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“Hey!” he barked with a smile. “We don’t talk about that. I still have scars.”
I couldn’t help but give a small smile as I stared down into my coffee mug, the wind picking up for a minute. “Physical scars from cat scratches, or emotional scars from Mrs. Schumer grabbing your ass?”
Robbie gave a hearty laugh in response and put a hand on his stomach as he stared out at the ocean. It was blatantly obvious that the back deck was his happy place. “The women in Port James are something else.”
Port James was a small, coastal town on the southern shore of Massachusetts. What started off as a small fishing village in the mid-1700’s blossomed into a beautiful town and community, which was still relatively small with a population of just under eight thousand people. White sand beaches, an old as sin lighthouse, and all of the shops on Main Street turned Port James into somewhat of a tourist trap. Seriously, the town thrived in the summer and some people loved it so much they never left. Others, though, had lived here for generations. Including my own family.
“You feel like going out today? Simone’s working and she wants you to go pick up the earrings she made you.”
I froze. Go out? I’d been back in town for a few days and I kept promising my longtime friend that I’d go see her. But I couldn’t do that until all of the physical reminders of what happened were gone. I just couldn’t. My lip was split, my ribs were bruised and there was a fading black and blue bruise around my right eye.
People knew I was home. Thanks to my mother’s big mouth and incessant need for everyone to know our business, I’d received countless calls and texts, even a few tweets. I didn’t respond to the tweets though, choosing to stay radio silent on all social media for the time being.
Kidding. I didn’t respond to the calls and texts either.
It wasn’t that my mom was putting me on blast simply because she wanted people to focus on our family. She wanted everyone to know that I was home, that her only daughter was back. Growing up, there were times when her townie behavior drove me insane and, even now, there were times when it still did. But the truth was that, regardless of her antics and her wine intake, I missed my mom. I missed being someone’s daughter when I was nothing more than an ant in a big city.
“Abby,” Robbie said and pinched my cheek between his thumb and forefinger. Always in big brother mode. “I’ll park near the cafe and we’ll take the beach path up the back. The shop doesn’t open until nine and no one will be out on the path that early. Besides,” he ducked his head, trying to meet my eye. “You can’t hide forever.”
I leaned back in my chair and hugged the blanket tighter around myself, not saying anything. He was right, he was always freaking right. Robbie was cool, calm and collected.
He also wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“If you don’t get out of the house you’re going to go fucking crazy. Or you’ll drive me fucking crazy.”
My palms began to sweat. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
“Like what?” came a familiar voice. I watched as a tall blonde walked up the back stairs and onto the deck, stumbling and looking disheveled. “A badass with battle scars?”
“Lo,” I greeted my other brother, leaning up as he leaned down to kiss my cheek. “There’s only one reason you’re ever up this early.”
“Two words: Molly. Hart.”
Robbie laughed and leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Two words: Sloppy. Seconds.”
Logan’s jaw dropped and I burst out laughing, not even stopping when my ribs ached. It was always amusing to watch my brothers compare insults or, in this case, past conquests. We were all two years apart- our parents adamantly refused to admit that was something they did on purpose- but being the youngest and the only girl, I was never really able to butt in and make my own jokes without either one of them wanting to kick someone’s, or my own, ass. Today, though, I didn’t mind. My exhaustion and aching body left me content to lean back and watch as Logan and Robbie made jabs at each other.
Logan sat down in front of us with his back to the ocean. He jerked his chin at me. “You seen mom since your first night back? She’s been running her mouth that her long lost baby is home.”
I shook my head and squinted against the morning sun. “She’s excited that I’m back. I can’t call her and tell her to keep her mouth shut about it. You know how she is.”
I could have added that I didn’t like being referred to as the long lost baby, but I didn’t. I wasn’t lost and New York was a four and a half hour drive away. But Genevieve Ashford was always making headlines and hosting some kind of event in town. She felt as though blurting out scandalous things that her children were going through would keep people talking. It wasn’t necessarily the greatest publicity but, as they say, all publicity is good publicity.
The woman was unapologetically herself; something that caused me to have conflicting emotions as I grew up. I was either faulting her for saying too much or praising her because of her ballsy attitude.
“You know last week she showed up on my doorstep with Father Hicks because she thinks I need to find God?”
Robbie and I looked at each other before falling into a fit of hysterics. I couldn’t help but feel for Logan. Being the middle child meant that he usually took the brunt of our mother’s antics. She was constantly fretting over him and calling me or Robbie for information. But the truth was that Logan was secretive. He was hard to read and disappeared for days at a time. We all worried about him, but our mom was worried to the point where she was ready to put some kind of tracking device on him.
“It’s not funny!” he protested and looked at us with wide, brown eyes. “She’s losing her damn mind.”
“She needs a hobby.”
“She needs a sedative,” he shot back.
Our family was the epitome of dysfunctional but we made it work. I knew that no matter how much Logan complained about our mom, he loved her. Maybe it was because, like her, he also was unapologetically himself.
All I knew was, in that moment, New York felt like a lifetime away. And for a brief moment, I could bask in the ignorant bliss of thinking that everything would be alright.
