Jane’s shoulders settle. She nods, trying to hold back tears.
The boy, no older than six, reaches up for my hand. “This way,” he says while his sister, most likely nine, stares at her mother and knows something is terribly wrong.
“I’m Finn,” the boy says as he leads me to their shared bedroom. “This is Fiona.”
“I’m Aaron. Nice to meet you.”
“Are you a police officer?” Finn asks.
“Yeah. But I protect the land and the animals. I’m what they call a game warden.”
“Is that gun real?” Finn’s eyes grow wide with wonder, curiosity.
“Yes.”
“Do you know how to use it?” he asks.
“I sure hope so.”
Fiona jumps up on the top bunk, lets her feet dangle, and puts her hands in her lap. “Of course he knows how to use it, Finn. Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not stupid, Fiona.” Finn purposefully, slowly lets her name roll out, pronouncing every syllable.
Fiona rolls her eyes and tosses a book down to me from the top bunk. “Read this one, please.”
I sit down on the floor and rest my back against the bottom bunk. Finn climbs into his bed just above me.
“A Kids’ Guide to America’s Bill of Rights?” I look up at Fiona, somewhat confused by her book choice. Not that I know her enough to assume what she’d choose, but nonfiction for a nine-year-old didn’t seem like a plausible option.
“Not again, Fiona,” Finn moans. “That book is so boring. I always fall asleep.”
A devious smile spreads across her face. “Go ahead, Aaron. Page one.”
At page twenty-seven, I hear Finn’s breaths, slow, even, paced. I look up and see he’s asleep, so I quietly stand, setting the book down on a desk. I look up to see Fiona is staring at the ceiling.
I don’t know what to say to a nine-year-old girl who has just lost her father and doesn’t know it yet. This is Katherine’s department, not mine. I gather facts. Details. Build cases. Read books to kids. But, when the tears come, I’m not quite sure what to do.
“Good night,” is all I say, and I turn to leave.
“Is he dead?” she asks, turning on her side to look at me.
“That’s a question your mom has to answer, Fiona.”
She pushes herself back onto her bed and stares at the ceiling again.
I run my hand through my short hair, sigh, and think about finding a new job. One with less heartbreak. Less hours. Less demand. “Good night, Fiona.”
“Night,” she barely says and rolls over on her side to face the wall.
In the living room, Katherine is kneeling next to Jane, who’s in the chair. A tissue in hand.
“You have my card if you need anything, Jane, I hope you’ll use it,” Katherine says.
Silence passes like freedom. As though, if we don’t breathe another word of this, maybe it will all go away.
“Fiona is still awake. Has questions for you,” I say in a low tone, so Fiona can’t hear me.
Jane stands and wipes her tears. “My children …”
“We’ll let ourselves out,” Katherine says.
But Jane doesn’t answer because she’s already heading to the kids’ bedroom.
We walk out and get in the Maine Warden Service truck. Sit and listen to the darkness.
“The kids are what get me,” I say.
“Me, too.” Katherine had to tell her children what had happened to their father.
I start the truck up, and we drive to Katherine’s house.
“Good night, Warden Casey. Great work tonight.”
“Night, Chaplain.” I wave and watch her walk to the front door, let herself in, and shut the door behind her.
We get to drive away from the sadness. We get to escape to our own part of the world, whereas Jane, Finn, and Fiona are just beginning their grief.
I told the guys I’d meet them tonight at Angler’s Tavern, an old bar that’s been around since before I was born. Before my dad was born. Before my grandfather was born. It’s a place where locals gather to watch the Boston Celtics. The New England Patriots. And the elections. A place to tell fishing stories. A place to leave your worries at the door. A place insignificant to ninety-nine percent of the United States population, but to Granite Harbor, it’s a fixture. A staple in our small town.
I can’t shake Finn’s lack of understanding of a world that is about to be turned upside down or the look in Fiona’s eyes when she asked me about her dad. I can’t shake the news we delivered tonight. This wasn’t the first time we’ve had to tell a family. But, for some reason, this one was the hardest.
