Page 5 of Letting Go

The ache in my gut twists. Anything could have happened in the eight years she's been out of touch wither family. "No one really knows what she's been doing."

"She's not forthcoming either. Maybe with Devon…a little. She told Devon and Claire she joined a commune out west. Just a heads up though, I haven't shared much of this with Claire and I don't want her worrying. Not after what she's been through this summer."

You mean not after what you've both been through, is what I wanted to say, but I didn't. Finn lost his wife and child to a sociopath three years ago and then the same guy came after Claire. I'm still not sure they have both entirely recovered. This might explain why he seems so hyper-vigilant about Chloe.

"I can’t have any more trouble brought here," he says and levels his gaze at me. "That's why I'd like you here, skip the studio apartment in Portland and take your room upstairs. When you're done with this conference in four days, I want you here full-time."

The annoying ache in the pit of my stomach tells me Finn is spot on. If Chloe is afraid, there's a reason to be afraid.

As I start to open the door, Finn lobs more comments my way: "Another thing. She's doing something out on Rock Island. No matter what, she's out there two hours, sometimes three, every day."

I nod, taking note and then my original concern takes root again. "And about the other thing?"

"What thing? Oh. You and Chloe? Yeah. I repeat. Grown-ass man."

Chapter Three

Chloe

Late morning-early afternoon is my time. The kitchen is closed from ten to four, so I can prep, make our mother's signature triple berry pie, torch the crème Brule and do simple things like feed sourdough starter and send in orders. Three times a week, I stroll down Carter's Point Road to buy fresh fish, crab, and lobster. Twice a week, I order meat from Weaver's, the general store on the street side of the wharf. I refuse to cook pork, but the Inn offers chicken and beef.

I vary my trips.

It's Monday, my sort-of day off but I feel like I'm already running late. Usually by now I've either driven into Saxton's Bay or Rockland or walked to the piers to check out the morning catch. I glance at the clock: ten forty-five. I'm officially off the clock at noon until Wednesday morning. I splash water on my face, step to the rear entrance by the floor tub to grab a towel, and pat dry.

Just as I come back around the corner, there's Bryce, peering in the industrial fridge.

"Jesus," he says adding, "I didn't know you were still here," completely deadpan but placing a hand to his chest. Though he doesn’t flinch, I must have surprised him.

"Didn't mean to startle," I say slightly amused I could surprise him at all. The guy is like a human rock. It seems nothing could or would move him.

"I've been meaning to talk to you since—" he pauses. "Since that time we danced at your sister's party."

My ears immediately start to burn. Tucking away a strand of hair, I blurt, "I had a good time."

This puts him off his game, and there's this awkward pause and then he starts again: "I just wanna say…"

He looks conflicted, like he doesn’t know if he should finish the sentence.

"What? Did you not like something I made?"

Grabbing the door handle, I peer into the fridge. "Did something go bad?"

He takes a step back and tries again. "No, no, no. I just want to say…"

I close the door and stare at him.

"I think you're amazing."

For some reason, this instantly pisses me off. "I want to be clear, I am anything but amazing," I say, and I can feel my mouth pull into a thin, angry little line. I feel instantly sorry because, again, he looks so surprised—this time, though for a different reason. He's trying to be all complimentary, and I'm ruining it.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to set you off or anything."

Even his apology does nothing but make me angrier. "I don't need you to apologize and I certainly don't expect you to understand, but I am anything but a good person."

With a glint in his eye, his next line drops from the smile on his lips. "I didn't say you were a good person. I said I thought you were amazing."

Something about the way he said I wasn't a good person makes me soften for a moment and we connect. Somehow, he knows how horrible I've been to my family and how unforgivable my actions have been, but then I realize he couldn't know any of that. He and Claire don't talk and though I know Claire's probably told Finn, I'm sure he hasn't shared any of this with Bryce. Men, I've discovered, often don't talk about deep, intimate feelings. They tend to talk about the ball game, what beer they drank, and high school conquests. There's no way Bryce has any idea of what I've done.