by Tracy Ewens
She could tell that he would have taken back his choice of words if he could, but it was too late and maybe he was right. Maybe she’d been walking around all this time thinking she’d dodged a bullet when in fact a part of her had died.
“I’m not dead.”
“Sorry. Maybe we should go.”
“I wasn’t thinking about you. It wasn’t conscious, but all I thought about back then was that I was pregnant and when I lost it, yes, I suppose that was my loss too.” She touched his hand without even questioning it as if there were suddenly no rules for what she now understood to be their baby. Matt’s hand pulled back at first and then closed tightly around hers. He didn’t say anything but squeezed her hand.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice soft. She was desperate to keep the tears from escaping.
“I don’t want you to be sorry.”
“Then what do you want me to say?”
“It’s not a matter of the right thing to say at this point, Holls. I wanted to be there for you. It was our baby and when it was gone, it was our loss.”
Hollis shook her head. The idea that they were in something together, that instead of the past being about her pushing forward and making a life for herself, it was about her turning him away… that was more than her heart was ready to handle. She didn’t want to discuss this right now, not any of it. Getting out of the truck, Hollis started walking.
“Where are you going?” Matt caught up with her and turned her by the shoulders.
Hollis squirmed and he let her go. “I need some air. I don’t know why we are talking about this. It’s over, has been over for so many years. I don’t want to go back there.”
“I don’t either. I wasn’t trying to say that you didn’t—”
“It doesn’t matter what I didn’t do. I was the one who was pregnant. I was the one alone in that bathroom.”
Matt looked back at the truck, so Hollis took him by the shoulder this time. “Me, in the bathroom, bleeding and cramping with no one to help. That was me, so I’m sorry if I didn’t include you.” She somehow hoped her words could explain away what to her adult mind seemed so selfish now.
“You go through things alone, Hollis, because that’s how you want it. No one is good enough to ever share in your fear, your pain.”
“That is not true!” She pushed at his chest.
“Oh, okay.” He threw his hands up and walked back to the truck.
When they were both in, Matt pulled out onto the road. They drove in silence and Hollis wondered if it was somehow possible to slip back into the easy conversation they were having before she brought up baby clothes and Matt had her looking at things differently. In retrospect, she’d hardly given his feelings a thought, which she knew sounded cruel, but back when her entire world went myopic, it was difficult to see anything. Maybe that was a gift time afforded people, some distance to see outside their own solitary experience, but at twenty-two, there was no such view.
Sitting next to him now, she could see the pain. There was no longer anything she could do about it. Maybe he was right and she should have let him in. Hollis shook her head at the thought because it was so easy to do the right thing in reverse. She’d done the best she could, and that had caused him pain. She didn’t know what to do with that or with the thought that after all of these years, she still insisted on going through things alone. She wasn’t sure where “letting people in” would fit on her long list of things to fix, but it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon so she did the one thing that had always worked with Matt: she changed the subject.
“Back to the clock, why is it no one ever says, ‘He’s all randy because his clock is ticking?’”
Some of the tension simply slipped away, and Hollis wondered if that was because the subject was now no longer off-limits, “the event” wasn’t a “shh” anymore. That didn’t mean either of them had the strength to sort through their mess, but there was some relief. Glancing at her quickly again, Matt must have recognized the life raft she was offering. His beautiful eyes softened around the edges and true to form, he took it.
“Hold on, randy? No one uses that word anymore,” he said with a hesitant smile.
“I do. It’s a great word. One of the guests, staying in Lil’ Earl, said it at breakfast.”
“Was he eighty?”
“I don’t care. It’s a perfect word to describe men. I’m bringing it back.”
Matt shook his head and pulled off again, this time to get gas. “Well, if anyone can bring ‘randy’ back, it’s you.”
Hollis hopped out while he filled the tank. “Men are never told their clock is ticking.”
“That’s because our clock doesn’t tick. Men don’t have a shelf life.”
Hollis felt her temper rise, and then she heard the snicker he was trying to hide behind his sunglasses.
“You’re good at pissing me off, you know?”
“I do. Lots of practice.” He replaced the pump and they climbed back into the truck.
“A shelf life. Wow.”
“I said that to piss you off. I have an entire stash of things that I know will get you all fired up.”
“Did you dust those off recently? Why?”
“I have dusted off a few. And because despite my best efforts to ignore, it’s nice to… have you back, Holls.”
Hollis put her bare feet on the metal glove box of the truck and pulled on one of the baseball caps she found in the truck low on her forehead. “Happy to entertain. Ass.”
He grinned as they twisted and turned toward Point Reyes, and Hollis realized she’d missed him. When they were younger, things were simple and the love she felt for Matt, she realized, must have been conditional on that ease because once things became complicated, she’d left and he hadn’t followed. The want currently coursing through as the endless coastline once more came into view was different. Cleared of the glitter of youth and chosen snippets of their past, she wanted to know him now, to discover who he had become. In her longing to find out what she’d missed, Hollis almost forgot that things in her life, while certainly not on the same scale as they were back then, were again ugly and complicated.