“Bullshit,” Ethan says under his breath, shaking his head, smiling, as we listen to Ryan tell about the last time he was drawn for a moose hunt.
We’re sitting around the table.
Ethan, my twin brother, has been coming around more since marrying Bryce Hayes. They’re gearing up to have their first child. That will make me an uncle, which blows my mind. I’ve watched him walk through hell and back. We lost footing for a while. Ethan was in the military, and I was back here. He saw a lot of bad shit over in Iraq, and I wasn’t sure how to treat him anymore when he came back home. It took a lot for us to get to where we are today.
“And then,” Ryan says, “my name was called!”
Ryan Taylor is also a game warden and a childhood friend. I guess, in a small town, it’s hard not to remain friends with the kids you grew up with. Eli, Ryan, my brother, and I were raised in Granite Harbor. Ryan went through the Warden Academy straight out of high school, and Eli and I went to college first. My brother went into the Marines first. While he served his tours in Iraq, something broke in him. He saw things and had to do things that didn’t sit well with him.
“We were there. Remember?” I shake my head and take a swig of the beer.
“Lucky bastard.” Ethan crosses his arms across his chest and leans back in his chair.
Since we were ten years old, I’ve been drawn for a moose hunt. Ethan’s been drawn. Eli’s been drawn. But we’ve never been drawn twice, like Ryan.
Ryan looks down at his phone after it chirps. “Eli’s not going to make it. He and Alex ran late, coming home from Boston tonight.”
We try to get together at Angler’s Tavern every other week. Sometimes, it happens. Sometimes, it doesn’t. With the rest of the guys and their families, it’s harder for them than it is for me. Not that I don’t want a family. I do. Or at least, I think I do.
“Not gonna ask how it went with the Tudor family tonight,” Ethan says before leaning into the table as Ryan runs to the restroom. “I can tell by the look on your face that it didn’t go well.”
We’re fraternal twins. We look similar, but we’re not identical. But the connection is a bond we don’t have with anyone else.
“Can’t shake it.” I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. Rub my face with a hand.
With Bryce being pregnant, it’s changed my brother. Made him more sentimental. Less hardened to the world.
I don’t tell him about Fiona’s broken heart or Finn’s naivety to the situation or Jane’s disbelief. He knows. He’s had to do it, too. Ethan also doesn’t say anything. He knows what the feeling is like, and I rest easier in that. It will pass. The feeling will. Give it two weeks or so. But it won’t for Jane and her kids. The feelings, the memories, will last forever.
“Bryce’s cooking dinner on Friday. Come over?”
I nod. “Yeah, okay. Can I bring anything?”
“Just beer, if you want.”
Ryan returns to the table. “What’d I miss?”
“Dinner. Our house. Friday.”
“Yeah, sounds good.” Ryan finishes the last of his beer. “Can we bring anything?”
Ethan gives him the same answer he gave me.
Ryan shakes his head. “Merit will have my ass if I come home with information like that. Flowers and shit? Food? Never mind. I’ll have her text Bryce.”
I toss my keys on the counter when I get home, open the refrigerator, and look at the open can of beans, the half-eaten block of cheese—moldy on one corner—a loaf of bread, and two bottles of water. I grab one and shut the fridge.
I bought this place when I was twenty-four. It’s convenient. Just up from town. My brother lives down the street. My parents live between us.
My phone vibrates across the counter. It’s my mom.
I don’t even have to say hello.
“Mark said he saw you at Angler’s Tavern. When I asked him if you’d eaten any food, he said that he wasn’t sure, so I wanted to make sure you’d had dinner tonight.”
See, this is where living in a small town can get you into trouble.
The line is completely silent.
I’m thirty-seven, Mom.
I’m a grown-ass man.
I don’t have to eat dinner if I don’t want to eat dinner.
“He also said you looked thinner.”
Again, silence.
I work out, Mom. I’m a game warden. I have to be in shape.
