“I’mpositive,Sierra. There’s no way it’s healthy for you to surround yourself with this kind of negativity. You know what I want you to do?”
“What?”
“I want you to march into your boss’s office—”
“I can’t,” says Sierra. “I work remotely. From home.”
“Oh, honey. Really? From like a home office?”
“Well, sort of. From my bedroom. In my parents’ house.” She sniffs.
“Sierra.Okay. Then I want you to hang up, call your boss immediately, and quit. Then I want you to find a job with people your own age, who go out for drinks or whatever on Fridays, and I want you to start living your life.”
“That sounds really nice.”
“So do it. Do it now, before you lose your nerve.”
“Kristie?”
“Yes?”
“You know I can’t close your file. I mean, I can make a note that we talked, and they’ll consider that some kind of progress, but they’re just going to pass your case along to somebody else, and that person is going to keep calling you.”
“I know,” says Kristie. “I know. The world keeps on turning, et cetera. I have to go now, Sierra, okay?”
“Okay,” says Sierra. “Thank you. And good luck.”
“You too.” Kristie ends the conversation feeling better than she started it feeling—an unusual reaction to a bill collector call, to be sure. But sometimes she needs to be reminded that she’s not the only one with problems.
Text from Danny.I’ll be home soon. I’m taking you to Claws for dinner. Put on something warm. We’re eating outside.
She thinks, This could be the night.
The only pants she has that still fit comfortably are the tan cargo pants she wore for her Renys interview; her jeans have become difficult to zip. When she’s getting dressed she looks at herself in the mirror. Earlier that day, standing naked after her shower, she’d been able to see the slightest thickening around her waist. Her breasts, already tender and sore to the touch, looked fuller. Danny hasn’t noticed these changes yet, or if he has, he hasn’t commented on them—but soon enough they will be too obvious to ignore. Soon enough she’ll have to tell him, or he’ll guess, and he’ll leave her, just as Martin Fitzgerald left Sheila. Kristie will find herself repeating a pattern already established, sliding into a pair of well-worn slippers set beside the door. And on and on it will go from here.
At Claws Kristie orders a lobster roll and Danny has the signature haddock sandwich. They get an outside table, under an orange umbrella, overlooking Lermond Cove, and wait for their number to be called. The lobster roll is Instagram-worthy, with the lobster meat, lightly sprinkled with paprika, overflowing its bun. Side of coleslaw, dill pickle. Seltzer water for Kristie, a can of Seadog Ale for Danny. The setting is picture-perfect, and the New England-y ocean smell is all around them. As the sun begins to set the air starts to get chilly, and Kristie pulls her sweatshirt more tightly around her.
“To summer!” Danny says, raising his beer can. “To us.”
“To us,” says Kristie. She could tell him now. She could tell him everything. She could tell him why she came to Rockland in the beginning of June, and that it wasn’t an accident that he found her in Ships View in the first place, and why she’d gone there a second time, and why she had so many questions about the Fitzgeralds. She could tell him about the baby, so that if he wants to walk awayhe can do it now, before she becomes even more attached to him than she already is.
She opens her mouth to speak, but all she can think about is her mother sitting at their little kitchen table, worrying herself over the bills. Her mother, going alone to the parent-teacher nights in elementary school, when so many other kids had two parents. Her mother, bravely moving them from Philly to Altoona because the schools were better. Her mother, always trying to catch up, never getting ahead because she started out so far behind. And even though Kristie’s mouth is ready, her heart isn’t—nothing comes out.
She feels in her pocket for the note she didn’t leave with Martin Fitzgerald a week ago. Maybe she’ll try again, get a better handle on Danny’s schedule, do a better job of avoiding Pauline.
She moves her hand around. The pockets are deep, and she has to half-stand to feel the bottom of them.
“What’s the matter?” asks Danny. “Don’t you like your lobster roll?” He’s gazing at her with such concern and love, more of both than she deserves.
“I love it,” says Kristie. “It’s so good, Danny.” She sits back down and tries to slow the rush of blood to her head. The note is gone.
23.
Louisa
Dear Father,
Thank you for your last letter even though if I’m being honest you didn’t do anything for me. Saying that “life can be complicated when you’re a grown-up” and “I’ll understand when I’m an adult” ISN’T HELPFUL AT ALL. When I’m an adult I probably won’t care as much about this as I do now. I’m sorry if it hurts your feelings to hear that but it hurts my feelings to know that you are choosing a stupid podcast company over your own fleshened blood. I won’t bother asking you when you’re coming to Maine because obviously the answer is capital N Never.
