Far Cry: A Talbott’s Cove Novel

by Canterbary, Kate

I scowled at Annette across the table, but she didn't catch my meaning and scowled right back. She didn't realize I knew nothing of Jed's life outside Talbott's Cove. He saw me and he knew me, and I was busy floating around in my opalescent bubble, never bothering to ask him about his years away from this town.

  "Why New Zealand?" Jackson asked. "I've always heard the best things about that country, but it wouldn't occur to me to move there for a year."

  "And yet it occurred to you to move to Talbott's Cove from Albany," Jed mused. "I…I had time on my hands. I'd worked nonstop for six years at that point and I'd always loved touring through that part of the world. Always wished I had more time. Then, I had the time." He scraped up the last bite, careful to gather as much frosting as the fork would carry. "And New Zealand is as far away from this town as I could get."

  "Did you stay in one city or wander like a proper nomad?" Annette asked.

  "I spent some time in Wellington and then Christchurch. Everywhere in between. Later, I ended up on Stewart Island, on the far, far south end of New Zealand across the Foveaux Strait. A couple times each week, I took the ferry to Ulva Island to hike or read or whatever sounded good. They used rangiora shrub leaves as tickets. It was the most unbelievable experience of my life."

  Jackson leaned back, crossing his ankle over his knee. "What did you do there? For a year?"

  Jed lifted his shoulders, let them fall. "Lots of things. I wandered the Rakiura Track on Stewart Island. It's about twenty-two miles and it's—it's beautiful. It's nothing like Maine, nothing at all. So, I walked. I took millions of photos. Probably more. I went to pubs and drank many times my weight in Speight's. I stared at the stars and birds and trees I'd never seen before." He gestured toward Jackson with his fork. "A little bit of everything, you could say."

  "Why did you leave a place you loved so much?" My voice sounded rusty, as if I hadn't spoken in days. "What brought you here?"

  "It was time." He draped his arm over the back of my chair. His fingertips barely brushed my shoulder. I edged toward his hand. "I loved everything about being there, but I also loved being half a world away—until I didn't love that distance anymore. As I explored the country and made my way through one town after another, I realized I missed this place. I missed Talbott's Cove. Part of it was nostalgia. At that point, I hadn't spent more than ten days here since graduation."

  I jerked in my seat, bracing both hands on the edge of the table to hold steady. I stared at Jed but he offered nothing, no assurance he remembered the day we graduated from high school and the night that followed.

  Those waves, they didn't stop.

  "The other part of it was wanting a place in the ecosystem. While I tended bar all over New Zealand, I watched the way people in those towns interacted. How their universes functioned, how relationships grew roots, how people changed the places around them. At the same time, my uncle was dying of liver disease after drinking his way through fifty-plus years of owning the Galley. My aunt wanted it out of her hands and I wanted a spot in this ecosystem." He shifted his arm off the chair and onto my shoulders, tucking me into his chest. He pressed his lips to my ears, whispering, "This place called me home. I'm not sure of much, but I think it might've called you too."

  I shivered as if I was standing naked in the cold. In a way, I was.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  JJ

  Long-Term Debt: a liability with a maturity greater than one year.

  Later that evening, after surviving a delicious but turbulent dinner party, I asked, "What happened that night? After graduation?"

  Brooke glanced back at me over her shoulder. That movement sent her silky hair pooling on my chest and her bare body snuggling closer to mine. "What do you mean?"

  Here she was, naked and satisfied in my arms, and even still, I hesitated. But I had to know. I wouldn't have broached the subject if not for the way she looked at me after dinner tonight. As if I'd done wrong by her all those years ago. "We were at that party at Peyton Woodmoore's place and we ended up behind the barn and—and I kissed you."

  She forced a laugh. "Yeah. I know."

  "But what happened?"

  I watched as her brows lowered, eyes slanted to the side. "I still don't know what you mean. I'm sorry."

  I should've stopped there, but I never stopped myself when Brooke came around. "You disappeared. You told me to stay there, behind the barn. You said you'd come back. I waited for—for fuck, longer than I should've. What happened?"

