by Jenny Hale
“I’m absolutely sure that Papa misses you, but I still need you. I’m so happy you’re here with us. I love you so much, Gram.”
“I suppose you’re right. And Flash needs me,” she teased, and Emily laughed through her sniffles. “Somebody’s gonna have to train him. Is he eatin’ my furniture and gettin’ hair on my sofas?”
“No. He’s sleeping on my bed. He’s been depressed since your heart attack. I think he can sense that something is amiss. He’ll be happy for Friday, too.”
“Have you found any pet-friendly condos?” Gram asked.
“I… haven’t started looking.”
Gram sat up a little more in her bed. “Emily, dear. You need to find somewhere to live. The house will be gone in three weeks. I’ve put out ads to sell the furniture. You’ll need to have somewhere to sleep.”
“You’re selling the furniture? What if I want some of it?”
“Then tell me what you want, and if anyone shows interest, I’ll say it’s sold already. What would you like to keep?”
“All of it.”
Gram gave her a knowing look. “You won’t fit the entire house into an apartment. And if you don’t find a place, Rachel’s house is too small to put any of it in there. She has enough on her plate without addin’ you and the dog to the mix.”
“I wasn’t going to impose on Rachel.” She sat on the edge of the bed and fidgeted with the thin hospital blanket.
“Then where are you plannin’ to live?”
“I’ll find something.”
Gram clicked the button on the adjustable arm of the bed, sitting herself up a little more. “This isn’t goin’ away, dear. You’re goin’ to have to figure it out.”
Emily looked out the double window, obscured mostly by thick gray drapes.
“Oh!” Gram said, remembering something. “Did Charlie ever cook for you?”
“No.” Gram was changing the subject. Emily let her.
“Call him or you’re goin’ to make me upset. You have a life to live.”
“I don’t know.”
“Listen, Emily. I know how you think, but you can get yourself into a lot of trouble by prioritizin’ memories over real relationships. Don’t be afraid to have them. It’s the relationships that will carry you through the hard times and help you grow. Not the memories.”
Emily kissed Gram on the cheek. “I love you. I’ll be back in the morning.”
Gram pursed her lips in disapproval, and Emily knew it was because she hadn’t said she’d call Charlie. But she said, “Love you too, dear,” and as she did, her face softened just a little.
Fifteen
Charlie stood at the front door, holding a can of paint in each hand. She couldn’t help a grin spreading across her face, but there was a tiny part of her that felt protective of the house, and didn’t even want to let him in.
“I got the paint. I’ve been waiting until things settled down to bring it over. It’s the shade of blue like the fish on your wall.”
“Let’s bring it around back.” Emily shut the front door, joining him on the porch, and headed down the steps to the path that led to the shed.
“You’re barefoot,” Charlie said, following her as she hopped through the grass.
“Yep,” she said over her shoulder.
“You might get a splinter or stub your toe.”
“I might. But you might get paint on your shoes.”
They stopped outside Papa’s shed, and she noticed how he was smiling at her. She turned away from him toward the boat, inspecting the wood to make sure it was in good shape before they painted it. It had spent many days in the elements out on that little stretch of beach.
Charlie set the cans down and took off his shoes, placing them to the side and walking barefoot into the shed. “We’ll need to sand the boat first.”
Emily waited outside in the breeze, anxiety pecking at her while he rooted around in the shed, eventually returning with Papa’s electric sander.
“Is there somewhere I can plug this in?”
Emily reached just inside the door of the shed, where Papa had the extension cord hanging, and pulled it out for him. Then, she pointed toward the outlet. Charlie plugged the other end into the outlet above his worktable. He tried to turn it on, but nothing happened. He took a step inside to inspect it, Emily standing behind him.
“That one doesn’t work,” she said. “It hasn’t worked for years. You have to plug it in the bottom one.”
He wriggled the outlet—it looked loose. Then he pulled the plug from the top socket and put it in the bottom. The sander let out a squeal when he turned it on.
“It looks like the outlet’s gone bad.”
He turned off his sander and set it on the worktable next to the stack of photos she’d inadvertently left when she’d returned the radio the other night. When he did, it shifted a piece of wood, moving it from where Papa had last set it, and Emily could feel the drumming in her heart. She tried not to watch, instead focusing on the photos. The one of Papa was on top of the stack and she looked away, not knowing what to do.
“Mind if I unscrew the cover to take a look at the wiring—make sure it’s safely wired? I might need you to turn the circuit breaker off.” He reached for Papa’s screwdriver.
“No!” she heard herself shout “No,” she said again more calmly. Papa had wired it all himself and he’d always been fine with just the bottom one. There was no need to start dismantling things in his shed.
“It’s an easy check,” he said, reaching again for the screwdriver. This time, he picked it up. “I promise I won’t set the shed on fire.” He was looking at her, his brows coming together, showing his confusion.
She grabbed his arm, stopping him. “The bottom one works. Just use that one.”
Changing the boat was one thing. It would rot out there by the beach; they’d used it all the time, moving it in and out of the water. But Papa’s shed was another thing entirely. It had been his place—no one else’s. It had always been just like this and there was no reason to change it.