Her heart quietly asked if he could help, if maybe now she could let him. That single question took Hollis’s breath away as she turned her face to the breeze of the open window. Need had remained the one thing Hollis controlled above all else. It made a person weak, gave away the upper hand. As “regimented” as it sounded, the one thing that scared her more than being fired, being found out, was need. Accepting their past was one thing, but needing him again—Hollis shook her head as if she were having an actual conversation with her heart—that wasn’t possible.
Chapter Eleven
They grabbed crab sandwiches and chowder from The Crab Hut. There was barely enough room to turn around inside because most of the space was an entire wall of huge stainless steel pots boiling on burners and a short service counter with small plastic cups of sauces, fresh slices of lemon, a stack of napkins, and a homemade pie under glass with a few pieces already missing. This whole area spoke to a part of Matt he thought must be tucked into the corner of all grown men. The idea of being a pirate or a fisherman on the open sea—it was a kid dream for most men and far less romantic for the men who did the work, but that didn’t stop the fascination every time he was in a harbor town. Outside the blue-and-white building hung a chalkboard with their offerings for the day and a decent-sized grass area that overlooked the harbor. There were four circular concrete tables with benches.
He’d been here a few dozen times with Hollis while they were growing up, but when it was their turn to order, he wondered what adult Hollis in the tiny shorts ordered at a crab shack. When she’d first come storming back into the cove, he was flooded with memories, but now where she’d been and the person she’d grown into held more interest. They both ordered the crab sandwich, which was nothing new, but then she ordered chowder and Matt had smoked oysters. Old and new, maybe it was the optimism
of the day or that she was her most beautiful when she didn’t seem to care, but for the first time in a very long time, Matt felt the possibility. His stupid heart overpowered logic and history. For the span of one lunch, his mind allowed him to wonder if one car ride or one Party on the Pier at a time could be pieced together to make a life. There they sat, her watching day-tripping families taking pictures, laughing when the guy with a long beard working the smoker turned and she noticed his T-shirt that read, Shuck You, and Matt watching… her. Sun and sea, one of his favorite places, and the whole time he tried to decide if it was a great place or if everything had been great with her. He rubbed the back of his neck and logic slowly brought him back down. That’s enough heart for one day.
Hollis finished her last spoonful of chowder and stood to throw out their trash. Somehow, she managed to hit the corner of the tray and the red-and-white baskets went flying.
“Fu—dge nuts!”
“What’s with that? You’ve done it a couple of times now. What are you doing?” Matt helped her pick up the garbage and after they managed to get it all safely into the brown plastic can, they returned to the table.
“I’m cleaning up my mouth. I’m not a good example for small children.”
“Is that something that’s important to you?”
“Yes, I mean it wasn’t, but I had to run to Kerensky’s for Uncle Mitch last week. I was on the phone and… it’s a long story, but I was livid with a guy from work because he was trying to say that… it doesn’t matter, the point is that I was cursing a blue streak and when I left the stall there was a mother and her daughter. She read me the riot act and then her daughter told me I wasn’t washing my hands properly.”
“So you were smacked down in a hardware store by a mom and her kid?”
Hollis shrugged. “I guess. It was weird. I felt like a crazy person. Completely oblivious that there were other people in the world, and it made me question how I’d gotten to the point where I would talk like that in a public place.”
“Kerensky’s no less.”
“Right. I get in these modes where I’m some sort of a…”
“Bulldog?”
“I guess. Whatever, Mr. Smart-ass. You asked. So that’s why I’m saying ‘truck’ instead of ‘fuck’ and ‘spit’ instead of ‘shit.’” She whispered the last few words.
Matt looked around. “But there are no children. We’re not in the bathroom.”
“Practice. I’m practicing so it becomes my new norm. You never know where you’ll be. My mother tells me all the time I curse like a sailor.” Her brow wrinkled and Matt tried not to look at her mouth or think of the perfectly naughty things he’d heard slip from it. “No way she can be right, so better language is on the action plan.”
“Okay, wow, there is so much to take in here. Let’s start with ‘blue streak?’”
“Isn’t that great? The guy who washes all the windows for Uncle Mitch, you know the one with the missing finger?”
Matt nodded.
“I overheard him saying it the other day and I thought it was so clever. I like the image, so I stole it. I’m using it now.”
“Just like that, it’s been incorporated and added to ‘randy.’ Okay, next, do you honestly have an action plan for yourself? Tell me that was a joke.”
Matt wouldn’t put it past her. He used to tease her about her color-coded notes and her incessant use of index cards when they were in school. Sometimes it was a little surreal he was sitting across from her again, like some sort of second chance he’d given up on a long time ago.
“No, not exactly. I have the usual notes and a few timelines.” She took the last sip of her soda, dumped the ice on the grass, and tossed her paper cup in the blue recycle bin. The Crab Hut had been recycling since before it was cool, and as Hollis had said, it was habit.
“So, that sounds like an action plan.”
“Fine, yes, I guess it’s an action plan. They’re so darn measurable and helpful.”
Matt finished his drink and tossed it too. “I hear ya. I can’t get enough of them myself.”
Hollis shook her head.
“Okay, last question.”
“And then we really need to get going.” Hollis stood up.