  She teased a finger over the edge of the quilt, not meeting my eyes. "I don't know. I don't remember it well. There was a lot of beer and shots involved. Bad beer. Bad shots. I just remember you were gone a few days after that party."

  This conversation was like waiting for a bus in the rain. Even if I leaned away from it, even if I hitched up my collar, I was still getting uncomfortably soaked. And I should've known not to wait for a bus in the rain, but now that I was here and wet, there was no sense turning back. "I decided to leave town after that night. I knew I wanted to go, and I knew that was the right time."

  "Are you trying to say that was a product of me—what? Forgetting you behind a barn when I was young and drunk? That's why you went to Boston and you're still recovering from your Freedom Trail nightmares?"

  "No," I replied. "I'd wanted to go. I'd wanted to go as much as you wanted the same thing."

  A fast, breathy laugh shook her shoulders. "You're saying that me forgetting you behind the Woodmoores' barn gave you the push you needed to get the hell out of this town?"

  I was quick to reply, "No." Then, "Maybe. I don't know."

  Brooke turned over to face me, a gently smug smile pulling at her lips. "You're saying I wounded your tender teenage heart."

  I stared at her, torn between coming in from the downpour and staying out here until I caught my death. "You did," I agreed. "I'd thought it meant something to you. I thought that one counted."

  "Why? Because it took place behind a barn? After the official end of high school?" She wrapped her arms around my torso, pressed her nipples to my chest. "Or was there some other reason you wanted it to matter, Jed?"

  I seized her waist, bringing us as close as we could get without a condom. "I was eighteen. My only reasons were 'because I want to' and 'because someone told me not to do that.'"

  "Those are the same reasons anyone kissed me in high school, regardless of whether I was performing." She dropped her head to my shoulder. "And then you took off on a journey around the world with your wounded heart in tow."

  "Did it mean anything to you?"

  She smiled down at my chest, brushed her hand over the ink on my arm and shoulder. I didn't expect her to respond. I figured she'd change the topic or deflect the question back on me, pick at my desire for youthful validation. But then, "You know what's really interesting? You thought I blew you off. You've spent all these years being bitter—"

  "I haven't spent any years on bitterness. I left town. I got over it."

  She pressed her lips to my sternum, humming. "Yeah, that's why you brought it up now."

  "I brought it up," I replied, my tone growing impatient, "because your hair is everywhere and your bare ass is in my bed and I get to bring up whatever the hell I want under those conditions."

  "Like I said, bitter." For that, I gave her backside a squeeze. "You thought I abandoned you behind a barn and—for a period of time—you had all these feelings about it. Feelings for which you blamed me." She burrowed against me, her head on my chest, her arms tight around my body, her face angled away from me. "And I thought we'd started something that night, but then you were gone."

  I was wet from head to toe now, rainwater filling my shoes and blurring my vision. But it was possible I wasn't the only one waiting for this bus. "What do you mean?"

  "I thought it meant something to you," Brooke said to my skin. "For the life of me, I can't remember what happened after I left you behind that barn but I thought…I thought it was real. You said you'd wanted to kiss
me all night but had no intention of doing it in front of any of those assholes from our class. That was some advanced seduction technique, as far as high school went. I remember thinking I was going to have one of those glowy summer romances filled with beach blankets and ice cream cones and sunburned shoulders. I thought you were different, Jed, and then you were gone without a word."

  I didn't know how we wandered into the land where all the bullshit fell away to reveal pure vulnerability, but I wasn't turning back yet. "I wounded your tender teenage heart."

  When I brushed her hair away from her forehead, she glanced up at me. There was no smug smile, no contemptuous glare. It was Brooke, eyes wide and lips parted, free from all the space and show she put between herself and the world.

  "Is that what I did, Bam?"

  "A bit, yeah." She blinked away, pulled a small smile. "But what did we know back then? What did we know about anything?"

  I chuckled. "We knew nothing."

