Page 51 of The Treasure House

“Tate, that’s the guard I’m friendly with, asked me if you went to college and I said yeah, she’s clever, my girl. Not like her mother, haha! But when he asked me if you graduated, I couldn’t remember. You did, right, Angel? And was it economics or accounting or something like that? I know I should know, but you know me, I’m a ditz.”

I folded the letter sharply and put it back in its envelope. It hadn’t been economics or accounting. It had been statistics, at Carnegie Mellon, where I met Tim. And where I got knocked up. So no, I hadn’t graduated. Instead, I’d raised a kid and worked in a medical center.

But Tina knew none of that. Tina didn’t know much about me at all, because I didn’t tell her anything. She didn’t even know where I lived—she was still addressing letters to Suni and Wayne’s house, as she’d done for years.

Even though it was my choice not to tell her about my life and it wasn’t a choice I regretted, it still hurt that she didn’t know me. It was a razor-sharp old hurt, deep to the bone.

“Flo!” I strode to the hall and called up the stairs. “Flo! Forget the books, let’s go for lobster rolls.” All of a sudden, unpacking seemed much less important than taking my kid to lunch on her last weekend of summer vacation.

Debussy was down at the Oxeye Hardware Store (and Lobster Shack). That giant orange fluffball seemed to own the whole town. Doris left a bowl of kibble out for him in the general store, and he often loitered at Jake’s so he could be there to gobble up scraps. Today, since there wasn’t a crowd of summer folk dropping food for him, Debussy was sprawled on one of the picnic tables, sunning himself. He acted oblivious to Hazel the puppy’s intent stare. She was tied up to the post again, staring at Debussy with laser focus. There was now a big comfortable dog bed on the porch next to her, and a bowl of water.

There was no sign of Jake, so Flo rang the brass bell that hung beside the service window.

“Hey, neighbor,” Flo called, when Jake finally appeared. “Hey, neighbor” was what everyone in Oxeye said when they popped into our house.

“Hey.” He was wearing a baseball shirt and jeans today. But his feet were still bare, and his hair was still tousled.

“We’ve come for lunch,” Flo told him.

He looked surprised.

“It’s going to be our first night sleeping in our house,” Flo explained, “and it’s the last weekend before school, so we’re having lunch to celebrate. Or calm our fears. We’re eating our feelings, basically.” She considered the empty chalkboard. “What happened to your menu?”

“Season’s over, kid. We’re only open on the weekends now.”

“It is the weekend,” I reminded him.

“Yeah,” he said. “But there isn’t anyone here.”

“We’re here,” Flo told him firmly.

He sighed. “Fine. But I don’t have the full menu available. I only have lobster rolls and coleslaw.”

“Isn’t that what you always have?”

He gave her a sour look. “No. In peak season I also serve fries and onion rings. And hot dogs for kids who don’t like lobster.”

“You don’t have hot dogs today?” I said nervously, knowing Flo was going to hate her lobster roll.

He took one look at my expression and sighed again. “I guess I could break out a hot dog or two if I had to.”

“If you don’t have any customers, you should join us for lunch,” Flo suggested.

“Flo, if I never eat a lobster roll again, it will be too soon.”

“You have to eat something, don’t you?”

“I had a big breakfast, I’ll be fine.”

“Your loss. We’ll have two lobster rolls with coleslaw and a couple of cans of lemonade,” she said.

“Make that water,” I corrected. “And perhaps throw in a backup hot dog…”

While Jake fetched our lunch and Flo played with Hazel, I took a seat at the prime picnic table overlooking the bay. The day was still, and the sound of gulls carried across the cliffs. Tina’s letter was burning a hole in my pocket. Since Flo was distracted, I eased it out of its envelope again. As I reread it, I noticed new details. Gemma from my meetings has met a guy online… I’d skimmed over it before, but this time I noticed the word meetings.

Meetings? As in Narcotics Anonymous meetings?

But wouldn’t she have told me if she was going to meetings again?