“It’s fine, Emily. I don’t mind looking at it.”
Carefully, Charlie turned toward the outlet, lining up the screwdriver with the center screw in the plate, and Emily could feel the frustration rising from the pit of her stomach. She felt out of control, like a speeding train with no destination, just waiting for the end of the tracks when she’d free-fall. As his hand began to turn, loosening the screw, she pushed him away with all her might, knocking a piece of wood and the stack of photos off the worktable. She shouldn’t have left them there. They fluttered through the air and scattered across the dirty floor.
Charlie stared at her in silence, a shocked look on his face, but she didn’t care. She found two pieces of wood that Papa had glued together—they had fallen to the floor when the photos fell and split into two pieces. She tried to fit them back together, willing them to stick, to go back to the way they had always been, but they kept falling apart.
“What was that?” he said incredulously, but she ignored him, trying to get the pieces together, her hands shaking.
When she looked up, she saw Charlie walking away but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to see him.
A sob escaped as one piece of wood slipped from her hands and crashed again on the floor. She set the other piece on the worktable, trying to get herself together. With slow, deliberate movements, she leaned down on it for support—like Papa had always given her—and finally cried, her face in her hands. She felt sick with grief.
But then Charlie returned. She looked up at him, his jaw set, his breathing slow and steady as if he were working to keep it even. “I can’t get out of the drive. There’s a car in my way and a man standing out front.”
“Hello,” an unfamiliar man said as he stood in the driveway, holding a piece of paper in his hand. “I’m here to take a look at the car that’s for sale.”
Flash had been there first to greet the stranger. The man bent down and rubbed Flash’s h
ead. Emily looked at Charlie, confused, but there were no answers on his face. Surely, this elderly gentleman was at the wrong house.
He held out his hand and showed her a photo that looked as though he’d printed it off the Internet. There, on the paper, was Papa’s Buick with Gram’s name and details.
“It was on the Clearwater trading website,” he said. “Is this it?” he asked, walking over to the car and peering in the windows. In typical Gram-form, it was unlocked. He opened the door and sat himself down in the driver’s seat, his hands on the wheel, his eyes roaming the dashboard. “The ad said it only has 50,000 miles on it. Is that still correct?” he asked from inside the car, the door still open, his foot protruding out and planted on the gravel. He looked out of place in it.
“Um… I believe so. I’ll get the keys…” She noticed Papa’s hat still on the back window, and she felt as though her chest might explode. “May I see the printout you have?” she asked, trying to keep her words even.
He handed it to her.
She left Charlie with the man as she peered down at the paper on her way to get the keys to Papa’s car. From the looks of the ad, it seemed that Gram had posted this about a week ago. Her heart sank as she read it.
Once inside, she shut the door behind her. Every time she stood in that entryway, she could feel Papa around her. She looked around for some sign, some guidance, but it was just her. As she collected herself in the silence, the anxiety she’d felt in Papa’s shed replayed like a bad dream, and suddenly, she felt terrible for the way she’d acted toward Charlie. She wasn’t being rational at all. Charlie was only trying to help. She walked to the table in the hallway where Gram always kept her keys and pulled them from the basket. Then, she opened the ring and slid the single Buick key off.
Charlie was making small talk with the man as Emily walked onto the porch and down the steps, with the paper and the car key. Flash was nearby in the woods, but came running over when he heard her come out. She faced the man, handing the ad back as Flash leaned against her leg. She was glad for that, because her knees felt weak and she needed the support.
“I’m not the owner,” she said as she gave him the key. “I’ll have to call her if you’re interested in the car.”
“Okay,” the man said. “May I take it for a test drive?” He held out his hand. “My name’s Randolph Smart.” Emily shook Mr. Smart’s hand. “If you’d like me to leave something here to be sure I bring back the car, I’d be happy to do that.”
“It’s fine. Take it out for a drive and if you like it, I’ll call my gram. It’s her car.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Smart put the key into the ignition and started the Buick. Then, he closed the door, fastened his seatbelt and headed down the long drive, Papa’s hat, still sitting in the back window, fading away in the distance.
Mr. Smart offered to buy the car on the spot. He had his checkbook with him, and after a quick call to a friend to drive it off the property, the car was gone. Emily put Papa’s hat on the hat rack, and a few coins from the car’s coin tray onto the hall table. Selling the Buick was a wake-up call.
Charlie, who’d stayed through the sale of the car, had left, and she was alone. She’d apologized profusely to him, telling him she didn’t know what had come over her. She’d felt terrible for pushing him, and she made sure that he heard the complete regret she had.
But before she really felt like she’d finished telling him, he’d said, “It’s fine, I understand.” Never once during her apology or his response, had he looked her in the eye. He wanted to leave, and she could tell, so she didn’t say anything else, and then he’d walked to his car and gone.
The house was eerily quiet, and the silence made her anxious, so she clicked on the radio, the station fading in and out but providing enough noise to make her feel better, and she opened the window to let the sound of the bay come inside.