  "Not sure about that," she replied. "You knew you wanted to kiss me and you knew you wanted it to count."

  "Still do." I traced the line of her lips, her jaw. "Do you still want a movie montage summer? It sounds like I owe you one."

  "I'm more careful about sunburns now, but there's room on my beach blanket."

  "Are you going to forget me behind a barn?"

  "I will not," she replied. "Are you going to flee the state?"

  "Only if you're coming with me," I said.

  "Please," she scoffed. "You don't want to take me anywhere. You can't wait to get rid of me."

  "That's not—no. No, I—" I knew what she was doing, but I had to stop myself. "No, I don't want to get rid of you, Bam."

  She cocked her head, smiling up at me as she batted her lashes. "I'd ask if you intend to keep me, but I'm not a woman who can be kept."

  And that was why I had to stop myself. It wasn't simple with Brooke. I couldn't tell her I was falling for her—no, fuck that. I'd fallen and I was long past the point of saving myself from her. It wasn't a matter of putting emotions into words, not for Brooke. She didn't trust either.

  "Well, fuck," I muttered. "Here I was, thinking you could keep me."

  She laughed, shook her head. "You're too busy redefining the entire tourism industry in Talbott's Cove to be anyone's house husband. It would never work."

  I knew better, but I asked anyway. "Is that how you see it? That belonging to someone means giving up all of yourself?"

  "I don't know," she said. "I don't know what it's supposed to look like. I don't know how to do it. This has meandered down some strange lanes, Jed. I…I don't even know what we're talking about."

  "We don't have to talk about anything," I said, rolling her onto her back. "This is enough."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Brooke

  Basis Point: the smallest measure utilized for quoting interest yields.

  Brooke: I hate you right now.

  Annette: I cannot imagine why.

  Brooke: You held me hostage.

  Annette: I served you food and wine.

  Brooke: You were a decent captor, I'll grant you that.

  Annette: You entered into this captivity willingly.

  Brooke: That is not my recollection of the events.

  Annette: You need to calm down. We had a great little dinner party.

  Brooke: Again, not my recollection.

  Annette: Then tell me what you recall and I'll tell you why you're wrong.

  Brooke: I'm going to ignore that condescending statement for a second while I enumerate the many issues with last night's events.

  Annette: I'd expect nothing less.

  Brooke: First, I agreed to this gathering under duress.

  Annette: If inviting you over in a group text is the duress you're referencing, I'm calling bullshit.

  Annette: Didn't you tell me about a time when you convinced a guy to change his name?

  Brooke: His name was terrible. I was doing him a favor.

  Annette: You're making my argument for me.

  Brooke: I didn't want JJ to think I was embarrassed or didn't want to be seen in public with him. Or whatever lame shit guys come up with these days.

  Annette: So, you admit you're concerned for his feelings?

  Brooke: I admit I'm going to slap you in the boob the next time I see you.

  Annette: That might sound like a threat to you, but my boobs are nice and fatty. That would be like slapping a loaf of pumpkin bread.

  Brooke: Even if I set the circumstances of the invitation aside, I'd like to point out that the whole night was awkward as fuck.

  Annette: It was not.

  Brooke: The only way it could've been more awkward would be if you'd spoken through a hand puppet or if I'd revealed to Jackson that you do, in fact, poop.

  Annette: Now you're just being ridiculous.

  Brooke: Perhaps if you'd massaged Jackson's balls under the table, but did it without trying to be covert. That would've knocked up the awkward factor.

  Annette: Considering I did that for no less than 15 minutes, I must've been too covert.

  Annette: Or, maybe—and hear me out—you're seeing this through hot pink, heart-shaped, self-centered lenses.

  Brooke: Of course I'm being self-centered. It's what I do best. I'm a princess, apparently.

  Annette: What I'm saying is you're seeing this from a perspective that doesn't match up with reality.

  Brooke: Pardon you and your suggestions of my looming insanity.

  Annette: I'm trying to figure out where you diverged from that reality. Was it the high school conversation?

