“Hey.” She leans in and whispers as we watch the festivities.
“How are you?” I whisper back. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since I took her home.
“I have an itch.”
“Where?” I look down at her.
Her eyes meet mine. She swallows. Her face is full of trepidation.
“What’s wrong?” I turn to her, concerned.
She swallows again. “Ethan, everywhere.” She’s careful with her words. Her mouth partly opens as she stares up at me. “I can’t do half measures. I need all or nothing. We either need to be friends or together. But not this.” She motions her hand between us. “And I’d like your cell phone number. Just in case of emergencies.”
“My number’s 207-223-4689,” I say. “I thought you said you’d take what I can give you?”
“Offer is off the table.” She looks away from me, biting her lip.
I glance over at our group of people, wondering if they’re still in deep conversation. Every single one of them is staring at us, but they flip around like they weren’t staring. Some pretend to be engaged in conversation.
“I can’t give you what you need, Bryce,” comes out of my mouth.
“All right, folks. Gather around, gather around,” Mayor Thissel says from a podium set up in front of the chili tables. “Time to announce the winner of this year’s chili cook-off.”
“I know,” Bryce whispers. “Friends?” She sticks her hand out.
No. Fucking no. That’s not what I want—and it is what I want, all at the same time.
I slip my hand in hers, feeling her warmth even though the temperature is beginning to drop. “Friends.”
Our hands stay intertwined. We hold on. Hold for each other maybe. Hold on for times that will get rocky. That’s what friendships are, right? Through thick and thin.
“We should walk back over before people start to notice,” Bryce says.
Bryce and I walk to meet the rest of our group, moving toward the podium.
While Mayor Thissel talks with the Fall Festival chairman, Tom Sullivan, I watch Bryce. What I expect to see is a smile. But I don’t. I see what she’s doing. She’s putting on a brave front. Her words try to cover up what her heart feels. I see it. I’m not stupid. I think about the vulnerability she shared with me last night, her breasts bare, her body open to me, as she sat on my counter and drank my water. Maybe it was confidence. But I think it was bravery, courage, intimacy.
My face turns flush, hot. Instantly, I need to know the answer to this question.
I turn my body toward her, move in front of her line of sight, bend down, and whisper in her ear, “Have you sat naked with a man, uncovered, and allowed him to look at you the way I did last night?”
I pull back only a little to see her eyes; they are wide with fear, not with the confidence they reflected moments ago.
She shakes her head. “No.”
I nod, staring, willing her to know, feel, the complexity of my ways. Things I don’t understand. Being with her, seeing her on a daily basis, makes it harder to be strong.
Mayor Thissel takes to the microphone.
Seventeen
Bryce
“Well, well, well, I had to double-check the count to be sure, but we have a new winner for this year’s Fall Festival chili cook-off,” Mayor Thissel announces to the crowd.
“You’re out, Milton. Time for new blood,” Ida says with laugh.
“The winners of this year’s Fall Festival chili cook-off is…Bryce Hayes and A. Helper.”
The town of Granite Harbor is shocked as silence pushes through the crowd like quickly pooling milk, and all eyes turn to me.
This is really awkward. I look up at Ethan as Aaron collects cash from Eli and Ryan.
“Told ya she’d win.”
Ethan bends down and whispers, “They want you onstage, Bryce. Go on.” He smiles only slightly. “I’ll be crowd control.”
It’s silly that a town chili cook-off can cause this much of an uproar. I look away from Ethan as the crowd moves like water to clear a path for me to the stage. I look to Helen—aka A. Helper—and she gives me a thumbs-up.
It’s a stupid chili cook-off, not the Academy Awards. I’ve been to the Academy Awards when Alex’s book was made into a movie and nominated.
I walk quickly to the podium, trying not to make this a big deal. Mayor Thissel places a medal around my neck.
“This isn’t necessary,” I say.