“Do you need dinner, honey?”
I want to cave. It’s easier that way. So that I won’t have to explain anything. Talk about it. “I’m good, Mom. I have plenty to eat.” I walk back to the fridge, open the door again, and stare at the moldy cheese.
Again, silence.
I hear my dad, Bill, whispering to her. She covers the phone.
She uncovers the phone.
“Well, okay, honey, if you say so.”
That means she doesn’t believe me.
“Stop by this weekend, will you? Your dad needs help with the dishwasher.”
“I don’t need help with the dishwasher, Helen,” my dad says.
“Okay, Bill.” She whispers into the phone, “He does. He really does. You know your father. Never wants to ask for help. Yesterday, he made the dishwasher sound like a raging hyena. See you this weekend.” She hangs up.
After thirty-nine years of marriage, they still make it work. Sure, they’ve had issues—we all do—but they always make it work.
Turning out the lights, I grab my phone and head to bed.
Three
Lydia
Lilly totes behind me down the stairs and to the back door of the bookstore.
“Mom, I really love summer time.”
“Well, I’m glad because I’m going to need your help this summer.” This morning, I picked a white blouse—the one that my mom says makes me look too thin—capris jeans, and brown strap sandals.
I open the door, and we go inside to start our morning routine.
While I count the money in the till, Lilly changes the sign from Closed to Open and opens the door to allow the fresh—and somewhat humid—summer air to flow into the old bookstore. The musky smell can get a bit overwhelming in the mornings, especially during the summer.
After the money is counted, I go to the back room and start the coffee. While I’m filling up the pot with water, I hear Lilly say, “Mommy.”
It’s clear. Loud. And not her normal voice. Something isn’t right.
Quickly, I set down the pot and walk to the middle of the store. “Where are you?”
“Nonfiction. History.”
I come around the corner to see Lilly on her knees, hands on her thighs, looking down at a small ball of feathers with big black eyes. I want to reach for Lilly, pull her away from the unknown, but I can’t seem to do it because it’s the look in her eye when she turns to me.
“How did he get in here, Mommy? He’s so little.”
I bend down next to Lilly, and the little guy cautiously jumps back.
“I don’t know, baby. But I know who to call. Stay here. I need to get a number.”
Back at the counter, I pull out my Rolodex circa 1987. One day, Lilly asked what it was. I told her it had every phone number in the world.
“Even Santa’s?” she asked.
“Even Santa’s.”
Then, she asked why I didn’t just store all the numbers in my cell phone. I told her to go color.
Thumbing through the cards, I see his name. My borrowed heart starts to beat quicker than I’d like it to. Beating at a rhythm that my blood surely can’t keep up with. I mean, that’s the overall purpose of the heart, right—to pump blood? I pull the card from the Rolodex, set it on the counter, and dial his number.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“Warden Casey,” he answers.
“Hey … hey, Warden Casey. This is—”
“Lydia. Everything all right?”
Do not think about his dimples. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine, except a baby owl has somehow wandered into my bookstore.” I bite my bottom lip. Squeeze my eyes shut. Shake my head at my words. I could have said it better. Maybe.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
“I’ll be right there.”
“No ru—”
But he’s already hung up the phone.
I go back to where Lilly is.
She’s sitting on the hardwood floor, leaning against the bookshelf, talking to the baby owl. “My favorite animals are cats. I bet you don’t like cats. Do you eat cats? Are you a carnivore? I’m a vegetarian. Once, my mom fed me chicken broth. Oh, sorry. I mean, are you cousins with chickens? I know you can’t talk. But—”
The front door bell rings, and I yell at my heart, the same heart I received on loan when I was six. Maybe, with all these rapid palpitations, it will stop working.
For Christ’s sake, Lydia, slow down.
I smooth my blouse when I stand and take a big breath in. I make sure the new scars aren’t visible by pulling at my sleeves. “You stay here with the little guy.”
I walk around the corner to see Aaron Casey in a dark green warden uniform.