“The eventual goal with Operation Mouth Cleanup will be to naturally say things like ‘funky town’ and ‘ships sailing’ in moments of anger? That you’ll transform into a Willy Wonka kind of ranting person instead of a sailor?”
“Yes. Make fun, if you will, I honestly don’t care. You didn’t see the look on that mother’s face. I’m rarely embarrassed, but that day I was embarrassed by my mouth.”
“I’ve always been a fan of your mouth, Holls.”
The air left her lungs—he could see it swoosh past and, whether she knew it or not, her eyes went all stormy-seas sexy. Holy hell, she was something. So far he’d been holding his own with the banter, but all this talk about her mouth and his mind drifted somewhere it had no business going.
Pull it together. This is Hollis. Hollis of the saved voice mails on your phone after she left so you could still hear her voice. That one, remember how pathetic you were? Snap out of this, asshole, or you’re going right back to Loser Land.
“Did you rewash your hands?” Matt asked as his eyes took their time traveling up to meet hers, and he stood to leave.
“What?”
“The little girl, you said she didn’t like the way you washed your hands.”
Hollis nodded. “But I’m not adopting that into my life. Three minutes is stupid.”
He laughed and opened the truck door for her.
They drove for about twenty minutes. Hollis had fond memories of this drive. When she and her sisters were little, her uncle would load them into his truck, the one before this relic, and drive them to the store for ice cream. There were frozen treats like the ones a kid could get from the ice cream section at the small general store at the cove, and there were special treats. The Tasty Cone was in Point Reyes and they made their own ice cream with cream from the local dairies. It was, to this day, the best ice cream Hollis or her sisters had ever had. She wasn’t sure if it was because of that time in her life or if it was the ice cream. It didn’t matter. She was almost afraid to see if the Tasty Cone was still around because what if they stopped by for ice cream now and it wasn’t as good? Sometimes revisiting the past had a way of messing up the shine, she thought. Maybe that would happen with Matt, maybe after a few more minutes with him, she would realize he hadn’t been all that back then and certainly wasn’t much now.
Wishful thinking disappeared when she glanced over at him and all her body wanted to do was scoot closer. The bump of the gravel parking area brought Hollis back to reality as they pulled past a sign that read, Point Reyes National Seashore.
“I thought we were going to the markets.”
“We are, but I thought we’d check out the lighthouse.”
“I’ve never been to the lighthouse.”
“I know, me neither. It’s something new.”
Hollis sat in the warmth of the car as Matt came around and opened her door. “You’re not afraid of a little new, are you, Holls? Let’s go.”
“I’m in tiny shorts and a tank top.”
Matt pulled his sweatshirt off, and she caught a glimpse of a dusting of dark hair on his stomach. That was new too.
“Your sweatshirt is not going to fit me.”
“Because you are obviously making a fashion statement with the rest of this. Put it on and let’s go before this van of tourists beats us to it.”
Hollis poked her head through the sweatshirt and in addition to swimming in material, she was drowning in the scent of him. For how many years had women relished, gone completely silly, for the smell of their men? Her man. Hollis didn’t have a man. Wanting and having were two different things. Matt had taught her that a long time ago, so she would settle for what was turning into a great day and the warm delicious smell of him because neither of them had what it took
for the “having” part.
Matt wanted to tell her she had what looked like a piece of oyster cracker in her hair. He wanted to reach out and pull it from the strands, but even in his sweatshirt, she was breathtaking and he had a feeling touching her at all would lead to complete logic shutdown followed by finally taking the mouth he couldn’t stop thinking about. Suddenly, his mind was back to the many pleasures of Hollis’s mouth. She liked to talk and whisper, he remembered vividly, as if he’d left her bed that morning. That’s a great idea, dumbass. Let’s go down hot-sex memory lane too. Instead of telling her about the cracker, he did what he usually did—he stood back and gave her some space as they walked toward the lighthouse. She’d eventually find the piece of cracker herself.
They stopped at a section of chain-link fence and looked out at an ocean far wilder than the bay water near Mitchell’s Cove. The wind was howling as they walked down the cascading stairs that led to the lighthouse. Succulents and grasses clung to the rocky coast. A foghorn sound vibrated from the lighthouse and for a moment, Matt wondered if he could live in a 137-year-old lighthouse. Did people still live in lighthouses, or had that—like most things solitary and romantic—died?
“No,” she said from behind as he read one of the placards.
“No, what?”
“No, no one lives here anymore and no, you could not do this. Even you, an only child, would lose your mind.”
Matt turned to face her and she did not back up. They were face-to-face and he quirked a brow in question.
“What, you think you alone possess the I-know-what-you’re-thinking mind trick?”
He nodded. “How?”
Her windblown face bloomed into a smile, and she reached up and touched his forehead. “I’ve known you for a long time. Even after a few years, some things don’t change.”
“A few years?”
“Feels like yesterday sometimes, doesn’t it?”
Yeah, it does, Holls. “Sometimes.”
“Anyway, Parks and Recreation keeps up the lighthouse now, so your dreams of wearing a turtleneck and smoking a pipe are dashed. You’ll have to seek out one of those desolate posts no one wants.”