lobster, but I stay for the eye candy. The staff is H.O.T. ladies. Rawr! #HawkinsLobster #CatchoftheDay #HottieCentral #Gilf’
I laugh out loud to myself at that one. Gilf? Please dear God don’t tell me that means Grandmother I’d Like to Fuck. I do a quick Google search to confirm and wish I hadn’t. I take notes on profiles that have some nice family photos or food shots so I can reach out to them and ask if we can use their pics or link to them.
I’m about to close Instagram when I notice one post using the Hawkins Lobster hashtag features a very familiar face. Jackson. I go straight to it. Surely it isn’t actually him…but it is. “Oh my God…” I whisper to myself.
My husband is sitting at a booth in Hawkins Lobster Shack with his brother Denny eating a lobster roll and smiling at me, and the air disappears from my lungs. It seems to be Denny’s account, which I didn’t know he had. This is the only shot of Jackson, which makes sense. They got along great but didn’t spend a lot of time with each other because we lived so far away from Denny for so long. The caption under the photo says, ‘Big bro moved to Maine!’
I remember this day, vaguely. We had been here about a week and Denny drove down from New Hampshire to visit for the day. They wanted to go out to eat, and I declined. I wanted to unpack more of our moving boxes, and I also wanted them to have guy time. Jackson would be killed less than four weeks later. I stare at Jackson’s smiling face, and my heart plummets into my gut, which is suddenly swimming with mixed emotions, including guilt. Lots of it.
I didn’t get counseling after Jackson died for a few reasons. One, I was recovering from my injuries, and although they sent a social worker by to chat with me a few times and give me grief pamphlets, I didn’t have the time to attend the free group therapy classes, nor did I want to. Groups have never been my thing. And I couldn’t afford private counseling. So I relied on self-help books and blogs. I still had issues around everything, I knew it. But I was managing. I removed all traces of Jackson from the house because it was too painful, but I didn’t throw a thing away. All the photos and even his clothes were tucked away in airtight containers in the attic. It wasn’t that I wanted to forget him, I just had to stop seeing him everywhere. The guilt and pain were too much. So seeing him now, it blindsides me.
The doorbell rings, and I jump. I close down my iPad, thankful for a chance to stop staring at the picture. I get off the couch and make my way to the front door. I’m scared it’s Logan. I’m too out of sorts, and seeing him will trigger feelings that will mix with the pain I’m feeling over seeing Jackson’s face again and…ugh just please don’t be Logan.
It’s not. It’s worse. It’s Mrs. Green.
“Chloe, darling. I hope I’m not interrupting something,” she says, but the way her eyes dart from my face to over my shoulders indicates she hopes she is interrupting something.
“Of course not,” I say, fighting my facial muscles that want to do nothing but frown. “What can I do for you?”
“It’s about that petition I told you about. There’s an online link to it on my blog and I noticed you haven’t signed it yet” Mrs. Green holds out a clipboard with the petition on it. Who even owns a clipboard? “You know that the Carter lawn is a disaster and those kinds of lawns attract the wrong kind of people.”
“Lawn ornaments attract the wrong type of people?” I can’t help but sound cynical, and I’m sure the look on my face is even more cynical than my tone.
“I have done a lot of research on this, and garden gnomes on your front lawn means you’re…” She steps forward and lowers her voice, her pale eyes staring up at me, as serious as a heart attack. “It means you’re swingers.”
I blink. “Swingers.”
“Yes a couple who…fornicate with other couples…” she whispers and her cheeks start turning pink.
I blink again. I am playing dumb because I’m hoping if I make her uncomfortable enough, she will simply leave without pushing me on this petition. “Fornicate with other couples at the same time? Like a foursome? Or are there multiple couples? Like how many?”
Mrs. Green’s posture gets ramrod straight. “No, I think that’s called something else. I am not an expert on this, Chloe. I just want it gone off the lawn. There are fourteen of them for goodness sake! And that miniature reindeer they have up year-round.”
“It’s a rooster,” I correct her. “And I’m sorry, Mrs. Green, but I don’t want to get involved. I’m not against lawn ornaments, and although I don’t want that many myself, I’m not willing to go to war on this. I’m sorry.”
She looks like I just announced to her thatIswing. “Humpf. Well, what about the Hawkins boy you’ve got stashed around here someplace. Will he sign?”
“I don’t have Loganstashedanywhere,” I say, my voice as tight as my grip on the door. “I rent him an apartment. And I doubt he’ll want to sign it, but you’re welcome to ask him sometime, just not tonight. He’s with his son.”
I start to close the door and am about to tell her to have a good night, and pretend I actually mean it, when she starts talking again.Gossiping. “You know my kids are around the same age as the Hawkins brood, give or take. And I went to school with Lucy and Charles,” she starts, and I already don’t like where this is going. “Lucy is a naive woman. That husband of hers was quite the player in high school. Almost got his claws into me. Anyway, they clearly went a little crazy on the baby front, and trust me when I tell you they had their hands full with that brood. The older one, Declan, was so uptight and anxious as a kid he tried to hurt himself. It was horrible. And then Terra with her sickness and having to take a kidney from her boyfriend. The twins, they seem to be the normal ones, but they’re the wildest of the bunch. Players like their daddy was. I can’t keep track of the number of different woman I’ve seen Finn running around with, and you know Logan up and got that poor Bethany Bard knocked up, and then he disappears to Florida or some such nonsense because he can’t stop guzzling booze and leaves her with a newborn and then comes back and—”
“Mrs. Green,” I interrupt her and put my hand up in a universal stop symbol. “I will not sit here and listen to you tell tales about my…boyfriend,” I say flatly. Her eyes light up because I just gave her the new gossip that keeps her heart pumping. I swear that’s all that keeps her going.
“I thought he was your tenant?” She lifts a salt and pepper eyebrow.
