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“Probably.” He shrugs, and he doesn’t look at me when he adds, “It’s just that… with Esme, I don’t think it’s so much the work she looks forward to. It’s more the company, so…”
I heave out a loud and somewhat frustrated breath. Dean’s right, and he damn well knows it. “Fine.”
We driveto Esme’s in silence, and after a short greeting, we get bombarded with questions about Holden’s sudden disappearance, which we answer as well as we can, which isn’t well at all. I tried calling him twice more on the drive. He didn’t answer either call. Once we get to the yard, I realize how useless it is to even attempt the work without Holden here. “Holden normally tells me what to do,” I murmur, stepping into the pool house.
Dean scoffs as he examines all the tools on the wall. “Sounds like a great relationship.”
“Hey, guess what?”
He turns to me. “What?”
“Fuck off. Like, all the way off.”
He rolls his eyes.
But I’m not done. “And when you get all the way fucked, you should keep going.”
After a defeated sigh, he says, “We’re not getting anywhere with this.”
“No shit.”
“Maybe we should ask Esme if there’s any other work we can do for her?”
I agree, and regret it ten minutes later when Dean and I are crammed in Esme’s spare bedroom, going through Wesley’s old clothes and bagging them up. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask Esme, who’s standing at the doorway, her smile forced.
“It’s time,” she says, and then she’s gone.
Dean and I work in silence while I check my phone every few minutes, sometimes seconds. Holden doesn’t call back, doesn’t respond to my texts.
By the following day,I’ve stopped calling him. Stopped waiting for a response. And by Friday, the only thing that consumes my mind is fear. I do web searches for Eastwood Nursery, but nothing shows up besides an outdated website and a few articles about the company. I try to search for news on Mia, but I don’t even know her last name.
At the weekend,I skip going to the thrift store and go to Holden’s house instead. His truck is there, but apart from that, there are no signs of life.
I spend what free time I have during the weekend at Esme’s, helping her go through more of Wesley’s things to donate. I hold her hand and console her and tell her she’s taking a huge step and she should be proud. She cries on my shoulder, and I… I hold back my own.
Deanand I spend another Wednesday afternoon with Esme. We don’t do the yard work. We simply sit with her at her kitchen table and talk. Well, they do. I have nothing to say.
On the drive back to my place, Dean says, “Can I ask you a serious question without you telling me to get fucked or fuck off or threaten my life in any way?”
“Unlikely,” I respond, staring out the window.
He asks anyway, “How are things going with you and Holden?”
It’s the only question I’d feared he’d ask because the truth is what I tell him: “I don’t know.” I guess I thought we were something, but since I haven’t heard from him since he hopped on a plane to another state says otherwise.Holden means what he says, and he says what he means,and the fact that he hasn’t said anything means… everything.
“Is he good to you?” Dean asks.
I don’t know why he’s talking to me about this.Now. When all I want is to sit in silence.
“Does he treat you right?”
“Jesus, Dean.” I rest my head on the window, let the vibrations scatter my brain even more.
Dean won’t shut up. “Regardless of what you think of me, I care about you.”
“Good for you,” I mumble.
“And I want you to be happy.”