“Oh, it is. And”—he winces—“we thought we’d jump ahead and get it engraved just because Milton Murdock had won every damn year, so, uh, it has Milton’s name on that, but don’t worry; I will order you a new one with the correct name.”
Mayor Thissel places a hand on my shoulder as we pose for a picture for the town newspaper.
Thissel takes to the microphone again. “We will have the hot dog eating contest next. Ethan Casey, are you here?”
The crowd moves to a table lined with a white tablecloth and four plates sitting at each place.
Ethan doesn’t break eye contact with me, and I don’t join him back in the spotlight either. His turn to be awkward in front of the crowd.
Just like me, he hates it. I smile as he wants to crawl out of his own skin, and I know this because his right shoulder moves in a circular motion once. He did this when we first met in Los Angeles. He tries to casually talk to Aaron next to him as Mayor Thissel goes on and on about how many years Ethan has held the crown of hot dog eating champ. Just like me, he doesn’t much like the crown that Granite Harbor has bestowed upon hum, but he takes it.
I slip back into the crowd next to Alex. I take my phone out and snap a picture of Ethan taking his seat at the table along with Eli, Ryan, and Aaron. Wait. They all do it? They smile, bumping elbows, laughing.
Alex slips her arm around me. “You won!” she whispers. “Watch out Rachael Ray.”
I feel a hand on my back from the other side of me. “Congratulations, sweetie. I knew you had it in the bag,” Helen says.
“Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“I just cut the onions and garlic.” She winks.
“’Bout time someone threw Mr. Murdock off his throne, Bryce,” Ruthie says and smiles, standing next to Helen.
“Remember,” Mayor Thissel says through a megaphone now as Tom Sullivan sets down huge plates of hot dogs next to each contestant, “you have thirty minutes to eat as many hot dogs as you can. Are you ready, Wardens?”
Ethan, Eli, Aaron, and Ryan don’t answer but assume a position—bending over their plate, chair slightly pushed back—and they look at the mayor.
“Go!”
All four wardens begin the process and take two hot dogs at a time.
I smile when I see Ethan smile as he looks down the table at Aaron. Although all four men seem different and life has taken them on separate journeys, this is something they can come back to. Reflect on. They laugh as if no one is watching. Talk among themselves as if sitting at Angler’s Tavern over a beer instead of a plate of hot dogs. I realize instantly this is why Ethan continues to do this. He doesn’t do it because he wins. He does it because this is the one thing that strings these four men together. It’s the familiarity, the bond, that draws on the strength of their upbringing together. It just so happens that Ethan is the best among the hot dog eaters.
I see Ethan smile again as he slows his process.
“Seven minutes left, men,” Mayor Thissel says through the megaphone.
The wall Ethan has built to hide what he saw at war is slowly cracking, and I know this because of each new smile from him.
“Two minutes,” the mayor says.
Tom brings Ethan one more plate of hot dogs—his fourth plate, to be exact—while Eli, Ryan, and Aaron slow. Hit a wall almost. Ethan grabs two more dogs and puts them into his mouth. The other wardens just don’t have it in them.
“One minute.” Mayor Thissel leans down, so Tom can say something in his ear. “Two hundred and two
hot dogs for Ethan Casey, beating his old record of one hundred and twenty-two.”
Our small town erupts into cheers as Ethan shoves the last hot dog in his mouth.
“Two hundred and three hot dogs!” Mayor Thissel calls into the megaphone.
My phone chirps, signifying an incoming call. I pull my phone from my back pocket.
I hit Talk and walk to a quiet spot away from the crowd.
“It’s about time you called me back, asshole,” I whisper into the phone.
Silence on the other end of the line.
“Ryker?” My heart begins to pick up pace as I think of all the unimaginable places he could be right now.
“Yeah, hey, sis.”
“Don’t hey, sis me right now, Ryker. I think Luke knows.”
“Nobody knows.”
“Ryker, someone knows.” I look down at the screen and see Ryker 4, the number he’s called me from. It’s all confusing as I thought my text messages didn’t go through. They said undeliverable. “Did you get my text?”