As she walked around the house, she made a list on a small notepad of all the things she wanted Gram to keep for her. There was the old hat rack that Papa had made out of scrap wood and antique crystal doorknobs. She was definitely keeping that, as well as his hat—an old baseball cap. The brim was weathered, the edges fraying, but if she put it to her face, she could still smell Papa. She didn’t let herself though. She’d been behaving so irrationally and she needed to keep hold of her emotions.
She wrote down her childhood bed—an old four-poster that Papa had painted white to go with her pink room as a child. It was beautifully intricate, the spindles curly and feminine. Papa had read her bedtime stories in that bed, and she’d hid under it when she heard him coming up the stairs to tuck her in. Emily would pop out and he’d pretend to be startled.
There was the old recliner that Gram would playfully call hers whenever Papa was in it. Emily added it to the list.
She wrote down the floor lamp in the hallway that was always left on after dark when she and Rachel were playing outside, catching lightning bugs, and climbing trees.
She had so many memories, and they were wonderful, but she kept thinking about how she’d acted with Charlie and how Gram had warned her about prioritizing memories over real life.
She called Flash who came leaping up the stairs so quickly that his paws slipped. He had to scramble to get to the top. He came to her, panting and snorting, pushing his head against her leg to say hello.
“Hi, Flash,” she said, rubbing his head. Why was she the only one losing it and reacting this way? She sighed and shook her head. She didn’t have the answer, but she knew she needed to get out of the house. “Want to go see Eli?” she asked Flash. He wagged his tail.
What started as a walk, turned into a run. When she reached Eli, she opened the gate and jogged to the barn, grabbing her riding gear. She saddled her horse and swung herself up onto him without a moment’s breath. “Hey, boy,” she said, knocking his sides with her feet, the frustration over her emotions getting the better of her. “Let’s go.”
She wanted to be close to Eli. She wanted him to know that she loved him. As if he knew, as if he felt the fear of knowing she might leave him again, Eli took off, his old body sailing through the woods, toward the beach, Flash trailing after them. Eli was flying, tearing through the trees, giving it all he had. While the wind pushed against her, Eli’s hooves sinking as they sped through the sand, she thought about Charlie. She couldn’t get her mind off him. She didn’t want Charlie to think this was who she was, because she had so much more to show him.
Eli finally slowed to a walk, his aging body probably spent. She lay down on his back and hugged his neck all the way back to the barn, tears falling faster than she could stop them. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to leave you. I wanted to stay. Please forgive me.” Eli was silent the rest of the way.
When she got back to the house, Emily went upstairs, ran a brush through her hair, and looked at herself in the mirror. She was finally alone and calming down, but all she wanted to do was talk to Charlie to try to make things right.
She picked up her phone and dialed his number.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hey. It’s me.” He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Charlie, I just wanted to say again how sorry I am for the way I acted. I feel awful.”
Silence buzzed in her ear. She wanted him to tell her it was okay, that he forgave her. He had to know that she knew she’d acted irrationally and she was sorry.
“Please let me make it up to you. Maybe you can come over and I can cook for you.” She needed to see him, to read his expression, to study his eyes—he always spoke with his eyes. “Or maybe you could make that dinner…”
She hung on the emptiness, waiting, hoping he’d say “Yes.” Then, the doorbell rang, startling her.
“Hang on just a second.” She took in an anxious breath and headed down the stairs to get it.
Emily held the phone as she walked down each step slowly, not wanting the conversation to be interrupted. He had to say something, or she’d go crazy. �
�Charlie, I don’t know who that was in Papa’s shed today. I don’t push people. That’s not who I am.” She rested a hand on the doorknob, her focus on making Charlie understand. “I know I messed up and I’m so, so sorry.” She waited again, her hopes dashed when she heard a breath on the other end. It seemed expectant, like he was waiting for her to say or do something more. What could she do? Her chest ached with the need to hear his voice.
Finally, Charlie cleared his throat. “Didn’t you say there was someone at the door?” Her heart fell.
“No I didn’t. But there is.” She turned the doorknob and opened the door, only to find Charlie standing with the phone in his hand, grocery bags at his feet.
“Hi,” he said with a grin.
Sixteen
Flash jumped around the kitchen excitedly as Charlie set the bags of groceries on Gram’s kitchen counter. He’d bought oysters, garlic, oregano, parsley leaves, red peppers, and all kinds of other delicious ingredients. There was a moment where it seemed like he had something he wanted to say, his face serious, apologetic even. If she hadn’t been looking directly at him, she’d have missed the slight nod of his head, as if he’d decided something. He turned to her and allowed a small grin to emerge. She smiled back. It was as if they’d silently agreed not to think about things too much tonight, to simply enjoy themselves.
While Charlie preheated the oven and put the oysters on a baking sheet, Emily filled Flash’s bowl with food, but he ignored it, sniffing around near the counter instead.
“I’m just going to go change into something more comfortable,” Emily said, and she immediately saw interest in Charlie’s eyes. He quickly blinked it away. “I’ve been riding Eli in these clothes. I’d like to put on a clean pair of shorts and a T-shirt.” His face resumed a more regular look, but the speculation of what he thought made her smile despite her attempts to straighten it out. “Be right back.”