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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Friday, June 25
“I can’t believethis is the end of our time in the Minnow Bucket,” I say, heaving a suitcase off the bed. It’s taken me an entire day to repack both of my suitcases which are now stuffed to bursting with trinkets I’ve indulged in at each of our stops.
“Yeah, we can do the train from here to New York City. And then to New Bedford where we’ll take the ferry to Martha’s Vineyard. You’re going to love the house. I can’t wait to get there.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s small, but it’s right on the water. Last season, I had some sand brought in and it’s really nice to just stretch out sand sunbathe.”
“You had sand brought in?” I laugh a little at that.
“Yeah, the beach is kind of rocky and I’ve gotten spoiled by my trips to the Gulf.”
I can hear the excitement in his voice when he describes this special place. He says that it’s his favorite place in all the world, and I’m thrilled he wants to share it with me.
“All right, last selfie with the Minnow Bucket,” he says, just before we hand the keys over to the rental agency in northern Virginia. #camperlife
It’s funny, but I’m going to miss that tiny little space. Connor and I connected there and it will forever be special to me. Because, I suppose, this new beginning of my life is so closely connected to a new beginning with him. And Connor will forever be special to me, too.
“Sad, Lainey Bird?” Connor asks, giving my nose a quick kiss as we board the commuter train to Manhattan.
“A little,” I admit softly.
“Me, too.” He laces his large fingers between my slimmer ones, and we sit quietly just holding hands as the train carries us one leg closer to Connor’s favorite place.
It doesn’t escape me that I’m quiet, letting the sounds come to me — the chugging engine and screeching steel of the train, the hypnotic vibrating whir of the air conditioner and faint thumping of Connor’s pulse beating under the thin skin of my own wrist. I look over and his head is turned. He’s looking at me, giving me the smile Georgia noticed just days ago as his smile of love.
“What?” I ask, flashing my “love smile” back.
“You’re quiet,” he says softly.
“Don’t tell me you wish I’d talk incessantly, because that can be arranged,” I tease.
“No.” He laughs playfully at me. “But I miss it a little. I know that being quiet either means you’re too freaked out to speak, or your Little Bird heart is peaceful. I think it’s peaceful right now and that makes me happy.”
“It is. And it makes me happy, too.”
* * *
New York City was home to me for seven years. And being back here — hearing the noise, smelling the foul air and staring out at the smog brings back a rush of bad memories. There were too few good ones during that time to connect to this place. My heart instantly tenses the minute we get off the train.
“You know, I can take you to the best bagel shop in all of New York. It’s just this tiny little hole-in-the-wall place. But, you know, those are the best places. Oh, and doesn’t Anton Arnaud have a place here? I think it’s got like two Michelin stars or something. We’d probably have to bribe him with moreClimaxmementos to even get a reservation. Speaking ofClimax,have you talked to Tori or Ox? I wonder how they’re doing with the restaurants while you’re away.”
Connor tugs me into a corner of the train station, pushes my back against the wall and stands squarely in front of me. He leans down and kisses me once, hard and quick. He’s so huge, and standing so near, I can’t see around him. My heart hammers my palms sweat and my breath falls so shallow it nearly stops altogether.
“Breathe, baby. You’re OK,” he says in my ear.
“I know I’m OK,” I say. My voice holds more confidence than I feel. “It’s New York. I used to live here, remember?”
He shakes his head and leans down and speaks softly into my ear. “Something about this place upsets you. I want you to know that whatever it is, it’s not going to come between us. I’m here. You’re wonderful, you’re mine and you’re going to be fine.”
I let out a deep breath and nod, pressing my forehead against the hard muscles of his chest. “I’m good,” I lie, but try to sound convincing. I manage to hold back the tide of my tears until we check into our hotel and I can escape into the seclusion of the shower and drown them under the stream of hot water.
Connor orders grilled chicken, sautéed vegetables and a bottle of white wine from the hotel’s room service menu and we eat mostly in silence in our suite.
“We’re going shopping tomorrow,” he says, setting our cart of dishes in the hall to be collected later.