“No, I didn’t. Sam did. Sold him my phone. Said you sent a text message a few days ago.”
Silence hangs on the line.
“I’ll take care of it, Bryce. Chill the fuck out, okay?”
“Do you have any idea I’m all the way in Maine, Ryker? Seriously, is your head that far into your veins with your addiction that you can’t see what the hell is going on?” I’m trying not to pace on the sidewalk as I watch as Ethan takes the podium, the bib still hanging from the inside of his collar.
“You’re in Maine?”
Fuck off, Ryker. I hit End.
This makes me think of my mom and the way she’s always fiercely protected my brother from the world. From himself. From my father. From me. God forbid, we ever say anything critical of my brother. She infuriates me just as much as he does. I should call my mom, maybe to mend fences a bit, but I just can’t do it.
My heart is slamming against my chest. I have a heavy secret that I just want to come clean with, and the only other person who knows is strung out on heroin and only God knows what else.
Dad is the only sane one other than me. I want to call him. I want to tell him, but I’m afraid, if I do, he’ll give up our secret. He’ll want to protect Ryker and me—rule with the Dad heart, not the leader heart.
It’s easy to set it to the side when I’m busy, but when my heart feels happiness and joy, the secret pushes it aside and says, You don’t have the right to feel this.
The only thing my dad has always ingrained in our heads is to speak up. Do the right thing even if fear sits in the middle of the room, asking for another ten minutes of your life.
This time, together, Ryker and I, we’re doing the right thing even if we’re lying to our father. Keeping secrets from the people we care about, even if it’s at the risk of them getting hurt—which is where most of my guilt sits—is killing me.
“Hey,” a voice calls from the shadows.
I look up just as tiny needles prickle my skin. The crowd has disappeared.
Ethan comes into view. “What are you doing over here, in the dark?” His hands shoved in his pockets, he takes some steps closer.
My phone rings.
“It’s my dad. Hang on.”
Ethan nods.
“Hey, Dad.”
“How’s my little girl? Granite Harbor treating you well?” he asks.
“Always. Listen, have you heard from Ryker lately?”
“No.” My dad tries to hide the disdain he has for Ryker. Not for Ryker, but for his disease, what he’s doing with his life. My dad believes that you can turn addiction off at any time. Make it disappear with just a simple choice. Something changes in his voice. Concern. “Is Ethan with you?”
Wait. What? How does he know who Ethan is? “What?” I ask.
Silence sits on the end of the line.
“How do you know who Ethan is?” The words fall out of my mouth.
Silence.
“You’ve talked about him before, B.”
I’ve never known my dad to be a liar. A family man, a decent man with respect for himself and others. Not a liar.
“I have?” I don’t remember ever talking about Ethan to anyone. I look to Ethan, who’s standing in front of me, who has no idea what’s being said on the line. It’s the stress that’s causing me not to remember things. It has to be.
Besides, my father has never given me a reason not to trust him. Ever.
“Remember when you were flying out, and you mentioned that he’d help you settle in?”
I think on it. It was a stressful time. Maybe I did say that in mere hopes. Maybe. My dad isn’t a liar, so it must be the truth.
“Oh, that’s right,” I lie.
“Anyhow, it’s going well out here. The security team has a few leads on who’s been sending the threats, so I’ll let you know when I know something, Bryce.”
“Okay.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too, Dad.”
I hang up and stare at Ethan.
My dad is in politics.
His security knows everyone we interact with.
Since we were kids.
But, if that’s the case, why didn’t he just say that?
When I look at Ethan, I forget about what transpired with my father and my brother. I see the medal hanging from his neck, and I laugh.
He smiles. “What? This?”
He takes the medal in his hand. Then, he looks at Milton Murdock’s medal hanging from my neck.
We both laugh.
I forgot I still had the thing on.
“At least yours has the right name.” I laugh through my words.