  Brooke: Fucking high school. Reason #841 why coming home isn't nearly as good as the movies make it seem.

  Annette: I'm taking that as a yes.

  Brooke: I never realized people regarded me that way.

  Annette: I think you're hearing it differently than we're saying it.

  Brooke: We're talking about six of one and a half dozen of another, my dear.

  Annette: What about JJ's world travels? Did that push you into the hot pink zone?

  Brooke: Why the fucking fuck didn't you tell me any of that? I thought you were my wingwoman. You sent me in blind!

  Annette: If you'd given me any notice that you planned on going in, I would've provided you with the most current details.

  Annette: But as it turned out, you went in without your wingwoman and decided to fly solo for months.

  Brooke: You could've mentioned it during any of our conversations we've had in the past two years about the people in this town.

  Annette: Is that how long you've been yearning for him?

  Brooke: Oh my prickly pussy, Annette, I don't yearn for anyone.

  Annette: You know exactly what I mean and I'm pretty sure you confirmed my suspicions.

  Brooke: That I've had a burning desire for JJ Harniczek since I returned to this pastoral hamlet? On the contrary, that burning was from a bladder infection. Some cranberry juice and antibiotics, and I'm good as new. Nothing on fire here.

  Annette: Mmhmm.

  Brooke: Don't do that.

  Annette: Sure. Okay.

  Brooke: Do not do that.

  Annette: Yep. I got it.

  Brooke: I will walk into your bookstore and slap your boob if you don't stop it right now.

  Annette: Stop what? I'm just thinking back to all those times we had drinks at the Galley and how you'd push JJ's buttons and how I thought it was just you getting some of your puppy energy out, but now I know you were pulling his pigtails.

  Brooke: Allow me to repeat my original statement—I hate you right now.

  Annette: Promise me you won't be a bridezilla. Swear to me that you won't scream at a florist over a precise shade of blush-pink peonies.

  Brooke: Can't. Putting shoes on. Leaving the house. Coming to slap your boob so hard it slaps the other one for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  JJ

  Insolvency Risk: the risk that an organizatio
n will be unable to satisfy its debts.

  Exactly fifteen minutes after the midday rush wrapped up, Sheriff Lau marched into the tavern. If I had to guess, I'd say the man had a deputy keeping track of my patrons and notifying him when it was all clear. As much as it irritated me, I had to give him credit for respecting my terms.

  "Sheriff. What brings you in today?"

  He stopped, rested his arms on the backs of a pair of barstools. He glanced at me, then Nate. "If you have a moment to spare, I'd like to speak with you privately."

  "You're in charge, kid." I passed a bag of limes to Nate. "These need to be washed and sliced." As I dried my hands with a dish towel, I caught the sheriff's raised eyebrow. There was no way in hell Nate missed that eyebrow or the meaning behind it. "When you're done with that," I continued, shaking my head at Jackson, "restock the oranges and olives. That should keep you busy for at least—"

  "Nine, maybe ten minutes," Nate said. "I'll refill the ketchup bottles if I feel like getting really rowdy."

  "Smart plan." Despite this situation being a pain in my ass, I liked the kid. I enjoyed his permanently dark, surly mood and I appreciated the way he was determined to prove everyone wrong. Add to that he'd taken it upon himself to plant the pollinator garden at the cider house in his free time and I was damn well ready to adopt him. At the minimum, I was getting between him and every shitty eyebrow the sheriff and anyone else in this town sent his way.

  I led Jackson to my office and shut the door behind us. Immediately, he remarked, "He seems to be doing well."

  I dropped into my chair, glared across the desk. “It’s been months. Many months. You're not helping anyone with this."

  Jackson, ever the Boy Scout, gave a chastened nod. "You're right. It seems like he's"—the sheriff paused, visibly sorting through his words—"he's back on his feet."

  "You're fuckin' right he is," I yelled. "But if you come in here one more time and give him a visual pat-down, I won't be as pleasant when I say 'I told you so.'"