Page 73 of Fish Out of Water

“You’re a natural here.”

Jake shook his head quickly. “Please, no. I never want to fit in well enough here that someone like you is saying that.”

“Would it be so bad?”

Jake thought about it for a moment. He thought hard, going back to his old apartment, his old job, his old life. For so long, he’d wanted to return to that as quickly as possible—get back to normal. Eventide was a drip compared to reality. But Eventidewasreality now.

“I just don’t think it’s true,” he said. “I’ll never fit in here even if I wanted to.”

“It wouldn’t be the end of the world, though, would it?” Isabel pressed.

“No, I guess not.”

She smiled. “Then you’re fitting in better than you think, and I believe the whole town would agree with me.”

“Not the Eatons.”

“Not even Robbie?”

“Fu—I mean, hell no.”

“Maybe you should ask him sometime. He’s a painfully honest man, and he would tell you the truth. You might be surprised, Jake.”

Jake was surprised by a lot these days, especially when it had to do with Robbie. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe Robbie’s not the guy any of us thinks he is, and we’re all going to suffer for it.”

Isabel furrowed her brow. “Weren’t we talking about you fitting in?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Jake made his way into the kitchen to wash his hands. “Forget what I was saying before. I was just rambling.”

Robbiedidhave a way of making Jake suffer, except that this time Jake wanted what he’d said to not be true. He didn’t want Robbie to disappoint him. He wanted Robbie to stay exactly the same, if only so they could spend their last few months together pretending everything was all right.

19

HOME SWEET HOME

The realtor Isabel was using to sell her house, a tall man with sparse, grayish-white hair and high, gaunt cheekbones, met Jake at the house at noon on a Monday. He wore a suit that, while not cheap, was ill fitting in the shoulders and made him look a bit like a clown, and he stood with a back so straight, it made Jake’s own back twinge just to look at.

“Hello,” he said, his voice booming even outside in the front yard. “I’m Carson Crowley.”

“Jake Wynn,” Jake said, accepting Carson’s hand with its spindly fingers. “Isabel’s nephew.”

“You’re the one I talked to last week, right?”

“That’d be me. Come on inside; Isabel’s waiting in the living room.”

Carson stepped into the house with a critical eye, his gaze immediately darting from the door to the light fixture to the walls to the floor. He didn’t even notice Isabel standing there patiently, ready to greet him.

“This is my aunt,” Jake finally said, “Isabel Haver.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Crowley.” Isabel smiled.

“Oh, yes, hello, Mrs. Haver. Please call me Carson.”

“And you can call me Isabel.”

“So this is the house, hm?”

“Yes; we’ve lived here almost forty years now. Well, my husband passed away last year.”