He moves closer, pulling me to him. “I can’t believe Bryce Hayes beat Milton Murdock.”
Eighteen
Ethan
When I can sleep, I do. Taking every last minute of it if I can. Sleep has been a rare commodity, a luxury, since coming home and transitioning to civilian life. But it’s the incessant ringing in my ears that makes me think real life is calling.
I grab my phone from my nightstand. “Hello?” I say, my eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Ethan? It’s Maria, Robby’s mother. I’m so sorry to call you this early.”
It’s still dark out. What time is it? “It’s fine, Mrs. Rodriguez. Is Robby okay?”
Please no. Words I’ve patiently waited to hear. Predicted I’d hear.
“Ethan, it is not good. Robby tried to kill himself last night. The hospital contacted me.” There’s no shake in her voice. No mistake in her words.
Hispanic women—wives and mothers, sisters, nieces of the military—somehow, God made them better. He built them a bit differently to withstand heartbreak—with more strength in their hearts and in their bones.
I don’t say anything. I’m not sure I can. I want to ask if he’s all right, if he pulled through, but I’m too scared to know the answer. My stomach grows nauseous.
“He’s alive. There is swelling on his brain,” she says, “so the doctors are keeping him sedated.”
Another long silence.
“I just thought I should call you and tell you since you and Robby were so close in the Marines.”
“Should I come out?”
“No.”
“Really, Mrs. Rodriguez, I’m on vacation from the warden service. It won’t be an issue.”
A long pause.
“Then, maybe.”
Another long pause, as if she’s waiting for the tears to pass. Holds them back. In many of our long conversations about life, about Robby, with Robby, for Robby, I’ve never once seen Mrs. Rodriguez shed a tear—and not out of lack of love, but because she is the strength in the family. Helped take her husband to his final resting spot when Robby was a boy. Raised four kids on her own. Walks to work as a maid at one of the motels close to where she lives, where Robby grew up. Robby talked about his mom often when we were overseas. Admired her strength.
Massachusetts is where Ro
bby and his family are from.
“I’ll take the train,” I say. “I’ll be there soon.”
“That will be fine, Ethan. Good-bye, Ethan.”
“Good-bye, Maria.”
It’s six in the morning, and my mind wonders how Robby’s ex-wife and daughter are doing. Do they know yet? I didn’t think to ask Maria.
This makes me think of Bryce. This is why, Bryce. This is why we can’t be together. The war fucked us up. Made us different people.
My voice of reason chimes in, You’ve never tried to kill yourself, Ethan. You’ve drunk yourself into oblivion, yes, but never tried to take your own life.
I think that’s why I’ve stuck so closely to James.
I think about my mom and dad, too. Aaron. What would happen if I decided that life was just too much? To end it all? I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be the cause of their heartbreak. Although pieces of me died, left overseas on the sands that took my sanity.
My family didn’t choose me. They’re stuck with me. But Bryce has a choice.
I debate on calling James and leaving a voice mail on his work phone. I should. Just to let him know what’s going on. But what’s he going to do to help the situation?
“Yeah, James, it’s Ethan. Robby tried to, uh … take his life. That’s all I know. Going to Brookline on the nine o’clock train this morning. Just thought I’d let you know. I’ll reach out when I get back.” I’ve talked many times about Robby. Mostly the good times. Some of the bad. Some of the real bad.
I jump in the shower to try to wash off the news, the feelings it brings, but it sticks with me like a bad habit. After the shower, I get dressed, pack a bag, lock up the house. Shit. I don’t want to pay parking at the train station. Maybe I’ll have Bryce drop me off at the train station, and she can use my truck while I’m gone since she doesn’t have a car here.
Fuck. I didn’t get her number. She has mine. But I didn’t get hers. I glance at the clock—7:05. She’s probably awake. I drive down to Magnolia Road.
You could go in, Ethan. You have a key, I tell myself as I wait outside in my truck. You’ve done it before.
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