“A funeral service. For a friend.”
“Merry Christmas, Angie.”
“Yeah. Take care, Dad.”
The knoll that jutted out into the sea was full with ancient history, long gold grasses, a totem pole that stood silent sentinel. A bald eagle perched atop the pole, feathers ruffling in salt wind as it peered down at the tiny gathering of people below. Angie stood among them, alone and a little to the side.
“Leaves should not wither and die in early spring,” said the pastor from the United Church as Merry Winston’s ashes were scattered to the wind, blowing toward the pale, wintery horizon. “Winter should not come before its time ...”
Pastor Markus from Harbor House was here. So was Winston’s street friend, Nina, and a few other ragged-looking women, rubbing noses and shivering in the cold. But no Holgersen. No Leo. No one else from the MVPD. And at this poignant moment, Angie felt a kinship with this motley group—she too was a fringe dweller of sorts right now. Left out in the cold. Lonely.
“... for there is no answer to death, especially premature death, but to live vigorously and beautifully ...”
Angie turned and made her way along the little grassy path up toward the parking lot.
A figure waited there. Tall. Black coat. Blue-black hair ruffling like those eagle feathers in the salt wind.
Maddocks.
Angie stalled, gathered herself, and went up to him.
His complexion was bloodless, the hollows under his eyes and cheekbones dark.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said as she neared. His voice was stern, angry almost. Frustrated, maybe. “You haven’t answered or returned any of my calls. Why?”
“I’m giving you space. I—”
“Don’t shit me, Angie. I don’t need space, and you know it.”
“How’s Ginny?”
“Ginny’s fine, and don’t change the subject.”
“Sabrina?”
“Angie—”
“I saw you with her, Maddocks, at the hospital.”
“She’s Ginny’s mother—she always will be.”
“I know. You needed to be together. I ... don’t want to come between that. I know how you wanted to salvage the dream, the past. I’ve screwed up before, Maddocks, messed with a married man, and it killed his marriage, and I’ve regretted that every moment of my life. It’s ... why—”
“The club?”
And her sex rules ...
She snorted and turned to look at the sea, the small group of people threading up through the long grasses from the knoll. “Yeah.”
“Do you always have to go to such extremes?”
She cast him a sideways glance.
“I signed my papers, Angie,” he said. A pause. “My divorce is final.”
Her gaze ticked to his empty ring finger, then up to his face. His eyes bored hot into hers. She swallowed.
“I want you in my life.”