When he sees me, he doesn’t say anything at first, which is fine. It’s great in fact. Makes it less awkward.
This isn’t love at first sight. I wouldn’t let it go there. I nipped it in the bud before it got out of hand. Before it went too far.
But we stand here in the silence and allow it to fall over us like unbroken love. Untainted by words and opinions and hearts. Untouched by mistakes and missed opportunities. Pristine and perfect. The silence sits. Waits.
“Mommy, who is it?” Lilly comes around the bookshelf.
It’s not that I didn’t want Aaron to meet Lilly. Well, that’s not the truth. I didn’t want my daughter to get her hopes up. She’s never seen a man in my life aside from her father. She was with my parents when I met Aaron.
“Hello,” Lilly says. “Are you here for Harry?”
Aaron smiles. And there, on his face, are the dimples.
“Harry?” Aaron asks, taking a few steps closer. “I’m Aaron.”
“My name is Lilly White.” She takes Aaron by the hand. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to him.”
Aaron walks past me, too close for comfort, too close for my own good, too close for everything in matters of the heart. His scent is clean and neat, and I want to tell him to stop wearing whatever he wears. To stop showering. To grow a very long beard.
I fall in line behind them and pull at my sleeves once more, maybe out of habit.
We reach Harry, who takes a few hops backward again and makes a little squeak.
“Harry, don’t be scared. This is Aaron, and he’s here to take you back to your mommy. Don’t worry.”
Aaron looks at Lilly. The truth is, Harry is probably here because something happened to his mother. “See the talons and his beak? He’ll use those when he begins to hunt his prey. Right now, he’s probably pretty hungry because his mom isn’t able to find him.”
Lilly looks at Aaron in disbelief. “What? He’s a carnivore?”
Aaron nods and goes on, “Judging by his size and feathers, he’s probably about eleven weeks or so.” He stands. “I need to run out to my truck real quick. I’ll be right back.”
&nbs
p; He walks past me, goes out to his truck, and comes back with a net.
“You know what we’ll do with the net, Lilly?” he asks.
“Put the owl in it.” She thinks for a minute. “It won’t hurt him, right?”
Aaron shakes his head. “Just going to get him in the net, so I can take him to someone who can take care of him and release him back into the wild, back to where he needs to be.”
Aaron looks back at Harry, whose wide eyes blink slowly. In one swift motion, Aaron nets Harry but not without him being extremely vocal about it.
“Don’t worry, Harry. You’ll be all right,” Lilly says as Aaron leaves the store and puts the owl in a pet carrier in the front seat of his truck.
Lilly and I look out the window.
Aaron comes back inside the shop. “I’ll take him to Avian Haven, and they’ll take real good care of him there.” He reaches down and shakes Lilly’s hand. “Great work today, Lilly.”
“You’re welcome”—she looks up at his name tag on his vest—“Warden Casey.” She pauses. “Would you like to buy a book?”
“I’m sure Warden Casey has more important things to do, Lilly,” I say.
“I have a few minutes,” Aaron says.
Lilly takes him by the hand. “Do you like cats?” she asks, her voice trailing off as they make their way to the nonfiction section.
Smiling, I shake my head, my heart wanting to follow them. To stay close by and protect my daughter’s heart from the attachment she might find with Aaron.
Shake him off, Lydia. Stay the course. You and Lilly. She’s your number one.
I walk to the back room and finish making the pot of coffee. I wait for it to brew.
Does Aaron drink coffee? I grab another cup and pour him one. I think twice about adding anything, so I don’t.
At the front counter, I set Aaron’s aside and take a sip of mine. There’s always something magical about the first sip of coffee in the morning. It starts with the scent when brewing. Then, it leads to the pour. And then? The first sip. Not too weak, not too strong. To get it to the right consistency, it’s six scoops of coffee and water just a smidgen above the twelve-cup marker.
Lilly and Aaron approach the counter as she explains that cats are nocturnal.
Lilies on Main (The Granite Harbor Series Book 4) Page 2
