“You brought me to see a rock?” Poe said, hauling herself out of the car, Boomer on her heels.
“This is a place your mom and I used to come. Our father would put our bikes in the back, and we’d come up here at night. We’d sit on this rock for a few minutes, and our father would give us a pep talk.”
She glanced at me, interested against her will. “About what?”
“About not being afraid. Having adventures. Living life to the fullest.” Had I done that? Fulfilled his hopes and expectations? Would my father approve of me as an adult? Or would Lily’s lifestyle be more what he’d had in mind?
Not that he was a great role model, ditching his daughters the way he had. But love for him had been carved into my heart at a young age, and erasing that was easier said than done.
Well. The point of this little trip was to show Poe that her mother and I had been close once upon a time, maybe give her a sense of a time when Lily had been...different. Boomer licked my shoe encouragingly. “It’d be so dark,” I said, “and we’d sit here and look down at the town and see the lights, and nothing ever looked cozier. But to get back home, we had to conquer the hill.”
Silence from Poe.
“So we’d get on our bikes—well, Lily would have to go with my dad, because she was too small—and we’d go down this hill as fast as we could.”
More silence, then. “Did you ever crash?”
“Almost.” But I’d been afraid every time, pep talk or no pep talk.
Looking down the hill, I remembered how each time, I’d be terrified I’d lose control of the handlebars, hit a bump and go flying. Each time, the horrible flash of fear shot through me, the noise of the gravel scraping as I swerved, the sting of sand and rocks hitting my shins.
The euphoria—and relief—when we reached the bottom.
“Your mom loved it,” I said. “She would sit on our dad’s handlebars with her arms out, like she was flying.”
“She likes speed, all right.”
I wasn’t sure if the double entendre was intentional or not.
“Is she a good mother?” I asked.
“She’s in jail, Nora. What do you think?” But even as she said the words, her lips trembled.
I wanted to put my arm around her. “Still, you must miss her.”
“I need to do homework. Can you please end this journey down memory lane?”
“Sure.” I sighed, and we got back in the car. The rest of the short trip was in silence. Poe got out the second I pulled into Mom’s dirt driveway.
“Poe?” I said, getting out after her.
“What?”
“Wash that tattoo three times a day with warm water, and put bacitracin on it every time. You don’t want it to get worse.”
She didn’t look back.
* * *
Four hours later, the Boston skyline came into view, and my heart leaped. Boomer, too, seemed to know we were back home; of course, he could smell Boston well before I could. His big tail wagged, and I smiled at him and rubbed his head.
I’d miss him like I’d miss my right arm. But I’d be okay on my own. I had to be. As my father had said so many years ago, life was about taking on fear.
As the ferry pulled up to the dock, I saw Bobby, his hair needing a trim, razor stubble on his jaw, looking like an ad for J. Crew. The guy won by Cute Nora, successful GI doc, the Perez Scholar and McElroy Fellow of Gastroenterology.
He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, stranger,” he said. “You look a lot better.”
Boomer leaped over to him, wagging, slobbering, molesting—the usual Bernese mountain dog greeting.
I went over, too, and Bobby opened his arms for a hug.
A long hug.
He smelled so good. I could feel his ribs, and my cheek pressed against his shoulder.
“Hey,” I said, and my voice was husky.
“I hope you don’t have to go home right away,” he said, taking Boomer’s leash. “I thought we could have lunch.”
“Sure,” I said.
“You really look fantastic.” He palpated my collarbone gently, and a ripple of attraction flowed down my side. “All healed?”
“Pretty much,” I said.
“No lifting over twenty pounds, okay?”
I smiled. “Yes, Dr. Byrne.”
“Where would you like to go?” he asked. “I have the whole day off.”
Now, that was odd. He never took the whole day off. “I have dinner plans with Roseline, but...well, how about a walk? It’s a lot warmer here than it is on Scupper.”
“Is your knee up for it?”
“It is for now.”
“Great.” He took my hand, and a warm, slightly nervous feeling wrapped around me. I was glad I’d worn a nice outfit—jeans and low-heeled suede boots, a bottle green cashmere sweater, brown leather jacket and the vintage Hermès scarf I’d found at a consignment shop for a fraction of its worth.
“How are things at the hospital?” I asked, and he told me stories of patients and staffers and the kid who’d disappeared for twelve minutes because he hadn’t wanted a tetanus shot, causing a Code Adam and complete hospital shutdown. We wove through Boston’s crowds, dodging the ubiquitous Red Sox fans heading for Fenway, the clusters of students talking too loudly, horsing around.
It was nice to be back.
We stopped at a little café near the Contemporary Art Institute and just sat for a little while, watching the people, the wind ruffling my hair. The waitress came over and admired the Dog of Dogs, and we ordered lunch and wine.
It felt so romantic, the sun shining, a breeze off the bay, Bobby smiling his flirty smile at me. Just like old times.
“Tell me how things are on Scupper,” he said after our meals arrived, and I launched into a cleaned-up version of events. Told him about my houseboat and how beautiful it was, how my niece had slept over the night before, seeing old schoolmates, hanging out with my mom.
And as I talked, events began to shape themselves to my words. My mom seemed friendlier, not distant; the noises of the Maine night beautiful, not a reminder of how exposed I felt on the houseboat. Poe was colorful, not angry.
After all, I had never really let Bobby know the truth about my family. There was no reason to start now.
The server brought us the check, and Bobby paid. I glanced at my watch. “You want to come back to my place?” he asked suddenly, reaching forward and tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. That gesture that had always irritated me. I could manage my own hair, thank you. “Our place, I mean?” he added.
“We broke up, Bobby.”
“I know. But I’m not with Jabrielle.”
“You’re not with me, either.” I raised an eyebrow and smiled a little to take the edge off.
“I miss you.”
Good. You deserve to miss me.
He leaned back in his chair, petting Boomer, who was attempting to climb onto his lap. “I mean, of course, I miss you. We were together for a long time. Friends for longer than that. But I guess I didn’t realize how empty life would feel without you.”
He was always so good with words. My wine was gone, but I pretended to sip it, needing a shield.
“Okay,” he said. “No answer is an answer, too. I’m sorry.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. But I think...well. I think at the very least, we need more time apart.” I put down my glass. “I’m gonna go. Take good care of my boy here.” I bent down, wincing as my knee reminded me that I’d been dumb enough to get hit by a van, and kissed my dog. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”