Page 18 of Hearts on the Line

I did this. All of this is me.

I help manage Merritt’s Catch Lobster Co. I’m running the lobster boat this year while my parents are in Europe for the summer.

It’d be easier if I didn’t give a damn.

I dive back into work, cleaning up the boat for tomorrow before I head to the kitchen to help out. Everything is going to be fine.

Later that afternoon, Nana opens the passenger-side door of my mom’s Subaru with a grin outside of her doctor’s office. It’s easier for her to climb into than my truck.

“Thank God it’s you. I’ve lived a long life, but I’m not ready to die yet. Gloria nearly took out the mailbox this morning.”

“Hi, Nana.”

I move aside the stack of mail I picked up as she climbs in. She bends down and lifts her legs inside, then sighs. She’s always been petite, but lately, I’ve noticed she’s becoming frail and things are getting harder for her. Last week, I had to buy her a shoehorn and some contraption to help her open her pill bottles.

“It’s not easy getting old, Ethan.”

“You could still haul lobster traps with the best of them.”

She laughs, and the sound takes me back—bright and cheery, so fucking optimistic. It’s the same laugh from when we were kids, when she’d help my parents wrangle the four of us as we wreaked havoc across town. I always knew that with Nana there, even if we were in trouble, it would all work out.

“Don’t give your father any ideas.”

Bridget has an accent like the rest of us, but there’s a special lilt to her voice that reminds me of old black-and-white movie stars.

“Dad needed a break.” I check the mirrors, then back out of the small clinic’s parking lot.

“What about you, Ethan?”

I scoff. “What about me?”

“I’m worried about you. You wake up and work all day, then do it all over again. You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Mom and Dad deserve that vacation.”

“Sure they do.”

“Nana.”

She riffles through her purse. “Would you like a pear?”

Not sure I’ve ever been asked that before. “No. Thank you.”

“Suit yourself.” She takes a big bite, then drops her hand to her lap as we approach beach traffic. “You work too much. You need to date.”

“I don’t have time to date.”

“Exactly.”

She shivers, even with a light sweater on. I switch off the AC and roll down our windows a bit, and the July heat sweeps in.

“What are you planning?”

“Bingo. Need you to swing by June’s. Turn at the light, we’ll avoid the worst of the traffic. Oh, and I met your future wife today.”

I slam on the brakes a little harder than I need to before I take the corner. “What?”

“She’s Donna Lawson’s granddaughter. You remember Donna, don’t you?”