Page 5 of In Your Wake

“You don’t think he’ll change his mind, do you?” I begin, keeping my voice low, but glancing over my shoulder. “When… Mitchell gets here?” The name sticks like molasses in my throat, only not as sweet.

“About treatment?” Robyn asks, and I nod.

If there’s anyone more stubborn than Mitchell, it’s his father, and the thought of those two forces colliding once again makes my stomach cramp.

With a frown, Robyn shakes her head. “At this point, nothing will change his mind. Not even our boy. It’s too late.”

And just like that, I know she’s accepted what I’m finding too hard to. That Bill’s death is inevitable.

I’m not exactly sure why I can’t accept it. I should hate him for what he did to my parents, for breaking them up and causing my father so much pain. I should despise him for how he hurt Robyn, or for how he broke his son’s heart. I should absolutely loathe Bill Adams for the position he put me in and for causing a rift between me and my former best friend.

When I was younger, Bill was like a stepfather. Stern with Mitch, he was kind and funny with me. He’d tell bad dad jokes and would patch me up if I took a nasty spill off my bike out front. I’m aware that everything happens for a reason. All I’ve been through has shaped me into who I am today. As they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?

And then there’s Robyn. Over the years she’s been such a good friend. And now she’s like family. But she’s also my boss. If Bill hadn’t refused treatment, maybe he’d be doing better, and then Robyn could come back to the inn and relieve some of the weight from my shoulders. Then I wouldn’t need to stick around to keep the inn afloat. I could even get out of this town.

I don’t belong here. Not today of all days.

As if reading my thoughts, Robyn grips my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It means the world that you’re here. I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve done, Max.”

That inner guilt trip makes a comeback, and I cover her hand with mine. “Don’t mention it,” I say with a nod, then add a lie for good measure. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”

Mitch

The garden outside my parents’ home needs weeding, which shouldn’t be a surprise. After all, the man who usually does the gardening is sick.

Dying.

I should take some time while I’m in town to do it, but I quickly stuff the idea down. I won’t be here long enough.

Dragging my suitcase behind me, I lazily walk up the red brick path to the door and use the brass knocker to announce my arrival. No use making all that noise and disturbing everyone with the doorbell. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself that’s the reason, when deep down, I’m just not comfortable walking in there anymore.

I haven’t been home in over ten years, even though I meant to come back to visit. At first, my excuses started small, then became bigger, and the next thing I knew, I couldn’t even remember what my front door looked like.

Everything seems unchanged, from the creaky front steps to the nearby porch swing, yet also totally foreign. As if living in New York has filtered out all the Oakwhite from my bloodstream.

I drum my fingers against my suitcase handle. My anxiety hits an all-time high, tying up my tongue in a knot, making my heartbeat batter inside my chest, and I still have no clue what I’m going to say to the man.

What do you say to the person who gave you life, but is also the reason it all had to change?

The moment the door swings open, all my worries vanish like a thick summer breeze, replaced instead by a whirlwind from the past.

I’m greeted by Maxine Nolan and my heart stops beating before it dives into my stomach. With red hair that’s closer to flaming orange, and unique blue eyes rimmed with dark, almost obsidian, she stands a foot away, still a rare beauty.

I remember when those eyes had the power to make time stand still. When the doors to my soul, controlled by her profound stare, would unlock and open wide.

But that was a long time ago.

Today Maxine’s eyes don’t hold that mysterious power I used to love so much. They’re filled with confusion, and a dash of hate, no doubt mimicking what she sees in my glare.

“You’re here.” A gentle statement, as if trying to convince herself, but there’s no ignoring the disappointment radiating off her, and it punches me in the gut.

I used to be someone she could count on. Someone she didn’t doubt. Guess a lot has changed since then. Except for the hurt shooting from her ocean eyes. That’s the same pain that brewed in her gaze the last time I saw her. Years haven’t weakened it even a bit.

“Of course, I’m here. Why are you?”

She purses her lips, shaking her head, then steps back, swinging her arm as an invitation for me to come in. I tuck my tongue to the side of my mouth. I don’t need her permission. This is my parents’ house, after all.

I set my suitcase aside. The house still smells of linen with faint hints of cinnamon. But beyond that, there’s a smell I’m not used to. A sterile, chemical smell. Other than the sound of the buzzing cicadas outside, the house is silent. Eerily silent.