“I’m so sorry,” Georgia said, watching his face. He looked... broken. And so resigned.
He nodded. “Me too.”
They stood in silence for a moment, then Georgia asked quietly, “What happened after the accident?”
Cole exhaled heavily. “Bruce pulled my funding after the accident, not that I blame him. That effectively shut down my research. I could have gotten funding from somewhere else, but... I just couldn’t continue. The week Amy got out of the hospital, I stopped the research project. I’d lost the desire to keep going. Nothing else mattered except Amy and trying to help her get better.” He frowned. “I gave Bruce what we’d done so far, and he sold it to a big biotech company that had been trying toget us to work with them for years. Then I devoted myself to caring for Amy full-time. But a couple of months after the accident, she broke off our engagement.” His stopped and swallowed. She could feel the tension radiating from him in the muscles under her fingers. “When she called it quits I’d just finished my requirements with the state of California for my DUI charges from the accident. After she left there was nothing for me in San Diego. I packed up my apartment the next weekend and came up here to help Justine. I never went back.”
Georgia didn’t know what to say. It felt like such a pointless tragedy.
“And you’ve been hiding out here ever since? Where no one knows who you really are?”
Cole gave a mirthless laugh and gazed at her bleakly. “Cabot Montgomery is a loser, a man who ruined everything he touched. Why would I want to still be him? At least here I can hold down a job that does some small bit of good in the world. I can help grow oysters that clean the water and feed people. And no one looks at me with judgment or expectations or pity. The only way I can live with what I did is if I can leave who I was in the past.”
Georgia bit her lip. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard anyone say,” she told him honestly.
“I did it to myself,” Cole responded with a tired shrug. He turned and faced her. “And now I have to live with the consequences for the rest of my life.” He looked so resolute and hopeless standing there, hair tousled by the wind. Georgia felt her heart break for him. What a terrible waste of a life.
“I think we’d better head back,” Cole said, checking his watch. “I’ve got an early morning at the farm washing the oyster seed.”
Silently, they walked back to Martha. Georgia glanced at Cole as they retraced their steps, her heart hurting for all he’dlost. She wanted to comfort him but didn’t have the words. Much as she might wish to ease his burden, she sensed she could not fix him. He was trapped by regret and shame in a cage he’d built himself. If only he could find a way to set himself free.
25
Clambering into Marthain the Roche Harbor parking lot, Georgia settled into her seat and reached for her seat belt. Just then, her stomach rumbled loudly. Key poised over the ignition, Cole looked over, startled, and Georgia blushed. “I forgot to eat today,” she explained. “Too busy.” Cole’s lips quirked in a small smile as her stomach gurgled again. The sound lifted the sadness lingering between them. Georgia glanced down at the goodies Myra had given her.
“Want a pickle?” She hefted the large pickle jar onto her lap.
“Are those Myra’s?” Cole asked.
“She insisted I take them with me.” Georgia unscrewed the lid. “Here.” She fished a fat pickle out of the jar, shook off the brine, and handed it to him.
“Myra makes the best pickles.” He took a big, crunchy bite.
Georgia held another dripping over the mouth of the jar. The sharp odor of vinegar and dill stung her nose. She screwed the lid on the jar tightly, set it at her feet, then leaned forward and nibbled the end of the pickle. It was nice and crisp, the brine mouth-puckeringly sour. She paused, then took another small bite, chewing slowly. It wasn’t her imagination.
“I can taste it,” she whispered in disbelief. “Cole, I can taste the vinegar.”
“Really?” He looked at her in surprise.
“Really!” she shrieked. “I can taste the sour! Not the pickle itself, but I can taste the sour tang of the vinegar in the brine.”She stared at him, stunned. “I think I may be getting my sense of taste back!” She ate the rest of the pickle happily, bouncing up and down on the seat, doing a little dance of joy. She was smiling from ear to ear with gratitude and sheer relief. Cole chewed his pickle and watched her, a faint smile playing around his mouth.
“What?” she demanded.
“Nothing. I’ve just never seen anyone get so excited about a pickle.”
She rolled her eyes and batted his arm. “You know it’s more than that.”
“I know. I’m really happy for you.” He took another bite.
“Thank you,” she said fervently, meeting his eyes.
“For what?” he asked cautiously.
“If you hadn’t been a complete turd today and volunteered me to work in the kitchen at Anemone, this wouldn’t have happened,” she told him.
He laughed dryly, a deep rumble of amusement. “Happy to oblige.”
She leaned back against the door and looked at him in the dim light. “Really, though,” she said. “I think cooking at Anemone is what did it. I think somehow it connected me to something I’d forgotten for too long. So thank you, even though it was a dirty trick to play.”
